Wyvern and Company

by Suttle, Connie

  We drove to the mall in my new Jeep Rubicon, which was red and awesome, complete with the smell that new cars have. I let Lynx drive while I wedged myself in the back seat between Gina and her mother. There was a light in Gina's face that hadn't been there earlier, and I was grateful to be part of it.

  Halfway through our shopping trip, I sent mindspeech to Mom, telling her the cost was mounting. She told me to keep going. Lynx grinned—he'd been included in her return mindspeech.

  "Don't worry, kiddo," he crooked an arm around my neck. "It's for a really good cause and she can afford it."

  Mom called my cell phone before we left the mall, telling us that Dad was on his way to haul packages, and to bring Gina and her mother to the house.

  Dad had to haul most of the stuff in his SUV; there wasn't room for much in my Jeep. When we got back to the house, my old Honda, which had been miraculously restored, waited on the circular drive.

  Mom and Joey came out of the house. Joey handed the Honda keys to Mrs. Allen and told her the car was hers to drive until her insurance paid, and then she could give it to Gina.

  "We have to stick together," Mom told Mrs. Allen. "That Pierce boy and his father have done damage to all of us."

  "I heard he attacked you at the grocery store," Mrs. Allen offered a watery smile. "I'm glad you're all right."

  "She almost had a miscarriage," Joey grumped.

  "You're pregnant?" Mrs. Allen breathed, her eyes widening in surprise.

  "Unplanned," Mom nodded. "We thought we were past that."

  "Do you know if you're getting a brother or sister?" Gina asked shyly.

  "Sister," I said.

  "That's so sweet," Gina hugged me. I hugged back. Hell, I'd take the affection any day.

  "Would you like to come inside?" Mom invited them in. "Joey and I are making dinner."

  "I'd love to," Mrs. Allen said.

  "I'll transfer your bags to the Honda," Dad offered as Mom led the way to the front door.

  Mrs. Allen went to the kitchen with Mom and Joey; Gina, Mack and I ended up in my bedroom playing Joey's video game until the food was ready. We had to leave the door open, but I got to sit on the floor with Gina curled against me while we played. Mack didn't say anything when I kissed Gina's hair or her temple now and then.

  All three of us had close calls to deal with, so it was nice to get some comfort that way. Gina wouldn't ever know what Mack and I had done, but that didn't lessen her terrifying experience the night before. If Dad and Lion hadn't helped, Mrs. Allen would probably be dead.

  At least one other life had been saved, besides mine.

  Darzi showed up after a few minutes to join the game, making it two against two. I have no idea where lion snakes originate, but he got the hang of it quickly and was wicked fast at it. Gina and I lost to Mack and Darzi twice before Mom and Mrs. Allen, who'd offered to help with dinner, called us to the kitchen to eat.

  Everybody showed up to eat smothered chicken, mashed potatoes, fresh green beans and salad. Mrs. Allen, who'd stared at Lynx earlier, now stared at Uncle Dragon. I guess it was a girl thing. Or a woman thing.

  It didn't matter, because Gina only stared at me, and I liked that just fine.

  * * *

  Later, when Gina and her mother walked to the Honda to drive to the old house, I pulled Gina close to give her a quick kiss before she got into the car. Randall Pierce was still in jail, but I knew his dad had to be putting bail money together. This was a new experience for me—worrying about the safety of my girl. That's what she was to me, now—my girl.

  I was glad, too, that she felt comfortable calling Dad for help. She couldn't have picked a better person to ask. I owed him thanks and a big hug for what he'd done.

  Waving as they drove through the arched wrought-iron gates, I realized something else—that behind those gates lay a sanctuary that Randall Pierce and his father couldn't breach. I felt just fine with that, too.

  * * *

  Adam's Journal

  Sunday morning, I transported Franklin's body—and Merrill—to his brownstone in New York, where he called the coroner. Merrill wanted the service to take place there, because Franklin had friends in the city.

  A few vampires planned to attend, too, so an unusual evening service was arranged. Merrill had already given a generous donation to a local church, organizing Franklin's funeral in advance. He'd also hired musicians from the symphony, but he had a very odd request past that—he'd asked Kiarra to sing at Franklin's funeral.

