The Magic's in the Music (Magic Series Book 5) (43 page)

“I’m a neurosurgeon,” the doctor complained. “He’s probably maimed for life.”

“I’m sure you did fine. You’re very precise.”

“Th-thank you for s-saving my s-son.” Senior. Lan made an effort to open his eyes. His father made him uneasy. He couldn’t remember why.

“You and Kemble and Tris saved him, Mr. Tremaine.” The doc’s voice seemed clearer now. “O positive and plenty of it. How thoughtful of you to have had it ready. You all never cease to amaze me. Nobody has transfusion equipment in their emergency kits these days. Give him these when he wakes up and call if you need me.” Steps. A door closed.

Lanyon hurt. His leg, his shoulder too. Oh, yeah. Burned. Shot. He rolled his head. If only he could get his eyes open he might be able to find a comfortable position. Funny, no music ran through his head.

Somebody sat on his bed. “Shhhhh,” he heard his mother say. “This will hurt.”

“B-brina, you c-can’t.”

There was a pressure on his thigh. He groaned as the pain ramped up. Small sounds escaped with his every panting breath.

“I think I can. Maybe not like I used to. But I know I can help.”

He could feel the torn flesh in his thigh knitting, the capillaries and nerves reconnecting. Warmth suffused Lan’s body, centering in his thigh. He felt good. Things were good. He breathed in, held it, then out, slowly. He knew this feeling. He’d felt it when he’d broken his arm at ten and any time he’d caught a cold from the kids at school.

He opened his eyes. His shoulder still hurt from the burns, but his thigh was just a dull throb. His mother hung over him, breathing hard. “Mom,” he said. He never called her Mom anymore, but it just slipped out. “You…?”

“Not entirely.” She took a deep breath. “I helped the healing along, that’s all. I could never have gotten the bullet out like I could before, and your wound isn’t fully healed.”

Senior came over, his cane thumping on the floor, and hugged his wife. Lanyon realized there were tears in his father’s eyes. “Brina, honey. I-I’m so happy f-for you.”

“I may never be what I was,” she said apologetically, looking up at him.

“And I’ll n-ever forgive m-myself for that.”

She put her arms around his waist and leaned into him. “Nothing to forgive. What better way to use up my power than to save the man I love? I’m only glad I might be of some use to everyone again.”

A thread of a melody wound through Lan’s mind. He felt like he was witnessing a reconciliation that had been a long time coming on. Had he even realized how painful losing your powers and your husband as you knew him had been for his mother? Or how losing the man you thought you were and causing your wife to lose her powers had been for his father? Or had he just been focused on how painful their loss was for one Lanyon Tremaine? He felt incredibly guilty. The music turned dissonant.

And rightfully so. Better fess up. Let them get on with the business of hating him for his betrayal. He deserved it. They probably wouldn’t throw him out right away. They’d let him finish healing. But he’d ensured that he’d never be welcome in the house again. Funny, once that would have been a relief. Now…

“I told the Clan about the fourth Talisman,” he said, keeping his voice flat and his emotions firmly in check. Let the hating begin. But the shock and revulsion he expected to see didn’t materialize.

“Greta told us how that happened.” His mother smoothed his damp hair off his forehead.

“W-would have d-done the same if it w-was your m-mother.” Senior was looking more himself than even the last time he’d had a heart-to-heart with Lanyon.

They didn’t understand. A frantic drumbeat underscored the dissonance in his head. “But I was the one who took her out of the compound. She would have been safe at The Breakers.” Pain stabbed at him and it wasn’t the pain from his thigh.

“And that’s how you discovered the Talisman.” His mother patted his hand.

