by Vered Ehsani
“Oh, and thank you for agreeing to play your violin,” Cilla said and giggled when Father lifted her proffered hand to his lips.
Lilly rose to greet her father-in-law just as Lady Sybil demanded, “Not to put a fine point on it, but I thought your father was dead, Mrs. Timmons.”
I froze; very few people knew of my family connection to the Elkharts. To reveal the truth—that my mother had a child with a man to whom she wasn’t married—would have exposed us all to scandal and censure. Father chuckled even as his eyes widened upon spotting a stranger in what we all thought of as his library.
Gripping my arm, Lilly forced a wide smile. “My cousin and I grew up together like sisters,” she said. “I suppose, as a result of our closeness, Mr. Elkhart has extended his fatherly affection to her.”
“And being a poor and lowly orphan,” I added, my eyes narrowing, “I greatly appreciate his efforts.”
Lady Sybil sniffed and clicked her tongue. “This is most peculiar.”
“You have no idea,” I said under my breath.
“Now, now,” Father murmured before gliding toward our unwanted guest. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of an introduction.”
“Quick, let’s make our escape while Father distracts her,” I whispered, tugging at Cilla and Lilly.
“Poor Mr. Elkhart,” Cilla said as Lilly held up her lacy train.
“He’s a vampire,” I retorted the moment we were in the corridor. “If anyone can manage that woman, he can.”
Giggling, we retreated to the nursery only to discover Mrs. Steward exiting the room, her purple dress billowing around her.
“There you are,” she cried and snatched her granddaughter out of Lilly’s arms. “How’s my little Grace? Have you been a good girl?”
Snorting, I said, “Unlikely. She’s a baby.”
Lilly elbowed me while Cilla giggled. My aunt ignored me, said something about how pleasant the bride looked and retreated into the nursery, her entire attention on Grace who cooed and waved her hands.
We continued to the next room, a small sitting room overlooking the one part of the garden that actually looked like a garden instead of a semi-tamed piece of the savannah. Collapsing into the chairs around a low table, we chatted about nothing of consequence while Cilla did a poor job pretending she wasn’t nervous.
After Cilla shook the bouquet for the fourth time, I reached over and removed it from her grasp. “It won’t do to destroy the flowers before the wedding, Cilla,” I warned.
Lilly patted Cilla’s hands. “Don’t worry. Everyone is nervous before their wedding.”
“And you are marrying a dog, after all,” I added.
Lilly glared at me. “That wasn’t helpful, Beatrice.”
“It’s true,” I said and gazed out the glass door leading to the garden. “I just hope Drew behaves himself. You know my brother hates crowds. You’re going to have a rather antisocial life with him, Cilla. At least there’s no moon tonight.”
Before Lilly could lecture me about my lack of consideration or Cilla could reassure me that she knew full well what marrying my other half-brother would mean for her social calendar, a woman screamed.
Cilla sprung up and gasped, one hand twitching over her chest. In a faint voice, she said, “It sounds like someone’s dying.”
“Really, I wish people would die more quietly,” I huffed.
Lilly stared at me and said, “It sounds like my mother.”
Only when the woman screamed again did we both leap up, shouting, “Grace!”
We darted into the corridor just as Mrs. Steward did the same.
“She… She…” Mrs. Steward collapsed against the doorframe and gestured inside the nursery.
Stepping over Mrs. Steward’s quivering legs, I beheld Grace. The baby was sitting in her crib, shaking a bone rattler with excessive enthusiasm. Clearing my throat, I looked over my shoulder and said, “Lilly, darling, she’s teething.”
“Why, yes, she is,” Lilly replied, forcing a smile as her eyes twitched from one side to the other, as if trying to keep both her baby and her mother in her sight simultaneously.
“But they’re pointed!” Mrs. Steward wailed and flapped her lavender-scented handkerchief before her flushed face.
“The eye-teeth generally are,” I said.
My aunt scowled at me. “Not that pointed. Beatrice, you know how frail my nerves are. What a fright I’ve received. I shall be bedridden for a week.”
“If we’re lucky,” I said.
