He kissed her thoroughly one more time, and helped her gather her scattered clothes.
“Go now. I’ll meet you downstairs in about half an hour. After breakfast we are going to Seattle. I’d like to see your apartment, if you don’t mind inviting me in.”
“Tristan and Liv are going with us.”
“They can have a coffee somewhere.”
“You’ll get me addicted to you.”
“That’s precisely my intention, Miss Spock.”
Astrid giggled and hurried across the room.
“Astrid?” Jack lifted her chin and kissed her as he opened the door for her.
“Yes?”
“You taste heavenly, baby.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Astrid
GOOD MORNING, Aunt… Betty.”
Jack’s mother was already in the kitchen, opening the cupboards and the fridge, and pulling out ingredients for breakfast. She looked pretty in her orange long sleeve top and white cotton slacks. Her soft, shoulder-length honey-gold hair was twisted in a thick knot and fastened with a pearly clip. She didn’t look a day older than twenty-five, yet she unmistakably felt like Jack’s mom. And my aunt, for that matter. I briefly wondered how I should address her, but she offered a solution.
She smiled at me. “Good morning Astrid. And call me Betty, please. It’s more practical because soon I’m going to be more than an aunt to you. Did you sleep well?”
I could have nodded, or I could have given her a smile. But there was an aura of a parental authority that surrounded Betty Mohegan, so I blushed to the hairline and stuttered, “Jack and I went out last night. We… we had a date.”
Betty laughed. “Oh, and I bet he made you sneak out of the house, didn’t he?” She took two cups from the cupboard and poured the coffee in. “How do you take it?”
“Black, half teaspoon of sugar.”
“Where did you go?”
“We had dinner at Pegasus, and after that we went to a pub.”
“St. Patrick’s?”
I nodded. “Uncle James won’t be happy when he hears about my escape last night.”
Betty waved her hand. “Oh, don’t worry about your uncle, Astrid. He knows Jack would never put you in danger. I know many things about us still confuse you, including the relationships between us, but you’ll figure out the basics. James and Jack care for each other very much. They’re friends as well as father and son. Jack sneaked you out to make it more fun, not because he was concerned about what James would say.” She laughed wholeheartedly. “Jack’s a bit too old for a curfew, don’t you think?”
“For me it’s hard to comprehend their father-son relationship,” I said, “given their age and all.”
“I know. It’s normal for us because our family ties are always very strong, no matter the age.”
I smiled. “Jack made me throw spells all around the house.”
“Ah, that’s why everybody’s still in their rooms. I was thinking this morning how I hadn’t had such a good sleep in years.”
“It was fun thinking we were rebelling.”
“Jack’s romantic. He always has a little bit of magic dust in his pockets.”
She found a mixing bowl, cracked several eggs into it, and reached for the whisk. “Would you mind making pancake mix? I’ll fry the eggs and sausages.”
I nodded and took the bowl. I suspected Betty’s assessment had been completed. The quiet, homey atmosphere in the large kitchen and the positive vibes that flew between us told me I had passed the most challenging test. Elizabeth Mohegan was content with her son’s choice. After this, winning the heart of the rest of Red Cliffs would be a piece of cake.
“Jack was a bright, energetic boy, but a bit too adventurous and daring for any mother’s liking,” she said as we continued making breakfast. “He’s always had a rich imagination. He loved pirate stories, and ships were his favorite toys. When he was about five, he and Brian built a tree house that looked like a ship. He would spend hours and hours up there. His friends would come to play. Jack was the captain of the ship, of course, but he would occasionally let the other boys take turns in being the captain. He was always considerate and generous. He protected smaller kids, took responsibility for the mischief he did, stood up for himself and for others.”
I smiled, imagining little Jack in his tree house-ship, with a wooden sword in his hands. My chest tightened from the rush of emotion.
“You know when Jack was born, do you?” Betty asked me suddenly.
“I know.”
