Seraph of Sorrow (5 page)

CHAPTER 3

Schemes

“Honey, I’m home!”

Jonathan landed on the porch of their small townhome and edged the door open with a wing claw. The porch opened up on the living room, which doubled as a dining room. He could see Elizabeth in the small kitchen.

“Crap!” She moved toward the smoking oven, furiously twisting dials.
“Crap!”

He slid the door shut behind him, closing out Eveningstar’s February chill. “Dad said you called the cabin. What’s up?”

She finally noticed him, but instead of smiling she rolled her eyes. “It figures. Great timing. I was trying to—”

The smell of burning sugar wrinkled his scaled snout. “Why are you in the
kitchen
?”

“Hilarious. I was trying to . . . I was trying to . . .” She stomped her foot. “Dammit, never mind what’s in the oven; look on the counter!” She pointed at the kitchen counter with one hand and hid her face with the other.

He circled around the couch and approached the kitchen. There was only one item on the meticulously kept counter. It was white and about the size of a finger, and . . .

“Oh.”

She still wasn’t looking at him. “I thought I’d bake fudge to celebrate.”

“You know I’m allergic to chocolate.”

“Well, you’re not the one who’s pregnant.” She reached up and flipped the fan on, drowning out the rest of her muttering.

He stared at the small, white pregnancy test. “This was quick.” His wing claw fluttered back and forth between the two of them. “I mean, we’ve only been married—”

“Long enough. I
warned
you this could happen.”

He felt a thrill of irritation down his tailbones. “To be fair, I’ve known all about sex and babies since the third grade.”

“Don’t sass me, Scales. Your constant climbing on top of me was bound to screw things up eventually. If you could have found something else to do—say, work, or eat, or breathe—for even a
small
portion of that time, we might not be facing this.”

Her fear softened him. “Honey, it’s okay. I know we’ve got lots of bills. All we—”

“I don’t mean money! I mean, we wouldn’t be facing what we’re going to face when . . . when . . .” She gestured at her abdomen, and Jonathan was surprised at how easy it was to imagine a new life within. “When she arrives.”

“She? How do you know—”

“I know my body. We all do. It’s part of the discipline.”

“Would that be the same discipline you’re showing in blaming
me
for
your
pregnancy?”

“That’s it. No fudge for you.”

“Again, I’d like to remind you . . .” He trailed off, because she was crying. “Honey, I’m having trouble tracking you here.”

“She’s going to be a target!” Elizabeth’s emerald eyes were wide with dread. “As soon as people learn she’s the child of a dragon and a beaststalker, both sides will come for her!”

“They won’t want to hurt her,” Jonathan tried to convince them both at once.

“Even if they don’t, they’re still going to target her—use her as a symbol, demand she champion their side, destroy the part of her that
isn’t
them.”

Unable to argue the point, he tried to think of a way to calm his wife down. “Nobody’s going to find out about us. Some people know I’m a dragon, and some people know you’re a beaststalker, but nobody knows both parts of the truth. Without that—”

“Your father, and Glorianna Seabright.”

He sighed. “You’re impossible when you’re like this.”

“You mean when I rip apart your crappy arguments with two examples of reality? Jonathan, what are we going to do?”

He assessed the smoking ruin in the kitchen and came up with a plan. “We’re going to go out to dinner to celebrate. Where do you want to go?”

“We can’t go anywhere, not with you like that.” But she snuggled into his wings. “When the crescent moon’s over, let’s go to the Seafood Shepherd.”

He immediately regretted his offer. “The Seafood Shepherd? Aw, honey—”

“The baby wants it. I can tell.”

“Oh, give me a—”

“Tomorrow is Super Seafood Special Sunday.”

“
Every
Sunday is . . . look. You realize that’s not an actual, observed holiday, right?”

“Shut up and change back, already. I want my cheap shrimp scampi.”

J Minus Six Months

“You didn’t get any strawberries?”

“Sweetheart, they’re months out of season. The ones at the store don’t—”

“I asked you for strawberries! She wants strawberries!”

