In Mom’s head, she was never fast enough. She was always compensating. If a meeting was set for noon, she would get there by 11:45 a.m.
“What’s up with you?” Mom asked.
“I asked for backup,” I said.
“And?”
“It’s not coming.”
“Did you expect it would?”
“Yes, I kind of did. I asked them for advice, and they made me the Acting Warden and wished me Godspeed.”
“You got a promotion with extra responsibilities but without pay or additional benefits.” Mom smiled. “I’m so proud of you. You’re officially a successful adult.”
“I can now order around the highest level of state law enforcement. I suppose that’s a benefit.”
A very dubious one. Law enforcement didn’t like interference.
“In life, backup is rare. Knowing that is part of being a grown-up. Do you know what I would tell you if you were one of my soldiers?”
“What?”
“Handle your shit.”
I stared at her.
“You’ve been with Linus over eighteen months. You’ve been professionally trained. You have experience, skills, and power, and you know the procedure. Treat whatever it is like any other case.”
“Linus . . .”
“Linus will live or die on his own. There is nothing you can do to help him, so put him out of your mind. Concentrate on what you can do.”
I looked at my desk. She wasn’t wrong.
“What happens if Linus dies?” Mom asked.
“I become the Warden.”
“Which you would eventually anyway. He isn’t going to live forever, Catalina. None of us will. That’s why there is no backup. They want to know if you’re ready to do the job.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready.”
“In battle, when your officer dies, you don’t have the luxury of asking yourself if you’re ready. You assume command because you’re next in line and lives will be lost if you don’t. I have faith in you. So does Alessandro, and the rest of the family, and Linus. He picked you for the job. So, sweetheart, do whatever it is you need to do to get yourself right. If you need to cry, cry. If you need to go to the range, you know where the ammo is.”
I got up and walked over to her. “Can I have a hug?”
Mom opened her arms, and we hugged. She kissed my hair.
I almost cried. She used to hug me like this every time my magic leaked, and someone lost themselves to obsessing over me. She would hold me and tell me that it would be okay, that with practice I would get better. Mom always believed in me without any doubt.
“You and your sisters, you three are so different, and somehow you’re all the same.”
“How are we the same?”
“All of you can do anything you want if only you manage to get out of your own way. You especially. You need to get out of your own head, Catalina. You overthink everything. Put yourself on rails and go forward.”
“Okay,” I promised.
The door swung open, and Arabella stuck her head in. “Why is the conference room locked?” She saw me and Mom. “Are you getting Mom time? What happened? Something bad happened.”
“Close the door,” Mom told her.
Arabella retreated and shut the door.
“Are you ready or do you need a minute?”
“I’m good.”
Mom nodded. “I know. Let’s go do this.”
The entire family had gathered in the hallway, filling it wall to wall.
Leon, tall, lean, dark haired, with a dark tan and a white smile, leaned against the wall, because if there was a vertical surface present, my youngest cousin felt compelled to prop it up. Next to him Bern, his brother, larger, with broad shoulders, a muscular build, and hair that turned dark blond during summer and light brown in the winter, wrapped his arm around Runa. Her hair was blazing red, her eyes were green, and her skin was so pale that we all teased her about glowing in the dark. Bern carried a laptop and Runa held a tablet.
To the right, by the conference room, Arabella crossed her arms. Petite, tan, with an hourglass figure, my sister wore a black-and-white floral Jacquard dress with a crew neckline, fitted waist, and flared skirt. She paired that with black pumps. Her blond hair, which she recently toned to a cool ash shade, rested on her head in an artfully loose updo, which she called “the most popular girl in church hair.” She must’ve had a high-profile business meeting this morning.
Behind them, Grandma Frida frowned at her phone. She was about the same height as Mom, but they couldn’t be more different. Grandma Frida was slender, bird-boned, with a halo of platinum curls. Her mechanic coveralls were stained with a fresh smudge of engine grease. Mom was solid, with light brown skin, dark hair, and dark eyes, which turned distant when she measured the distance for a kill shot.