Chapter 13

13

GAbrIEL

I woke to the last of the sunset filtering through the forest, casting little hints of orange and gold over the room. Evangeline sat next to me in the bed, a few thick books spread out across the blankets next to her, all open. She flicked through the pages, then scribbling in a notebook. In addition to the pen in her hand, she'd jammed another into her bun and presumably forgotten about it. I watched her as she frowned down at what she'd written and crossed something out.

I shifted, stretching the kinks out of my arms. It was a surprise to wake up and be able to move. I'd become so used to being restrained, and stretching was a luxury I fully intended to indulge in.

"How'd you sleep?" Evangeline asked, smiling down at me. Her voice was very warm. I nuzzled against her clothed hip like a sleepy cat, and she laughed quietly, running her fingers through my hair.

"Better than I have in a long time." It was true, even if the bar was so low as to be practically subterranean. "I think I'm ready to see the others."

"Thank God. They keep texting me for updates, and I'm pretty sure if we stay in here for too much longer, your mom's gonna take a battering ram to the door."

"She wouldn't need a battering ram. She could just kick it down," I said blearily, still foggy with sleep. Then I processed what Evangeline had said. "My mother's here?" I pushed myself up onto my elbows.

"Shit, I thought I'd told you," Evangeline said. "Yeah, it turns out she was also robbing the vault at the citadel while we were there getting the knife. She stuck around to make sure we got you out and helped Marcus break my curse. She's been teaching me some stuff. Your mom's actually really cool."

The idea of Evangeline and my mother getting along terrified me to my very core. The only thing worse would be if they didn't get along at all. I slumped back down onto the bed for a moment, then stood up. Clothes. I should find clothes.

The outfit I'd been stuck in while my father had held me captive was still in the tiny bathroom, but it was rank, and I wasn't keen to put it back on.

"You all right there?" Evangeline asked from the bed, her brow furrowed as she tucked a small arsenal of bookmarks into the tomes around her.

"Yes," I said. "I should—Pants?"

Luckily, she managed to parse that into an actual sentence. With a smile that was almost certainly at my expense, she pointed at a spot on the wall with the forest mural. When I looked closer, I realized the painting had been done over the top of built-in cabinetry, and what I had taken for a particularly good bit of trompe l'oeil was actually a series of drawer pulls sculpted to look like leaves. I pulled open the top drawer and saw a row of my own shirts, neatly folded. I stared down at them.

"Lissa made sure to pack you some options," Evangeline said. "She thought you'd want stuff you felt good in."

"Oh." I swallowed thickly, running a hand over the delicate weave of a rich-blue herringbone silk shirt. I felt a dizzying surge of gratitude for my friends, the people I was lucky enough to call my family. I hunted through the drawers until I'd put together enough of a proper outfit that I wouldn't be embarrassed seeing my mother. Lissa had chosen well. She'd packed my banyan, a heavy silk dressing gown in a style that had unfortunately gone out of fashion a few hundred years ago. Mine was a blue-gray shade that brought out my eyes, and while it looked fairly regal, it felt like wrapping myself in a blanket. I threw it on over one of the simpler shirts and a pair of soft linen trousers. Lissa had even thought to include a pair of velvet slippers, and I slid my feet into them with a sigh.

"I can't believe your idea of a casual look involves this much silk," Evangeline said. "I mean, I can, but it's still wild." She'd stacked the books and was now searching around the sheets trying to find her pen, which she'd already stuck in her hair alongside its predecessor.

"You don't approve?" I asked, mock hurt.

"I didn't say that. I'm for sure gonna steal that robe if I get half a chance."

I reached over and pulled both of the pens from her hair, handing them to her, and she glanced up at me with grateful surprise. It was odd, realizing someone knew you well enough to anticipate your needs.

"Oh," she said. "Thank you." She leaned in and kissed me. An embarrassingly pleased sound escaped my throat, and she hummed, but when I began steering us back toward the bed, she laughed and pulled away.

"I want to," she said. "Believe me, I really, really do, but I'm not willing to risk your mom kicking down the door while we're…"

I grimaced. "Say no more. And I do mean that literally. I suppose we should find her before she finds us."