“I got oranges. They’re fresh from—”

“Strawberries!”
Elizabeth launched herself from the sofa, raced up to him, and shoved the grocery bags out of his hands. “They’re little! They’re red! They’re
not orange
!”

He pivoted and headed back out the door. “I’ll check the store across town.”

Suddenly, she was wrapped around him. “Drive safe, okay? I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.” She burst into tears. “I really don’t.”

“Huh.” Jonathan gingerly removed her trembling arms and stepped away. “I’ll—”

She grabbed the back of his neck, kissed him roughly, and glared at him with sparkling emeralds. “And when you get back, I’ve got a sexy surprise for you!”

“I can hardly wait,” he assured her, backing down the entryway stairs.

J Minus Four Months

“Honey, where’d you put that ultrasound photo? I want to see it again.”

“It’s already in my cedar chest” came the reply from the loft. The soft
clackety-clack
of her fingernails on the keyboard didn’t slow down. “With the wedding gown and photo albums.”

He crossed the bedroom and opened the chest.

“Honey.”

“Yes.”

“The pregnancy test stick is in here.”

Clackety-clack.
“Of course it is!”

“It’s on top of my wedding suit.”

“So?”

“Well, you peed on it.”

“What, on the suit? Don’t be—”

“No, the stick!”

Clackety-clack.
“For heaven’s sake, Jonathan. I washed it afterward.”

“And yet.”

“It’s a meaningful keepsake!”

“Which you urinated all over.”

Clackety-clack.
“Did you find the photo or not?”

“I got it.” Jonathan picked it up, but not before delicately (and without touching) shifting the pregnancy test stick off the suit and onto the wedding dress.

“You know, we’ll get another photo at today’s appointment. You can’t wait?”

“No.” He caressed the edges of the photo, taking in the soft blurs that suggested an infant. “She’s beautiful.”

The keyboarding finally paused. “She’s got big shoulder blades.”

Wings,
she meant. Jonathan had assured his wife that weredragons were always born human. She kept worrying, anyway.

J Minus One Month

“Are you nuts?!”

“It’s not as dangerous as you think. I know several of the staff at Winoka from my residency work.”

“If Glorianna Seabright has told them I’m a dragon—”

“She said she wouldn’t. We can trust her.”

“There’s a perfectly good hospital here in Eveningstar we
know
we can trust!”

“You can. I can’t. Jonathan, I’ve made my decision. I’m having the C-section done in Winoka.”

“No way.”

“No way what?”

“No way am I letting you go there.”

Poison-green eyes narrowed. “Letting me?”

“Th-that’s right. I’m putting my foot down. I forbid it.”

“You . . . forbid?”

“Liz, be reasonable,” he pleaded, resisting the urge to back away. “You can’t trust them.”

“I can. I will. Glory would never harm me.”

“She drew her sword the last time we saw her.”

“At you. I’ll repeat: Glory would never harm
me
.”

“If you’re wrong, I’m not sure how I can protect you. Your due date is during a crescent moon—and that hospital is full of—”

“Glory would never harm me. That’s
it
.”

“This isn’t a hormonal thing, is it?” he asked, not entirely without hope. “You might change your mind tomorrow, right?”

She smiled without humor and sat down to bend over her books again.

J Plus One Day

Even in the safety of their townhome, Jonathan did not dare turn on the lights. What had just happened at Winoka Hospital had horribly shaken both him and Elizabeth. They couldn’t discuss it—not today, not soon.

I should never have let her go there.

He watched rain bead down the windows until the rivulets seemed like they would never stop dancing, and then he went back into their bedroom to check on her. Her appearance was enough to make him second-guess his decision to bring her home so soon.

Where else could you take her? She didn’t want to go to the hospital in this town, and you sure as hell can’t go back to Winoka Hospital . . .

“Jonathan?” Her voice was rough with exhaustion.

“I thought you were asleep.” He caressed her ankle through the blanket.

“Where’s Jennifer?”

“She’s fine. She’s in the guest room—I mean, her room.”
It’ll take time to get used to that.
Jonathan hoped their daughter would survive long enough for that to happen.

“I’d like to see her.”

