Eileen Wilks: Cyncerely Yours

“Remove yourself,” ordered a clear, disapproving female voice. “You are in my way.” A tiny, erect figure emerged from what was left of the crowd. She wore crimson silk, lavishly embroidered and very Chinese. And she headed straight for Mika.

“Shit!”Cynna took a step towards her. “Madame Yu—”

Lily stopped her with a hand on her arm. “It's okay. She knows what she's doing.” But Cynna caught what she added under her breath. “I hope.”

Lily's grandmother crossed the empty grass between the guests and the dragon, stopping well within gobbling distance. “You will behave yourself,” she said sternly, then, after a pause: “Oh, no, you will not. Not me.” She added something in Chinese before returning to English. “Settle yourself. Are you just hatched? Your dam would be shamed by your lack of control.”

The mental voice was shockingly strong, roiled by fury, nothing like the cold crystal Cynna had “heard” from dragons before: She has my dust!

Madame Yu's head turned as if Mika had pointed at something. Cynna looked that way, too . . . . “Holy Mother of God,” she whispered.

A small Styrofoam container hovered in the air over the trees that separated this area from the dragon's lair.

Madame Yu stared up at Mika a few moments more. Slowly he descended, but his tail lashed once, knocking a small tree into a serious tilt. Lily's grandmother turned to face them. “Mika is overwrought. He is not making sense. Someone has his gold dust, and I see it floating, but he does not say who takes it. He says that Cynna must make ‘ her' give it back, but does not say who.”

Cynna groaned. “The ghost. That damned ghost is playing games with dragon gold.” She raised her voice to scream at the air. “I forgive you, all right? I forgive you, you twice-damned bitch! Now put down that gold and go away!”

In the silence that followed Cullen murmured, “The ghost- bitch may have found that less that sincere.”

From somewhere behind them a woman said, “Perhaps I can help.”

Cynna turned. A plain, pleasant-face woman in a wrinkled green dress was approaching them on the path to the parking lot. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, maybe a little older. Her dishwater blond hair was cut very short. “I'm afraid I'm late,” she said apologetically. “Traffic was difficult, and my taxi driver didn’t speak English, and we went all the way to . . . but never mind all that. You say there's a ghost causing trouble?”

Cynna nodded, puzzled. The face was familiar, but she couldn't place the woman. “Yeah, Mrs. Ryerson. She used to be my next-door neighbour, but that was over twenty years ago. I have no idea when she died, or why she suddenly turned up to make my life hell, except that she wants me to forgive her. Ah . . . I'm afraid I've forgotten your name.”

It was Cullen who answered, so quietly she barely heard him. " You've met her, but you weren't given her name. We don't use their names.”

Cynna looked at him, her mouth suddenly dry. She knew of only two types of women whom the lupi didn't refer to by name. One was a goddess and unlikely to show up at their wedding. The other . . . well, she would have thought that almost as unlikely.

“She’ s a Rhej?”

Cullen stared at the quiet, brown-haired woman as if she were the ghost. “Yes. The Etorri Rhej.”

Cullen couldn't make himself move or speak. This woman hadn't been Rhej when he was kicked out of Etorri. That Rhej had withered her way into death over twenty years ago; she'd been followed by the woman who had trained the one in front of him now.

Cynna took his hand. That helped, somehow, but when he finally found his tongue he might as well have stayed silent, considering how little he had to say. “You’ve cut your hair.”

“I got tired of messing with it.” She smiled at both of them. “I was happy to receive your invitation.”

Cynna started to speak. Cullen squeezed her hand before she could blurt out that they hadn't sent her one. Of course they hadn't. It never occurred to him that any of the Rhejes, keepers of the memories and traditions, would be willing to attend the tradition-busting occasion of his wedding.

Yet here she was. And she wasn't just any Rhej. She was Etorri. What she did mattered — not just to him, but to all the clans. Her presence wouldn't bring universal acceptance of his marriage, but it would make a difference.

Cullen had to swallow first, but this time he knew what to say. “We are happy to have you.”

“Thank you. Now, about that ghost--?”

“Rhejes deal with ghosts?” Cynna asked, dubious. “I didn’t know that.”

“No, but—” He almost forgot and used her name. “She’ s a medium.”

Interesting. She is very young, yet she knows her true name. So few humans do.

Mika advanced with the sinuous sway common to dragons. Several of the guests scattered to give him room. He stopped and stared at the Rhej. What is a medium? Ah, I see. You will make the dead woman give back my dust.

The Etorri Rhej's eyes widened slightly, but her nod was polite, her voice matter-of-fact. “I'll do my best. Where . . . ” She glanced around, her gaze fixing on the floating container. “ Oh, there she is. What did you say her name is?”

Cynna supplied it. “Mrs. Ryerson. Don't you need candles and stuff?”

“No. Mrs. Ryerson, you are causing a great deal of trouble. You must have a strong reason.”

“But—” Cynna began.

Cullen squeezed her hand, urging silence. The Etorri Rhej was a very strong medium . . . and, it seemed, Mrs. Ryerson was a very strong ghost. The usual trappings for communication with the dead weren't needed.

“I see,” the Rhej said solemnly. “That isn’t all of it, though, is it? I think you'd better tell me the rest.” A long silence followed, with the Rhej apparently listening closely. Twice she nodded; once she made an understanding sound. At last she looked at Cynna. “I see why you were confused, but Ada isn’t trying to obtain forgiveness f or herself. She wants you to forgive your mother.”

“My . . . she what?” Cynna stiffened. “What business is it of hers? Besides, I have forgiven her. Mostly.”

“Ada owes your mother a debt of guilt,” the Rhej said gently. “I believe we’ll skip the details about what that debt involves, but it is real and serious. She can't release until she feels she's atoned. Since your mother has already moved on, she can't atone directly, so she's trying to do something that will benefit you.”

Cynna stared in disbelief. “Inciting a dragon to riot? Ruining my wedding? Yeah, she's been tons of help.”

“Her methods are muddled, but those trapped between are often muddled. Her goal is for you to forgive, however, and that will certainly help you.”

“Okay. I forgive my mother.”

Nothing happened.

“You can’ t lie to a ghost, dear ,” the Rhej said. “I’ m not sure how, but they always know.”

“I’ m not lying, I just — she--I can't forgive on command!” Cynna's voice rose. “It doesn’t work like that!”

“Perhaps I can help.” Father Michaels — who hadn't run away, or screamed, or pulled a gun when Mika roared — made his way towards them. He was a short, husky man just into middle age with dark hair and eyes. “Forgiveness does rather fall into my province. Cynna?” He held out his hands. “Will you step aside a moment and speak with me?”

She looked at Cullen first. He gave her hand another squeeze, feeling helpless and disliking that. But forgiveness was definitely not his best thing. He let go of her hand.

The priest took her aside and spoke quietly. The others probably couldn't hear him. Cullen could. First Father Michaels asked if she knew whether Mrs. Ryerson had belonged to the Church, then he made a suggestion. Cynna said yes to the first, and nodded reluctantly to the second.