They sat and tore at the bread, sliced into the cheese and ate greedily, satisfying the appetites that they’d forgotten they had.
“Remember that you two have undergone a change, as well as Conor,” said Merriman. “Your muscles and everything else in you needs nourishment. You will find in the days to come that changes take place that you hadn’t anticipated.
“Changes?” said Graeme, his mouth half-full of makeshift sandwich.
“Your powers will find a way of combining, spreading themselves about. It is how I’ve acquired my fair share of abilities through the generations. But it can be frightening to uncover—one day, for instance, a shifter might be able to fly and the next, to teleport.”
“It would be interesting to learn to leap as Lilliana can,” said Graeme. “I must admit that I envy her the ability.”
“In all likelihood, you will learn it,” said Merriman. “And in turn, her leaping will fortify and strengthen. And she will acquire the skills that you and Conor have. Though be warned: they’re never quite the same in two shifters.”
“Well, this will be another adventure, I suppose,” laughed Lily. How many damned adventures did one woman need in a month?
By now it was late afternoon. The sun was already beginning to move towards the horizon above the narrow treeline in the distance when Lily rose.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said. “I want to check in on Conor.”
It wasn’t worry that guided her up the stairs this time; it was a need for reassurance. She was beginning to feel…something. As though he were coming back to her, but she wanted to be sure that it wasn’t that damned false hope settling in.
When she arrived at the bedroom, Dr. Evans was sitting, calmly reading a book by a light on the nightstand.
He looked up as she entered.
“His fever has broken,” he said. “And your Conor will be fine.”
Lily, who would have expected herself to run up and embrace the doctor, Conor, or both, instead slumped back against the wall and slid down to the hard floor. Her knees rose to meet her chest as it heaved in deep sobs, her hands covering her face.
So, she thought, relief could be as violent an emotion as heartbreak.
She would have him again, and this time he would remain hers for many, many years.
38
Dragon Flight, Chapter Five
Dr. Evans helped her to her feet a minute later, after giving her a moment to let out what had had built up inside over the course of the day.
“I’m all right,” she insisted, wiping her face with the back of her hand.
“Oh, I know that you’ll be fine.” The doctor smiled. “But you should tell the others the good news as well. You’re not the only one who will be relieved.”
“No, of course you’re right. Just give me one moment.”
She walked quietly to the edge of the bed and leaned over to place a delicate kiss on Conor’s forehead. It seemed cruel not to convey the good news to Graeme and Merriman as soon as possible, though she suspected that the latter would know full well what was up before a word was spoken.
After she’d touched her lover’s face one more time, she darted back down the stairs and found the two men still seated at the table, locked in earnest conversation about past centuries. They stopped and looked at her, inquiring faces reminding her of two animals, curious about what they were studying.
“He’ll be all right,” she said, walking towards them. She took Graeme’s right hand and squeezed.
“Oh, thank God,” said Graeme. “I was…” He stopped before uttering words that might denote weakness.
“I know,” said Lily. “Me too.”
“You were feeling broken by it all,” said Merriman, filling in the gaps. “As you should. As broken as if someone walked up and shattered the bones in your legs. He is an integral part of you both for the rest of your lives, and you of his. Never forget it.”
Lily leaned over and kissed Graeme’s cheek, as his arm went around her waist and held on tight.
“We’ve done well,” he said. “We three. To have found each other, somehow.”
“It hasn’t been the most conventional courtship,” laughed Lily. “But it’s in the challenge that it’s proven itself worthwhile. And I suspect that this is just the beginning, though I’d be grateful if things became a little less exciting for a little.”
Graeme smiled. His face, which all day had shown signs of stress, seemed to have softened now.
Lily found herself smiling as well, relief flooding through her. They say that you never know what you have until you lose it, but she was convinced that she’d known, almost from the start, what she had: the two most desirable, noble, strong men who’d ever existed.
* * *
Merriman regaled them with stories of another time and place and the three managed to laugh a good deal in the next half hour or so, exhausted and yet happy.
Even Merriman, who so often seemed to have his mind dashing around between several places at once and to be constantly considering serious and far-off topics, seemed to loosen up for a little. He even told them tales of scandals among the aristocracy from the days before and after Lily’s birth—stories that had never made it into history books.
It was as night began to creep in that a tremor shot down Lily’s spine, as though a chilly gust had cut through her clothing. For a moment she wondered if it was something to do with Conor; a sixth sense, telling her that he was in trouble.
Merriman’s head jerked towards her at the same moment, his face taut with alertness.
“You felt that,” he said.
“I think I’m just a little cold,” she replied as Graeme laid a concerned hand on her.
“Dragons do not get a little cold,” said Merriman.
“What’s happening, Merry?” asked Graeme, who hadn’t sensed what the other two had.
“They’ve found us. And they’re coming. Tonight.”
“How many?” Lily’s voice trembled. There was no need to ask who “they” were; she knew perfectly well. It wasn’t fear that she felt, not exactly. Merely complete and unrelenting exhaustion. More bad news was a solid boulder being added to the weight that she and Graeme had carried around all day.