  I blinked at him in surprise. "What did she say?" I blurted. My wife sang? That was an enormous shock.

  "She said yes when I told her it was at Franklin's request," Merrill shrugged. "Griffin said long ago that the angels listen when Kiarra sings."

  "I intend to have a conversation with my wife," I growled.

  "I didn't bring this up to create tension," Merrill held out a hand. We stood inside the kitchen at his brownstone while he held a cup of coffee in his hands. I realized then that this was my first memory of Franklin, bustling about in Merrill's kitchen, finding food for Kiarra. Somehow, even then, he'd been prepared for a vegetarian's needs and had plenty of fruit and vegetables on hand.

  "This is a terrible loss," I turned my head and stared at the multimillion-dollar view through Merrill's wide kitchen windows.

  "That was my true child—the child of my heart," Merrill's façade cracked as he wiped moisture off his cheeks. "I don't know what I'll do without him." Using a vampire's speed, he fled the kitchen. Only a blink later, I heard his bedroom door closing. He had grieving to do, and only reappeared when the attendants arrived to collect Franklin's body.

  * * *

  Justin's Journal

  "Will you and Mack be all right while I'm gone?" Mom asked, poking her head in my bedroom door. "Your father and your uncle need me right now."

  "We're fine, Mom," I said, giving her a nod. "Darzi and Uncle Lion will be here, and I don't intend to go out."

  Uncle Dragon was taking Mom to New York—that's where Merrill wanted Franklin's funeral to be held and lots of other things had to be taken care of. It didn't make sense to haul Grampa Franklin's body from one end of the country to the other by conventional means—it was just undignified.

  Mack and I had watched, too, as Merrill carried Grampa Frank from his bedroom early that morning, holding his shrunken body so carefully in his arms, so Dad could fold them to New York.

  I had to wipe tears away when they were gone.

  "I'm going," Mom said as Dragon appeared behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. That brought me back to reality with a jolt.

  "Okay. We're going to Grampa Frank's funeral, aren't we?" I asked.

  "Of course. Honey, he was a good grandfather for you. The best." She nodded to Dragon and they were gone.

  * * *

  Merrill's Private Journal

  Griffin appeared during what I'd hoped to be my private grieving time for Franklin. "Things are going strange and working in your favor at the same time," he pointed out.

  "I'd like to be left alone," I said, my voice gruff and my sudden impatience clear.

  "Don't you want to know that Kiarra is softening toward you? That the hold on your M'Fiyah is unraveling?"

  "I don't give a damn about any of that at the moment. My child is dead, Brother. Leave me alone to come to terms with that terrible reality. I have no idea why he kept refusing to allow the turn. I would have him with me forever if he'd consented. First Greg, and now this." I no longer cared that he might see my tears—they streamed unchecked down my face and I stubbornly refused to wipe them away.

  "I've said that things will come around," he began.

  "I care not," I growled. "Leave me in my grief."

  "Fine. I will return when things are better."

  "You truly were a vampire," I snorted. "At times, I wonder if you ever feel."

  "I'll leave on that note," he snapped and disappeared. For once, I was grateful for his hasty exit.

&nbs
p; * * *

  Adam's Journal

  I didn't wish to pick a fight with Kiarra. Truly. What was I supposed to do, however, when she spoke to the musicians who'd be playing at Franklin's funeral as if she were used to giving directions?

  Merrill requested two songs for her to sing—Time To Say Good-bye and Nessun Dorma. A rehearsal time was set; she arranged to meet the musicians at the church in the morning, before the funeral that evening.

  "I think only once or twice through the songs will be enough," she said before offering coffee and snacks to the twelve musicians who'd arrived at Merrill's apartment. He was a huge donor for the symphony, so they'd given him anything he wanted for the service. These twelve were those Kiarra selected.

  Were you intending to tell me sometime? I attempted to keep my mental voice civil as she placed sandwich croissants, deli meats and condiments in front of the musicians.

