by April White
I turned to my mom. “Would you consider coming with me? You’d help with the Clocking sickness, and you’re a witness to the Council massacre.”
Camille snapped, “What does that ancient history have to do with any of this?”
I kept my eyes on my mom when I answered Camille. “Spencer Rothchild was Duncan’s son, and the massacre was orchestrated by him. Bishop Wilder, George Walters, and Seth Walters are all Duncan’s sons too. He’s been trying to take over for nearly two hundred years.”
That stunned Camille into speechlessness, and my mom blanched. “Is this true?”
I nodded. “Seth Walters was positively chatty about his Family history, just before Logan stole the ring from him.”
The briefest of smiles touched my mom’s mouth. “Yes, I’ll go with you.” She turned to the Seer Head, “Camille, please reach out to the MacKenzie, or barring that, his younger son – the reasonable one. We’ll need to call a Council meeting for tomorrow night, and I have the feeling there will be a general election. Perhaps it’s best to have the meeting here, where everyone can attend.”
There was acceptance and possibly a little defeat in Camille’s eyes when she nodded, and my mom reached her hand out to her. “Can you also tell Bob and Millicent where we’ve gone?”
“And Ringo,” I added. “Please?”
Camille set her mouth and inhaled resolutely. “I will be making a general announcement to everyone at St. Brigid’s that you have gone to fight for the rights of all Descendants, regardless of Family, and to expect elections at the next Council meeting, to which everyone is invited.”
I beamed at her. “Thank you.”
“And then I want to go home. I am sick and tired of living in a dormitory room.” The haughty voice was back, but it was tempered with a smile as she left the solarium.
Archer turned to me. “Do you know where we’re going?”
I thought of the Council painting that Doran had been working on in Artemisia’s studio – the beautiful marble room with the island view out the window. “Yes, I do.”
My mom looked down at her blood-stained shirt. “I feel as though I should change into my best dress to go before the Immortals.”
“No way. They get us bloody, filthy, wounded, and exhausted. It’s Duncan’s machinations that set this thing in motion, and it’s time to put a leash on War.”
The Immortals’ Council
The Immortals’ Council room was even more beautiful than Doran’s painting of it had been. It was very similar to our own Descendants’ Council room, except everything was made of gleaming white marble. Even more spectacular than the view of the deep blue-green sea out of the windows were the Immortals seated on their simple white thrones. There were five thrones with four Immortals seated, and one Immortal who stood before them.
Duncan turned at our entrance into the room. We had come in through a spiral portal very much like the one carved in our own Council room, and though we were variously battered and blackened with soot, each one of us stood tall and faced the Council on our feet.
“Who dares enter the Immortals’ Council?” Duncan roared furiously. He still wore the battle garb that made him look vaguely like a centurion. I half expected to see a plumed helmet on top of his short-cropped hair.
He reached for the hilt of his sword, and I put my hands up. “I am Saira Elian, of Clocker and Shifter blood.” Duncan unsheathed his sword and took a step toward me.
“Stand down, War.” Aeron’s voice was tight with tension despite his outward calm. He expected trouble, and was ready for it. Death was the same, striking dark-skinned man I’d seen on the other time stream who wore, oddly enough, charcoal jeans and a black silk t-shirt, sort of like something Giorgio Armani would wear on casual Friday in Milan.
I nodded to him in an attempt to show respect and cover up my fear, and then introduced the others. “This is my mother, Claire Elian, Clocker Head of the British Descendants’ Council, Archer Devereux, of Seer blood, and Tom Landers, a mix of Seer and Monger blood. Both men are also formerly of your Family, sir.” I directed the last bit to Aeron, and although his eyes widened slightly in surprise, he scowled.
“No one is formerly of my Family,” he said grimly.
“Tom and I have been cured of the infection that causes Vampirism, sir.” Archer’s voice carried the cultured deference that members of the nobility could turn on like a faucet. It was respectful, and yet confident and strong, and it never indicated submission.
“You have mixed with my blood, therefore I claim you for my own,” Aeron said in a similar tone, but without the deference.
