by Tanya Huff
“Would I?”
“Yes. The aunties are going to be bad enough and that’s why I had to talk to you before they found out. We have to present a united front in this. Besides, now that we know, it’s easy enough to deal with.”
“You want me to neuter your husband?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Allie reached past the cushion to pat Charlie’s knee. “I’m second circle, I could neuter him myself. I’m referring to condoms. Later. When they’re not entirely redundant.”
“Are you’re sure they’ll block the seventh sperm of a seventh scrotum?”
In fairness, getting smacked in the face with the cushion came as no surprise.
“Oh, good. You’ve made up.”
Charlie emerged from behind the pillow in time to see Katie cross from the twins’ bedroom to the window and peer down 13th Avenue.
“Auntie Carmen just called me. Apparently the . . . yes, the stoplight’s working again. Did Allie tell you her theory about Graham’s boys getting a little boost from his ancestry?”
She perched on the sofa arm and Charlie stretched up to give her a kiss before saying, “The seven sperm of a seventh scrot . . . Ow!” Again, not a surprise.
“Stop saying that.”
“Stop saying what? The seventh sperm of a . . .” This time Charlie took the cushion away. “Okay, my brain is still on Baltimore time, so just to be sure I’ve got this . . .” She pointed at Allie. “You’re pregnant again because Graham’s the seventh son of a seventh son and that gives him gnarly, albeit unintentional, procreation prowess. I needed an advanced heads up before you tell the aunties—and nice job on keeping it from them, by the way, since I noticed the moment I saw you.”
“You noticed because I wasn’t hiding anything,” Allie told her smugly. “You didn’t notice before you left and I’m seven weeks along.”
“Good point. So in case the aunties, who’ve been angling for the seventh son of a seventh son of a seventh son of a Gale, say something that infuriates Graham . . .”
“Odds are high,” Graham muttered from the doorway.
“. . . I’m to throw myself in the line of fire because you’re pregnant . . .” She pointed first at Allie and then at Katie. “. . . and you’re a chicken shit.”
“I’m not sleeping with them,” Katie snorted.
“Valid point. Okay, so the aunties need to be told soon before they find out on their own and get pissed off because, although you hid it from them, you told me and Katie . . .”
“I only found out tonight because you hung up on her.”
“. . . and Graham.”
“I think my right to know supersedes theirs.”
Charlie stared at him until he opened his mouth. Then she said, “It’s like you don’t even know them.”
“Jack knows, too,” Allie broke in before Graham could speak. “Apparently, I smell different.”
“Where . . .” The word got out before Charlie could stop it. She closed her teeth on the rest of the question.
“And David knows because he’s David.” Allie hadn’t noticed her slip. “And Kenny in the coffee shop knows because I switched to herbal tea. I’d have told the aunties sooner, but you were away.”
“You should’ve called.”
“I did call.” Allie snatched the cushion back, her fingers white where they dug into the worn velvet. “You hung up on me! I gave you a chance to be Wild and then I called and then you hung up on me and I don’t have any sisters and now I won’t have any daughters!”
“There it is,” Charlie murmured as Allie began to sob. She tugged the cushion away and gathered Allie up in her arms as Katie slid down onto the sofa with them. When Graham stepped forward, she caught his eye and jerked her head toward the twins’ room.
* * *
Graham was sitting in the rocking chair, one of the boys tucked up against his chest, his cheek resting on the soft cap of chestnut hair. Standing in the doorway, Charlie grinned when she realized he was humming Burton Cummings’ “Rocket Launcher” as he rocked. He’d been remarkably understanding about the boys being Gales, only insisting they carry Buchanan as a middle name. Charlie’d assumed Allie had charmed him, but she insisted she hadn’t.
When he looked up, she softened her expression although, with only the night light on, he probably wouldn’t be able to see much detail. “We put her to bed. Katie’s with her until you go in.”
“Is she . . .” Graham kissed his son on the top of the head and stood. Tried again. “Is she all right?”
“Mostly.” Charlie moved over to the crib and stroked Evan’s cheek. No, Edward, it was definitely . . . probably Edward still in the crib. “It’s complicated. We have sisters. And daughters. And she’s . . . different.”
“So are you.” Evan fussed a little as Graham set him down beside his brother.
The difference was, Charlie liked being different. “Hanging up on her worked out for the best. Katie’s always been more of a sister to her than I have.”
Hand rubbing his son’s back, Graham huffed out a soft laugh. “I should hope so.” Fingers lingering, he straightened. “Are you coming in?”
“Not tonight. Katie and I will sleep in my room. At the risk of sounding all tree of life tote bag, you two need to . . .” Charlie waved a hand. “. . . connect.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Since neither of us are fifteen and all oh-my-God insecure about where we stand in her life, yes, I’m sure. Go.”
He got halfway to the door, stopped, came back, and kissed her sweetly. Forehead resting against hers, he whispered, “It’ll be okay.”
Charlie was pretty sure that was supposed to be her line, but, hey, he was second circle and she wasn’t, so she managed to make her I know sound not quite so much like and you don’t as usual. “If you need me in the night,” she whispered, leaning close enough to brush her lips over first Edward then Evan’s forehead, “just yell. You know where I am.”