  Adam, now is not the time. I thought this chapter of my life was closed. Griffin chose to revive it, and I won't refuse Merrill this last request on Franklin's behalf.

  When will be the time, then? I persisted.

  I'll tell you after the funeral. I promise.

  I hope so, I grumbled. Yes, I should have backed off; I was ashamed of my belligerence later, but there were things she'd kept secret and that upset me. Justin—my brother Justin, anyway—always called me a controlling bastard. His words had only been partially in jest.

  In addition, I should have recognized this for what it was—an attempt by Griffin to drive a wedge between Kiarra and me. I hadn't traveled that path, yet, and had no suspicions as such. Then, I had no idea how any M'Fiyah might be broken, without interference by one much more powerful.

  I had many things to learn.

  * * *

  Justin's Journal

  I got mindspeech from Uncle Lion, telling me to get clothes together for a quick trip to New York. Mack wanted to go, too, so after a short phone call with his dad, he packed a small bag and was ready to go with me.

  Uncle Lion looked worried when he showed up at my bedroom door, ready to take us to Uncle Merrill's place in New York. I'd never been to New York before—not that I could remember, anyway.

  Mack sure hadn't been there, so he was looking forward to seeing it, although it was for such a somber occasion.

  Yeah, I probably should have asked Uncle Lion what he was worried about.

  I didn't. Hindsight is always clear and pristine when you're examining it—once you've passed the point where it's too late to do anything about it, anyway.

  * * *

  Adam's Journal

  Lion brought Mack and Justin to New York; the funeral would be held Monday evening at nine so the vamps could attend. Radomir would be one of those, as he was Merrill's vampire sibling and cared for Franklin.

  Wlodek also cared for Merrill's human child, but you'd never catch the old bastard admitting it. I knew, whether anyone else did or not, that Franklin had Wlodek's private number and could have asked for anything. He never did—not for himself, anyway.

  My wife would sing at his funeral. That still irritated me and although I refused to admit it, waited to hear how good she was or whether she'd fall on her face and embarrass all of us.

  I should have paid better attention, too, as she wasn't eating much. It hurt her more than I realized I think, that I slept on my side of the bed as far from her as I could get. She was pregnant and facing an ordeal I had no knowledge of, and I chose to behave like the proverbial American asshole.

  Joey folded in by himself on Tuesday morning, looking as if he'd been crying. As Kiarra's and my healer, he was connected to us. He felt the upset from the current rift between us, and that added to the burden of his grief over Franklin. I attempted to hug him when he arrived, but he moved deftly away and headed toward his old bedroom without a word.

  Kiarra made breakfast for Merrill and the boys when they shuffled into the kitchen; I'd gone to a nearby restaurant to eat after rising early.

  Yes, I'd already taken things too far.

  Merrill drove us to the chapel for the rehearsal at ten, so I took a seat with Justin and Mack at the back of the church while the musicians warmed up. Kiarra was somewhere in the back, warming up too, I suppose. I knew little about music, other than what I liked.

  When she walked to the front of the church, I crossed arms over my chest, waiting. The musicians played the introduction to Time to Say Good-Bye.

  My arms dropped, as did my jaw, when Kiarra began to sing. I understood then why the angels would listen when she sang. Somehow, I knew that voice—had recordings of it in the past. I wanted to knock my head against a nearby wall for being so obstinately obtuse.

  Renée Mendenhall, the diva from Mississippi, sang in church that morning. I'd even read her biography shortly after her death.

  Her reported death, anyway.

  Five years into her career, she'd been attacked by a deranged fan, who'd flung acid in her face. Back in the 1920s, plastic surgery wasn't as viable an option as it is now. She'd been disfigured throughout her career, but it hadn't affected her voice. On records and on the radio, her voice was just as lovely as she'd once been. She'd refused public appearances afterward, and hid from the press and photographers.

  She'd died of a sudden heart attack in the fifties.

  Or so we thought.

  I was married to Renée Mendenhall. My anger began to rise because she hadn't told me.

  Jealousy was no longer a part of me, but when Merrill kissed her cheek after an incredible performance of Nessun Dorma, I realized that he'd known, somehow. Griffin likely was behind Merrill's knowledge of her former life, and I had no trouble including those two in my increasing temper.

