Phoenix Alight

by Isadora Montrose

  “Got it first try, F-F-Frankie darling. B-b-bull’s-eye.”

  “How often have you taken bear since you got to Grape Creek?”

  He frowned at her. Waggled a hand. And lied. “Somehow I haven’t been in the mood.”

  She glared at him for a long moment in total silence. Had she guessed the truth? Out in the corridor he heard Caroline asking Eleanor where her sister had gotten to. It was obviously time for that bridesmaid’s dress fitting they had sprung on her.

  That was going to be purest comedy gold. If only he could be a fly on the wall. Eleanor had promised him the lowdown. He could hardly wait.

  Frankie rose to her full height. Glared at him some more. “I have to go, Reynolds. But we’re not done.” She stamped out of the room.

  His senses settled down again. Cam let himself drift off into the fog once more. Warrior Woman was mad. Nothing new there. But she had said she would be back. And she was a woman of her word. Let the good times roll.

  * * *

  Frankie~

  It took Frankie exactly eight seconds to realize that there was no way she could bring up Cameron’s heartbreaking condition with her family. At least not until the wedding was over. Everyone was too busy, too stressed, and too focused on the multiple celebrations and the horde of elderly houseguests due to arrive.

  Even five minutes alone with Cam had made her aware that his aura was totally out of whack. Hadn’t Eleanor noticed? And that fever of his didn’t feel like only a physical infection. It felt more like a paranormal burn. Not that she was any sort of expert on shifter medicine. But Cam was so far gone his condition was obvious.

  But first she had to get through this blasted fitting. Mom was driving them in her SUV. Frankie was riding shotgun, and Eleanor was in the back. Caroline’s entire focus was on the wedding and her obligations. Genevieve’s family were the hosts. But of course the D’Angelos also had duties. There was a family dinner tomorrow, and the rehearsal dinner the night after.

  Aunt Lois and Uncle Sam’s plane would get into San Angelo in two hours. The Grape Creek compound was already overflowing with family and more were expected. Everyone had to be fed three squares. Caroline had a great deal to do before she could relax and watch her youngest son get married.

  There was no point in distressing everyone right now. Besides, if Frankie had to hear one more time how well Cameron was doing, she was going to punch somebody out. If that shambling, gray wraith of a bear was displaying improvement over his previous condition, all she had to say was Cameron must have been a full-on zombie when he arrived in Texas.

  She would have expected that Eleanor at least would have recognized that he was overmedicated. Of course, Eleanor was still doing her residency. Maybe she was reluctant to question the diagnosis of ‘real’ doctors. Cam wasn’t her patient. But surely Eleanor ought to have noticed that Bear Boy was not in any way on the road to recovery?

  “Thank goodness that Lincoln and Pierce’s houses are ready.” Mom brought Frankie back into the here and now.

  When they were first married, Harrison and his first wife Stephanie had built themselves a house within the D’Angelo compound. After Stephanie and their three sons were killed, Harry had been unwilling to set foot in that house of memories and sorrow. But Tasha and Mom had made a clean sweep.

  New paint on the walls, new furniture, and new art had transformed Harry and Stephanie’s love nest into a vacation home that let Harry forget his grief. He was never going to forget his boys or his first love, but he could be happy again. He and Tasha and the girls were staying there for the wedding.

  As soon as they had married, Lincoln and Pierce had also started building. This was the first time either of them was going to be staying in their new houses. Which was all to the good, since they each had a baby now.

  In a family that adored its children, of course those infants were cherished. But the main house was soon going to be crammed with elderly relatives. It would be better that Linc’s and Pierce’s families could be out of the way when they needed to be. And it was quite probable that Lincoln’s Beverly* and Pierce’s Diana** would be glad to have a retreat.

  But the instant that Grant and Genevieve had disappeared on their honeymoon, and the relatives had cleared off, Frankie vowed she was going to sort Cameron Reynolds into at least two piles. And maybe make herself a bearskin rug from any leftovers.

  Miz Trudy was delighted to see her. The seamstress had made her and Eleanor their prom dresses. Even at seventeen, the D’Angelo twins had been too tall and well-developed for off-the-rack.

  “Not the first time I’ve made dresses for gals I ain’t measured myself, but I don’t never like it. Not ever.” Miz Trudy stuck pins under Frankie’s elevated arms. “I’m that glad to see that after all there still ain’t a scrap of difference between you and Eleanor.”

  The dresses weren’t as half as bad as Frankie had feared. They were as streamlined as Eleanor had promised. Even so, there were a lot of pins involved in the fitting. Miz Trudy had made the waists a trifle loose.

  “Just in case,” she muttered. “With you modern girls. Well, you never know.”

  Mom laughed, but her face told Frankie that she didn’t find Miz Trudy’s remark the least bit funny.