Archer inclined his head in agreement or acquiescence – whichever it was, it seemed to work for Aeron and he settled back into his seat.
“What is the point of this intrusion? These mortals have no place in our Council room, and they certainly have no right to speak.” Duncan had re-sheathed his sword and now seated himself back on his throne. It was a power move, meant to remind us he was an Immortal and we were cockroaches under his feet. As power moves went, it was more subtle than I would have given him credit for, and also fairly effective.
“With respect, I come with a request.” I raised my eyes to Aislin first and found her wearing her young, ethereal face, with long flowing hair and a diaphanous white gown. She looked every inch a Greek goddess, and her face was deliberately expressionless. I’d actually expected that.
My eyes moved next to Jera, a stunning brunette with bronze skin and green eyes that looked at me with interest. “I would like the Immortal Dream to be instated to the Immortals’ Council, and I ask that all mixed-blood Descendants be allowed to choose to belong to either of their parents’ Families, or to his.”
My mother gasped behind me, and there was unsettled rustling in the room, both behind and in front of me. Duncan’s eyes narrowed, and he spat. “There is no Dream.”
My gaze shot to him, and I held up my hand with Doran’s ring on it. “There is, and this ring belongs to him.”
Duncan leapt from his throne and advanced on me. It took every ounce of my courage not to move, even as my mother stepped back reflexively, and Archer’s instinct put him in front of me.
“Stand. Down. War!” Aeron’s voice filled the room, as though it bounced from every wall. It was a truly awesome thing to experience, and even Duncan flinched. My eyes had been riveted to War, but now Goran commanded the attention of the room when he stood and bellowed.
“WHERE IS MY SON!”
“Dead!” shouted Duncan, as he pointed to Aeron. “By his hand.”
I shook my head. “Not dead.”
“Enough!” Aeron slammed his hands down on the arms of his chair and rose. “You, child, know not of what you speak.” It was chilling to feel Death’s attention, but he shifted it to Duncan and I could breathe again. “And you …” He stood right in front of Duncan’s throne and glowered at him. “You left that child for dead, and then incited a war to cover your tracks.”
Aeron had studiously avoided looking at Jera the whole time I’d been in the room, and now her eyes sought his. “Left him for dead?” she asked him.
He finally turned and met her gaze. He seemed to steel himself to say something, but then he turned and departed the room without another glance at any of us.
Jera sounded wounded, and she turned to Aislin. “What did he mean, left him for dead?”
Aislin said nothing, though her expression was full of sympathy. And Duncan was gearing up for another rant, so I opened my mouth, and the words just came out.
“The son of two Immortals is obviously Immortal himself. He couldn’t be killed.”
Jera’s eyes swiveled to me and stayed there. Goran looked sick, and Aislin blanched, while Duncan’s face reddened and he looked ready to draw his sword on me again. So I decided to poke the bear. “Duncan hated Aeron – still does – because he’s the one with the real power, and Duncan wants it all. You had just created a sixth Immortal, and War’s not so big on sharing powe
r, so he decided that killing the baby and blaming it on Death knocked out two birds with one stone. You …” I turned to Goran, “believed him, and between the two of you, started a war among your Descendants. You made Death’s Descendants outlaws and nearly annihilated them, and all that drama led to a law against mixing Families that has been used to oppress some of your own Descendants – your actual Family.”
Aislin studied me for a long moment before she spoke. “You know Jera’s child?” Interesting that she called him Jera’s, as if Goran had forfeited his rights when he caused a civil war.
“Yes, I do.”
Just then, Aeron returned, and was followed into the room by Doran. It was the first time I’d ever seen Doran appear anything less than completely confident, and I actually wanted to comfort him. Instead, I took his ring off and went up to him.
“Hey,” I said softly. He seemed surprised to see me, and then he smiled. I held out his ring. “This is yours, I think?” Doran took it in his palm and then closed his fingers around it. That’s what finally made Duncan explode.
“Lies! That ring is mine and everything this mortal has said is designed to manipulate and trick you!”