“Jack was in both world wars. He was twenty-three when the U.S. entered the Great War, and he was immediately sent to Europe, along with about a hundred of our men, mostly werewolves, but quite a few humans, too. Brian and Hal went as well, to stay close to our boys and make sure they came home alive and in one piece. I was terrified, especially for Jack. His aging hadn’t stopped yet and he was vulnerable. We are much stronger than humans, even when young, but we’re not indestructible. Werewolves can survive many things humans can’t, but not cannon balls and grenades. In our youth, we can be easily slain. And that war was nothing but a horrible slaughterhouse. So many of our kind died then, but miraculously, all of our men returned.
“And then, two decades later, another war, an even more horrible one.”
Betty sighed. “And Brian, Jack, Hal and many more went again. This time some didn’t come back.”
“Did they have to go? Were they enlisted?”
“No. Our men don’t need to go. We can easily keep ourselves out of sight. But they usually want to go. Werewolves have plenty of natural aggression, more than humans. Humans have sports and, unfortunately, wars to relieve the pressure. We dilute it with our transformations and excessive physical activities. In the past, there were endless bloody fights between the clans. We still fight among ourselves and we take part in human conflicts.”
“I suppose it’s difficult not to when we’re so tightly connected with them,” I said, using ‘we’ quite spontaneously.
Betty noticed it and smiled. “Yes, we are, indeed. And especially when we think it’s justified, like defending your country or fighting against monsters like Hitler. Our people have a strong sense of justice, no matter if the injustice directly affects us or not.”
“Who was the Red Cliffs leader while Brian was away?”
“Your uncle,” Betty said proudly. “See, he didn’t become the Einhamir all of a sudden. He was the best man to replace Brian.”
“Brian was the first Red Cliffs Einhamir, wasn’t he? I always forget to ask Jack.”
“No, he was the second one, after Garth Erwood. Brian and I came to Red Cliffs from Europe in 1857. In 1862, Garth decided to retire and move back to the old country, and Brian was elected, and after him James. And now it’s Jack’s turn.”
I was grateful for this undisturbed time with Betty. She helped me to start seeing a complete picture of a man I’d met and fallen in love with roughly two weeks ago. As Betty’s story continued, I started connecting my beloved Jack with a boy in a tree house, a young soldier in two bloody wars, a smart, sharp mechanical engineer in the 1950’s, a marine biologist in the 1970’s, a successful businessman, and a man whose recent job was special missions.
“Did he go to Vietnam?”
“No. When he came back in 1945, he declared it was the last human war he’d take part in, and so far, he’s been keeping his promise. Besides, he strongly opposed the Vietnam War. Nobody from Red Cliffs went to Vietnam. Not only that they didn’t want to, but also Brian made it almost impossible. After World War II, where so many of our people died, he initiated and the High Council passed a law that nobody could take part in any human conflict without the Einhamir’s permission. This was one of his greatest decisions, if you ask me.”
“But there was a war between the outcast vampires and the others.”
“Yes, but that’s a different matter. It was our conflict in a sense that, thanks to Brian and your grandfather, werewolves and
wizards decided to take part in it. Aside from humans, we don’t meddle in other races’ affairs unless it’s necessary. Shall we put some blueberries into that batter?”
The next big conflict that affected so many lives in Red Cliffs was when my mother decided to leave the clan, but I didn’t want to initiate that story.
Betty thought otherwise, though.
“I know what you’re thinking, Astrid,” she said in her simple, direct manner. “About Rowena and what happened then. You see, many Red Cliffers would never mention her name, and would never talk about those days. When it comes to your mother, I want to clear the air between us right now, so I’ll tell you what I think.”
