Instead of answering her, Adele said, “Sylvie, why did you run away from home?” She asked the question so straightforwardly, even innocently, that Sylvie found herself answering before she could think about it.

“I wanted to find Carl,” she said. “I didn’t like our family without him. I just had to go.”

Her mother flushed and cast her eyes down. “Yes, I thought that’s what it must have been. Things haven’t been good the past couple of years, have they?”

“You and Dad… well, Dad especially, have been just horrible about Carl.” Sylvie felt her hurt and resentment rising, surprising her Snowpepper self. “Dad even… Dad…” she wanted to tell her mother about the slap, but her throat tightened and she couldn’t force the words out. Her hand floated up to touch her cheek, as though she could still feel the slap’s sting on her skin. Tears smarted in her yes.

“Yes, he slapped you, I remember. He cried about that later, did you know? He felt so terrible. He really didn’t mean to hurt you, darling.”

“He never let me know that!” Sylvie exclaimed angrily. “He never even apologized to me! He acted like a, a big bully! I hated him for that!”

“He knew you did, sweetheart, and I swear to you, it hurt him terribly. But he just couldn’t be rational when it came to Carl. He couldn’t see straight. It drove him out of his mind to even think about it. He would go a little crazy, he couldn’t help himself.”

“Why? What did Carl do that was so horrible? Why wouldn’t anybody tell me anything?” Sylvie’s face was hot, her heart was racing, her hands shaking. She wanted to cry but she wanted answers more. This was the first time either of her parents had been willing to talk about Carl since that terrible night. She didn’t want to lose the moment. “Please, Mom, I need to know.”

“It’s difficult to explain, Sylvie, and I’m not entirely sure I understand it myself. You see, something happened that night. Your father saw something that he couldn’t reconcile with the son he loved.”

“Tracy said the other guys were saying it was because Carl was gay,” Sylvie muttered.

Her mother smiled a little sadly. “I wish that was it,” she said. “I’m sure George could have accepted that. He’s not a Neanderthal, you know. But what really happened… was much more difficult.”

“Well… what?” Sylvie couldn’t stop the impatient rise in her voice. “Was Carl a werewolf or something?”

Her mother’s eyes widened. “Well, no,” she whispered. “But Sylvie, you’re not too far off the mark with that wild guess.”

Sylvie felt her mouth close so suddenly that she bit her tongue. “Mom, please, will you spill it? What are you getting at?”

“Carl was becoming something strange to us,” Adele said softly, looking down at her hands, which writhed as though each finger had a separate will of its own. “He … well, he didn’t do anything so terrible, I thought, but you know how your Dad is about anything that seems irrational or superstitious, don’t you?”

“I know he’s an atheist, and he used to get mad whenever anybody talked about magic or faeries or anything like that. He was weird about it. He wouldn’t even let us believe in the tooth faerie or Santa.”

“Yes. It’s a blind spot your Dad has. Really, it’s a phobia. He’s absolutely petrified of magic, the supernatural or occult, anything that smacks of what he calls ‘blind irrationality’. He’s tried to convince himself he didn’t believe in it, and he tried very hard to teach you children to be rational, logical creatures. I once asked him how he could be so frightened of something if it wasn’t real, and he became so enraged that he scared me. So I let him have his way with you children, though I personally saw no harm in Santa Claus or faeries. But with Carl, he failed.”

“Well, I guess he failed with me, too,” Sylvie muttered under her breath. When her mother glanced sharply at her, she said, “Yeah, Carl used to tell me stories about magic and werewolves and faeries and things. Scary stories, some of them.” She shuddered, remembering the werewolves in particular.

“That was part of it,” Adele sighed. “Carl had an instinct for the strange, the magic side of life. As convinced as your father was that it was all nonsense, Carl was equally convinced that there was more to the world than what could be seen or heard. And…” her voice trailed away again, her face tense and drawn.

Sylvie made herself be patient. She let Snowpepper-in-her come forward, watching and listening intently without pressure. She could see the pulse beating erratically in her mother’s throat, the fine sheen of sweat on her brow. Adele blinked and rubbed her eyes heavily. “Oh, Sylvie, this is so hard for me. It just sounds so crazy. I’m about to tell you things that I can’t imagine you’ll be able to believe.”

“Hey, Mom, don’t worry about me,” Sylvie assured her. “You’d be surprised at the kinds of things I’ve learned to believe in. I’ve changed a lot.” She moved closer to her mother’s chair and opened her arms to her. Adele startled at first, but returned the hug gratefully.

“Thank you, darling,” she whispered. “You are a sweet girl. I’ve missed you terribly.” The hairs on the back of Sylvie’s neck lifted. She had the eerie feeling that her mother was talking to Snowpepper—to the sweet innocence that had been missing in her for twelve years.

She stayed where she was, resting loosely in her mother’s arms. She was surprised by how natural and normal it felt. She had no conscious memory of ever being this close with her mom. It had always been Carl for her, for as long as she could remember, anyway.

Adele continued. “George saw Carl do something that frightened him terribly, that enraged him, drove him to a state of temporary insanity. And in that state, he disowned the son he loved, and he forbade me to have anything more to do with him.”

“What did he see?” Sylvie asked.

“Carl was practicing magic in his room,” her mother said calmly. “He was calling up spirits and talking with them. Your dad walked in on one of those sessions, and he saw some sort of shape hovering in the air, talking with Carl. He watched for a moment, too shocked to move or speak, long enough to be certain of what was happening.” Her face softened. “It’s not really his fault, sweetie. I hope you can forgive your father. I hope Carl can forgive him too. Mostly, I hope he can forgive himself. Something happened to him when he was young, I’m certain of it. Something magical and strange, that frightened him so badly he’s never recovered. And what he saw in Carl’s room reminded him of that experience.”

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