“Uh, no, actually, the ring isn’t yours.” Tom spoke quietly, and his voice shook, but he looked Duncan in the eye when he held up the black knight chess piece. “This is the Monger artifact.”
The gasps this time were audible, and Duncan leapt from his seat and strode to Tom. I was pretty sure my own knees would have buckled already, the way Duncan glowered, but Tom stood straight and didn’t flinch, even when Duncan snatched it from his hand.
“It has strategic power,” Tom began, but Duncan cut him off.
“I know what it does,” he snarled, then turned to Doran. “But that ring—”
“—is mine.” Doran turned to face Duncan, and his confidence had returned, because he smiled, and though it didn’t reach his eyes, it was pure charm. “Thank you for keeping it safe for me all these years.”
No one but me had noticed that Jera was on her feet, and her eyes hadn’t left Doran since he walked into the room. She took a step toward him, and stumbled. “Doran?” He moved swiftly to catch her, and she stared at him in wonder. “It is really you,” she whispered as she touched his face.
And just like that, I felt intrusive and awkward. I took a step backward and then glanced over at Aeron. He watched Doran and Jera together with an expression that looked like pride mixed with unimaginable sadness, and I inhaled quietly. Doran had once told me he’d left Artemisia for two months to do something for his father. Aeron had raised Jera’s child as his own, and now he had given him back to his mother.
Whatever impulse moved my feet in his direction, I’m sure it wasn’t self-preservation. I reached for the daggers that I’d returned to their ankle sheaths after we’d come back from the woods, and placed them on the floor in front of the Immortal Death. “Your daggers, sir.” I said, backing away.
Aeron tore his eyes away from Jera and Doran to look down at the blades, and it took him a moment to register what they were. Then he looked into my eyes. “You may give them to him,” Aeron indicated Archer, “or find another who is worthy. It would be useful to have one of my Family with my skill.”
“He is my husband,” I said.
Aeron studied me. “Then I have gained a daughter with uncommon courage.” He looked at Archer. “You chose wisely.”
Archer nodded. “Yes, sir. I know I did.”
“So did I,” I said, pulling myself up straighter.
A hint of a smile touched Aeron’s lips, and it transformed him from formidable to completely compelling. He spoke to me. “I have heard your request, daughter. I shall see it so.” Then he turned to my mom, “Take word of this back to your Council. You, of three Families,” he turned to Tom, “I shall suggest that Duncan return his artifact into your keeping. You, too, have shown courage and wisdom, and I find I am intrigued to know more.”
I took a shaky breath, unsure of the wisdom of my words, but going to say them anyway. “Come and visit us then … maybe not in your official capacity, though – Aislin knows where to find us.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise, and then he smiled. “Yes, perhaps I shall do that one day.” Aeron indicated the daggers on the floor. “Take them and go now. Leave my family to me.”
I nodded with deference, handed the daggers to Archer, and returned to my people at the spiral. I caught Doran’s eyes for one brief, final second, and he winked at me as we Clocked out.
I knew we’d be seeing him again soon.
Grayson Manor – 1554
The manor house was draped in mistletoe, fir, and yew for Christmas, and lovely decorations of dried oranges and holly wreaths filled the rooms. Archer and I were given a guest room usually reserved for visiting royalty, which, according to Valerie Grayson, we were.
I joined Valerie and my mom in Charlie’s bedroom, where a maid was lifting a stunning gold dress over Charlie’s linen shift. Valerie dismissed the maid and fastened the dress up herself.
“Oh Charlie, you look so beautiful,” my mom exclaimed. She had tears in her eyes when she looked up at me, and I was so glad she had come with us to this wedding, especially since she had missed mine.
Charlie caught my eyes. “I seriously considered searching the Elian Manor closets for something to wear from the 1950s, but it takes a certain degree of fortitude to wear these gowns, and I felt that perhaps I was finally strong enough.”
I took her hands in mine, and the diamond band Ringo had made for her sparkled like stars on her finger. “Charlie, you were strong enough the day I met you. The only difference now is that you actually believe it.”