The apartment upstairs over the Emporium only had two bedrooms, so when the twins were old enough to move into Jack’s old room, Jack had moved to a bedroom in the renovated apartment over the coffee shop. Thanks to a Fabergé egg found in a box of ancient Easter decorations down in the basement . . .
“What is that smell?”
Charlie pulled a flattened mass of fur and bone and rattan out of the box. “I don’t think you want to know. The Peeps still look good, though.”
...they’d been able to buy the building next door and gut the second floor, turning a one-bedroom apartment into three bedrooms and a bathroom, now attached to the original apartment by a short hall. Jack had one bedroom, Charlie had the second, although she wasn’t often in it, and she expected that once these new babies were born, Evan and Edward would be moved over to the third. Michael and his husband Brian had designed the renovation and had spent a couple of weeks working on the construction with the cousins—Brian complaining the whole time that they were architects not tradesmen as he took over the tiling in order for it to be done right.
Allie’d hit month seven just before the renovation began and had gotten a little moody. Sure, sometimes Calgary had snow in July. But it didn’t usually need to be shoveled.
The telephone poles leafing out had been new for everyone.
Auntie Trisha had arrived the same day Michael and Brian had. The aunties believed that’s what had settled things down—this sort of hormonal carrying on didn’t happen back east where there were plenty of aunties—but Charlie knew it was Michael. He’d been Allie’s touchstone since they were five.
“And let’s hope Uncle Michael has been banking his vacation time,” Charlie murmured as she tucked the tiny stuffed minotaur, a present from Boris, back under Edward’s chubby arm. “So Mama doesn’t make life quite so interesting for the rest of us while we’re waiting for your new brothers.”
&n
bsp; Although, personally, she wouldn’t complain about interesting. Interesting would not only keep her distracted enough to stay around, but keep the family’s focus locked on Allie.
Jack had seen Charlie come home.
He’d been flying too high—high enough to be mistaken for a night bird should anyone look up—for Charlie to have seen him. Except, she hadn’t looked up.
Why hadn’t she looked up?
Allie and Graham had spoken for him, but he knew Charlie’d been the main reason the aunties had let him stay in the MidRealm when he turned fifteen. Charlie’d planted her feet, folded her arms, swept a disdainful gaze around a full circle of twelve aunties, and pointed out that the three Calgary aunties had as much as declared him Wild when they let him go east with her. However, she’d continued, as nine of you weren’t there at the time . . . She then reminded them that while there’d occasionally been sorcerers—hunted down and destroyed when discovered—there’d never been a Dragon Prince in the family before. That made him unique. Unique, Charlie’d insisted, had always meant Wild, so unless they were going to start changing the way the family functioned, that meant Jack was Wild.
At that point Allie’d muttered something about all cats not being named Socrates. That had seemed so obvious Jack had ignored her, his attention on Charlie. He still wasn’t sure if it had been her argument or her power that had finally convinced them—only Auntie Gwen had been overtly on his side—but after two days and three hundred and forty-seven cups of tea and sixteen pies—dragons liked to keep track of things—they’d decided he could stay. With the understanding that should he become a sorcerer instead of merely using sorcery, they’d hunt him down like any other Gale male and then he’d wish they’d sent him back to the UnderRealm. Jack had recognized a sincere threat when he heard one; he’d had plenty of practice. His uncles, the Dragon Lords, had never made a threat they didn’t fully intend to carry out. They didn’t always succeed; he was still alive after all, but they took their shot.
He’d expected that once he’d been recognized as an adult Gale that he and Charlie would be a . . . thing. Team. That he’d travel with her when she left. That hadn’t happened. She’d traveled alone, like always. When he’d asked to go with her, she’d looked at him like she’d never seen him before and said no.
Well, actually, she’d said, “I’m a musician, Jack, I travel for gigs. What would you do if you came with me?”
But when the ashes were sifted, she meant no.
He’d tried to learn to play the bass. According to the internet, a bass player and a guitar player could form a band. A small band, but a band. Unfortunately, it turned out dragons had zero musical ability. Or maybe it was just him. He wasn’t feeling quite bummed enough to go back to his uncles and ask.
So he watched her leave and come home and leave more often and he didn’t know what to do to make her want him like she used to, so he’d gone out on his own and done a little exploring up north. It had been interesting, but it would have been better with Charlie. He kept turning to talk to her about things and she wasn’t there. Since sometimes he turned to talk to her in midair, her absence seemed like it should’ve been obvious, but it took him by surprise every time.
His one trip back to see the family in Ontario had been entirely too full of Auntie Jane.
Mostly, though, he stayed close to home because that’s what Gales did and he was trying to be a Gale first. And because as often as she left, Charlie always came home.
As an adult, he’d been expected to take part in ritual. He hadn’t, too afraid he’d be unable to control the change to be able to perform the duties required. At least that was the way Allie’d explained it to the aunties. Their original conversation had been more along the lines of: “You try and get it up when all you can think about is barbequing a cousin.”