Evangeline took my hand, and we went in search of my mother.

It didn't take us long. The sitting area at the mouth of the hallway was occupied. My mother stood at the window, staring out over the rushing river below with her hands clasped behind her back. She looked drawn, but she was too well-practiced to let any of her tension show in her shoulders. Lissa lounged on a sofa, looking like the subject of an odalisque painting, but without the horrifically racist undertones. Theo was sprawled on a beanbag chair that was attempting to absorb them. They was the first to see us, but since they had to fight their way out of the beanbag chair to get to their feet, the other two beat them to me as Evangeline stepped aside to give them room. Lissa was half a step ahead of my mother, but stepped aside to let her go first.

My mother cupped my face in her cool hands, angling me toward the dwindling light from the windows.

"Gabriel," she said softly. "It's very good to see you."

"Mother," I choked out, stepping forward and hugging her. She went completely rigid, then slowly brought up a hand to pat me on the back. When she cleared her throat, I took that as my hint to end the embrace. The De Montclairs were not, traditionally speaking, huggers.

Lissa, however, was. She threw her arms around me and squeezed me tightly, then held me at arm's length and looked me over.

"I'm not hurt," I said. "You don't have to worry about me."

The look she gave me said very clearly that she'd worry as much as she'd like, and I couldn't stop her. "Maybe I wasn't checking for injuries." She sniffed. "Maybe I just wanted to make sure you'd dressed yourself suitably."

Before I could complain about that, Theo nudged Lissa aside and yanked me into a firm hug as well. This surprised me enough that I stiffened, just like my mother had, but then I relaxed into it and hugged them back.

"Don't do that shit again," they muttered, pulling away. "You stressed us all the fuck out."

"Excellent advice," I said, completely deadpan. "I apologize for any inconvenience my kidnapping may have caused you."

They snorted and punched me on the arm.

"Come along, come along," Lissa said, taking my other arm and towing me to the stairs down to the second floor. "Those in our merry little band who actually eat food are teaching Vic how to make dinner."

I hadn't taken in the place when I arrived, but now that I was rested, I saw my surroundings with fresh eyes. The kitchen on the second floor was sprawling and open concept, with a mix of gleaming metal and cheap plastic. A neon-purple electric kettle designed to look like an elephant sat next to the top-of-the-line range. Novelty tourist magnets and scribbled notes covered the sleek fridge.

At the island, Vic was bent over a tray of something. Marcus was next to him, inspecting his work. A large redheaded man I didn't recognize stood on Vic's other side. He didn't smell human, but I couldn't place his scent. Isabella was perched on one of the bar stools, watching the trio with horrified fascination.

"Now, of course, if you want to, you can add a bar of dark chocolate," Marcus said.

"You absolutely cannot," the stranger said. "One piece. You can add maybe one piece of chocolate, or a small, small spoonful of baking cocoa, but don't add an entire bar to your Bolognese. That's… don't do that."

Evangeline cleared her throat pointedly, and the four of them turned their attention to us. In the chorus of general well-wishes and questions about how I felt, I got a firm clap on the back from Vic and a handshake from Marcus that left a smear of tomato paste on my palm.

Isabella gave me a little wave. "Good to see you walking around again."

"Good to be walking around again," I replied.

The stranger offered me a damp paper towel, and I wiped the tomato residue from my hand.

"Xarek," he said. "I was Evangeline's getaway ride for the citadel job. I'm sorry for the way things went down."

His hair was the exact same color as the dragon's scales, I realized. No wonder I hadn't been able to place him—dragon shifters were very rare. "You got Evangeline to safety," I said. "You have my gratitude for that."

Behind me, I heard a stomach grumble, and I glanced over my shoulder. Evangeline looked embarrassed.

"Sorry," she said. "The food just smells delicious."

I inhaled. The kitchen smelled of cooking meat and spices, and even without the ability to eat food, I could appreciate the scent.

"Dinner will be ready any minute," Vic said proudly.

