The Servant

by B. C. Burgess

  Caitrin tucked them away. Then he took the time to pet Arabella and kiss Layla’s head. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

  “Sure,” she agreed, summoning a chair. “Want something to drink?”

  He refused the drink, but took a seat, promising he wouldn’t keep them long. “The triplets and Benzio – I need to document their births, and we haven’t confirmed their surnames. You told me Benzio’s middle name yesterday, and I have his birthday, but you haven’t mentioned if he’ll take your last name.”

  “Quin’s last name,” Layla corrected. “The triplets, too.”

  “You don’t want it hyphenated with yours?”

  “No. Callaway isn’t a family name. It didn’t belong to Katherine or my parents.”

  “Do you want to change it?”

  Layla glanced at Quin. Then she lowered her gaze to Arabella, playing with her ears while contemplating how to answer. She wasn’t sure if it was fair to take Quin’s surname when she refused to give him her hand in marriage, and petitioning the courts for a name change seemed like an unnecessary inconvenience.

  “Not right now,” she decided. “It would be a pain to officially change it. Maybe someday.”

  Caitrin pulled a notepad from his bag and jotted down her wishes. “Back to the kids. They’re ghosts in the hexless world. Do you intend to keep it that way? Or should I work on getting them birth certificates and social security numbers?”

  Layla’s eyes widened at the heavy question, its abundant layers bombarding her with pros and cons, so she looked to Quin for input. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together, but he was watching her, dissecting her colors while searching his own soul.

  He eventually sighed and made up his mind. “They should have the opportunity. If we don’t do this, they’ll be confined to the magical world.”

  Layla agreed her kids should be afforded the opportunity to live freely, but the cons still screamed at her. “How much danger are we talking about?”

  Caitrin leaned forward as he answered. “At the moment, I don’t think it would pose any more danger than they’re already in. Our enemies know about them, and they know where we live. They have no reason to search the social security database, and even if they did, a hexless paper trail will lead to a dead end unless the kids are using their identification. As far as the government knows, we own this land, but we don’t live here, so we use alternate addresses on hexless applications. If you decide to do this, I’ll use a new address that can’t be linked to the rest of us.”

  “So unless they use their social security numbers or birth certificates, it won’t be a problem?”

  “Right, assuming you’re not concerned about their names going public. If someone searches for you, they’ll have access to your kids’ names.”

  “So leave me out of it.”

  Quin scowled at her. “What?”

  “Just use your name,” she clarified. “Write mother deceased or put a fake name in my place. You’re not a target without me.”

  His jaw flexed as his nostrils flared over a deep breath. Then he gave Caitrin a pointed look before dropping his gaze to his hands.

  Layla watched his tense profile until Caitrin drew her attention by touching her knee. “Quinlan dislikes that idea.”

  “Obviously,” she mumbled, stunned by the drastic darkening of Quin’s colors. “But I don’t know what the big deal is. My birth mom isn’t listed on my paperwork. And for the same reasons.”

  Quin looked in the opposite direction, and Caitrin swallowed while bowing his head. “Rhosewen’s dead, sweetheart. You’re not.”

  The words not yet rang through Layla’s head and poised on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back, suddenly aware why Quin was so upset. He had high hopes for her survival and didn’t want her erasing herself from their lives.

  “Then give me a different surname on the birth certificates,” she decided. “Donnelly or Conn, or a maiden name from one of my grandmas, and give me a foreign background. Layla Callaway will be in the system, but the new Layla will be from… Ireland, since that’s where the kids were born. Have Quin sign an oath of paternity and responsibility for Benzio and the triplets, and they’ll all get citizenship.”

  “We have ways of working around citizenship laws,” Caitrin revealed, “and if you’re willing, creating a foreign persona is a good idea. What do you think, Quinlan? Is this a compromise you can live with?”

  Quin stared at their family portrait for nearly a minute before giving Caitrin a nod, but he avoided Layla’s gaze, and it bruised her heavy heart.

