Sons (Book 2) (151 page)

“You’re going to the house?” Ryan asked as he came around the car.

“Yes, the address Col. White gave me is nailed to the column beside the front door,” I answered, pointing vaguely.  “It would be impolite to do anything else.  And frankly my goal is to check on Sara.”  I rang the bell, glancing back at Ryan, grinning.  “Besides, they’ve only just now realized we’re here, but not where they want us.”

Small rustles of clothing told us that someone came to the door.  I was trying to hold myself in, but my senses found the person and instantly the whole house exploded into my consciousness.  Sara stood feebly on the other side of the door, peeping through the curtains.  After ringing the bell again, I called out gently, “Hello?  I’m Seth McClure.  I’m supposed to meet Brian White here.”

The bolt moved quickly as she fumbled with the handset lock.  Sara opened the door a crack after a moment, peeking out around the door.  “Seth?” she mumbled weakly.  “I know that name, don’t I?”

“Hello, Sara,” I oozed charm with those words.  “You’re looking much better now.  Yes, you remember me, don’t you?  I’m Seth McClure.  I’ve come to check on you and see that you’re getting better.  That’s why we’re looking for Brian.  How are you, though?  Are you feeling any better?  Why are you alone?”

“Daybreak?” she asked, barely breathing.

“Yes,” I nodded, too, just to be sure.  Then slowly, “Nice deep breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth.  Easy and slow.”

Two slow breaths together and she had enough strength to take a step back.  Sounds of people running from the back of the house could finally be heard.

“Sara?  Where are you?” a female voice called from the back.

“Sara?  Where are you?” a male voice called, closer.  “Sara, dear?”

“Won’t you come in, Seth?  Please?” Sara asked, almost pleading.

“Thank you, Sara, that’s most kind,” I said, smiling.  Propping Sara up with a little strength didn’t hurt me and could only help her.  It only took looking at her to know she wasn’t eating well enough.  “When’s the last time you ate anything, Sara?” I asked quietly, slipping in beside her and dropping my arm across her waist to steady her.

“Um, well, last night,” she answered in a whisper, staring up at me with haunted eyes.  “I think.  Yes… yes, it was last night.”  Her “last night” was three nights ago.

“Sara!” a hoarse whisper from the doorway announced the man’s arrival.  “What have you done, girl?”  An older man, he was an average-sized man, mid-sixties, only a little heavy for his age.  His horrified face was weather-worn and tanned from years of working outside.

“Nothing, Mr. White,” I murmured, brushing a loose wisp of hair behind Sara’s ear.  He swung back and out of our way as I headed for the kitchen.  We found the owner of the woman’s voice next, standing in the corridor to the dining room.  “Why don’t you slow everyone from running into the house in a panic, though, so they don’t scare her.”

Mrs. White wasn’t a frail woman.  Slightly younger than her husband, this time with her daughter had taken a toll on her.  Neither she nor her husband had dealt with problems of this nature before.  These were the stalwarts of the large extended family, always helping others through their hard times, but rarely feeling the hurt themselves.  They were good people and they loved their daughter.  And they were very afraid of me, of us.

“Last night?  Well, Sara, you should be hungry again by now,” I said gently.  “Would you like something to eat?  I’m sure your parents and I would love to have you eat something.  You need to keep up your strength to get well again.”  Mrs. White’s eyes widened in surprise and hope.

“I… I could eat… Seth,” Sara whispered, still staring up at me.

“Good,” I encouraged her with a small squeeze.  “How about a couple of scrambled eggs and some toast.  That should be easy on you.”  Mrs. White stifled a small cry and turned for the kitchen, almost running in her eagerness to start cooking.  We followed, never changing our slow pace.  Naught and Nil looked everywhere, but thankfully, at the moment all eyes were on Sara and me.  Ryan watched us intently, unaware of our history. 

Mrs. White’s kitchen showed the signs of use beyond the three of them, but I hadn’t looked that deeply into Sara’s history.  Mrs. White was already busy, nervously busy, starting the flame on the gas stove and turning to the refrigerator.  Then back to the stove to turn down the flame.  She was about to have a nervous breakdown, I think, and I didn’t want to sneak a fascination into their home without the Whites knowing ahead of time.  Fully within the rights of hospitality because of Sara’s invitation, I still thought it would be rude and cause them undue stress.

