by Tanya Huff
“Edward,” Jack told her from a position of relative safety behind the sofas. He’d been hugged once, that was enough. He liked Allie’s mother well enough—newly changed, she’d often intervened between him and the older aunties during the summer he spent in Ontario—but that much desperation and power mixed together was a little off-putting and he still had trouble separating hunger from, well, hunger.
Allie laughed as her mother peered from twin to twin. “Even Graham and I can’t always tell. Jack’s the only one who never gets them mixed up.”
“They smell different,” he explained as Auntie Mary glanced over at him.
She hefted Edward higher and pressed her mouth and nose against his hair. “They smell wonderful!”
“Sure,” Jack sighed. “That end. Now.”
He caught the stuffed turtle Allie threw at him as Charlie came into the apartment and tossed it from hand to hand when their attention shifted to her. From the laughing and the teasing, they didn’t seem to realize what it meant when she set her guitar case down by the door. Jack knew. He saw the tight curve of Charlie’s smile, the way her right thumb strummed against the outside seam of her jeans and the red boots she carried out of Allie and Graham’s bedroom.
Oh, and how her gaze kept sliding past his face. He saw that, too.
During an argument about feeding the twins bananas and peanut butter . . .
“Gales don’t have allergies, Mom.”
“Maybe not allergies, but, if you’ll recall, peas don’t agree with Auntie Vera.”
“No one agrees with Auntie Vera; the peas are in good company.”
...he slipped out and waited down by the mirror. After four winters in the MidRealm, he understood what the mirror intended when he saw his reflection holding a bunch of roses and a heart-shaped box, but he kept getting distracted by the impractical design. Every time his reflection moved, chocolates spilled out of the left ventricle.
“Because I have to have a Song to follow out of the Wood, Mom, and Australia is a bit vague. No, Australia itself isn’t vague, I meant that putting what I know about Australia into a Song could as easily dump me at Russell Crowe’s house. Or Nicole Kidman’s. I agree, Mom, neither an entirely bad situation, but not exactly useful either especially since I’m pretty sure Nicole Kidman lives outside Nashville. What?” Phone in one hand, guitar in the other, Charlie’s gaze slipped past Jack once again as she came down the last few stairs. “Yes, I know most of what lives in Australia can kill you. The twins will feel right at home. Gotta go save the world. Love you, too, bye.”
“You’re not going to save the world,” he told her as she reached the hall.
“Harsh.” Frowning at the mirror, she tossed him her phone. “Hang onto that for me, will you.”
Jack caught it without thinking. “I meant tonight.” The silver-capped toes of her red boots were visible under the edge of her jeans. “Where are you going?”
“To find a band to sit in with.”
“I know what that means.” It meant the same thing the boots meant.
“Tonight it means a dark bar where your feet stick to floor, beer in plastic bottles, a couple of broken strings, and, if I’m feeling like I really need to let go, I may have a go at a banjo.”
“And after the . . . banjo.”
“A greasy breakfast, coffee you can stand a spoon up in, and an argument about Martins versus Taylors if I’m lucky.”
“Take me with you. I know, you can’t take me through the Wood. There must be a band in a crappy bar with bad beer in Calgary.”
He couldn’t understand her expression. It looked like pain. “This isn’t something we do together, Jack.”
“We have.” He reached out to grab her sleeve and changed his mind, not wanting to look desperate. He wasn’t desperate, he just wanted her to hear him. He just wanted to be with her. In whatever way the stupid rules allowed. “That summer in Cape Breton . . .”
“Things were a lot less complicated back then,” she interrupted. “Selkie stalking aside. All I want to do tonight is get out of my head for a while. Do you understand what I’m saying? It’s not Wild; it’s me, not me and you.”
“It could be.”
“No. We’re not building a life together, Jack. We can’t.”
If he asked her not to go, if he said, please don’t go, would she stay? Probably not. But as long as he didn’t ask, he could pretend she would.
When she touched his cheek, he felt her skin blister against his, but she maintained the gentle pressure, until he brought himself under control. She’d used the backs of her fingers, he realized as she blew a charm over the burn. Blisters on the tips, even with her calluses, even charmed, would have made playing painful.
“We’re not a me and you,” he said slowly, trying to understand, “but having a go at a banjo means you’re only having a go at a banjo?”
She grinned. “If you knew banjos, Jack, you wouldn’t use the word only in that sentence.” The grin slipped. He had a feeling Charlie was keeping it on her face by willpower alone. “I’m not giving up the music, Jack. Didn’t for Allie-cat, won’t for you. Or, not-you, as it happens. Won’t give up Allie for not-you either.”
“Why would I want you to?”
“Excellent question.”
He watched her reflection touch his cheek with her fingertips, scales flickering across the back of her hand. Her hand? The back door opened and without turning, he said, “We should be a me and you.”
“Sucks to be us.”
* * *
Up where the air had picked up a bite, he spread his wings and started a long spiral glide around the distant lights of Calgary. Charlie hadn’t left the city. He could feel where she was and, with very little effort, he could track her.
He didn’t.