  “That gives me enough to start working on it,” Caitrin approved. “I’ll pass the information to Lann so he can update our coven records—”

  “Shh…” Quin interrupted, holding up a palm, and both Caitrin and Layla froze, staring at him in confusion until they heard a soft whimper.

  Layla sighed and shooed Arabella off her lap. “That’s Benzio.”

  “Another nightmare,” Quin assumed, getting to his feet. “He almost made it a week.”

  “I shoved his parents in his face a dozen times yesterday, and we hung their portrait right before dinner. We should have seen this coming.”

  Caitrin stood and gave Layla a hug. “Let us know if you need anything.”

  “Thanks, Grandpa. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He let himself out while Layla and Quin headed for the bedroom, and neither of them mentioned the emotional strain lingering from their stressful conversation. In fact, they didn’t say one word to each other while they reassured Benzio and soothed him back to sleep, so the air remained thick with tension when Layla returned from the bathroom.

  Quin was already in bed, but he folded his hands behind his head and met her stare.

  She stripped as she approached. Then she halted next to the nightstand, fidgeting with the lip of her water glass as she drew a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  He extended one hand and motioned for her to climb in. “I know.”

  His forgiving invitation lodged a lump in her throat, and she scrambled onto the mattress and into his open arm. “I’m sorry.”

  “No need for that.” He hugged her close and kissed her head. Then he gently dried her tears while cuddling her stress away.

  Chapter Twelve

  Alistair landed amid towering trees and shook snow off his cloak. Then he searched out a place to take a piss while Zephora barked orders at the troops.

  Henrick had been so pleased with Bull’s capture he’d granted the soldiers several days of rest. But by Christmas Eve, he and his guards had left with the Servant of Ava; and Alistair and Zephora spent the following week herding their troops from the Florida Everglades to the Willamette National Forest in Oregon.

  Alistair returned to their camp to find the soldiers erecting tents, and Zephora waited until the last one went up before granting the recruits permission to relieve their bladders.

  She took off to do the same, and Alistair entered his quarters while summoning a desk, a chair and a cot from his bewitched bag. He hadn’t taken time to settle into a tent since before Florida, so the personalized arrangement was a nice change, but it couldn’t replace the comforts of home and Ruby’s warm embrace.

  After making his bed, he stacked his paperwork on the desk. Then he sat in his chair, propped his feet on his cot, and fixed himself a drink.

  Just as he sighed and took a swig, Zephora barged in, perching her ass on his desk while helping herself to his booze. “I’ve arranged security. As if you care.”

  Alistair straightened and turned to his paperwork. “You seem to enjoy exerting your power over our troops. I figured I’d let you.”

  “They’re a bunch of pansies.” She took a long drink while studying an Oregon map. “Can you believe that bitch is so close yet we can’t touch her?”

  “Who? The Crusaders’ angel?”

  “What other bitch is in Oregon?”

  He cast a sideways glance at h
er, and she rolled her eyes while moving to his bed. “Besides me.”

  “You weren’t always like that.”

  “Yes, I was. Just not to you. Why do you think I campaigned for Dark Madam? Most guild members hate me. Now they can fear me.”

  “Still a spoiled brat.”

  “A deadly spoiled brat.”

  Alistair didn’t respond, hoping she’d go away, but she leaned against his pillows and continued yapping. “Dad says there might be another Servant of Ava around here. It seems Oregon’s hopping with intriguing targets.”

  Alistair ceased his attempt to ignore her and caved to curiosity. “If Dad thinks there’s a Servant of Ava here, why didn’t he come hunt him down?”

  “It’s a weak lead. No specific place and no mention of the locals. Dad told me to keep my eyes and ears open for information, but he knows it’s a long shot. The trail went cold around twenty years ago.”

  Alistair committed the vague information to memory. Then he brushed it aside and returned to his work. “I doubt we’ll be here long enough to find a ghost.”

  “Is that your pussified way of saying Agro’s ex-slaves have become lightweights?”

  “Either way, I’m sure you’ll whip them into shape.”

