Kelly Meding - Requiem for the Dead

On the other hand, I was an only child with no father in the picture. My mother died when I was ten. I probably loved her as much as a kid could love someone who ignored them most days and yelled at them whenever they were actually noticed. She had been more concerned with getting drunk, getting high, and having sex with anything with a penis. I had no frame of reference for loving parents who actually gave a shit about their kids, or a family unit that protected each other. All I ever had was Wyatt and my Triad.

"You're right," I said. "I'll make the effort to talk to the Frosts, I promise."

"Thank you."

"No problem. Listen, I'll catch up with you later tonight, okay?"

"Sure." His eyebrows furrowed. "Where are you headed?"

I swallowed and worked up a smile—if whatever plan I made up on the way went to hell, I might never see him again. I love you, Wyatt, so much. As much as I wanted to say it, the words would sound too much like good-bye. Instead, I simply said, "I'm going to go visit my goddaughter."

I made one stop in Mercy's Lot before heading south. The Dane compound was on the outskirts of the city, in an area south of uptown, full of fancy homes and gated communities. Not quite a mansion, but too huge to be just a house, three stories spread out over a good quarter acre of the five acre, fenced lot. The grounds were free of trees to preserve line of sight, decorated instead with fancily-shaped shrubs and bushes. A large barn in the back was where, according to Marcus, the family could shift and run around without chance of a neighbor spying them in their true form.

A man with black hair and sunglasses hiding what were probably copper eyes was guarding the gate. I identified myself, and he let me inside without question.

So far so good.

A stone driveway led up to the front doors, and I parked off to the side behind two other vehicles. As I climbed out of the car, my nerves hummed. So much was riding on me getting this right. I wasn't wired and wore no weapons, which left me feeling totally naked despite my clothes. Naked, exposed, and ready to jump out of my skin.

The front door opened before I could ring the bell. Aurora's delighted smile curbed some of my guilt over this errand. She threw thin arms around my shoulders in an unexpected hug. Her thick, corkscrew-curled hair was pulled back in a big messy bun, and her clothes looked thrown on without thought to matching. But she was happy, and more than anything, it made me smile.

"I didn't expect you today," Aurora said as she pulled back. "With so much going on in the city, I thought you'd be terribly busy."

"We're doing everything we can," I replied. I followed her into the house's giant foyer, careful to disguise my slight limp. "I was injured last night, so I'm taking it easy today. Don't faint."

She laughed. "You never take it easy."

"Exactly. I figured distracting myself with a visit would be therapeutic."

"And you can check up on the Danes?"

I shrugged. "Maybe. This all revolves around them."

"Too true." She linked her arm through mine and led me into the west side of the house. The hardwood floors gleamed with a fresh coat of polish, and the scent of roasting meat teased my nose. The Dane house always had a homey, lived-in feeling to it, and I'd never regretted my decision to move the Coni survivors here.

"Tell me Ava isn't napping," I said. Even though it wasn't my mission, I wanted to see my goddaughter. To hug her and experience the innocence of a child, if only for a few minutes.

"She's quite awake. Joseph is with her in the playroom."

We went upstairs on a grand, winding staircase. The playroom was the stuff of every small child's dreams: a jungle gym, dozens of toys, even a plastic ball pit, all crammed into a bedroom the size of two Cottage Place apartments. Joseph waved from his perch on one of the swings, his body swaying gently. He was one of the oldest living Therians I knew, and every moment of his life was etched into the wrinkles and lines on his face. His eyes remained sharp, though, and he'd die to protect the two ladies in his care.

A delighted squeal rose up from the ball pit, followed by an explosion of red, yellow, and blue orbs. Ava scrambled out of the pit and across the floor toward me, screeching my name. She hurtled herself at my legs, and I dropped to my knees so I could grab her in a proper hug. Ava had been born in May, putting her at three and a half months old. Due to her Therian physiology, she was the size of a sixteen-month old, steady on her feet and blurting out her first words. She was bigger every time I saw her, and I regretted not being a larger part of her life.

How often does a human get to be godmother to a Coni child?

"Evy, Evy," Ava said, over and over in her pipsqueak voice.

"Hey, cutie." I ruffled her thick curls, the same shiny auburn as her mother's. "I've missed you."

Ava smiled shyly, then raced back over to the ball pit. Had it only been a few months ago that I'd held her and she'd been a day old? It didn't seem possible.

"Hi, Joseph," I said.

"Greetings, Evangeline," he replied. His reedy voice was tighter, rougher than usual. "Have you word?"

It took me a moment to realize he meant word from Phineas. I wasn't the only one he'd left behind. "No, nothing, I'm sorry. This is purely a social call."

He nodded, then returned his attention to Ava and her antics in the pit.

"Phineas is missed," Aurora whispered when I stood.

"By all of us," I replied. "I wish he would send word."

"As do I. He's missing so much."

Ava was Phin's goddaughter, and he wasn't around to see her growing up—or to protect her, like he'd promised. He'd left me to do it for both of us, and a small part of me resented him for that. They were his people, his family, and he'd left them to chase the smallest hope of finding more Coni alive somewhere in the world.

Aurora took my hand and led me to one side of the playroom, out of earshot of the others. "What's troubling you, Evangeline?"

"That's a pretty long list." I wasn't about to unload the drama of the last few days on her narrow, overburdened shoulders, so I settled on a vague version of the truth. "Some friends are in pain, and I don't know how to help them."

"Do you blame yourself for their pain?"

"Don't I always?"

"Is it your blame to carry?"

"Some of it's mine. Some if it belongs to others."

"Then carry what's yours and leave the rest behind."

Easier said than done.

We watched Ava play for a few minutes in silence before Aurora said, "I hope he returns soon."

"Phin?"

"Yes. Joseph's dying."

Something in my chest squeezed. "He is?"

She blinked hard. "He's lived a long life. He'll pass soon, I think. My hope is that Phineas returns so that they may say good-bye."

"Weeks?"

"Days." She turned wide, tear-filled eyes to me. "I don't know if I can be here without Joseph. The Danes have been kind to us, but they're Felia. We're not natural allies."

"They scare you?"

"Very much. It's a silly instinct, but it's difficult to fight."

"If Phin is able, he'll come home."

"I know." She let out a long, shuddering breath. "It's the thought that he might be unable that terrifies me."

"Me, too." I hugged her, unsure what else to do. "Me, too."

I visited a while longer, until leaving was inevitable. I had a primary reason for coming to the Dane house today, and putting it off wouldn't make it go away. I hugged Ava extra fiercely before I excused myself from the playroom, careful to tell Aurora I could walk myself to the front door.

My heart hammered in my chest hard enough to hurt. Adrenaline made my fingertips shake. My skin crawled with awareness of what I was about to do. This plan could go to shit so easily if I wasn't fast enough. It was going to hurt a lot of people for a little while. Wyatt's face flashed in my mind's eye and I shoved him away. I couldn't think about him right now. I had to concentrate.