Valerie had finished fastening the exquisitely embroidered gown. She studied the young woman she had helped shape, and her gaze filled with tenderness. “My dear, the time you gave me has been the most precious gift I’ve ever received. Thank you for allowing me to dote on you, and to love you as my own daughter.”
She kissed both of Charlie’s cheeks, and there were definitely tears in her eyes when she looked away.
“Why is it that weddings make people cry?” Charlie whispered to me as my mom and Valerie sorted through Valerie’s jewelry cases for sparkly things to drape on the bride.
I shrugged. “I have theories, but it’s more fun to make something up.”
She grinned. “Oh do!”
“I think people don’t fall in love, but instead, love starts as a tiny butterfly, usually in the belly, because that’s where we feel it first. And that butterfly multiplies and multiplies, until our whole being is filled with the butterflies of being in love. Then, at a wedding when two people declare and promise that love out loud, the room fills with their butterflies, and people cry with the beauty of it.”
“Oh, I like that story! Today, if I feel nervous, I’ll imagine the whole room full of butterflies.”
I smiled at my beautiful friend who was in love with the brother of my heart. “It will be.”
Ringo and Charlie’s wedding was intimate and lavish. He and Archer both wore gentlemen’s suits from 1889, and mom and I were in Tudor gowns, borrowed from Valerie and quickly altered by her dressmaker. Millicent and mom had thrown them a wonderful engagement party at Elian Manor before we left, but Millicent had declined to Clock with us. We didn’t press the issue.
Ringo’s eyes shone as he promised to love, honor, and cherish Charlie all the days of their lives, and when Charlie’s eyes filled with tears, she looked at me and we both looked up at all the imaginary butterflies that filled the hall.
When I hugged Ringo after the ceremony, I whispered to him, “I’m glad you finally asked her that first question.”
He looked at me with the eyes of a man. “I’m glad I loved you first – it gave me a foundation to build on. I just never imagined how high it could go until I saw her again.”
“She’s a very lucky girl,” I said with my whole heart, and then I replayed his words in my head with surpri
se. “You’ve lost your accent.”
An impish grin lit up his face. “It let me blend in on the streets, but now I have a fine wife, and she deserves a proper gentleman.”
The feast afterwards in the candlelit dining hall was fit for a king, but because it was just us, we moved a small table near the fireplace and sat together like a family, telling stories and laughing until late in the night.
Valerie gave the couple her wedding present first. “I’ve bought a property near Marylebone Park in London. I intend to build a townhouse there, and I will set up a trust that names you, Charlotte, as my heir. As I fear things may become tangled during the next three hundred years, I would like to name Lord Archer Devereux as the executor for the title of the property until such time as Charlotte and her husband can claim it. I’m sure the solicitors in the nineteenth century will be able to find you, Archer.”
Charlie jumped up and hugged Valerie, which was no mean feat in all the heavy fabric of her dress, Ringo kissed the back of Valerie’s hand, and Archer bowed. “It would be my pleasure, madam.”
They had a home, and the excitement that shone on Charlie’s face was palpable. My mom stood up and brought a small wrapped package to Charlie, who was clearly in on whatever was inside that box, because she turned and gave it to Valerie.
“My wedding gift to Charlotte is not one that she has the ability to use. You do, however, and I trust that my daughter can teach you the finer points.”
Valerie looked confused until she opened the box. Inside, on a bed of dark blue velvet, lay the Clocker necklace. Valerie gasped and looked up at her foster daughter with shining eyes. “I’ll be able to visit you?” she asked.
“I can teach you how to focus your travel so that you clock to their house on a certain date. It means you’re probably going to have to build a walled garden at the house so we can put a spiral in it.” I said.
“Oh!” Valerie’s voice was choked with tears and she clapped her hands together in delight. “I might one day see my grandchildren!” She flung her arms around Charlie and Ringo first, and then my mom and me. “It will of course be handed back to the Elian line after I’m gone.” And then, just for good measure, she kissed Archer on the cheek. There was happy crying all the way around the table, and it took several handkerchiefs and some manly throat-clearing to get ourselves under control.