“Ryan?” I asked quietly, shrugging Sara off my arm gently.  “Would you mind?  I’ll find a chair.” 
No questions of her, please.  She needs a little distance still,
I sent through his key as he gently took Sara by the shoulders.  Ryan began humming lightly as he shifted her weight, emanating safety and concern for Sara deftly through the happy tune.  “Nil?  Naught?” I whispered, nodding in different directions for each of them.  Then I went in search of a chair.

“Mrs. White?” Naught called gently as she came closer.  “Hello, Mrs. White.  My name is Naught.  I’m happy to meet you.”  Then she smiled.  Mrs. White calmed down in quick breaths as she looked at Naught.  “Would you like some help, dear?  You look frazzled…”  I didn’t see any energy flow or fascination start from Naught.  Mrs. White merely instantly trusted her for no apparent reason.

“Oh, yes, please,” Mrs. White answered, full of relief.  The pair began at the refrigerator with Naught in the lead, both comforting her and seeing to the cooking at the same time.  At the other end of the room, Nil quickly cleaned out the old stone hearth.  His gentle magic controlled the airflow and kept the dust from the air.  Mr. White was working on it but abandoned the project, presumably for Sara’s sake.  For supposedly decision-dependent faery, they acted pretty damn confident to me.

Heading back into the house for a decent chair, I checked outside to see how Mr. White was doing.  There were only two entrances to the house, the front door and the back, through a mudroom attached to the side of the kitchen.  He was standing ten paces out from the door, blocking the small garden path.  Eight men and three women stood in front of him, urging him to let them pass.  Brian White stood at his uncle’s left, cross-armed, listening to him talk.

I found a chair, but not the kind I originally started after.  A rocking chair, old as the hills, sat in the corner of Mrs. White’s sewing room, just off the master bedroom.  Passed down for generations, this was an old piece with a presence of its own—if it weren’t powder blue with stenciling, wobbly on the left, and both arms came up without much effort.  Picking up the rocking chair, I headed to the kitchen again. 

Sara’s attention came instantly to me when I re-entered the kitchen and set the chair on the stone hearth.  Nil was still working on the fireplace, but had a small fire built already.  Naught stirred a small bowl of eggs then poured them into a small iron skillet.  She was listening to Mrs. White as she described her ordeal with Sara over the last week slowly.  Naught knew the base story only in a theoretical way, but she could see Sara better than her mother could and knew the kind of trauma she’d suffered.  She also knew not to admit to any knowledge of why.  That was my place.

“Seth?” Nil called, standing up from the fireplace.  “Sir, may I repair the fireplace?  It seems like the master of the house got interrupted by more important matters.”  Yeah, and the Whites may need the hearth soon with winter at hand.

I glanced over his shoulders at the fireplace and saw the gas, heat, and smoke build up that said there was a blockage in the flue.  “Do as you think best, Nil,” I said.  “That’s why you’re here.”

Ryan held Sara gently, still standing and swaying gently to his tune in front of the long table in the center of the room.  Now that I was going to work on the rocker, she needed a place to sit and rest.  A stool, I remember a stool somewhere in the house and reached out to pick it up.

“Here we are,” I said, putting the stool down just behind Sara.  “Not ideal but it will suit for a few minutes anyway.  Now, let me go get your father.”  I patted Sara’s shoulder as Ryan eased her onto the stool.  Before I left through the door to the mudroom, I grinned and said through a thick, and bad, Irish accent, “And, ladies, since he’s already in a musical mood, maybe you can talk him into a ballad or two while I’m gone.  ‘E’s got a loverly voice, ‘e does.”  Then I ducked down the hall with the rocker, opening a portal to the outside.

You bastard!
followed me through the portal and out past the garden, facing Mr. White’s back.  I laughed and put the rocker down.  Everyone looked at my chair and me.  I did just drop in front of them so it made sense.  Quiet reigned supreme until…

“Mr. White, would you mind if I restored this chair?  I think it would help in Sara’s recovery somewhat,” I asked, indicating the old rocker.  Mr. White stared dumbly at me for a moment then nodded his head.