“That wasn’t why I did it.” He looked away. But for what he had to say, he had to man up, finally, and look them in the eyes. As he listened, the music in his head changed. The urgent drumbeat now supported dramatic, powerful chords. He took a breath and turned back to them. How much they’d sacrificed for their family, for what they’d thought of as their duty to their fellow man. He’d always taken his life for granted, and like a little child he’d thrown a tantrum when somebody took away what he’d thought had belonged to him. “I’ve hurt you both. A lot. Ever since the…” What did you call it? The rape of their lives by the Clan? The loss of some omnipotent being’s—or beings’—grace? He settled on, “…the attack, I’ve been really selfish.” God, that was so inadequate. “I couldn’t face…any of it. You both losing who you were…feeling coerced into a life I didn’t choose.” Still not enough. What was? What could ever be? “I’ve been an asshole. Sorry, Mom.” He’d been looking mostly at his mother, because it was easier to say this kind of stuff to her, but now he turned to his father. “Senior. Really an asshole.”

“It was a lot to p-process, for all of us.”

His mother squeezed Lan’s hand and took his father’s. “But we are processing it. That’s just what you do. Life goes on, and you carve out what you can for yourself and those you love. It’s been a hard lesson for me, too.”

His father gave a rueful smile. “M-me too.”

“Oh, Brian. You worked so hard on rehab, right from the beginning.” Lan’s mother looked up at his father. “You have such an indomitable will. I knew you would pull through.”

“I haven’t. I’m n-not what I once w-was.” The smile had turned to an expression that was painful to see. “M-may n-never be.” His father firmed his mouth. “B-but I c-can still be a l-loving f-father and husband.” He held out his hand to his son. “G-guess I’ve l-learned to value that m-more than I used to.”

The phrasing of the chords resolved into a satisfying major key. Lan clasped his father’s hand with his right hand, awkwardly. There were no words that were going to come out without him bawling like a baby, at least for a minute. Then he managed to get it together. “So Plan B is that I won’t be so much of an asshole. Not sure I can do it.”

“You c-can d-do it.”

“Are you a betting man?”

“All my l-life,” Brian said.

Didn’t that say a lot about his father? Had always bet on the future. Always had the confidence, the optimism, to tackle the job. At first that confidence had come because he was a con man; Con being short for confidence. That translated into being an Adapter who could do anything. But now that had been ripped from him. Yet, there was something in his nature that wouldn’t let him quit. Something Lan had lost. Senior had made him promise to be optimistic for a week. That had felt impossible. But now realizing what his father had been through, and how he has survived it made Lan think, just for a minute, that he could be optimistic too… Maybe for way longer than a week.

His mother reached over and kissed his cheek. “You know, it might help you to forgive yourself if you realize why your father’s injury made you feel so angry.”

That was no mystery. But it might be part of his penance to say it out loud. He looked away, embarrassed. “Everything was taken away…I was some kind of petulant baby about it.”

His mother’s small smile was wry. She shook her head. “No. It was because you felt you wouldn’t be enough to fill his shoes.”

Lan frowned.

“Honey, you’ve always known your power would be music. And I’ve always seen the doubt in your eyes that music would be enough. But your power was sound. Its soft side was the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard. Its hard side is a powerful weapon.” She patted his hand. “You got yourself and Greta out of a pretty bad mess in Las Vegas.”

“Greta ended up hauling my ass out of the conference center.”

“Of course she did.” His mother looked up at Senior with love in her eyes. “And you brought down the house, so to speak, for her. That’s what you do for each other. What you’re meant to always do.”

Lan didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Was that really what had been going on with him, all along? That he felt inadequate? Yeah, maybe so. Being the practical joker, baby boy of the family who could play music had never seemed very…important. Maybe he’d never been sure of the place he had in the family. And when Senior couldn’t lead them anymore, when it was up to the Tremaine kids and their mates to carry the ball, what hope had there been for him to contribute, or to escape the inevitable?

“Now,” his mother said, rising. “There’s a woman out there who’s looking pretty conflicted. You feel ready to see her?”

Conflicted? A thread of anxiety wound into the music in his head.

His mother must have seen his doubtful look. “It’s a lot to process for her, too.”

Uh, oh.
That sounded bad. He had been so sure that he’d be the one who’d want to leave, in spite of the genetic pull between them, that he’d overlooked the fact that she might dump his ass first. He looked to his father, who just nodded.

Yeah.
He’d have to fight for her, just like Senior and his mother were fighting back from their dark places. No room for cynicism. No fear of failure. He had no choice but to act on hope, even if hope was all he had. Because he loved Greta. The deep and satisfying bond the Parents had was something to fight for.
Dig deep and find a way.
The power chords were back.

Was he up to this now? He’d better be. “I don’t mean to kick you two out…”

Senior smiled. Lan was stunned. That was twice. “K-Kemble wants advice on what to d-do when that comet b-becomes a Talisman.” He looked proud. The weird thing was that he should be proud. He wasn’t who he’d been before, but he’d made it back from the brink, and he had a lot of experience and canny intelligence to share. You had to work with what you had.

“I’ll go find her,” his mother said. She followed Senior’s thumping cane out the door.

Greta was probably packing, Lan thought. But she now knew as well as he did that she couldn’t go anywhere. That gave him some satisfaction. Conflicted or not, he’d wear her down, because he was absolutely certain for the first time in his life that he was in love with a woman. That woman. Brilliant, broken, beautiful. Too many B’s. Okay, sensitive and strong too. He liked her. He loved her. And, damn it, he was going to convince her that there were fates worse than being bonded for life to a selfish asshole like him. Yeah. That sounded real attractive, didn’t it?

He tried to regroup
. Hang on to hope, you fucked-up bastard
.
Where’s that optimism?
Strategy. That’s what he needed. What might convince her? He’d tell her he’d change.

That was good.

But she was afraid of losing control of her life. That was the biggest obstacle of all.

Then it hit him. He’d never told her that he loved her. Sure they’d fucked like bunnies, but that was different. He needed to tell her he loved her. Not much compensation for giving up life as she knew it, losing all control forever. But it was something.

Yeah. He had a plan.

*

She’d slept the
rest of the way home in the car, but ever since she’d arrived at The Breakers about five this morning, she’d been feeling edgy and empty. While the family sat in the kitchen, having breakfast and waiting for Dr. Tanet to finish with Lan, she’d felt like a ghostly intruder. Forced to tell the others about the transitory Talisman, and listening to their speculation on what it might mean for themselves and the Clan, was nothing short of painful. She was not part of this future. She couldn’t even donate blood. She was type A. The minute Dr. Tanet sent word that Lan would be okay, she grabbed a sweatshirt and slipped outside. September in L.A. was one of the warmest months, but here at the beach, nine a.m. could be chilly. Just her luck that the sweatshirt she grabbed was one of Lan’s. His scent enveloped her as she pulled it around her body and headed for the shelter of the pergola. Maybe she could find a way to take the sweatshirt with her when she left.

Then it struck her. It was now very clear that leaving the security of The Breakers would result in torture and death. But staying here, a ghost who could never be involved in their lively family life, constantly reminded of why she wasn’t fit to be Lanyon’s lover, would be torture, too.

She felt like a failure. How had she never realized what she had become?

“There you are, my dear,” Brina said, smiling. “I thought I’d find you napping.”

Greta jumped. She felt like a rabbit flushed from her safe hiding place as Brina peered under the
bougainvillea
. “Uh, hi, Brina. I couldn’t sleep. How’s Lanyon?”

“Doing well.” Brina cocked her head. “He’d like to see you.” Brina must have seen her pained expression. She came over and sat down. “Oh, my dear. I know how difficult this is. Sometimes you just have to take the plunge.” She got a faraway look in her eyes. “I did. Dear me, I had to believe that Brian could fly an airplane after just reading a book about it.”

“He could?”

She nodded, proud. “He could. And I let him fly me to, well, ultimately to Southeast Asia for a few years. We were escaping Morgan even back then. I left everything I knew. But it was worth it. Brian is a wonderful man, and we’ve had a wonderful life.”