“I’ll go get her from her crib.” As he reached the door, he paused. “I’m sorry the ride back was so rough. I know what they did—”

“You were great,” she assured him. “You were our hero.”

He didn’t try to argue with her, in the state she was in. But he knew differently. He knew he had let his wife down.
I shouldn’t have let her go there,
he told himself.
No matter how hard she insisted.
He had let her down, and they would have to live with the consequences.

Please,
he begged whoever could hear as he walked out of the room,
help me never fail our daughter like I’ve failed Liz. Like I’ve failed everyone else.

J Plus Four Months

“Here’s the deal.” Jonathan winked conspiratorially at the calm, chubby face.

I’m listening
is all it promised in return.

“I have here”—he pulled his hand out from behind his back and revealed—“a four-ounce bottle, filled to the brim with yummy formula, mingled with a couple of teaspoons of rice cereal. I took the liberty of adding a hint of peach puree—I like to call this the ‘fruit torpedo.’ ”

“Jonathan?” The inquisitive tone wafted down from the loft. “What are you doing?”

“I’m feeding Jennifer,” he called out. Then he lowered his tone again. “Mommy is not a big fan of the fruit torpedo, but you and I know better, don’t we, ace?” Jonathan could not resist feeding Jennifer a little bit of solid food before bedtime, though conservative medical consensus suggested nothing except formula or mother’s milk for the first six months of a baby’s life. While Elizabeth interpreted their pediatrician’s dietary advice strictly—
as a doctor, why wouldn’t she?
—Jonathan needed this one indulgence, this nod to the late Caroline Scales, who had started her infant son on solids early to help him sleep.

“I know you want this,” he whispered to the infant. “And I’ll be happy to give it to you. As soon as you cooperate.” He set the bottle down between them on the living room carpet and lifted his daughter off her diapered bottom. Her focus fixed on the bottle, while her legs wriggled. Setting her down on her feet, two pork chops with toes, he steadied her at the elbows.

“All right. Here we go. Three, two . . . one.” He let go.

Not taking her gaze off the bottle, she leaned forward, leaned back . . . and fell hard on her padded butt. She squawked in surprise and looked up at him with reproach.

He leaned over and pulled her right back up. There was impatience in the movement, and he barely admitted to himself what was behind it. The fact was, he needed something from her. Nothing specific. Accelerated development, a neat trick, a pleasant gurgle—anything. But he
needed
that anything. Four months in, all he had gotten from this child was crying, yarking, and the occasional nap. She was wonderful and he loved her—but he didn’t
like
her.

He hated that in himself, and he wouldn’t confide that truth in anyone. Some books and web pages he read suggested that feelings like this were normal, for both parents. But if it was normal, why didn’t he ever hear anyone talk about how much they
didn’t
like their baby?

Because it’s wrong not to like a baby,
he told himself.
Only jerks don’t like babies! So, you can make up for being a jerk by spending time with her. Teaching her. Training her.

“Again,” he whispered. “Three, two . . . one!”

This time Jennifer’s tiny knees buckled instantly. Surprised, she pushed back, stumbled, and fell on her back and head with a muffled
thump
.

“No, no, no!” He swept her off the carpet frantically and cradled her as she began to cry. The sound echoed through the townhome and reached the loft where Elizabeth was furiously drumming on her keyboard.

“Jonathan!”

“Everything’s fine!” He kicked the bottle under an oak end table. “She’s hungry.”

“What was that bumping sound?”

“I was feeding her, I stumbled over the coffee table leg, the bottle came out of her mouth, we’re both fine, absolutely fine,
don’t come down here!
”

Barely audible over Jennifer’s wail, an impatient hiss replaced the sound of keyboarding. “Stop trying to make the baby stand up! She’s only four months old!”

“I’m not—”

“Dammit, Jonathan, I’ve got to finish this article! I can’t get through my residency if I’m going to be the only parent who can watch this kid without making her cry!”

The baby would not be quiet. Jonathan felt irritation shift to anger. “Oh, right, like she never cries with you! I’ve seen you test her reflexes.”

“Tapping her on the knee with a baby spoon is nothing like—”