  I walked out of the church without a word to Kiarra or the boys. Let her Look for me if she wanted; I intended to stalk the streets of New York for a while.

  * * *

  Justin's Journal

  Mack and I usually listen to rock music. Rap once in a while. Mom blew us away, and we didn't even listen to the kind of music she sang.

  The thing was—both those songs would have made Grampa Frank happy. Somewhere, wherever he was, I hoped he could hear them.

  Dad, though, stormed out of the church with an angry look on his face and that worried me. Mack noticed too, but didn't say anything, although he did call his dad after we got back to Merrill's apartment.

  I gave him privacy and didn't listen in, although Mom sent mindspeech, telling me that Mack's dad was working during the day and hunting spawn with the Fresno pack at night, so he wasn't getting much sleep.

  She didn't say anything about Dad's defection, probably because she didn't want me to worry. I could tell she was worried though, even when she tried to hide it. I should have mentioned it or said something. Hindsight—again.

  * * *

  Grampa Frank's funeral was a celebration of his life. During the memorial video, I saw photographs of him when he was little; some of them showing him holding an adult's hand, but the adult was never included in the picture.

  I knew it was Merrill.

  When Mom sang, though, people wept and I got chills, it was so beautiful and haunting.

  Dad had shown up at the last minute, wearing a really expensive suit and shoes I'd never seen before. He looked different. I couldn't define how he was different, but something had changed.

  Mom, for her performance, wore a black evening dress that made her platinum hair shine. I was so proud of her then—as if what she was doing required more courage than it took to fight spawn or the Ra'Ak that made them.

  Sometime soon, she would show everybody that she was pregnant, but for now, nobody knew unless they'd been told.

  "Mom looks amazing," Mack whispered beside me, so I nodded in agreement.

  Merrill and Joey seem so alone up there, he added in mindspeech.

  They were, sitting on the front row together, shoulder to shoulder, as Grampa Franklin's only family. We should be sitting with them, I sent back.


  Once Mom finished singing, she stepped off the stage at the front and exited through a side door. I assumed she'd join Mack and me at the back of the church where we sat.

  She never came. I wish I'd worried about it then. I didn't. I'd never make that mistake again.

  * * *

  Adam's Journal

  Kiarra didn't come to sit with me after she sang the second song. I couldn't blame her for that, as I'd refused to speak to her since early morning and didn't let her know where I was all day.

  Yes, part of the day I'd spent in London at the apartment I kept there, still, and chose to wear one of the custom suits hanging in that closet, paired with Italian-made shoes. I'd been allowed to keep my assets when I was made Saa Thalarr. Kiarra's, or Renée Mendenhall's—had been carefully portioned out to charities according to her will.

  What she had now, she'd earned as a member of the Saa Thalarr. I had no idea why I was so upset about it, but I was. I should have been more upset that she didn't come to sit with Justin and Mack after her performance, but I wasn't.

  More the fool, I.

  * * *

  It wasn't until the service was over that I understood how much damage I'd done. Merrill and Joey sat at the front, accepting condolences from those who passed Franklin's coffin, but Joey had the presence of mind, at least to let me know.

  Kiarra has disappeared from my healer's radar, he informed me. What did you do, Adam? She's on the run.

  * * *

  Merrill's Private Journal

  My heart couldn't take another blow; therefore, Kiarra's disappearance almost destroyed me.

  Whatever rift Adam created had hurt her greatly. If Franklin hadn't requested that she sing at his funeral, I would never have asked. When I did, she'd turned pale, making me realize how much it would cost her to perform in public.

  I'd read her biography, after all, and several musicians and sound technicians all described how she'd hide her face whenever she was forced to go out, and how they'd cringe at the first sight of her when she removed the scarf to sing in the studio.

  My heart wept for her. And for me.

  Kiarra did not resemble the vibrant young diva she'd been when she was young—then she'd had dark hair, gray eyes and a heart-shaped face. I believe she'd asked those who'd brought her to the Saa Thalarr to make her different so none could recognize her.