by W. J. May
“You had me,” she said again, quieter this time. “And Mom. You had a family, Simon. Something to lose.” She quoted his own words back to him, shaming him where he sat. “So, yeah—my question stands: how the hell could you do it?”
They sat in silence for a long time.
So long that Rae didn’t think he was going to answer. But just as she was about to push to her feet he shook his head, an indecipherable emotion shadowing across his face.
“In a way… I felt like I was doing it for you.” His eyes fixed on the floor, clouding with things long since passed. “For Beth as well. I thought I was giving the two of you a future. Ridding the world of corruption. Creating the kind of place where no one had to be afraid. Where no one had to hide.”
The kind of place where you ruled as tyrannical overlord, right? Where every knee had to bow to you?
She didn’t say it out loud. At this point, it didn’t much matter. The man was clearly at least partially insane. Broken in a way you couldn’t fix with words in a basement. Broken in a way you could only contain.
“Last question.” He looked at her suddenly, a flicker of that old curiosity lighting up the dark centers of his eyes. “What kind of tatù did you get?”
At that, Rae pushed to her feet with a wry smile. The conversation was over. And, to be honest, she wasn’t sure if it had helped more or hurt more.
“Where are you going?” he asked quickly as she headed for the door. His legs tensed up to follow, before falling back under the weight of their ties.
Rae simply shook her head as she pulled open the door. “You see, Simon, you just answered my last question.”
The light flipped off.
She felt her own voice harden as she spoke, “How long could you go before asking about my ink?”
Chapter 9
As imminent as the problem was, the next morning couldn’t be about Simon Kerrigan.
Rae woke, got dressed, brushed her teeth, and set out to do the last thing one wants to do when harboring an international fugitive. She went to meet with the heads of state.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
Rae glanced over her shoulder in surprise from where she’d been buttoning up her blouse at the vanity. She hadn’t realized that Devon was awake as well, but sure enough, he sat propped up against the headboard—watching her with a look of thoughtful concern.
“Hey there, how’d you sleep?” She deflected his question, crossing the room to perch on the bed beside him. He was always the most handsome like this, she thought. Having just woken, still dazed and tousled from sleep. Without thinking about it, she reached out to stroke his dark hair away from his face. “I didn’t even hear you wake up.”
The corner of his mouth twitched up in a half-smile. “I have an internal alarm that goes off whenever you’re getting dressed. It’s a guy thing—you wouldn’t understand.”
She giggled softly, then louder as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back down onto the bed. “Don’t! Devon, don’t—I’m serious! You’ll mess up my hair!”
He paused, but didn’t release her. Instead, he merely spun her around so she was lying on top of his chest instead. “I’ll mess up your hair?” he quoted incredulously. “What—are you and Molly channeling now? You don’t have some big news you’re waiting to tell me, right?”
“Yeah,” Rae snorted, “because that’s exactly what we need right now: a baby.”
Devon tilted his head to the side, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement. “I don’t think it would be so bad. A miniature replication of the two of us. My winning charm and your innate clumsiness wrapped up into one little package.”
“Really? Your winning charm, and my innate clumsiness?” Rae countered, smacking him on the chest. “You really think that’s going to be my only contribution?”
Devon shuddered dramatically. “I can only hope! Let’s be honest, babe, it’s not like we want you passing along those cooking skills…”
“Hey!” Rae burst out laughing, despite her best efforts to appear mad. “I’ll have you know that you should be so lucky for me to be the mother of your child! Someone has to balance out that giant savior complex the poor thing is going to inherit.”
But Devon didn’t take offense. He was dreaming now. Tilting his head lazily back towards the ceiling as a thousand unexplored possibilities danced behind his eyes. “Molly will dress it like a doll. We’ll take it to Scotland on the weekends.” He glanced over matter-of-factly. “We’ll have to name it after Julian, of course.”
Rae only grinned. “Of course.”
“Holidays in London, vacations in France. Who knows, if we’re feeling benevolent, we may even name Kraigan as godfather.”
“Kraigan?!”
The two of them burst into simultaneous laughter before falling abruptly silent. Shuddering at the ghastly mental image.
“You know, probably best not even to joke about that one,” Rae advised.
“Yeah,” Devon frowned, “I didn’t think it through…”
She flashed him a grin and made to get up, but he caught her gently by the arms, shifting higher up on the pillows as he started buttoning her shirt instead.
“Let me do that,” he murmured, taking his time with each one. “You always do it wrong.”
Rae’s eyebrows lifted suggestively, as his hand ‘accidentally’ slipped beneath the fabric.
“Oh, I do, is that right?” A trail of goosebumps followed his fingers as they stroked up her skin. “It wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with this internal alarm of yours, would it?”
His eyes widened with perfect innocence as he shook his head.
Perfect, adorable, mischievous innocence. The kind that barely hid his dimples.
“Great,” she muttered, casting a martyred look at the ceiling, “that’s something else I can look forward to in a child. That damn look—they’ll get away with everything.”