Smacking my arm, Lilly positioned herself so she blocked Grace from Mrs. Steward’s view. “It’s all the strain of caring for us,” she said, her voice soothing.
“And the dim lighting,” I added.
“Yes,” Lilly gasped. “The lighting is dreadful in here. Of course, Grace doesn’t have pointed teeth or… or anything else out of the ordinary, Mama.”
Mrs. Steward wailed into her handkerchief. “My poor, deformed baby.”
“She’s not deformed,” Lilly snapped.
Cilla bent over Mrs. Steward and rubbed her shoulders. “There, there, it’s all right. Why don’t we go to the kitchen for a cup of tea?”
Lilly frowned at Cilla, ignoring Grace’s efforts to climb out of the crib. “Why don’t you go outside and get married?”
Her cheeks flushed, Cilla glanced around. “But the music…”
“Just started,” I finished for her as delicate violin strains drifted down the corridor. “Father must’ve managed to escape Lady Sybil’s clutches.”
Heavy footsteps rushed toward us.
“Uncle,” Cilla said, sagging against the wall.
Simon grinned at me before placing his hands on Cilla’s shoulders. Kissing her forehead, he said, “I believe it’s time. Shall we?” Glancing down, he smirked. “Why, Mrs. Steward, we’ve set up comfortable chairs in the garden. You don’t need to squat on the floor.”
“I’m not squatting,” she protested, flicking her handkerchief at his knee. He flung his head back and laughed, ignoring Cilla’s request to hush.
“Come, Mama,” Lilly said and assisted Mrs. Steward to her feet. “Let’s go find seats. Beatrice, please bring Grace.”
Rolling my eyes, I waited until Mrs. Steward was well away before turning to Grace. The baby was chewing on the edge of the crib, her chubby hands gripping the crib’s bars. Despite her tender age, she was strong and capable of holding herself upright with some support. Then again, she was a Popobawa.
Scooping her up, I waved a finger in front of her. “It’s not your fault your father’s a bit batty, now is it?” I said.
She flashed a set of fangs at me.
“No, not at all, you little demon,” I continued as I followed the sound of music and the murmurings of a restless crowd. “But just between you and me, the human world is a dreadful place to grow up. Shall I share a piece of sage advice a clever man once gave me?”
Grace giggled and attempted to bite my chin.
I thought back to the first day I’d formally met Prof. Runal in his office. Certain members of my family were convinced I should be institutionalized for my overly active and unhealthy imagination. He had saved me from that fate.
Clearing my throat, I stared down at Grace and shared his words. “You see, my delightfully strange child, normal humans become terribly upset when confronted with their ignorance about reality. Therefore, you mustn’t share the full truth with polite society. It disturbs them greatly. Do you understand?”
Cooing, Grace raised her bone rattler and whacked it against my nose. And that, I suppose, was as close to an intelligent answer as any.
Chapter Twenty-Four
BY THE TIME I arrived at the scene of the outdoor wedding, Grace’s fangs had retreated, and Lilly had seated a mildly calmer Mrs. Steward at the back of the small crowd. Dressed in a dark suit, Simon was about to escort Cilla down the short, flower-lined aisle to where Drew was standing next to Mr. Evans. Jonas had strategically placed torches around the area, a
nd their flames provided a warm light against the encroaching darkness. Purple bougainvillea petals were scattered underfoot, their delicate petals vibrant in the soft firelight.
Mr. Evans, the train stationmaster and part-time, multi-denominational clergyman, stood facing the audience. His eyes, magnified by a pair of thick glasses, overwhelmed his pink face. He gulped and twitched, as nervous-looking as if he was about to be married. Then again, Mr. Evans always seemed ready to jump out of his own skin. I could only hope he’d keep his stutter to a minimum.
It was a great relief to see that my brother was dressed appropriately, groomed sufficiently and in control of his canine side. I nodded at him as I sat at the front, next to the Hardinge family. Drew’s yellow eyes blinked slowly at me as if he still couldn’t believe this was happening to him. Tiberius, standing next to him, murmured something to him, and he attempted to smile. Grace blew a milky bubble and smacked her head against my chest with a hearty thump.
