Knights of Black Swan, Books 7-9 (Knights of Black Swan Box Set Book 3)

by Victoria Danann

  Rosie had agreed to meet her mother for tea. Litha was working in Edinburgh that day, but it was less trouble for Rosie to travel from New Jersey to Scotia than it would be for most people to get in their cars and drive for five minutes. Because of the time difference, tea in Edinburgh was an hour after breakfast at Jefferson Unit. Rosie wasn’t especially hungry, but she couldn’t turn down half a scone with clotted cream.

  Litha had walked down to the Balmoral Hotel and was waiting in the lobby. There was really nothing more that she wanted in the world than time with her daughter. So when she saw Rosie outside the front door, she beamed like it was Yule morning.

  The doorman had jumped and given up a little squeak when she suddenly appeared next to him. “Sorry,” he said. “I do no’ know why, but I did no’ see you there.”

  She smiled politely. “Snuck up on you.”

  “Aye. Ye did,” he said as he opened the door for her with an embarrassed smile.

  Rosie put on her best face for Litha. She crossed the rich carpet to receive a big hug and bigger kiss on the cheek complete with an, “Mmmmmmwhah.” There’s nothing in the universe more satisfying than maternal adoration.

  After they’d been seated in high back chairs in the Palm Court, Litha said, “I’m conflicted. It’s so wonderful to have you close after so long apart. Your father is beyond thrilled to have you home again, but it gives me no pleasure to see you sad.”

  Rosie smiled brightly. “What makes you think I’m sad?”

  “It’s a good act and I give you points for effort, but I’m your mother.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’ll see. Someday.”

  “Well, that’s not helping communication today.”

  “This is the important thing. What would make you happy, my darling? No. Wait. Let me rephrase that question. If you could have anything from life, what would it be?”

  “I know I’ve been gone too long if our conversation has been reduced to party games.”

  “It’s no game. It’s a legitimate question and one that everyone alive should be asking themselves on a regular basis.”

  “What if I said I wanted to play professional football and be a defensive lineman?”

  Litha gave that laugh that Rosie loved, the one that started deep in her mother’s chest and sounded like her whole body was committed to the act. “You don’t want to play football. Although, if you did, I’d be very worried for players on the opposing team.”

  Rosie couldn’t help but smile. “Well, you’re right. I don’t.” The waiter poured tea. “Want to bang heads with monsters whose necks are thicker than their waists, that is.”

  All the training in the universe couldn’t have kept the waiter’s eyes from flicking toward Rosie after that statement. Rosie noticed, even though it was just a millisecond and said, “Care to join us?”

  “Rosie!”

  “Sorry, miss,” said the waiter as his face turned scarlet.

  When he was gone, Litha said, “Rosie, what has gotten into you? You weren’t raised to be rude.”

  “No. But when I worked at a, um, tavern, I learned that wait staff are supposed to be deaf and blind to conversation when it’s not directed at them.”

  “Not to take anything away from that policy, but that’s a bad excuse.”

  “You’re right. Do you want me to apologize to him?”

  “Do what you think is right.”

  “Okay.”

  “So back to my question. What you’d want from life if it could be anything?”

  “You’re not going to let that go, huh?”

  “Not a chance.”

  Rosie looked around at the lavish setting steeped in the history of people of means. “I like working. I’m not saying it’s not nice to take Blackie out for a frisbee toss or have tea with you, but I need to feel useful.”

  Litha smiled. “I was hoping you might say something like that. We might be able to help each other out.”

  Rosie looked skeptical. “This sounds like one of those schemes that you cook up with Auntie Elora.”

  Litha shook her head. “Nope. This is all me. See, here’s the thing. I’ve been wanting to take a break from tracking.” Rosie realized her mother suddenly looked nervous. “We, uh, your dad and I want to have more children.”

  Rosie laughed out loud. “Well, I couldn’t be that awful, if you’re deliberately going for it again.”