He grinned. “Not with a psychic uncle, a lightning-throwing aunt, and a fire-wielding grandmother they won’t. Not to mention their grandfather.”
Rae caught her breath, and his fingers froze in place as he realized his mistake.
“I meant my dad,” he said quickly. “My dad’s the dean of the school. I just meant, it’ll be weird for them at Guilder.”
The playful mood vanished right there on the spot, and Rae finished up the rest of her shirt by herself. She was just putting on some pearl earrings, staring at her reflection back at the vanity, when Devon came up behind her in the mirror.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, kissing the top of her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She forced a tight smile and shook her head. “Not your fault. Not a bit of it is even remotely your fault.”
He hesitated for another second, staring at her reflection in the mirror before venturing, “How did it go with him last night?” The locket she’d been fastening around her neck slipped from her fingers in surprise, and he caught it with lightning hands. “Innate clumsiness…”
But she ignored the teasing jab, turning around with genuine shock.
“How did you know that I went to talk with him? You were out cold.”
He gazed down at her with an amused kind of pity. “Out so cold that I wouldn’t notice my fiancée leaving the bed when there’s a psychopath staying in the house? Sorry, love, no such luck.”
Rae grinned faintly and stared down at her hands, wondering where she should even begin.
On the one hand, she was grateful he hadn’t tried to stop her. Hadn’t insisted that he go with her or, at the least, stand guard. In a lot of ways, that was a very different version of Devon than the one she’d grown up with. Their relationship had evolved, as had their ability to trust.
On the other hand, she had nothing good to report. No ‘good news’ or glimmer of hope that was going to ease the burden of her decision.
Simon Kerrigan was the same confusing, charming, duplicitous, murderous,
ink-obsessed man he had always been. Nothing had changed, and no matter how many times he insisted otherwise she wasn’t sure if anything ever could.
On the other hand, he’d asked her if she liked pancakes.
“He’s…complicated,” she summarized vaguely, head spinning as it raced back to replay his every word. It wasn’t the first time she had done so that morning, not by any means. No matter how bewildering or chilling those words might have been, they belonged to her father.
Every moment, every answer… it was one that she’d never expected to have.
Devon seemed to intuit this, and graciously chose not to press the matter any further. “I would imagine.” He fastened the locket with a sweep of his fingers, and kissed her once more on the back of the neck. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you? You never answered when I asked before.”
She slipped on her jacket with a sigh.
There was nothing in the world she wanted more. Governmental formalities had never been her strong suit to begin with, and despite having been voted president against her will, that instinctive diplomacy hadn’t sprung up overnight. Truth be told, Devon had always been much better at that sort of thing than she was, but as much as she’d like to bring him along it was far more important that he remain at the house.
“I wish,” she groaned, already bracing herself against what was to come, “but you need to stay here. For better or worse, Simon’s still locked up in the basement. And if yesterday is any indication as to how the rest of them are taking the news… I’d feel a lot more comfortable if you were here to keep the peace. On both sides.”
The weight of that responsibility couldn’t be overstated, but true to form Devon just flashed her an easy smile. “Then I’ll stay.”
How did I get so lucky? How is this the man I wake up to every morning? Her face relaxed into a genuine smile as she stretched up on her toes to kiss him goodbye. “Thank you.”
They stayed like that for a moment. Him, carefully avoiding disturbing her curls. Her, stalling the moment of inevitable departure. Then, when she could put it off no longer, she finally headed out to the hallway, high heels clicking on the wooden floor.
“See you soon!” she called over her shoulder.
“Good luck!”
It wasn’t until she’d almost made it to the stairs that she suddenly doubled back, poking her head through the door to see him dressing for the day as well. “You really think about what it would be like to have a kid?”
His eyes twinkled for a moment before growing ominously dark. “We’d have to be careful about its tatù. With our luck, it would probably turn out like some kind of Lisa Frank creation gone wrong…”
Rae snorted and headed back down the hall. “Goodbye, Devon.”
“A sparkling fairy riding a fox…”
* * *
No matter how slowly Rae tried to drive, it seemed like no time at all before she saw the iron gates of her old school.
That’s what happens when your fiancé is obsessed with sports cars.
A heavy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she slowed down at the gate to be waved inside. It seemed like just yesterday she was driving in here for the first time. She had been on a bus, then. A normal bus, thinking that she was going to a normal school.
Little did she know how things would begin to unravel…
“Morning, Madame President.”
It wasn’t Charlie this time, but Chuck. The alternate guard, who might share a formal name with the first, but would give you hell if you ever mixed them up.
“Morning… Chuck,” Rae replied, catching herself at the last moment. “I’m just here for the meeting with Fodder and Keene.”
The metal divider lifted at once.
“Of course, go right on through. I think you’re the last one to arrive, actually.”
Perfect, Rae thought as she sped down the drive. Just perfect.
There hadn’t been some great ceremony the day she’d been told about the election. There hadn’t been any pomp and circumstance, nothing at all to distinguish it from any other day. Time was a blur after the great battle. Truth be told, Rae hadn’t even known that the surviving members of the Council had already scheduled a vote for Carter’s replacement. It seemed like she was just hanging up her dress from the funeral when she got the call.