“Um, yes, if it helps, Mr. Mc—”, he said mumbling at me.  I interrupted with an upraised hand.

“Please, call me ‘Seth’,” I said with a warm smile, then I turned my attention to Col. White.  At five-ten, he might even be called tall for a naval fighter pilot, but he was built for it.  Lean and muscular, his gray suit fit well and any possibility of violence was hidden behind calm gray eyes.  He had the confidence of a colonel and the bearing to make his commands happen.  As the paint peeled away from the chair, I stepped over and held out my hand.

“Hi, you must be Brian,” I said, still smiling.  “I’m Seth McClure.  We spoke on the phone earlier.”  Got another one confused.  He wasn’t sure what to do or say.

“Um, hi, yeah, I’m Brian,” he said cautiously.  “It’s good to meet you, sir.”  He pumped my hand with genuine enthusiasm.  I turned back to the chair, ignoring the crowd of people.  Most of them respected power, but I showed them only a little.  I made sure to stay below the thresholds of their perceptions.  So, in short, it looked like magic as years of wear just fell away from the walnut wood.  It appeared to just grow in front of us from a dilapidated chair for sewing discards and back to its glorious youth.  If you weren’t watching, though, you’d have missed it completely.  The peeling paint was the most animated effect.

“What do you think?  A little darker on the varnish?” I asked them, sending the paint chips back into the earth with a wave.

“I don’t believe it,” muttered Brian, staring at the rocker.  Similar mutterings occurred behind me.

“Shall we go in?” I suggested, moving in to take the chair again.  Turning back to the crowd, I said, “We’ll talk shortly.  Don’t make any attempt to dismantle the snare.  You won’t like the consequences.”  Then I tapped the ground once with my foot and said a word, “
Cha’honoth
.”  Pulses of druidic power hit the ground and rumbled outward, orienting and turning until it found its target.  Our intended landing site was now protected against changes.  None knew the magic I threw, but they all felt its heritage as their own.  Then I picked up the rocker and went inside, urging the Whites in front of me.

Ryan’s voice rang from the house as soon as Brian pulled the door open for his uncle.  I didn’t recognize the song, but the message and the power were clear: the hearth fires were safe and home awaited.  Both the Whites stepped aside and listened while I pushed forward and into the kitchen.  Nil sat on the finished fireplace and listened.  Naught toasted a piece of bread over the flame of the stove while Mrs. White gazed dreamily down the table at Ryan serenading Sara.  I got to hear all the last verse where the battle weary hero returned home from war.  He seeks out his true love and tells her that he retired from the king’s service to raise a family, then he swept her off her feet and took her to his castle, where he proposed on “bended” knee as the duke of the land.  The song ended without the narrative answer to his question, yet the sense of home and hearth was enough to know.  Hokey as hell, but the women loved it.

“That was beautiful, Ryan!” exclaimed Mrs. White, smiling and clapping lightly.  I’d sat in the rocker so Brian and Mr. White could come in quietly.

“Yes, you have a wonderful voice, Ryan,” Naught agreed, setting a small plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast on the tall table.  “Would you like anything, Sara, some tea or coffee?  Anything at all that’s here.  Seth wasn’t demanding a specific meal, just what he thought you would eat.”

“Yes, definitely, Sara, anything you’d like,” I agreed.  Sara turned to see me, smiling again.  “And thank you, Ryan.  Very nicely done, old man.  Someone might think you were a high priest or something.”

“No,” Ryan scoffed, grinning.  “No one would make
that
mistake.”

“Is that… my mother’s rocking chair?” Mrs. White asked, peeking around Ryan and pointing at me in astonishment.

“Well, I don’t know,” I answered, standing up.

“Yes, yes, it is, Bea!” Mr. White answered, nodding and smiling at her.  “He restored it right in front of our eyes without paying attention to it!  Isn’t it beautiful again?”  Tears welled in both their eyes so I knew I touched the right heirloom.

“I used to rock my Sara to sleep at night in that chair, when she was a baby,” Mrs. White, reaching out to touch her daughter on the back.

“My fireplace!  You finished it!” Mr. White exclaimed, staring at Nil.  “How?  That was days of work.  Thank you!”