  “It shouldn’t take much. They weren’t always lazy, but I imagine they’ve lost their edge since Agro’s demise. I wonder how many are left.”

  “We estimated more than 800 were left scattered across the U.S., but hundreds of them were kids, and many of them probably set out on their own instead of joining their refugee camp. I’ve been told they eventually split into two camps, and they lost around fifty soldiers when they helped the witch invade our headquarters. Were you there?”

  Zephora tensed and narrowed her eyes. “No. I was with Dad, but if I had been there, I would have ripped off that bitch’s face then shoved it up her ass”

  Alistair closed his eyes and shook his head. “You’re obscene.”

  She laughed as she got to her feet and finished her drink. Then she placed her glass on the desk with a thud. “My position requires a seductive witch with balls of steel and a naughty mouth. Get over it.” Following a kiss to his cheek, she straightened. “When do we invade?”

  Alistair wiped his face on his shoulder as he answered. “We’ll take the smaller camp on New Year’s Eve. They’ll be soused and distracted, so they’ll be easy to subdue. We’ll wait until the next morning to raid the original group; catch them while they’re sleeping off a hangover. If everything goes as planned, we’ll come out of this trip with hundreds of Dark Elite soldiers.”

  “Sounds like a good start to a new year,” Zephora approved, sashaying away. “A few of our Vindicators have been harassing our female expurgators. I’m off to turn the tables on the pricks responsible. Don’t be alarmed if you hear them screaming for mercy.”

  Alistair smirked and leaned over his desk. Zephora was a wicked witch, but at least she looked out for the girls in camp, freeing Alistair to focus on invasions instead of allegations of assault and rape.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The week leading up to the new year was uneventful, but for Layla, the increasingly easy lifestyle came with a growing sense of dread, as if tragedy lurked over the horizon, just waiting for the year to end. She never mentioned her turmoil, and neither did Quin, but he worked extra hard to counter her worries with peaceful family time, loving kisses, and smiling kids.

  Kaedan was the only one being stingy with his grins, not flashing a single smile in the week since Lilyana and Farrow smiled, and Layla was starting to worry her youngest baby was destined to trail behind his siblings.

  “Do you think something’s wrong with him?” she asked, glancing at Quin, who balanced Farrow in one arm while helping Benzio change for their New Year’s Eve party.

  After making sure the toddler hadn’t missed any buttons, Quin gave him a pat on the back. “You’re all set. Go ahead and join the party. We’ll be out as soon as the babies finish eating. If you get cold, tell your grandparents.”

  Benzio didn’t hesitate to take off without them, and Quin listened for the front door to open and close before turning his attention on Layla. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Kaedan,” she answered, dropping her top. “He won’t smile.”

  Quin moved to the bed and scanned his hungry babies. “He’s fine. If something were wrong, Serafin would have noticed. Here, feed Farrow and Lilyana first so you can have Kaedan to yourself. Maybe that will get him to smile.”

  “He’s already fussy. I don’t want to make him wait.”

  “He’ll be fine.” Quin traded Farrow for Kaedan and lifted him to his shoulder, trying to distract his hungry tummy with a new view.

  “What if he isn’t happy?” Layla asked.

  Quin stayed on his feet, laying Kaedan in a dozen different positions in an effort to stem his impatience. “Now isn’t a good time to ask that. And stop worrying over ridiculous what-ifs.”

  Kaedan’s protest grew louder, and Quin sighed while taking him under the arms and holding up his squirming body. “I know, Son. I like the boobies, too, but sometimes you have to wait your turn.”

  Kaedan’s piercing cries faded into squeaky whines, and even though Layla couldn’t see his face, she knew him well enough to imagine the pitiful quiver of his lips as fat tears welled up in his green eyes.

  Her theories were confirmed when Quin softened and pulled him into a hug. “You break my heart.” He moved to one of the armchairs and placed a bouncy seat on the floor in front of him. Then he laid Kaedan down and summoned the guitar from the turret room. “Maybe some music will soothe us.”

