“She always did the right thing, and she always said the right thing. The only time she ever pissed off our parents was when she married your dad—a lowly Grimm!—but that turned out to be the right thing, too.”
Fiona smiles at me, the very picture of rueful. “Do you even know how cool that was? That Natasha married badly, for love, and then proved to the whole World of Mages that she and Malcolm could be unstoppable together?”
I didn’t know that. I pick at my banana cake.
“And then she had you, ” Fiona goes on. “And you were exactly the sort of child your mother would have—Crowley, you were such a charmer. Curious and headstrong and thoughtful. So thoughtful, even as a toddler. I remember looking at you and thinking, Well, of course Natasha has had the best possible baby. Isn’t that just like her?
“She was so good at everything that I had to go all the way to China to get out from under her shadow…” Fiona looks down at her tea and laughs again.
Her eyes are brimming. “I suppose it did bother me sometimes.”
She bites both her lips and looks lost for a moment.
“When your mum died…” she says again. She wrinkles her nose, shaking her head. “I knew that I’d never be able to replace her. No one would.”
She looks up at me, wiping one eye with her thumb and the other with her knuckle.
“You had the best mum, Baz—you lost the best mum—and I knew that your dad and I would never make up for it.” She smiles, her lips tight and twitching and trying to turn down. “But we had to try, right?
“When I hear you tell me what a shit aunt I’ve been, I think, Well, yeah, I’ve always been shit compared to Natasha. If she were here, she would have done a much better job with you!
“But she isn’t here.” Fiona’s voice breaks. A tear slides down her cheek.
“She isn’t here,” she says more softly.
“And I’m not sorry that I tried to be…”
I look down at my tea and wipe my eyes on Snow’s sleeve. “I’m not sorry either,” I whisper.
Fiona sniffs. She blows her nose into a napkin. “All right,” she says, sounding more like her cock-of-the-walk self. She leans over and picks up her handbag, a giant, black leather thing with fringe. She opens the flap, and takes out a vintage tape recorder. She sets it on the table between us. “Found this under my bed.”
I sit up straight and reach for it. “Is that—”
“That’s it, all right. Don’t push any buttons until you find the girl.”
I pull my hands back. “Is there a spell?”
Fiona shakes her head. “The original spell should still be working.
‘Caught on tape.’”
“Fuck, that’s savage.”
“It was a real chore finding someone who could cast it.”
“So I just take this to Philippa and…”
“Push play.”
I can’t believe Fiona has had this under her bed for years …
No. I can believe it.
I gingerly lift the tape recorder off the table and look up into my aunt’s eyes. They’re brown. My mother’s were grey, like mine. “Thank you,” I say.
“Nah, don’t thank me. I mean, really, considering the circumstances.” She reaches over and takes a chunk out of my banana cake, narrowing her eyes at my chest. “‘Watford Netball’？ Do boys play netball at Watford now, or are you shacking up with a bird?”
I look down. Fucking Snow. Did he steal every one of Agatha’s school jumpers?
“I have to get going.” Fiona is standing up, brushing crumbs off her T-shirt.
I stand up, too.
She ruffles the top of my hair. “I won’t let out your room right away…”
“Fiona…”
“Seriously, Baz, don’t thank me. I already feel like a twat.”
“What were you looking for that day at Watford?”
She looks at me for a second, then rubs her face with both hands and sighs. “I was looking for my mother’s wedding ring. Your mum used to wear it, on her pinkie. I didn’t figure she’d miss it now.”
“A wedding ring…”
Fiona folds her arms, like she’s ready for me to lay into her, and she doesn’t fucking care.
I do just that: “Are you serious? You’re marrying that sleazy Kurt Cobain wannabe?”
“That’s not how I’d describe him…”
“His name was stricken from the Book, Fiona!”