They had done it in a basement. Her mother’s basement, in fact.
The rest of the house was still being used as a makeshift hospital. When you stage a war between two magical armies, people aren’t the only casualties you will accrue. The factory itself had been half-collapsed in the process. While that meant a hasty letter of explanation to the local city officials, it also meant that a good deal of those injured were trapped under the rubble, meaning that the excavation process and the treatment to follow trickled in slowly. No sooner had the door of the Scottish farm house shut for the ‘last time,’ than it would burst open again, echoed by frantic shouts and trails of blood as brother carried in sister. Father carried in son.
Rae had no particular skills to combat the insurgence of the sick and wounded. Alicia’s talent as a diagnostician was still well beyond her reach, so the most she could do was conjure. Gauze, tape, needles, drugs. After that it was hospital cots, curtains, wheelchairs, and crutches and casts.
At one point, she and the rest of the gang had even donated blood. Sitting in a silent circle where the television used to be. Ironically, it had been on that day that Louis Keene walked into the house, followed closely by Luke’s father. Rae still had trouble thinking of him as the Commander of the Knights, despite having seen him on the battlefield herself.
She hadn’t been given an option. She hadn’t been given a choice. Truth be told, she hadn’t even been given time for a reaction before she was whisked off to Guilder. A rallying point around which the new government was soon to convene.
In just the short time since the first of the coffins were laid in the ground, she’d already overseen three formal gatherings and conducted numerous matters of state. This gathering today was meant to be the fourth. It was one she was already dreading as she parked in her usual spot behind the Oratory and started trudging up the grass.
Sure enough, she was the last to arrive.
Her cheeks flushed pink and she felt relieved that she had at least preemptively combatted her lack of punctuality with something as formal as pearls as she skidded around the side of the table and took a seat. She might be late, but at least she was dressed like a professional.
“Morning,” she murmured, keeping her eyes on the packet of paper that had been laid out in front of her. “Bit of traffic today…”
“Rae?”
She looked up swiftly, her body relaxing in automatic relief. Despite the new formalities and titles that had been foisted upon her, Mr. Fodder was the only one to continue to address her by her first name. It was even more out of character for him than for most—the man liked things in their proper place—but he must have sensed that she needed a kind of ally right now. He was a parent, after all. And, for better or worse, it was something that Carter would have done.
“Yes?”
Were they finished already? Perhaps they had just started without her!
“You’re in Carmine’s chair.” He saw her look of blank confusion, and gestured kindly to the head of the table. “Perhaps you’d like to sit in your own?”
Ally indeed! Carter would have been happy that she had sat down at all.
“Oh. Right.” She shut her folder—Carmine’s folder—with a surge of embarrassment and sat down quickly in the required chair.
Was it her imagination, or was this chair a little smaller than the rest? It seemed like the rest of the men were towering down over her. And the heat. Had someone turned up the heat in the little room? It had to be at least ninety degrees…
“We thought we’d begin today by scheduling a formal time to make the announcement of your election to the royal family.”
Okay.
What about these lights? She could barely see anything going on around her with this spotlight blazing down.
“The…the royal family?” She fiddled nervously with her locket, pulling it away from her neck. Felt like the freakin’ thing had her in a stranglehold. “Is that really necessary?”
Keene leaned forward with a polite smile. “I’m afraid it is. The Privy Council has maintained close ties with Palace since its creation in the time of Henry VIII. We generally make it a custom to inform them when power switches hands. Especially in such…such unusual circumstances.”
For a second, the entire room went dead still. Rae’s eyes zeroed in on the table, and she could hear every beat of her heart as it pulsed behind her eyes.
Then, just a second later, things moved on. They had a depressing way of moving on.
“If I understand it correctly, you and the future Queen of England already share a passing acquaintance?” Keene continued quickly, striving to keep things going.
“Yes,” Rae said quickly, stacking then re-stacking the papers in front of her, just to give her something to do with her hands. “We drag-raced through the countryside just a few weeks ago.”
There was a pause.
“That… and a lot of other more acceptable things…”
If only Victor Mallins could see me now. It would have been his finest hour.
“Of course,” Keene said, with a hint of confusion. Sitting on his other side, Rae could have sworn that Mr. Fodder stifled a faint smile. “Well, at any rate, she and the Crown Prince will have to be informed. We can send a formal envoy—”
“Or I can just text her.” Rae took out her phone and laid it tentatively on the table. A dozen pairs of eyes locked onto it like it was the devil incarnate. A symbolic downfall to their beloved, if somewhat antiquated, traditions. “I’d promise to use a really nice font…”
“I’ll take care of the election notice,” Fodder swooped in swiftly, saving Keene the issue of having to come up with a response. “And if I’m not mistaken, that actually concludes our business here.” He gave Rae a faint smile, sensing her scarcely-contained delight. “That is, unless you had anything to report after having cleared the cells in the factory—”