She took a deep breath and continued. “It took me a long time, but I’m at peace with everything that happened then. I don’t hate your mother, Astrid. I don’t even hate Seth anymore. But he’s too dangerous and he has to be stopped. But Rowena... Your mother and I used to be close friends. She was like a sister to me. I knew her well and never believed she wanted anybody dead. Unfortunately, she was part of some tragic events that affected many lives, and those wounds don’t heal easily. She’s also Seth’s victim, that’s how I see her. Anyway, we don’t need to talk about her, but if we do, I want you to know where I stand. There are some people back home, your uncle included, who tend to ignore the fact that Rowena gave a birth to an Ellida, which means she cannot be a bad person.”
“Uncle James thinks there could be some resistance because I’m Rowena’s daughter.”
“Your uncle is a wise man and great leader, but it doesn’t mean he’s always right. For Red Cliffs, you are our Ellida, nobody questions that. They might not like your mother, but they know you can’t be responsible for what happened when you were a baby.”
“My first transformation was postponed. I turned when I was twenty-three. That may be a reason for some raised eyebrows in Red Cliffs,” I said.
“Nonsense. Ellidas often turn late, after adolescence. The wolf side is slightly less mature, because she emerged a bit late, and the spirits are, of course, unconnected until, well, until they are connected. Morgaine told me that.”
“That’s good to know. Did she say anything else that could help me?”
Betty smiled. The resemblance to her son was now even more apparent. “She says there isn’t a bad bone in your body.”
“But how would she know?”
Betty shrugged. “She just knows. She’s an Ellida.”
I scratched my head. “Well, my Ellida hasn’t kicked in yet, so I don’t know what that means, but I’ll take your word for it. In any case, I have to remember to thank her for her vote of confidence.”
“You know that not all female offspring of a wizard and a werewolf become an Ellida. Some of those girls never turn into a werewolf or, sometimes they don’t develop any wizard powers at all, or they lose those they have when they turn. Once you come out of the first transformation with your wizard powers intact, it means you had been chosen for an Ellida. Those rules are simple and unbendable, and out of our control. And beyond question. That’s why I think James is making a mountain out of a molehill: no chance Red Cliffs won’t accept you. But, on the other hand, try to understand him. You’re his blood, and he’ll protect you by all possible means. We all will.”
Having said that, Betty came close to me and kissed my forehead.
A big lump stuck in my throat and tears spilt down my face.
Betty stroked my hair pulling me against her chest. “It’s okay. It’s good to cry sometimes. We know you are a rare bird among wizards. You’ve got more werewolf in you, that’s all. Now, flip the pancakes, they're going to burn.”
I brushed the tears away and turned my attention to the flat top.
I heard steps, a familiar long stride, and Jack entered the kitchen. “Good morning, ladies,” he said and kissed his mother’s cheek, then turned to me and took the spatula from my hands. “Good morning, baby. Did you sleep well?” He lifted my arms, locked them around his neck and kissed me. Gently, unhurriedly. I blushed and wiggled out of his embrace, but he continued to distract me, closing his arms around me from behind and kissing my neck.
“I’ve heard you two had a good time last night in Seattle?” Betty said in a casual voice.
He placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me around, pretending to be shocked. “You told her?! Wait until your uncle hears!”
“Your mother asked me how I’d slept. I couldn’t lie.”
“What won’t I be happy to hear?” my uncle asked as he came in, still yawning. “God, I don’t remember the last time I slept so well. Too bad we have to go home tomorrow.”
Well, you are in for another blissful sleep tonight, if I can help it, I thought and laughed silently.
My uncle gently kissed his wife’s lips. “Good morning, love,” he said in a husky voice, and I wondered if something else besides my little tricks had contributed to such a good rest. He walked to me and kissed my cheek. “Did you sleep well, Astrid?”
I opened my mouth to tell him I had, regarding it as a purely rhetorical question. Jack winked at me and said nonchalantly, “I took Astrid out for a date last night. I even made her think you wouldn’t approve of it, so we went out through the window.”
James let out a noisy breath and rubbed his chin. “Where did you go?” he said after a while.
“To Pegasus. And later to St. Patrick’s.”
“How’s Simeon?”
“They’re all good. Sofia, the boys and Nicky were there, too. They said hello.”