  Litha’s look changed to serious. “You’re the furthest thing from awful, Rosie. You’re the best thing that ever happened to us.” Rosie felt an unbidden pressure behind her eyes and knew that she had that reddish pre-tears look. “If we were lucky enough to have another child just like you, we’d be over the moon.”

  “Mom.” Rosie’s breath hitched. She wasn’t accustomed to being told she was loved and she really wasn’t accustomed to being told she was cherished.

  “The only thing stopping me is that I provide a service to The Order that is uniquely valuable. There’s only one other person I know of who can do what I can do.”

  “You want me to track for The Order.”

  “It’s not bad work, you know. Not usually. I’ve had some interesting times.” She chuckled. “There was this ghost in Venice who didn’t want to be tracked…”

  The waiter arrived with a choice of tea treats. Rosie looked up into his face and said, “Please forgive me if I made you uncomfortable earlier. I’ve been spending time with rough company.”

  The waiter looked first shocked, then embarrassed. “Not at all, miss.”

  “So what do you think?” said Litha.

  “I wouldn’t be taking over for you permanently, right? Just filling in for a while?”

  “Absolutely! Come down to Headquarters with me. There’s something I want to show you.”

  Litha didn’t give Rosie a choice about walking arm in arm. As they strolled, she pointed out the museum and told Rosie about the Hall of Heroes, that Uncle Ram had a portrait hanging there, and that she’d always thought it was a travesty that there wasn’t also one of Storm, because no one deserved it more.

  Litha took Rosie down to her private room and told her the history of the artefacts. Rosie was immediately drawn to the dragon and to her mother’s scrying mirror.

  “Can I touch?” she asked.

  “Of course. Only you,” said Litha. “The thing is, there are times when I need this elaborate paraphernalia to do the job. But I suspect you won’t.” Litha pulled the crystal pendant from its hiding place underneath her blouse. “I have a feeling this is all you’ll ever need. Your grandfather gave me this and, while you’re working as tracker, it’s yours. Don’t lose it. It means a lot to me.”

  “If I couldn’t keep track of my mother’s prize possession, I wouldn’t be much of a tracker, would I?”

  “True. Let’s go speak to Simon although I think bringing you on board will simply be a formality.” She stopped and looked at Rosie. “You were born here, you know. Right here in this building.”

  Rosie laughed. “Yeah. I know, Mom.”

  As Litha predicted, Simon was pleased to have Rosie fill in for her mother’s leave of absence.

  “You were born here, you know,” he said, smiling at Rosie.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I’ve heard that.”

  “Well, you may find the job comes with interesting situations. Your mother has had to get out her creative hat now and again.”

  “She’ll be so good that you won’t want to see me come back,” Litha said.

  “Well, I doubt that. You’ve become something of a legend.”

  “That’s nice of you to say, Simon.”

  “Just a simple truth. So, Rosie, when will you be starting?”

  Rosie looked at Litha. “I guess that’s up to her. And Dad,” she snickered.

  Litha tried to give Rosie a look of reproach, but couldn’t hide her smile. “I’ll make sure she’s familiar with policies and procedures, where there’s wiggle room and where there’s not.” Litha
shrugged. “Then she’s on her own. It’s not the kind of thing you can apprentice for, especially not when you were born with more mastery than the master.”

  “Well, then, welcome to Black Swan, Elora Rose Storm. We’ll want to issue you a new phone and I want to be sure you have my twenty-four hour number. Never know when you might need it.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  “It’s we who are thanking you. Both of you. Who would have guessed there might be someone in the world who could stand in for Litha?”

  Simon shook his head, but smiled, clearly pleased with the arrangement. Litha’s pride in her child was shining so bright it almost looked like there was a spotlight above her. Rosie, unaccustomed to so much concentrated adoration, felt a hint of shyness and ducked her head.

  Glen arrived at Monq’s door at precisely seven. He didn’t bother to knock because he knew he was expected.

