“Care to get this bake and wake started?” Tally muses.

“I hope there’s more waking than baking.” I rub my palms together. “Can you keep watch?”

“On it, Firework Fingers.” She beams. “All clear at the main desk.”

Free of the tube in her neck, Mom looks less robotic and more human. I carefully remove the sensory cups from her chest. The operating nurse might notice the monitor isn’t registering, but it’ll be less noticeable than bells and whistles from off the chart readings like last time. Huh. Would you look at that? I do learn lessons.

I position myself on top of her while Tally fastens her hands to the rail restraints. Binding her is preferred to being tossed across the room again. See! More lessons learned. Totally nailing this resuscitation so far. Ryan would be proud. He wants me to take better precautions, and I’m doing just that.

Her cell perpetually vibrates on the table. “How many missed calls?”

“Forty-two,” she tuts. “Not that I’m counting.”

“They know I’m back, right?”

She pins me with her best you’re-really-not-that-stupid-are-you? look. It’s spot on. “What’s the game plan here? It’s definitely a two-person job.”

“Once I give her enough energy to reconnect her consciousness to her body, I’ll cut the connection.”

“No, I don’t care about that. I mean, what are we doing when she rainbow-lights me after waking up? Won’t that disrupt the flow?”

“You’ll just have to break the connection like usual or feed her if that helps. I didn’t think that far ahead.”

She huffs. “I can’t feed her. I’m of earth.”

“I’ll already be feeding her. It’s a non-issue.”

“Got it.” She grins from ear to ear. “Wait.” She uses her sleeve to brush at my neck. More dirt and debris, no doubt. “Seriously, Sheyla, you shouldn’t even be allowed in general pop.”

“I’m aware,” I whisper, bracing Mom’s shoulders.

I control the flow best using my hands. As long as I’m touching her, it doesn’t matter where. I focus on containing the flame as the heat increases. Like a pressurized can, I slowly push down the lever, letting out a steady stream of fire fuel. Mom reacts fast. Not only do I feel the release of my energy, but I also feel the pull from her. I work on balancing the two, seeking a sustainable medium.

When she starts convulsing under me, I exhibit exceptional refrain by systematically pausing the release and receipt. “I need you holding her on both sides.” Tally splits in two to help me. “Still on watch, too?”

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“I’m all over this.” Her determination urges me on. She’s been the most supportive of everyone, and I’m glad to have her with me for the grand finale. Bake and wake. Mom cake. I’m finally getting my cake!

I regain momentum easily enough, the energy flowing steadily from me to my mother. While it was difficult to travel with an overfull reserve, as I release more fire fuel into the most deserving receptacle, I’m convinced it was worth the added containment effort. She needs every bit of energy I can give her.

Once her convulsions reach their peak, it’s easier to hold her down. What takes longer is her opening her eyes. I want to see their glorious topaz and have her recognize me. Of course, it’s impossible or, more likely, improbable. She won’t remember me or anything for the duration of her unconsciousness. She’s spent my life feeding me guidance as my portable conscience, initially as Superego, subsequently Supermom, but even if she doesn’t recognize me, I’m ready for that. Hopefully, she’ll want to know me because I genuinely want to know her. First things first, she has to tell me how to obliterate Fire Daddy. That’s priority one.

There’s too much riding on my success to truly experience the emotional significance of what I’m doing. I need her awake to gain leverage over the Tribunal. I need her awake to prevent the plug pulling scheduled in less than a week. I need her awake to look after my father as he’s looked after her and me both for eighteen years. Most of all, I need her awake to make a clean break when the time comes. I don’t want the responsibility of her continued coma to hinder my ability to run should I need to. She needs to hurry up her eye opening. Brody will be back any minute.

As if responding to my pure desperation, her eyes flutter before snapping open. I did it. I woke her, but she’s completely confused. As expected. While she has enough energy to maintain consciousness, how long will it last? To finish the job that started months ago as a mere desire to feed her, and transformed into an obsession to free her from this craziness entirely, I’ll need to cut the tie binding her to me. I need to vaccinate the Sumair out of her.

The act seems so final. There’s no going back once I sever the towlines. What if the only reason she’s alive is her tie to me? What if I’m her life support, and breaking the connection ends her life as swiftly as pulling the plug on all her medical devices? Can I shoulder the responsibility of killing her twice?

The energy surrounds me, but I can’t isolate the binds tying her to me or me to her. They’re all interlaced. I feel the weight of my actions pulling the strings taut, constricting my heart as she slurps the needed energy from me. I’m losing strength. If I can’t cut soon, I won’t be strong enough to finish it. She’ll start her new life at the price of a repaid debt. Will she forgive herself more easily than I did?

She looks back and forth between Tally and me. There should be a stunning light show inspiring me to move forward with this life or death choice. There isn’t one. Tally seems confused, but I’m more concerned about a different kind of heat coming from an external source. The rocks in my pocket are being activated. I’m out of time.

“Tally!” I roar. “There are landing stones in my left pocket.”

Having Brody show up in the hospital room isn’t a perfect scenario, but it’ll have to suffice. Tally tosses the landing rocks on the linoleum as a rainbow sheathes the room.

The initial infusion dissipates, leaving in its wake a single strand of color coming from the center of where Tally chucked the stones. The expanded string doesn’t reach for her. She previously used her Solathair scissors to sever Brody’s grapplers. It’s reaching for my mother. As the light show dims, a single flicker relocates to my mother’s palm, where a reddish, circular glow shines bright enough to demand my attention.

Brody stomps on the landing rocks. They shatter into a million pieces on the floor. With alarming clarity, I realize my world has, yet again, reversed rotation. My mother isn’t a Sumair. She’s a Solathair.