"Lemme check the pasta," Xarek said. "Vic, don't listen to anything Marcus might say about throwing spaghetti. Marcus, can you set the table?"

I glanced around. There didn't seem to be any sort of dining room, just the kitchen and a casual living room in the open space, but then Marcus rapped his knuckles against the counter in a quick rhythm. The floor shifted and warped, scooting aside some of the living room furniture and making a new patch of hardwood. He rapped a different pattern, and some of the floorboards sprang up, floating at waist height for a moment before sliding together and sprouting claw-foot table legs. On the floor, the remaining boards had widened to fill in the gaps. The mismatched living room chairs and sofa shuffled over, their upholstery billowing away as they reformed into still-mismatched dining chairs. The upholstery settled into seat cushions. A small metal and glass lantern hung from a hook in the ceiling, and as I watched, the hook grew and twisted into an antler-like shape that stretched as long as the table below. More glass lanterns sprouted from it, hanging like surreal fruit. Meanwhile, one of the kitchen cupboards had opened, and a small battalion of plates and glasses settled itself onto a serving tray alongside gleaming cutlery. The tray's feet matched the table, and as it flew over to it, its claws scuttled in the air, making it look like a small dog that was being held above a bath and had decided to get a head-start on paddling.

I watched the display in amazement. Most of the homes in Eldoria had absorbed bits of stray magic, but I had never seen one as richly imbued as this. Even without a sense for magic, I could tell the place was saturated with power. The dishes hopped into their places, forks and knives arranged exactly parallel.

Next to me, my mother raised an eyebrow. "You forgot the napkins," she said coolly.

Marcus sighed and grabbed some from a drawer, then put them on the table himself.

We sat, and the old mill opened the fridge and floated packets of synth blood over to us. At a stern glance from my mother, the packets floated back into the kitchen, emptied themselves into wine glasses, and repeated their little parade, joined by a tureen of Bolognese sauce. Xarek followed, carrying a bowl of steaming pasta. When he set the bowl down, I saw small copper scales had sprung up on his palms to protect him from the heat.

Even though I didn't have much of an appetite, the meal was excellent. After all, there was more to a proper dinner than just the food. I managed to drink half my glass of synth-blood, although it still didn't taste right to me. Evangeline gave me encouraging looks from across the table every time I took a tentative sip.

"The sauce came out perfectly," Marcus told Vic approvingly.

Vic gave him a pleased nod of thanks, but then glanced at Xarek for a second opinion. The dragon took a huge bite, considered it, and then gave him a thumbs up. Vic smiled, and Lissa bumped her shoulder against his.

"Good job," she stage-whispered. "Handsome, and a great chef. I'm a lucky woman!"

Vic's ears went pink, and Theo made gagging sounds at the display.

It was a good evening. It wasn't exceptional or particularly remarkable. It wasn't exciting. It was just one long, golden moment of simple pleasure. I was safe, with the people I loved, and for the moment, I was carefree. Evangeline's ankle pressed against mine under the table, and we traded small, happy smiles throughout the entire meal. Theo and Vic got into a laughing, rapid-fire bickering session that drifted across several different languages, only broken when Isabella got up to refill her water and Theo sprang up to do it for her instead.

Xarek and Marcus were sitting next to each other, and at some point in Marcus's gesticulations, he'd wound up leaning closer to use Xarek's armrest instead of his own. Xarek, now robbed of his armrest, had adapted by throwing his arm over Marcus's backrest. My mother sipped her synth-blood daintily as she watched the proceedings. She looked a little bemused by my friends, but whenever our eyes met, she gave me a tiny approving look.

I wasn't particularly following the flow of the conversation around me. Instead, I watched the faces of my loved ones under the light of Marcus's homegrown chandelier. This was what family was. This, not someone trapping you in a room modeled after their idea of who you might have been. If I grew and changed, these people would see it as a strength and not an act of disobedience.

The time I had spent in my father's clutches was a clear reminder of what I was fighting against. Now happy and sated, watching the light flickering across Evangeline's hair when she threw her head back to laugh, I had a reminder of what I was fighting for.