She might have stayed in Calgary because she wanted him to track her. Because she wanted to be with him as much as he wanted to be with her. Because she didn’t want it to be her decision. Given that their whole problem was all about him being so much younger, Charlie needed to stop being so fucking childish.
Allie didn’t like it when he swore.
Charlie didn’t mind.
As he descended, the sense of family in the city separated out into individual pockets—the houses at the north end of the park, the Emporium, the big house in Mount Royal, Katie’s condo, Charlie . . .
The aunties, all four of them, were in the park.
Jack frowned. They took it in turns to drop in on David outside of ritual, but why all four of them. And why tonight?
Oh.
Auntie Mary was David’s mother. If David’s power pulled her to the park . . .
Jack didn’t land. He didn’t even look down. He thought he could hear David’s hoofbeats.
Allie woke at five forty-eight on Tuesday morning, patted the empty space where Charlie wasn’t, tugged her hair out from under her husband’s arm, and stared at the ceiling for twenty-one minutes, fully aware she wouldn’t be able to see the asteroid even if the ceiling were suddenly, miraculously transparent but unable to look away. Finally, she sighed and got up. She couldn’t stop the asteroid or break the connection between Charlie and Jack’s hearts . . .
Hand outstretched to grab her robe from the chair, she froze. She couldn’t stop the asteroid, but she could break the connection between Charlie and Jack’s hearts. Second circle was all about connection. With the power she held in ritual, she could remake them as two separate people, not two suffering halves of an impossible whole. Charlie would stop running. Jack would settle back into his skin. They’d stop pulling away from the family.
Of course they’d both have to be in ritual, she acknowledged, not merely skirting the edges of it, so as pleasant as it might be to think of, given how skittish they were, that wasn’t likely to happen any time soon. And soon was all they had.
The great room of the apartment was quiet and the spill of streetlights around the edges of the curtains provided enough illumination for her to maneuver, illumination enough to see Jack sprawled out on one of the sofas. He’d gone flying after Charlie left; she’d heard him come in around three. Allie had no idea why he’d decided to sleep here instead of in his own room, but she certainly didn’t mind. She preferred her family close. One hand curled against his cheek, he looked absurdly young. Then she moved slightly, and the shadows shifted and he looked like the man he was becoming.
Well, mostly man. His tail spilled off the edge of the cushions and curled on the floor, tip twitching slightly.
Should she talk to him about his recent changes, about how the dragon seemed to be trying to overwhelm the Gale? What would she say? Maybe this recent shifting was normal for a dragon of his age. She didn’t have enough information. She wasn’t actually his mother.
Her mother was in the boys’ room on an air mattress on the floor, the twins piled around her like puppies, spending as much time with her grandchildren as she could. She’d have to go back today. Given how close they were to ritual and the pull of David’s power, this visit had been a stupid risk. Still, if the end of the world didn’t encourage stupid risks, what did?
She glanced at Jack again. Wondered where Charlie was.
With the kettle filled and plugged in for tea, she opened one of the blinds on the windows facing the road. The sun wasn’t quite up, but the light promised a nice day. No rain. No snow. The sort of day they wouldn’t have after the asteroid, even if the family survi . . .
Shadow.
Big shadow.
Big fast-moving shadow.
Too big. Too fast.
Familiar.
She looked at Jack.
Familiar, but clearly not Jack.
She leaned forward and looked back out the window. The pigeons weren’t crammed under the newspaper box. They dipped and wove pigeon patterns on the sidewalk outside the bank, apparently unconcerned.
Allie and Jack were sitting together at one end of the big table when Charlie eased the apartment door open. They didn’t look happy. On the bright side, her ears weren’t burning, so at least they weren’t unhappy about her. Setting down her guitar case, she shrugged out of her jacket, and headed for the kitchen. She’d already greeted the morning with four cups of coffee strong enough to neutralize the night’s half bottle of whiskey, and now she needed to clear the taste of caffeinated diesel from her mouth.
Snagging the last piece of apple pie from the fridge, she grabbed a fork and dropped into the chair next to Allie. “Okay, spill.”
“One of my uncles is visiting. Allie saw him fly over.”
“But the only dragon I can sense in the city is Jack. And I didn’t feel a gate open.”
Charlie chewed and swallowed. “So he came through a gate outside the city limits, flew over to give you a thrill, and landed back outside the city limits. Gone before you thought to search for him.”
“As simple as that?”
She shrugged, making a half-hearted swipe at Jack’s hand with her fork as he broke off a chunk of crust. “Probably.”
“Why is he here?”
“How the hell should I know, Allie-cat?”
“It was more of a rhetorical question,” she muttered. “And you smell like a bar.”
“Someone dumped a beer in my lap. Accidentally,” Charlie added, as Jack started to growl. “I charmed it dry, but the smell lingers. And if you want to know why a Dragon Lord is visiting, you’re going to have to ask him.”
Allie drummed her fingernails against a mug holding—Charlie wrinkled her nose at the smell—herbal tea. “Last time they were here, they came to us . . .”
“This time, we don’t wait for them.” Jack shoved his chair out and surged up onto his feet. “I’ll go find him.”
“How?”
And there were suddenly way too many teeth for a Human mouth. “I’ll pretend I have a broken wing.”