  The fitting seemed to take forever and yet within twenty minutes they were back in the SUV. Miz Trudy had assured them that the dresses would be ready on their way back from picking up Aunt Lois and Uncle Sam from the airport.

  But Mom had other ideas. “I’m going to pick up Lois and Sam by myself. I’ll drop you girls at the house on my way to the airport. I need you to start supper. We’re going to have that beef stew I made this morning. But you’ll need to add potatoes and so on.”

  “No worries, Mom,” Eleanor said. “Even Frankie and I can manage that. But did you forget that we’re taking Genevieve out for her bachelorette party?”

  “I did not. That’s why I asked Sam and Lois to come this afternoon. I figured if it was just your dad and me and them, we could have a nice relaxing meal, and they could have an early night and recover from their trip. They’re not as young as they used to be. And it’s a long trek for them all the way from Virginia.”

  Frankie nodded. Lois and Sam had to be in their late eighties. Or even older. It was hard to tell with phoenixes. They aged more slowly than mortals did, and of course they faked their identification to make themselves appear less freakish to the authorities.

  Phoenixes were supposedly immortal. But she and her sibs had been brought up to understand that living forever was a recipe for unhappiness. In her family they settled for very long healthy lives. And the ability to regenerate if catastrophically injured. That was what she had offered that stubborn bear, and he had rejected.

  “Once they’ve had a chance to rest, they’ll be happy to see James and Harding,” Mom broke into Frankie’s thoughts. “Not to mention Quincy and Becky. I don’t think your Aunt Lois has ever forgiven us for letting Harry get married without calling a gathering of the clan.”

  Letting Harry? As if. Frankie chuckled. “Have you tried telling her why Harry and Tasha were in a hurry?”

  “George Washington! Are you kidding, Frankie? You know what Lois is like. It’s hard to change her mind. She’d still be sure to think Tasha was pregnant. And she’d tell everyone in the entire family so.” In fact, Harry and Tasha had gotten married so he could protect her and Rebecca from her ex-husband. But that wasn’t a story even for the extended family.

  By the time the limousine came for her and Eleanor, Frankie was eager to get away from the chaos in her parents’ house. Despite Caroline’s best intentions, the house was in an uproar.

  Fortunately, as soon as they arrived, Sam and Lois had insisted on going to their room for a nap. So they missed the confusion caused by the caterers delivering glassware and plates to the D’Angelos instead of to the Carsons. They also missed Rebecca and Quincy demanding to be allowed to ride Princess.

  Ordinarily Poppy Danger, as both
girls called George D’Angelo, was the world’s most indulgent grandfather, and nothing delighted him more than giving his granddaughters riding lessons. But between the fact that the girls had slipped away without telling their parents where they were going, and the general busyness, Poppy had turned them down. Their noisy tantrum, had added to the pandemonium.

  With a grateful sigh, Eleanor stretched out her legs in the limousine. “Do you think it’ll get better?”

  “I doubt it. I think it’s only going to get worse. Why on earth did the caterers come to Grape Creek instead of going Elora?” Elora was where Genevieve’s family lived. Mrs. Carson had invited Genevieve’s female relatives to a garden party this very afternoon. Frankie could only hope that the caterer’s china had arrived in time for tea.

  Eleanor shook her head. “I think it has to be the strain. Everyone associated with the wedding is under fire. It’s not just the caterers. Gen says that this morning the florist had paparazzi camped outside and interfering with her unloading her truck. They wanted a preview of the bridal flowers, if you can believe.”

  Frankie shook her head in disbelief. Who cared what the flowers were going to be?

  Eleanor grinned at her expression. “Maybe if Genevieve hadn’t insisted on using local people, it would’ve gone better. But you know she’d never do that. And I think our local businesses are more or less grateful.”

  “Well, people being people, I suppose they feel entitled to complain about the downside.”

  “Well, sure. And here we are.”

  *Phoenix Aglow

  **Phoenix Ablaze

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Frankie~

  The limousine pulled up in front of the Carsons’ house. The driver lowered the window and turned to speak to the two women. “You want me to pull into the driveway?”

  If he did, he would have to park almost on the sidewalk. The Carsons’ driveway was level full with their guests’ cars.

  “Don’t bother. Stay here. We’ll go get the bride. Coming, Eleanor?”

  There was another round of hugging and kissing and laughing before Genevieve was allowed to get into the limousine. But Frankie didn’t mind. Not in the least. She and Eleanor had spent considerable portions of their childhood and teenage years in the Carsons’ house. It was as familiar as home.

  It had been a while since she had seen either Mr. or Mrs. Carson, and she was glad for a moment to say ‘hey’ and catch up. The caterers had arrived with the tea cups and glasses before the garden party died of thirst, and Mrs. Carson was flown on punch and petit fours.