Later, when the dishes were cleared and Marcus had stopped getting the furniture to twist itself into increasingly ornate designs to try to impress my stone-faced mother, people split away in ones and twos. I spotted my mother at the foot of the stairs, and she angled her head ever so slightly, a silent instruction for me to follow.

We climbed the stairs without exchanging a word. My mother was light on her feet, even for a vampire. I could be as quiet as she was when I wanted to, but I made a point of making sound when I walked around humans and other creatures without heightened hearing. The aged timbers didn't creak beneath our feet as we kept climbing past the third floor.

There was a landing for the fourth floor, but the door had been blocked off with caution tape. I raised an eyebrow, and she shook her head, walking briskly up a narrower, shorter flight of stairs that went up another seven or eight feet into a space that must have once been the foreman's office; it stretched across the width of the building, but only took up a fraction of its length, and was raised above the rest of the fourth floor. The wide windows allowed for an unobstructed view of the space below, likely to keep an eye on the workers. I could see why my mother had wound up in this room. For one thing, it was much more expansive than the room I was sharing with Evangeline. The space had been transformed into a luxury suite, with black lacquered screens dividing the bedroom from the sitting area. The furniture was made of dark carved wood and icy-blue slubbed silk. A desk overlooked the factory floor, with a low bookcase on one side of it, and a bar cabinet on the other.

My mother moved over to the windows and gazed down at the floor below us. As I followed her gaze, I gasped. Below were dozens of large bird nests with sleeping creatures in each of them. The birds were perhaps slightly larger than a peacock, its plumage the bright buttery white-yellow of candle flames. They had tails like peacocks, too, but the eye of each plume was a bright, pale blue. Each bird glowed gently, like an avian nightlight.

"Firebirds?" I breathed. "I thought they were extinct."

My mother nodded. "They were hunted to extinction in the old world. Every fool in eastern Europe wanted to snatch the feathers from one to prove his worth. But a long time ago, the people who became the Yupik realized if you caught a firebird instead of killing it, you could raise its young. They barely eat anything, and you can use them as light sources, which is invaluable when one has to contend with the arctic circle." She sighed and shook her head just once. "When they crossed the land bridge to the Americas, they brought their firebirds with them."

"That's incredible."

"The climate here doesn't agree with them," she said. "It's too warm. This may be the largest colony of them left alive in the entire world."

"Mother," I started.

"I'm leaving tonight." She said it as if I hadn't even spoken. "You're safe now, or as safe as you will be while this mess unfolds. I have unfinished business to take care of, and I won't give your father any more chances to find me. I've already stayed in one place for too long."

That stunned me, and I wasn't sure why. "But I need you," I said, feeling impossibly young and foolish. "We need you," I corrected myself. "We need to stop Morgana. Surely you can help us."

My mother turned to me with a quiet sigh. "The longer I stay here, the higher the chance of your father finding me. If I thought my help was necessary, I would stay, but my presence only puts you at greater risk." Her mind was made up, and if I tried to talk her out of it, I'd embarrass both of us.

"But…" I floundered. "You're an excellent tactician. You have connections everywhere. The sheer amount of magical knowledge?—"

"Gabriel," she said sternly. "I am, as you say, an excellent tactician. So, trust me when I say I'm needed more elsewhere."

I rubbed a hand over my stinging eyes. "I can't change your mind, can I?"

"Of course not." She stretched up to kiss me on the forehead. Her lips lingered for a moment, dry and cool, then she stepped away and moved the screen separating the sleeping quarters from the lounge area. Her luggage sat on top of the bed. She must have been waiting for me to wake up before she left.

"It would behoove you to remember that there is someone in the family who has been plotting how to get rid of that witch for a long time. I'm sure he has the fragments of several plans that he hasn't been able to string together yet. Luckily for the fate of the magical world, you got your smarts from me, not him." She swept up her luggage and kissed my forehead once again, then swept out the door.

I stood at the window for a long time, looking down at the sleeping firebirds curled around each other and their eggs. My mother was right. There was someone who had spent years figuring out how to destroy Morgana, and his name was Roland De Montclair.