“How does Lilly manage,” I muttered just as Father finished a song with a flourish of his bow before starting a delicate rendition of Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major. The crowd swiveled to watch the procession, uttering complimentary comments as Cilla glided like an angel toward her future as the wife of a werewolf.
“How lovely they look together,” Lady Hardinge whispered to me as Simon handed Cilla to Drew.
“They both look like they’re about to faint,” I replied even as I wondered what was in store for them. At the very least, where would they live? We were soon to lose our home. And…
I shook my head. For at least this evening, I vowed to banish all concerns about our imminent eviction from the Hardinge Estate and the presence of the Poacher. As if sensing my unease, Simon glanced at me and winked. Smiling, I watched Cilla and Drew finally exchange their long-anticipated vows and allowed myself the fantasy that all was well in the world. As Mr. Evans pronounced them man and wife, guests began to clap and Grace fell asleep in my arms, her heaviness a soothing weight.
Glancing up, I saw a new star twinkle. Although the moon wasn’t present, I recognized the star: my son, Arthur. My smile widened despite the constriction in my throat.
At least I have Emma, I thought. And Grace.
People began stirring around me in a rustle of fabric as they shuffled forward to congratulate the couple. Two rapidly blinking eyes filled my view.
“Mrs. Timmons,” a tall, bony apparition greeted me as he bounced on his heels.
“Dr. Cricket,” I sighed, my attention on Drew as he didn’t bother pretending he enjoyed greeting all the guests. Fortunately, Cilla’s radiant joy and sweetness made up for his unhappy demeanor. As long as nothing alarmed him too severely, we should be able to survive the evening without him turning into his wolf.
“Do you recall our previous conversation?” he asked, his limbs twitching as he held his breath for my response.
Frowning, I stared up at him, wondering when Lilly would remove Grace. Even seated, I found she was a significant weight in my arms. “No, I can’t say I do,” I said, injecting as much disinterest into my words as was socially appropriate.
Either the inventor was incapable of detecting boredom in others or he chose to ignore it. Pressing on, he enthused, “The funding, Mrs. Timmons. The funding to continue developing new automatons.”
“Ah, yes,” I said, my inclination to escape the topic growing by the second. Where was Lilly?
“Well,” he stated, puffing out his thin chest, “you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve completed the assignment. Ten automatons, and all superior in quality than the original Liam.”
“Congratulations,” I said, my smile thin and my attention wavering. Glancing around for a polite way to end the conversation, I noticed Koki towering above most of the guests, her dark, closely cut hair devoid of ribbons, wigs and fussy hats. She smirked at me as she weaved through the crowd toward Cilla and Drew.
“I knew you would appreciate my success,” Dr. Cricket said, his smile wide as his hands shook with the energy of his excitement. “In fact, the generous donor visited me just this afternoon and expressed his amazement. Perhaps you’d like to see them sometime?”
“Perhaps,” I said, hoping I’d never see another pigskin-covered automaton again.
“They don’t look as delightful as Liam did, though,” Dr. Cricket added, his thin features pinching together as he reflected on his first successful automaton. “The donor didn’t want them covered in skin, for example. No skin, no hair. Isn’t that queer, Mrs. Timmons?”
“While it’s not the oddest thing I’ve heard of, not by a long shot, it is somewhat mystifying,” I said, trying not to roll my eyes in exasperation. “Who wouldn’t want a pigskin-covered automaton?”
“Precisely,” Dr. Cricket enthused, rubbing his hands together. “We are very much aligned in our thinking, Mrs. Timmons. Good evening.”
As Dr. Cricket wandered off, I sank back into the chair, shifting Grace’s weight to a more comfortable position. Whiffs of the banquet floated around me, reminding me I hadn’t eaten in at least three hours. My stomach gurgled in anticipation; I hoped everyone would assume it was Grace making such an undignified noise.
“What a sweet baby, very sweet,” a booming voice startled me from my meditative mood.
Prof. Runal loomed over me, his attention fixed on Grace, his bushy eyebrows drawn together.