  “Hey, doc. What’s for dinner?” Before Monq could answer Glen’s eyes had drifted to the table set up in front of the video fire. “Three people? Who else is…?”

  There was a soft knock on the open door.

  Glen turned to see Rosie standing there, looking just as uncertain as she was unbelievably beautiful. He pinned Monq with a look that should have caused him to explode into millions of tiny bits.

  “You. Did. Not,” he said slowly and distinctly, each word dripping with outrage.

  “I did,” Monq said casually as he rose from his chair. Looking at Rosie, he said, “Come in, my dear. We’re having sea bass with pasta primavera and Alfredo sauce.”

  He gestured toward the table, but after Glen’s reaction Rosie didn’t exactly feel welcome and didn’t move from the doorway. Looking at Glen she said, “I saw you a few nights ago. In the Hub. You walked right by, but I guess you didn’t see me.”

  His dark eyes flashed at her for less than a blink as he sneered. “I saw you.”

  “Oh,” she said in a quiet voice. She searched his face as he looked away and couldn’t find anything that resembled the boy who’d loved her except for facial features. In addition to the physical changes, he had a hard edge that broadcasted bitterness.

  Monq decided he’d better establish himself as an arbiter or things were going to deteriorate quickly. “I understand you two used to know each other.”

  Glen smirked and looked away, shaking his head. “No. Not really. I thought I knew her. Turned out not.”

  Rosie was just beginning to understand the depth of the hurt she’d delivered to her first love. She’d been too selfish, too immature, and too shortsighted to grasp the consequences of her rash behavior. Now that she’d come face to face with the results, it looked like it was far too late to do anything about it. The damage wasn’t just done and over. It had reinfected itself again and again and festered past the point of repair.

  She stood there staring at Glen, wondering if an apology would help or make things worse. Looking at the way he was clenching his jaw, she decided things couldn’t get any worse.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Glen’s gaze jerked up to her eyes. He could see she was sincere and, if anything, it made him hate her more. At least it made him angrier.

  “Oh, good. Dinner is here,” Monq exclaimed cheerfully.

  All the while dinner was being set out Glen and Rosie continued to look at each other, but nothing changed. He was resolute in his rage. She was genuine in her contrition, silently willing him to accept that.

  When the waiter was gone, Monq persuaded them to sit down at the table set for three.

  “I don’t know how you see this playing out, old man.” said Glen to Monq.

  “There’s no reason to be disrespectful to Mr. Monq,” Rosie chastised.

  “Dr. Monq,” Monq corrected.

  Judging by Glen’s reaction, he didn’t appreciate being chastised about manners, especially by Rosie. “I don’t know how you see this playing out, Dr. Monq, but no good can come from it.”

  By that time Rosie was beginning to feel a little less sorry. “Oh? And why is that?” she asked.

  “Because, wunderkind, you can’t change the past with a couple of words like ‘sorry’.”

  “I know that, Glen. But apologizing is a start.”

  “Really?” He bit out the word. “A start toward what?”

  “It’s a start toward forgiveness and maybe, eventually, being friends again.”

  He startled both Monq and Rosie by laughing out loud. “FRIENDS!?! Friends don’t give each other ultimatums and then disappear. FOR YEARS!”

  Rosie sighed. “You’re right. It was dumb. And thoughtless. And if I could take it back…”

  “Well, you can’t.” Glen fumed as he shoved a huge forkful of pasta into his mouth knowing that Rosie would think his table manners were hiding in the same closet as his ability to be civil.

  “Rosie, why don’t you tell us what you’ve been doing since you last saw Glen.”

  “I’m not particularly interested in what she’s been doing,” Glen said, looking anywhere but at Rosie.

  “Well,” she said to Monq, “I can tell you what he’s been doing. He’s been mastering the art of being an ass. You’ve changed, Glen.”

  “I…” Monq started.