“I don’t know. Only that it is the same enemy that’s threatened you before. I couldn’t tell you more, as I don’t yet know. But I sensed their movement just now, as you did. It’s only my experience that allows me to understand what it is that my mind has seen.”
“But I don’t understand. How did they find us?” Graeme began, before his mind answered its own question. “Of course. I’m an idiot: My déor. They saw me.”
“Or smelled you. Don’t forget, Lord Ramsey. They are looking for you.” Merriman’s voice was grim, his hostility aimed at the unseen foe. “Do not blame yourself. They would have found you after a time anyhow. Dragons and phoenixes, and whatever Mr. Dunbar upstairs might become, are difficult to conceal from their kind in any form—even human. And now that you have engaged in—well, let’s just say that the Ritual is a powerful thing, in more ways than one.”
“But you told me that this house is protected,” said Lily.
“It is, but the spell that I cast is not impenetrable. It would take a good deal of my strength to conceal our location properly, I’m afraid. And I am at fault; I underestimated our enemy, and thought that we would have a few days of peace at least.”
“Conor is upstairs fighting for his life. Isn’t there something we can do? Can we somehow distract them?” Lily asked. “If they get in here…”
“Distract? No. By now they will be headed here directly, and will attack as soon as night has fallen—which seems imminent. In all likelihood we will need to fight, to protect the house and its contents.”
Inside Graeme the red dragon silently reared up, excited at the prospect of a battle. It had been far too long since he’d had the chance to take on one enemy, let alone many. He was built for more ambitious tasks than to serve
as a private jet for doctors, after all.
“I do have a few tricks of my own, though,” said Merriman, who at times really did remind Lily of a wizard, whether he called himself one or not. “Between the three of us and our scandiacus up there—“ he gestured towards Barnabas—“meaning ‘snowy owl,’ we will be able to fight them back for a time, perhaps. He’s more useful than you might think in these situations.”
Barnabas emitted a low hoot that almost managed to sound like a sarcastic statement, or as near one as an owl could make.
“And if we can’t take them on?” asked Lily.
“That’s simple: they will kill us. But how likely do you suppose it is that they would be able to combat two dragons so powerful as yourselves? You in particular, Lilliana, are special, with no offense to Lord Ramsey. You are the rarest: a hybrid, with the blood of a firebird.”
“But I’m no more special than any other dragon—than Graeme. I’m quite normal, really.”
Rohan, her twin brother, came to mind then. He seemed so much more powerful, his abilities so broad. But he was far away, and Lily wished for him now, her protector for life. She felt suddenly small as she had so many years ago in the barrow where she’d spent days concealed with him in darkness, before they’d ever shifted and discovered their déors. They were only two innocent, vulnerable children then.
And now, she reminded herself, she was a grown woman.
“Not special?” Merriman looked into her then and again, her mind seemed to take in his thoughts. Never tell yourself such things, his voice boomed inside her head. Never believe them. Realize your full potential. And your worth. Now, before it’s too late. Specialness does no one any good after they’re dead.
She had no desire to find out if he was right.
Her greatest desire, though, was to sleep for a little. To curl up into a small ball like a kitten, and to pass out in front of a quiet fireplace. To forget everything that weighed on her, if only for a few hours.
The previous night seemed now like a faded memory from decades ago; a beautiful dream from which she’d awoken into a nightmare. The joy of it, the sweet pain, the intimacy between herself and her two lovers.
Would she ever feel it again, or was life so cruel as to continually steal away her joy? If Conor managed to recover, and if they made it through tonight’s attack, there would still be other members of the Stranieri to take on. Lily didn’t yet know the full extent of their powers.
But she suspected that she would soon find out.
* * *
When the doorbell rang early in the evening, the shifters looked at one another nervously. Surely the Stranieri weren’t into such formality as coming to the front door.
“It’s only Mrs. Fitzpatrick,” said Merriman after a moment, standing as his mind assessed the series of images that he was receiving from elsewhere. “She may have news for us.” He made his way quickly out of the room, Barnabas’s head turning to follow his route for a moment, his intense eyes watchful.
News. Lily longed for news from upstairs, but needed to maintain the faith she had in the good doctor. He would do his best, she knew, to save Conor as he’d once saved her mother Gwynne.
A few moments later, Merriman re-entered the room. The friendly grey-haired lady whom Lily, Graeme and Conor had met at the train station followed him in, wearing what looked like equestrian clothes and carrying what appeared to be a shotgun.
“Hello, friends,” she said cheerfully.
“Hello,” said Graeme.
“Mrs. Fitzpatrick, what are you doing here? It’s not safe,” said Lily, aware that her tone was less than hospitable. “Even with that gun in your hand.”
“Well, truth be told I came to warn ye that strangers have been seen about the town today. But of course I should have known that you would be aware of it already, being the fancy lot that you are.”
“I don’t know about ‘fancy,’ but yes, we know,” said Merriman. “And Lilliana is right—you aren’t entirely safe here. But we nonetheless appreciate your coming, don’t we?” He turned to Lily, a chastising narrowing of his eyes which reminded her of a parent.
“I wouldn’t leave my Merry to the wolves, as it were,” said Mrs. Fitzpatrick. “With no offense meant to you, of course, Lilliana. I know that your fathers are of that ilk. It’s only that I always reckon that if I can help I should.”
“No offense taken,” said Lily, her voice softening. “And my fathers are dire wolves, so I tend to think them somewhat above your run-of-the-mill timberwolves.”
“Not so run-of-the-mill when they’ve shifters’ blood in ‘em,” replied the woman. A moment later she seemed at last to register Conor’s absence. “Where’s your other companion?”
“He’s…” began Lily. She stopped herself. How did one explain Conor’s condition? We had the most astonishing sexual intercourse in the history of the world, and now he’s fighting for his life.
“He’s not feeling so well today,” said Merriman, raising his eyebrows to his old friend.
“Ah…I see,” she said, seeming to understand the meaning behind the few words. “The Fever.”
“The Fever?” It was Graeme who spoke now, too curious to remain silent.
“The Fever what sets in when the bonding is done,” said Mrs. Fitzpatrick. “I’ve seen it more’n once in my time.”
“And what happened?” asked Lily.
The woman’s eyes, so bright and cheerful normally, saddened in a flash. “As with so many things, some lived, some died. The strong can usually pull through, though, and if I’m any judge, that man upstairs is a strong lad.”
“He is that,” said Graeme, putting a hand on Lily’s arm to reassure her.
A sound broke through their moment of calm conversation; a penetrating cry, inhuman and raw in the distance.
“What was that?” asked Lily, her fingers digging into the finish on the table beneath them.
“That was the cry of a distant déor,” said Merriman. “Attempting to find a way to this elusive house.”
39
Dragon Flight, Chapter Six
Night fell slowly and yet seemed to come at the house far too quickly. Lily and Graeme remained with Merriman in the kitchen, certain that Dr. Evans would alert them of any changes. The best they could offer Conor now was their vigilance in guarding the Old House.
On a warm summer day, this kitchen was probably as close to perfection as could be: copper pots and pans hung from iron hooks in the wall; old, lovingly-crafted blue and white pitchers and vases stood here and there as though in accidental arrangements, perfect in their randomness. It would have been easy to picture a rosy-cheeked woman spending hours baking while flour coated nearby surfaces and children ran about in joyful play, a soft breeze wafting through pale yellow curtains which would billow in response.
The window overlooking the back garden was large and from it one could see far beyond the property itself, which now rendered the room the perfect strategic location to watch for an imminent attack, one which seemed to contradict the very nature of the cheerful space where the three companions sat.
Graeme, protective and alert, made frequent trips to the window overlooking the fields outside. In the distance was a quiet road which passed by the property, and beyond that a graveyard whose tombstones were faded to the point that most could no longer be read. Trees loomed over all of it, their twisted branches highlighted black against the fading indigo of the sky.
“I don’t see anything yet,” he said on one such surveillance mission. “And I don’t feel what you two seem to sense…this foreboding of yours.”
“Lilliana has acquired a touch of the Sight, it would seem,” said Merriman. “And no doubt you will as well, Ramsey. As I said, your skills will be shared between you as time goes by.”
“I look forward to being able to fling dining tables at threatening stalkers,” murmured Lily, half-joking. It all seemed pointless now. She turned to the man with the wild grey hair. “We will have no choice
but to fight them as dragons.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you worry that we’ll be seen from town by humans? It’s not so far down the hill.”
“The veil of protection over this house is still in place. It’s stronger against humans than against shifters who seek it. In all likelihood those who live down the hill will see something, but they won’t know what. When they speak of it tomorrow they’ll shrug their shoulders and chalk it up to a strange dream or too much ale.”
“That’s how the world perceives us. As a dream, something other than reality,” said Lily. “We don’t exist to them, do we? It seems as though they’d rather live in denial than accept the truth.”
“You’re quite right. And yet, over centuries, we’ve protected them often, against one another as well as other threats.”
“Ironic.”
“What’s truly ironic,” said Graeme, “is the Stranieri’s desire to kill off the most powerful déors, the ones who have the greatest potential to protect.”
“Dragons are not historically all that wonderful at protecting other living creatures,” said Merriman, a hint of anger in his voice. “They are outliers, and can be cruel. They are known to hoard material possessions more than lives.”
Of course, Lily knew the truth in this better than anyone. But her mother, born of a dragon and a phoenix, was kind. Then again, that trait came from Freya, Lily’s grandmother. Her grandfather had been a tyrant during his lifetime, cruel enough to want his own daughter murdered, and to have burned his wife nearly to death.
“We’re not like that,” she protested before Graeme had the chance. “Graeme has protected me at every turn, and I would give my life to protect my…”
“Your mates?” Merriman’s voice calmed. “I know that. Forgive me, Lilliana. And Ramsey. It’s only that I’ve had some negative experiences with your kind. But I don’t mean to judge you for them. However, you can imagine that the Stranieri might. They see you as nothing but trouble, and much as I hate to say it, there are historical reasons for their own prejudice.”
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