“My niece,” I explained, wishing Lilly would take Grace away from here. The first intimations of a headache creeped behind my eyes. My head began to feel woozy, and my eyes flickered closed. I wasn’t the fainting sort, yet a wave of dizziness threatened to make a liar of me. When had I last eaten? Perhaps it was more than three hours ago…
“Ah, the child of the Elkharts,” Prof. Runal said, nodding as if that explained everything, and stroked Grace’s soft head. “Lovely, positively delightful. She’s very special, isn’t she?”
My skeletal metal hand twitched as my wolf energy pushed against me.
Stay, I warned it but was answered with a low growl that I hoped only I could hear. The wolf began to leak out of my hands. The only time my wolf energy forced an appearance was if it sensed danger.
What danger? I wondered even as I forced my burning eyes to look at the only possible source of danger: Prof. Runal.
Nonsense, I thought. It’s fine. We’re past this. Aren’t we? Of course we are. He’s just doing what everyone does when they see a cute baby.
But he’s not everyone, another voice whispered. My prosthetic hand went limp, and the wolf’s shimmering outline began to form next to me.
I stared at the professor, caught between my conflicting responses to his interest. What if Grace woke up at this inopportune moment and flashed her fangs at him? Then he would know how truly special she was. I swiveled her around in my arms so her face was pressed against my chest. She wiggled and whimpered in her sleep before settling down. Prof. Runal’s eyebrows rose.
Before the encounter could acquire any further awkwardness, Lilly appeared by my side. “Let me give her to Nurse Manton,” she said as she scooped Grace up without waking her. “The Hardinge children are also going to bed.”
Indeed, I could hear the two boys complaining and whining as a plump, boxy woman with frizzy hair appeared nearby with a young girl in her arms.
“There’ll be no arguing about your bedtime, young masters,” Nurse Manton said with all the authority invested in her as the Hardinge nanny. Letting the girl slide down, she plucked Grace from Lilly, expertly tossed the baby over one shoulder and snatched the hand of the girl with the other. “Off with you, lads, or you’ll answer to your father, you will.”
In a cloud of moaning and pleading, Nurse Manton marched the children toward the house. My arms empty, I watched Grace’s small head rock back and forth, her features like a caramel-colored porcelain doll. Would I ever be able to release my baby into someone else’s care? Did I trust anyone enough to do so? Of their own accord, my hands drifted to the small yet still hidde
n bulge under my waist.
“Are you all right, my dear?” Prof. Runal said, bending over to study me closely, his large nose quivering, his kind eyes keenly interested.
“Quite,” I said, my gaze fixed on the wolf energy that was still too faint to be visible to anyone but me. Why didn’t it return to my hand? My head wobbled, and my vision blurred. Through a haze, I saw Simon appear by my side.
“Professor,” Simon said, his voice lethally soft, his eyes two storms preparing to hurtle lightning bolts.
I could sense Simon’s energy thrashing around us, the tendrils eagerly surrounding the werewolf. Before Simon could throttle Prof. Runal or absorb his life force, I said, “Let’s find the food, dear, shall we?”
Even as I struggled to stand, I could feel Prof. Runal’s curious gaze on me.
“Beatrice,” Simon murmured in my ear. “Is everything all right?”
“Of course. Why is everyone asking me that?” I grumbled immediately before collapsing into darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I’M NO LONGER in the forest. Instead, I’m floating up, up, up through the heavy, thick branches of the ancient forest. Flitting past sleeping monkeys and swarms of bats, I catch a glimpse of a ridiculously giant snake weaving around hefty tree trunks. Then I’m clear of the branches and flying toward the Hardinge Estate.
The moon is shining on a scene both familiar and alien: an army of skeletons surround the stone mansion. The animated bones click and clack, their hands clutching various instruments—rusted swords, crooked scythes, broken clubs.
Soundlessly, I land on the roof, my wolf energy standing next to me, glowing like a second moon. “Where are they?” I ask, searching for my friends. “Not that it really matters. It’s just a dream.”
“Is it really?” another voice encircles me.
I glance to one side. An old man stands beside me. Wrapped in an ochre-stained leather wrap, his skin and smoothly shaven head are youthful even as deep lines crease around his eyes and mouth; his eyes are as deep and old as the Rift Valley, but sparkle with childish energy.