  Glen cut him off. “I’ve changed? You know what your problem is, Elora Rose? You haven’t changed. You’re still the same self-involved brat who thinks all she needs to do is prance back in here… Oh, look at me, I’m practically royalty. Black Swan’s precious little princess is sorry she made a mess.”

  “You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” she said quietly.

  “Yeah? And who gets to decide that? You? You get to decide everything, don’t you?”

  “I made a mistake, Glen. A big one. But what you’ve made is a gigantic fucking mess of yourself.”

  “You don’t know anything about me, little girl.”

  Rosie stood up so suddenly it knocked her chair over. She threw her napkin down and her own eyes sparked with anger. “I know you’re the one releasing the hogs of war.”

  Glen sat back and crossed his arms, then gave her a smile that broke her and tugged at her heart strings at the same time. “That’s dogs of war,” he said with a smugness that made her want to smush his smarmy face.

  “Forget what I said about being sorry. All I really want from you is to stay away from me.” As punctuation, on the way out of the room, she grabbed a pillow from Monq’s settee and threw it at Glen, who simply caught it in the air and laughed.

  “Fine by me.”

  “Loser. Do you even have any friends?” It as a parting shot that she couldn’t have known hit way too close to home. But she decided to add one last thing on her way out the door. “AND I DON’T PRANCE!”

  Glen’s taunting laughter melted into a seething anger that had him breathing hard. “Bitch,” he fired back, but she was gone.

  Monq said, “Well, that went better than I expected.”

  Glen stood, glowering at Monq, then raised his dinner plate to shoulder height.

  Monq managed to say, “Please! Not the fireplace again!”

  Glen huffed. “How’s this?” He raised one bent leg and broke the plate over his own thigh.

  As he stormed out of the room Monq said, “Dinner at seven tomorrow night. Don’t be late.”

  Glen gave him the finger without turning around.

  Monq sighed and looked at the broken plate and ruined food on the new carpet. He was thinking he was glad he’d opted for Alfredo sauce instead of marinara.

  Falcon had no good reason to be relieved from duty. Genevieve’s condition was stable. Nothing had changed. So he’d been on patrol for two nights in a row.

  When he returned after the second night, he showered, had something to eat and went straight to the lab. Monq was standing in the hallway talking to Jean Etienne. Genevieve was in the cell alone and appeared to be sleeping.

  “Is she okay?” Falcon asked Monq.

  “There’s been no change except
that this is the first time she’s slept since taking Jean Etienne’s blood. Needing less sleep is apparently one of the side effects.”

  “Where is this going?”

  Monq looked troubled. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean is she cured? Or is she going to have a shadow forever?” He looked at Jean Etienne when he said it.

  “I’m not a shadow.”

  “Then what are you?”

  “I’m the host of the blood that is keeping the virus from destroying her. If you love her, why does this anger you?”

  “Because you’re not just a blood donor. And I don’t like what I’m seeing.”

  Jean Etienne caught the subtext. “Yes. I care about her.”

  “Don’t you think you’re too old for her?” Falcon could have kicked himself for saying something so stupid. Of course Jean Etienne was too old for Genevieve. He was too old to date the Sphinx.

  “What if she required regular doses of my blood to survive? What would you want for her?”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to live forever.”

  “I couldn’t guarantee that she’ll live forever. We’re not really immortal. It’s just, what do you call it? Shorthand, for outliving record-keeping. We can be killed.” He smiled. “No. I will not tell you how. But until we are deliberately snuffed from existence, we age very slowly. At least as compared to you. If Genevieve needs to go with me to live, she will probably stop aging and appear as she does now until she dies.”

  Falcon’s internal process was more a war than a conflict. It was bloody and horrific. He’d looked at his dilemma from all sides round and couldn’t find his way to a desirable outcome. Simply put, he didn’t want Genevieve to die, but he didn’t want her to go with Jean Etienne either. Seeing that no resolution would be reached at that moment standing in the hall, he jumped onto the hospital bed that was made fresh for him daily and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN