The Witch's Dream - A Love Letter to Paranormal Romance (Black Swan 2) (10 page)

"Oh. I wish I'd known the significance. Your mother gave me the necklace," she touched it as she spoke, "saying it belonged to your great-grandmother. I guess that qualifies as old. The earrings are a gift from Aelsblood. Song even said, 'Tis something new' when she handed me the box. She insisted I borrow this bracelet that matches the necklace." She covered his face with tiny kisses then sat up. "So this means we'll be blessed with good luck?"

"'Twas already proclaimed. Happily ever after and nothin' less." He pulled her down into a kiss then removed the garter. "I believe this is intended to become the property of the groom."

"Who says?"

Ram shrugged, pulled it on over his sleeve until it circled his bicep then popped it suggestively with a broad smile. That's when they heard banging at the door. Elora rose and tried to rearrange the skirt of the dress hoping she had saved herself from becoming noticeably disheveled. She knew the color in her face would be higher than usual. It always was after making love to the stunning, garter-wearing elf whose pleasure-giving cock had just disappeared behind a codpiece.

They opened the door to find Tepring standing there with hands on hips.

"Mum! Come to offer us congratulations?" He grinned mischievously.

She was not to be put off her mission. "You two are supposed to be leadin' a waltz. Remember?"

Elora looked embarrassed by the situation and Ram suddenly felt defensive. "You are embarrassin' my bride, the mother of your grandson. The whole lot of wankers in there is no' worth that."

Tepring pursed her lips while she contemplated being corrected by her second son. Then she turned to Elora. "Rammel is correct. 'Tis your weddin' day and you should have some say o'er what transpires. Shall we proceed without you?"

"Not at all," Elora said. "We're on the way. One waltz coming up."

Tepring nodded and started away, but stopped suddenly and turned around. "Grandson. The baby is a boy? How do you know?"

"How do you think? Aelsong." Ram was not as respectful as he could have been, but he was feeling perturbed toward his mother.

"What's his name?" Tepring's entire posture had changed. She looked as enraptured as if she had just learned about the baby on the way.

"Do no' know. My bride is goin' to name him." He looked at Elora like he idolized her. "'Tis my gift to her.”

"Oh, well, if you need suggestions..."

"She does no' need suggestions, Mum."

Tepring looked at Elora. "With all the planning I may have been remiss in no' tellin' you sooner how happy we are." She didn't wait for a response, but rushed away with a spryness that was admirable for someone her age.

"Do no' be embarrassed, Elora," Ram said in her ear. "She's right. 'Tis
our
weddin' day and we can spend it in each other’s arms if we choose."

She smiled at Ram. "Let's dance."

Engel Storm was the sort of person who believed there are very few gray areas in life and even fewer when it comes to questions of ethics and morality. He believed that the right thing to do was always evident to someone who was looking honestly for it and that, once that "right thing" had been identified, it was an acquired target; something to be done without further debate or question.

If sometimes that happened to be hard, well, that was just too damn bad. Not up for debate. That was the personal code that had kept him in good stead for as long as he cared to remember, certainly ever since he had been recruited by Black Swan. Even with the horrors he had witnessed as a field active knight, he usually slept well.

The day of the Laiken-Hawking handfasting was the first time Storm had ever confronted a "right thing" that felt impossible to execute. He hadn't struggled too much with accepting the invitation to come. It was the right thing to do. So he did it.

He hadn't struggled too much with being included in the wedding party, with learning reels or watching the happy couple at meals or even letting Elora teach him to waltz. But he couldn't figure out how he was going to make himself get in that receiving line and give his congratulations to Ram and Elora. A lump formed in his throat when he pictured it in his mind.

It was the right thing to do. No question about it. Still, he stood alone in a small alcove with a large ale, away from the festivity, and argued with himself for some time. He tried to tell himself that there were so many people, Ram and Elora wouldn't notice his absence. He tried to tell himself that he could always congratulate them later. Last, indulging in a completely foreign and ill-fitting moment of self pity, he told himself that he had already done enough.

That was right before Engel Storm's nobility marshaled his innate character and triumphed over every argument, or excuse, that might have been made by a lesser man. He set down the ale, pulled his shoulders back and emerged from the alcove with determination, only to find that the receiving line had dispersed. The newlyweds were nowhere in sight. He felt a momentary jab of panic, thinking he may have lost a once in a lifetime opportunity to do the right thing by adding his well wishes to those from others.

He searched the ballroom asking first one person, then another, if they had seen the bride and groom. When he was sure they were not within, he rushed out into the wide hallway. He looked to his right and saw only a long expanse of white and black checkerboard marble tiles with formal military security posted every ten feet. He looked to his left and, to his very great and visible relief, saw the pair hurrying toward him hand in hand, the two of them looking so perfect together.

As he started toward them, Elora closed the distance between them, flew into his arms and squeezed him like she was holding on for dear life. He held her tight with his strong left arm while he looked at Ram over the top of her head and held out his right hand in an age-old male gesture of goodwill. Ram clasped Storm’s hand with affection and sincerity and, in a wordless conversation, the two men reaffirmed that their dedication to each other was not subject to any mitigating factor. Their shared history as B Team knights, having long ago committed, each within his own heart, to die for the other without question made them far more than friends. More even than brothers.

Storm opened his mouth to try and say the word. He got as far as, "Con..." But, Ram didn't ask for more. He let go of Storm's hand and stepped in close to share the hug. After a few moments, the three of them released each other.

Elora used the backs of her hands to wipe at tears. "You men are always making me cry."

Ram and Storm gave each other a look that said somehow it would work out and be okay. They would get through even this.

****

CHAPTER
5

Normally the trip from Derry to Edinburgh would be by small craft charter, but The Order had sent one of the small jets to pick up B Team and Baka. The small caravan had driven right up to the plane and the drivers were transferring luggage from the road vehicles to the cargo area below. Katrina and Kay's sisters were hitching a ride to Edinburgh. They were planning to stay for a couple of days, see the sights, then do some shopping in London before heading back home.

Ram and Elora stood on the tarmac in the morning chill talking to Baka when one more car pulled up. Aelsong emerged carrying a bleached, canvas duffel and offered a cheerful, "Good mornin'."

Ram stood blinking and looking as discombobulated as Elora had ever seen him. "What do you mean, 'good mornin'? What are you doin' here?"

"I did no' think the time was right to share my news durin' the handfastin'. I've been recruited by The Order and I'm goin' to Edinburgh." She glanced up. "On this very fine plane as a matter of fact."

"The fuck you are! 'Tis no' safe for us in Fairyland, Song. I forbid it."

Aelsong gave him a laugh with more meat than wind chimes. "Right. 'Tis why you're stayin' here, is it? Get out of the way, brother."

Aelsong jerked her duffel onto her shoulder giving Ram the sort of snarky smirk that siblings reserve for each other. As she started for the plane, he took a step after her, but Elora pulled him back. "Ram, you know you can't stop her. Like you said, she's grown. It's her choice."

"Great Paddy's Balls Afire. You women will be the death of me!"

Cars and drivers were waiting for the troupe at the Edinburgh private hangar. One of the cars took Katrina and the Norns to the Balmoral Hotel while the other transported their luggage. B Team, Baka, and new recruit, Aelsong Hawking, were taken straight to the General Headquarters building where they would work and reside while on assignment there.

B Team was on loan to help Baka set up his task force at his request. The office at The Order's headquarters in Edinburgh also planned to take advantage of their specialty. Since their own staff of hunters was spread thin, B Team was to assist with a werewolf sanction. They had been receiving disturbing reports of werewolf activity in one of the most populous districts of London.

The timing of Ram’s induction into the Hall of Heroes made the entire gig a perfect marriage of efficiency and necessity.

For the time being, thanks mainly to Baka, things were relatively quiet at Jefferson Unit in New Jersey. The vampire infestation had been neutralized along with their chief habitat. It would take them some indeterminate time to regroup. Before that happened Baka and his new task force should be making headway with permanent eradication through cure.

It was misting when they arrived in Edinburgh. Elora had visited the city before; at least she had been to the Edinburgh in her dimension as a child. She remembered thinking there were things about it that were magical in a fairytale sort of way. Now, from the perspective of an adult, she could understand why she remembered it that way. It
was
magical. The mist made it seem all the more so.

Driving along Princes Street, the castle, rising out of the crag at the head of the Royal Mile, looked like something out of a dream. The High Street buildings were blackened by centuries of coal burning, but the color seemed to add to the charm rather than detract. The historic skyline overlooked the city gardens and the Royal Museum from the hill leading downward from the castle to Holyrood Palace, where the fae monarchy was in residence most of the year.

High above the palace a smaller version of a Parthenon-like temple sat on Calton Hill which was the city's own Acropolis. Eight times a year processions climbed the hill to celebrate pagan festivals. Some were riotous and some were solemn, but all of them were sacred to the national character of the fae. The rest of the time, Calton Hill served the community as a park with an excellent view of the city.

The division of the Edinburgh unit of The Order of the Black Swan, where they would be stationed, was housed in a nineteenth century building occupying an entire block of outrageously expensive real estate on Charlotte Square. The basement level housed operations that were never viewed by people not employed by The Order. The ground floor was offices, conference rooms, and dining. Floors above were a mix of office and living quarters.

Locals believed it to be the seat of a network of charitable organizations and, from a certain point of view it was, in the sense that The Order performed services benefitting the entirety of the human race. And they did it without pay.

When the transferees came to a stop in front of the building, Elora could hardly contain the excitement of being reunited with her dog, Blackie. They had decided before they left the States that it would be easier on him to go straight to Edinburgh and settle in rather than be transported here and there, always adapting to new circumstances. So, Glendennon Catch, an eighteen-year-old from Jefferson Unit, had already been in Edinburgh with the dog for four days.

Glen, himself, was one-quarter werewolf. He didn't shift or have any of the notoriously inconvenient traits, but he did have a way of seeing things from a different perspective. The Order employed educators who served as part teacher and part talent scout. The most important part of their task was observing, evaluating, and helping to develop special abilities and interests. Glen's teachers at Jefferson Unit had agreed that he would make a fine hunter, but that he would be better utilized in the division of General Investigation as he had an extraordinary gift for identifying details that went unnoticed by others.

When the current assignment came up, it offered a perfect opportunity for Glen to do a part time internship with G.I. in Edinburgh while helping to take care of Elora's dog, the former Jefferson Unit mascot. Werewolves didn't automatically get along with dogs. In fact, the opposite was often true, but Glen and Blackie liked each other enormously.

Glen was ecstatic about the appointment, saying something like, "Mysteries, dog walking, and fae girls? I'm in!" He was a cute kid with a slightly unkempt sort of devil-may-care appeal: rich brown hair skirting his collar and eyes that defied description because they appeared green or brown depending on what he wore and where he was. His frame still held the angularity of teens, no fat, all bone and muscle, but he was going to be as big as most of the knights when he filled out. Last, but not least, he was good natured and easy to be with.