“You’ve got more control than . . .”
“And thinking of how good she’d taste!”
“Okay, then.”
He couldn’t tell if the cousins he would have joined in ritual had been relieved or disappointed. Cameron did his best, but he was still the only third circle Gale boy the aunties had allowed to go west and it would be another year before the first of the boys who’d moved west as children grew up. Cameron’s entire list of potential breeding partners had moved west with him and, in ritual, he was responsible for the rest of the third circle as well. He’d been talking about choosing his way into second circle just to get some rest.
“Step up, Jack, I could use a little help.”
When Jack had explained the problem, Cameron had hissed as he settled flesh rubbed raw into an ice-water bath, antlers still evident, and muttered, “So eat a couple. It’s not like there aren’t plenty of them.”
Jack didn’t know if the aunties had a list for him. He hadn’t asked and no one had offered to tell him. And there was always the species problem. Would the result be a baby or an egg?
Charlie stayed out of ritual, too, joining him as a fourth circle of protection around the rest of the family. Maybe if Charlie took part . . .
Pulled from his thoughts by the sudden roar of a jet, Jack realized he’d drifted into the approach path of the Calgary airport. Dropping a wing, he slipped sideways, careful to cause as little turbulence as possible. Even at only half his full size, an impact would destroy the plane.
The thought of imminent destruction reminded him of flying in the same sky as his uncles, and feeling slightly nostalgic about the adrenaline rush—less so about the blood loss—he circled back around toward the city.
As he passed over Nose Hill Park, a stag broke from cover and raced across the open ground on the top of the hill. Jack always had kind of a mixed reaction when he saw David running on hooves. He’d eaten a lot of deer since he’d come to this world.
Throwing a glamour on as he circled lower, he changed just before his feet touched the ground to drop the final few centimeters in skin. Normally, he’d create clothing out of whatever he could find around him, but as David wouldn’t dress within the boundary of the park, he didn’t bother. Neither of them would feel the cold.
David circled him half a dozen times before finally rearing up on two feet and becoming Human—or Human appearing, at least. The Gales didn’t talk much about what they actually were, but taking his mother into account, it was clear Jack’s father had needed more than mere sorcery to survive his conception.
“Jack.”
“David.” Unlike the girls, all so similar in appearance to someone who’d grown up with the brilliant variations of the Dragon Lords that half the time he still needed scent to tell them apart, Gale boys had a broader choice of coloring. David was tall and muscular with dark hair and dark eyes—rim-to-rim dark when he forgot to change all the way, the physical manifestation of the power he channeled. The aunties and Charlie did it too sometimes, reminding Jack, somewhat uncomfortably, of his Uncle Adam. On the dragon side.
“Problem?”
The anchor to the land, David was the conduit for this branch of the family’s power. As far as Jack could tell, he had a pretty raw deal. Allie couldn’t leave the city until she crossed to first circle, but David would never be able to spend much time away from the park. Plus, he had to deal with the aunties during ritual. “No, I just . . . I mean I saw you and . . .” He dragged a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his face. “Charlie’s back.”
“I know.”
Of course he did.
Jack sighed and dug his toes into frozen bits of grass as the breeze blew the smoke away. “She’s home because of Allie.”
“Yes. You want her to come home because of you.”
“Well, yeah, but . . .” When he glanced over, David wasn’t smiling. “What?”
“On this land, Jack, I can touch your heart. I know you don’t understand, but we have the seven-year splits for a reason—seven years older or seven years younger,
no one chooses outside those parameters. Gale girls get more powerful as they age, and we’re all attracted to power. That’s a potential for abuse the family’s chosen to guard against. We haven’t always been so civilized.”
“This from a man with antlers,” Jack muttered rolling his eyes. He hadn’t known he was a Gale until he was fourteen, so he got a lot of lectures on family dynamics his cousins had practically been born knowing.
David spread his hands, the calluses and dirt making them darker than his forearms. “This from a man with a tail.”
“And wings,” Jack pointed out. “Everyone loves the wings.” He might—or might not—have a list, but he had no shortage of cousins pleading for rides. Although that had an age limit now, too; adults only. It wasn’t as if Jennifer and Wendy had hit the ground. And he’d managed to gather up all the butterflies and change them back. He had a feeling at least some of the requests were for rides of a different sort, but while his cousins were blunt with each other, they weren’t entirely sure of him. “Charlie’s Wild,” he said, not entirely certain why.
“And you’re seventeen. Which is why you’re stating the obvious. Charlie’s thirty. Wild doesn’t change that.”
“I’m Wild.”
“I repeat, Wild doesn’t change that. It’s not going to happen.” Antlers arced up from David’s brow.
“Just to be clear, when you say it’s not going to happen, you mean me and Charlie? Happening? Like Allie and Graham happening?”
“Allie and Graham are second circle. You and Charlie are . . .”
Suddenly finding himself trapped by the weight of David’s regard, Jack stared back as calmly as he could. Within the park, in spite of what their other forms suggested, David was the apex predator. Or at the very least, the greater power—which to the dragon part of him meant the same thing.