“The food is still good?”
“Excellent.”
“And how are the Hallorans?”
“They’re good. They said hello, too.”
My uncle turned to me. “I’m glad you had a good time, sweetie.”
MY GRANDPARENTS came in next, and I told them about our adventure. Ella shook her head in disbelief, Arnaldur gave Jack a sharp look. When I explained that we had had bodyguards around us the entire time—Jack had told me later four of them had even followed us in two cars to Seattle and back—they stopped fidgeting about it.
Finally, the Blakes joined us in the kitchen. “Did you sleep well, Princess?” Tristan said in a quasi-concerned voice. “You look tired.”
Livia tossed him a look, but he ignored it.
“Oh, Tristan, I’m so upset,” I said. “It’s my fault. I think I bumped the right fender on a fire hydrant. It’s really just a tiny dent, barely noticeable. It’d be easy to fix it.” I turned to Arnaldur. “I don’t remember that hydrant being there, Grandpa.”
I supported my little prank with a guilty expression on my face and remorse in my voice.
Tristan Blake never cared about material possessions, save for three notable exceptions: his fencing swords, his espresso machines and his cars.
His face turned ash-white as he rushed outside without a word, followed by our giggles.
WE TOOK off for Seattle after breakfast, this time with the Blakes for company. While we were walking toward Tristan’s Mercedes, I asked him if I could drive. “I didn’t drive last night, you know. Jack did,” I said.
“Effective immediately, you can only sit in the back seat of any of my cars, Princess. Buckle up and enjoy the ride.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Astrid
I’D BOUGHT my Downtown penthouse less than three months before I moved to Rosenthal. It was a spacious two-bedroom condo with a semicircular glass wall that enclosed half of the living room area. It’d cost a fortune, and I didn’t like it. It was an impersonal space with a great view, I would give it that, but that was pretty much it. My Seattle home had always been my grandparents’ neo-Tudor house outside the city.
We left Tristan and Liv in a nearby café, with a clear view of the building entrance. They were close enough for their senses to notice anything unusual, although I didn’t expect any more of Seth’s tricks for the time being. He had to deal with his last failure first, and unless he had a whole bunch of ready-
to-use plans on how to get me, he wouldn’t risk another ill-prepared attack. That wasn’t logical, even for the delusional Copper Ridge Einhamir
Nonetheless, Jack went in first, keeping me behind his back, just in case.
I stepped into a place that held no particular memories. It smelled more strongly of wall paint than of me. I hadn’t lived there long enough to leave my mark on it. I’d left it in haste, before I’d had a chance to even unpack all the boxes. They still stood in the storage room and closets, marked with Arnaldur’s neat, elegant handwriting: tea cups, Christmas decorations, pictures, clothes, hiking equipment, towels.
I told all that to Jack. “I don’t like it. There isn’t anything of me here,” I said. “Can we send somebody to pick up my books and paintings, and then I’ll sell it.”
“The prices are low now. Wait a bit. You don’t have a mortgage on it, do you?”
“No, I own it.”
“Rent it, then. Millennium Property will take care of that. Talk to Betty or to… never mind. We’ll do something about it. Do you mind if I light the fireplace?”
“Go ahead.”
I found an unopened jar of Nescafé and showed it to Jack. He nodded.
I made us coffee and we spent the next hour going through the boxes and closets. I found enough warm clothing to save me from the planned shopping expedition.
We repacked the books, CDs and the collection of six icons of Orthodox saints that I’d bought in Russia and Greece long ago. They were roughly the same size, about 35x30 inches, beautiful with their elongated faces and almond shaped eyes. Their spiritual and ascetic expressions were well balanced with rich robes and golden halos. They were from different schools, and painted in different times in two different monasteries, but they somehow presented a unity: St. Stefan, St. Georgius and St. Theodora had been painted in a Greek monastery on Mount Athos, and St. Pelagia, St. Paraskeva and St. Nicholas in Russia.
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