Mother's Instinct

The phone call comes just after I put the cake in the oven. My heart beats in tandem with the buzzing, hard and demanding. I know the ring tone playing- a silly song Ruby chose, smirking. "This way you'll always know it's me."

I put the phone to my ears, wishing it wasn't her. Her calls always mean one thing- danger. Not mine. Hers.

"Hey ma." My daughter's voice comes in, panting. She just breathes into the mic for a while, catching her breath from what I know is probably chasing her. "Prophecy stuff. I'll be a bit... late for lunch. Maybe dinner." I can hear screams in the distance, as well as hissing and growls. There's a ripping sound, and then something roars, so loud it makes me pull the phone away. I hear cursing, then a sigh. "Anyway, ma, I'll have to bring friends. Can you be ready, please?"

I speak through the lump gathering in my throat. "Of course, honey." I almost add 'Be safe', before I realize what a fruitless request that is. I hang up instead.

I make my way to the hearth in the middle of the room. The kitchen was the only place I trusted it, mainly because of the fire extinguisher.

I want to shout into it, for all the help it will do. Instead, I light an incense stick from the flames, sticking it into one of the holders. The floor underneath is covered with the ash of sticks burned in the past, a heavy, sooty carpet of burned promises. The action is one of futility, I know, yet I still do it, if only for the familiarity. How many incense sticks have I burned, how much food have I fed into the fire, praying, just praying for her safety? For her to be spared? And look where it got her. Fighting for lives- mine, her friends’, especially hers.

The strong earthy fragrance of sandalwood spreads around the rooms as I prepare everything they’ll need- medicinal supplies and every fresh set of clothes I can find. I go to Ruby’s room, retrieve the bottles of elixir. Examine them, before putting them on the kitchen shelves. Each one of them is stamped with a sealing rune, glowing ethereal blue.

I leave them there, return to making the icing for the cake. I can't open them yet. They only last for about an hour, and I'm sure Ruby won't be returning anytime soon.

The monster attacks had started slowly, but it hadn't been long before both of us realized something was terribly wrong. There can only be so many mailmen who carried bombs and tried to blow you up, all in the matter of weeks. Then, when that man appeared right inside our home, I had started to fear both of us were going crazy. After what he told us, I wondered if I really was crazy.

Ruby had ichor in her blood. Blood which both blessed and cursed her. Monsters would tear anyone apart, he said, even each other, to get to her blood, because it would make them immortal. Many nights I had laid, not being able sleep, wondering if that blood had been somehow my fault. It must have come from me, from a long line of my ancestors, but dilute. Then it swelled when it reached her, like a sponge slowly soaking up water over the years. And now I would have to watch her being threatened and hurt because of it.

I mix the ingredients with fevered fervor, using a hand-whisk instead of the machine. The smell of the buttercream is sweet and soft, but I focus on the clang of the whisk instead, digging into the icing, churning.

The man had offered a safe haven, a school where she would learn to fight and use her powers. I accepted of course. Anything for her safety. And when she came home the few times she was allowed, with water flowing for her and fire at her fingertips, I was relieved. She seemed happy. She had friends who were just like her, who understood her and cared for her. I was happy, even when she could barely find time to talk with me, because even phone calls were dangerous.

Then came the Prophecy.

The oven rings, and I take the cake out, breathing in the sugary smell. I then proceed to slather the icing onto the cake, doling out large dollops and smoothing them out till the cake is fully covered. I add the rainbow sprinkles, and spell out ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY’ with hard candy. I stick it into the cooler to set. I eye the candles. 16. She’s turning 16.

Even after all this, there's anger in my hands. I want to do something, anything. I twist my fingers together. I'll bake cookies, I decide. Her friends were coming anyway. It would be good for them. 

I get the ingredients and get to work again, vehement, trying to keep the memories at bay, but they keep flashing under my eyelids- Ruby, dripping with blood like honey dripped from a spoon. The demon twisting, trying to get a single drop in, because that was all it would take to awaken the Usurper. 'A child, whose most golden of blood weeps, will raise what sleeps beneath.'

The world would end, was what it was trying to say. We barely escaped that situation, but the attacks increased, from weekly to sometimes on the same day. I couldn't take it anymore. I had to do something, anything to stop this, or at least help out.

I couldn't learn magic, but I could certainly use it. Store it. Protection charms and praying amulets around the complex, creating a boundary keeping out the worst. Bottles of elixir, for healing. Everything I could to make sure that my child, any child like this, could rest here. Even the hearth, a glorified candle-holder, had become a sort of mechanism of protection for me, if only to light the incense and pray.

I plop the dough onto the tray lined with wax paper, then put in in the oven. After that finishes, I let that rest too, covered in the kitchen. 

I sit now, try to watch a show, but my eyes always return to the clock like it's being pulled by a hook. The seconds ticking away become minutes become hours, and when I think I can't stand this anymore, the doorbell rings.

I leap up like I've been shocked, and rush to open the door. And there she is, my daughter. Ruby.

She almost crashes inside before one of her friends catch her. I want to hug her, to cry, but I know now is not the time. All five of them look terrible, bleeding and burned, clothes in tatters. I hurry them in, point them to the medicine and clothes I’d laid out on the table. They pounce on it gladly, and I hurry into the kitchen.

I unseal three bottles, each containing enough for two. They're going to need it. The elixir bubbles in the saucepan as I turn up the heat, shimmering golden, like a haze. Creamy smoke rises from it, heavy with magic. My daughter told me you smell what makes you at home the most. I smell mangoes, ripe and pungent with their own sweet juices. It's light in the air, but still drags up memories. We haven't had mangoes in so long. It's still not in season. I prepare cocoa, and add it into the pan. Finally, I pour the mixture into glasses. The surface is warm brown shot through with gold. I take the drinks out on a tray with the cookies.

They look better when I return, clean and wrapped with bandages. They gratefully accept the drinks, passing the tray around. I leave it to them and sit beside my daughter, still woozy. She's in the same clothes, though she's been bandaged. I wince, seeing the deep gashes soothed over with salve. My chest hurts, and my hands tighten around the mug.

Just a dribble is enough to wake her fully. I watch as she breathes the rich fumes in, the wounds already starting to heal. A full gulp, and they grow smaller.

She turns to me and smiles. "Hey ma. I got home." I wrap myself around her, silent with joy, wild with apprehension. This will only increase in the future. She will have to go through danger, again and again, each of these children in this room. Some might even die. I don't even have to look around to know their faces are weary and apprehensive. They know this is only temporary. Lava fills my veins, flowing into my head. My daughter is too young for this, everyone here is too young for this. But then the lava hardens in glossy streaks. I'll be here always, providing them this respite, as long as they need it, as long as the world doesn't.

"Happy birthday. There's cake in the fridge. How about a party?”