“Be careful,” Allie called after him. Then added as the door closed, “Aren’t you worried about him.”
Charlie pushed the empty plate away and sighed. “All the time; not only when he’s off to attract the attention of the slightly more violent side of his family. It’s pretty much a given.”
“You didn’t say . . .”
“He knows.”
“Charlie.”
Charlie waited. Gathered up the crumbs on her thumb, made a face because her skin tasted like guitar strings and bacon fat. When Allie only shook her head, unable or unwilling to continue, she stood. “I’m going to shower and change before taking Auntie Mary home.”
“She’s not even up yet. And she’ll need breakfast first.”
Bending to kiss the top of Allie’s head as she passed, Charlie murmured, “Don’t worry, Allie-cat. It’ll be a long shower.”
It was a very long shower. It was the kind of shower that, had she the time, Charlie would write songs about. The water was the perfect temperature. The pressure was exactly right. It pounded the knots out of her shoulders and sluiced the combined bar/diner patina off her skin. By the time she stepped out of the bathroom, towel snugged tight around her hair, she felt good.
As much as she’d needed that shower, she’d needed the night out more. A few hours immersed in music, not thinking about the end of the world or Jack or the upcoming ritual or Jack at the upcoming ritual had given her the strength to go on. The universe adjusted itself for Gales. There was still plenty of time for a jump to the left.
Or even a step to the right.
Her mood held through getting dry, and getting dressed, and getting back to the kitchen in time for the last blueberry pancake. Chewing, she watched Auntie Mary helping the twins eat, but stopped her on the way to the sink, hands full of dirty dishes.
“We should go.”
“After I help clean up.”
“We’re stretching the parameters of safe, Auntie Mary. You need . . .” The theme from the Big Bang Theory blasting out of the drawer by her hip, cut her off.
Auntie Mary smiled. “You need to answer your phone. And turn the volume down a little.”
“It’s as loud as it needs to be,” Charlie sighed, opening the junk drawer. “Jack dropped it in here when I gave it to him last night,” she explained before anyone could ask. Well, before Auntie Mary and Allie could ask. The twins probably didn’t care.
“Ring!”
“Ring, Cha Cha.”
Or maybe they did. “Melissa. What can I do for you?”
“Funny thing, Charlie, I got stopped on my way to class by a really pissed-off member of the Courts in a U of C basketball jacket. She said, and I quote, Gale girl, tell the Bard the glorious game can’t be saved. End quote. Do you know what she’s talking about?”
The apartment door opened before Charlie could answer.
Auntie Gwen locked dark eyes on Auntie Mary, licked swollen lips, and said, “You’re still here.”
“We’re just leaving, Auntie Gwen.”
Auntie Mary snapped her mouth shut with enough force Charlie heard the impact of her teeth.
“Good.” Auntie Gwen shifted her gaze to Charlie. “David’s finally exhausted; get out of here now and you won’t be fighting his power trying to hold her in place.”
“We need more than four aunties,” Allie muttered, as she lifted Evan out of his high chair.
Auntie Gwen shot her a look that said tell me about it so loudly even Melissa heard it on the other end of the phone.
“What was that?”
“Auntie stuff.” Charlie mouthed Melissa at the room and turned to face the windows.
“Yeah, whatever. Did you do something to screw up the basketball season?”
“Why would I do that?” Not a statement. Not a lie.
“No idea,
but we’re winning and we’d like to continue winning.”
“You don’t play.”
“What?”
“You said we. Twice. But you don’t play basketball so they would be more accurate. They’re winning. They’d like to continue winning. Words are important.”
“Sure they are. You sound like an auntie.”
“Ouch. Low blow, Mel.”
“My point is,” Melissa sighed, “she didn’t look like she had her head in the game, you know?”
“No, I don’t.” Charlie sagged forward and rested her forehead against the glass. “But I expect someone will tell me.”
Jack’s uncles were old and clever and vicious, but they weren’t sorcerers and they weren’t Gales and they shouldn’t have been able to hide from him. Not here in the MidRealm.
He swept the borders of the city, looking for the break where his uncle had crossed the border of Allie’s influence. He couldn’t find it. Not flying high at full size. Not flying low, shifted as small as possible, hiding his true appearance behind a hawk-shaped glamour. He crossed his own path a couple of times, but found no trace of another dragon.
Whatever his uncle was up to—and that could range from nasty to fatal depending on which of the twelve Dragon Lords had come through—he’d found a way to hide his tracks. Since that wasn’t possible, he had to be getting help.
Alice was behind the counter when Jack entered the Silvan Diner, but except for Alice, the place was empty.
“Game night,” she told him, glancing up from her magazine. “They’re never here on game night.” Her duh was heavily implied. She straightened and stretched her back, pushing her breasts deliberately against her uniform shirt. Without the scent of the full-bloods filling his nose, Jack could smell Nymph. He wasn’t sure what kind. “You are here to talk to them, right?”
“I think they’re helping to hide someone from me.”
“Yeah, right.” She snorted. “They don’t help anyone. Although when they were in last night, they were pretty pissed about something you did.”