  Kaedan was too pissed to listen, his back arching as he gave his lungs a workout, but when Quin started bouncing the seat with a foot while strumming the guitar, Kaedan drew a shaky breath and hiccupped.

  “There you go,” Quin approved. “You know it’s been less than three hours since the last time you ate.”

  Kaedan’s onesie shook over stuttering lungs, but his shiny gaze searched for the source of the music.

  “Not that I blame you,” Quin added. “I’d love to spend my days cuddling your mom’s chest.”

  Layla lightly laughed, careful not to break her babies’ suction as she fell deeper in love with their dad.

  He continued to strum while lauding the virtues of patience. Then the music halted as he tenderly wiped the tears from Kaedan’s cheek. “Would you like to hear a song?”

  “Yes,” Layla answered.

  Quin smiled and gave his son a pointed look. “When an angel wants a song, you sing.”

  He resumed his strumming, his foot bouncing Kaedan’s seat in time with the tranquilizing rhythm, and after playing through a refrain, he enhanced the tune with his magical voice.

  “Baby, I don’t need money.

  Cash won’t buy me time.

  All the lovin’ I need,

  won’t cost me a dime.

  And I don’t need a house,

  unless you call it home,

  ‘cause I don’t wanna stay,

  if you decide to roam.

  I’ll live without lungs,

  ‘cause you make my heart sigh.

  And I’ll give you my wings,

  ‘cause your lovin’ makes me fly.

  Baby, when I’m by your side,

  my sky’s always blue.

  All that I need,

  I found it in you.

  I’ll weather this storm,

  as long as you’re mine.

  So, baby, leave the light off,

  and be my sunshine.

  I’ll live without lungs,

  ‘cause you make my heart sigh.

  And I’ll give you my wings,

  ‘cause your lovin’ makes me fly.”

  He repeated the last few lines before letting his voice fade away, and Layla swallowed a lump while blinking back tears. “If that doesn’t make him smile, I doubt I’ll have much luck.”

  Quin’s fingers softened o
ver the strings, but he didn’t stop playing. “You vastly underestimate the power of a full stomach, a beautiful pair of breasts, and a pretty smile. Once you give him all three, he’ll be in heaven.”

  “He’ll fall asleep.”

  “Maybe,” Quin laughed, “but when he’s ready to smile, I bet you’re the one who provokes it. And don’t worry about the delay. Their due date was only a couple of weeks ago. Most preemies spend their first few months in a hospital. We’re lucky they’re breathing and eating on their own.”

  “Very lucky,” Layla agreed, quick to count her blessings.

  Quin strummed another tune and sang a lullaby, but by the time Layla was ready to switch babies, Kaedan was wailing again, and Quin was pacing the room with him.

  “Bring him here,” Layla called over the noise, barely maintaining a grip on her sanity.

  Even Quin’s extraordinary patience was wearing thin, so he breathed his relief while trading Kaedan for his happy babies.

  Kaedan was too lost in his fit to realize he’d been passed to the milk maker, but the moment Layla pulled his tense body close and whispered in his ear, he frantically searched for a boob, his mouth open as his head wobbled.

  “Geez,” she breathed, helping him find his target. “You’d think he’s starving.”

  He hungrily latched on, but due to his heaving lungs, he lost suction several times before calming down enough to enjoy his meal. His grip on her remained firm, and she puckered at his desperation. “Now I feel bad for making him wait.”

  “You shouldn’t. None of them are malnourished.” Quin had placed Farrow and Lilyana on the bed. Now he lifted his daughter’s chubby feet into tickling kisses. “Isn’t that right, Lil’ Bit?”

  She flashed him a big grin while flailing her arms, and he reveled in her response before encouraging her to calm down and let her tummy settle.

  Layla loved watching Quin interact with his babies, but she turned her attention on Kaedan, who’d finally relaxed and was merely hugging her breast instead of clutching it for dear life. His cheeks were splotchy, and moisture still clung to his lashes, so Layla used magic to carefully wipe his eyes.