  “Don’t you girls keep Genevieve out too late,” she cautioned them.

  “No, ma’am,” fibbed Frankie. She was pretty sure this was an all-night event.

  “So where are we going?” Genevieve drawled as the limousine slid away from the curb.

  “San Angelo.” Frankie unhelpfully named the largest nearby city. A surprise was a surprise. She and Eleanor had been discussing this event for years and years – long before Genevieve had picked any sort of groom.

  Their friend was a big woman. Nearly as big as Frankie and Eleanor. Like them she was career Air Force. Like them she was a Texas girl, born and bred. But there the resemblance ended. She was as fair as the D’Angelos were dark. Her green eyes slanted at the edges and she had to darken her pale eyelashes and brows.

  Tonight, she had let her inner girlie-girl off her leash. Her sleek, black cocktail dress and her six-inch heels were in marked contrast to their crisp dark slacks and tailored silk blouses. And she was made up like a show pony.

  “I think you’re overdressed,” commented Frankie. “Unless I’m mistaken about our destination.” Eleanor had selected the restaurant by herself, but a barbecue shack so did not require fuck-me heels.

  Genevieve chuckled richly. She patted her neat cloud of red-blonde curls and batted those darkened eyelashes. Smirked with her brightly painted lips. “I’ve dressed for my public.”

  “By which she means, Grant’s public,” Eleanor put in, as if she was afraid Frankie thought Genevieve was delusional.

  “Martin Van Buren,” Frankie exclaimed. “Do you dress like that all the time?” She waved a hand at Genevieve’s outfit.

  “Pretty much.” Gen chuckled again and slapped one silky black knee with her open palm. Her nails were long and painted green to match the magnificent emerald dangling from her neck. Grant’s Christmas gift. “If you could see your face, Frankie D’Angelo.” She was laughing too hard to continue.

  Eleanor joined in. “Frankie is having a hard time grasping that you don’t mind wearing dresses and makeup. Your new image doesn’t fit with her ideas of you.” Her voice was wry.

  Eleanor was right. Frankie said so. “Just don’t change too much, Gen,” she begged.

  “Here, have a glass of champagne.” Eleanor passed their friend a glass and poured another for Frankie. “What my sister is trying to say is that we’re both delighted you are finally going to really be our sister.” She lifted her own glass. “May you and Grant be happy always and forever.”

  Frankie had no trouble drinking to that. She loved Genevieve. It had just never occurred to her that Grant had anything going with their friend. “You know,” she said, “I never really understood how you and Grant got together. I would’ve sworn you hadn’t seen each other in years and years.”

  “When we met up in Frankfurt,” Genevieve said quietly, “We hadn’t seen each other in two years, four months, and twelve days.”

  “Oh. Well, I just hope my boneheaded brother was counting the days too,” Frankie said fiercely.

  “He was,” Genevieve said complacently. She sipped her champagne. “That reminds me, I have a bone to pick with you two.”

  “Huh?” Both sisters’ mouths dropped open. “What did we do?”

  “Let’s just say that I find it hard to credit that either one of y’all could have instantly turned Bubba Gibson into a pile of ashes with one measly little feather. Yet, all through middle school and high school, y’all let that pipsqueak get away with calling me Chunky Monkey.”

  Frankie joined Eleanor’s hoots. “Didn’t Grant explain that we’re not allowed to use our powers for evil?”

  “What would have been evil about incinerating Bubba?”

  “Come to think of it, the world would be a much better place without that loser.”

  * * *

  Cameron~

  Despite her promise, Warrior Woman had not yet come by to finish their quarrel. For the first time in months, he was looking forward to something. But his cruel woman hadn’t shown up.

  Grant had come in briefly, scrambled him some eggs, disguised himself in worn jeans and a greasy ball cap, and disappeared. He had said something about going into Grape Creek to see some old friends, but by then Cam had not been paying much attention.

  He was frankly exhausted by what felt like an arduous day. But he lay down on the living room couch, avoiding his bedroom. He always tried to dodge going to bed too soon. He knew his pattern of napping through the day was playing merry hell with his nighttime sleep.

  But the meds made him drowsy. His head injury made him drowsy. His patchy hearing made him dizzy. His fucking knee ached like the devil and all Lucifer’s minions were using it for spear practice. And he was beyond bored. His instructions were to keep quiet and out of the light. No reading. No television. No loud music. No screens of any kind. Which left what?

  Sleeping. Or rehearsing the total fuck-up he had made of his last mission. Screw that. He’d rather take the damn drugs. They were sedatives. They didn’t really make him sleepy. Unconscious was not the same as asleep. It was much, much better. Unconscious you couldn’t dream worth a damn.

  Around twenty-one hundred hours, his sister popped by. Tasha waddled into the twilight living room and sank gratefully and heavily into an armchair. Her pregnancy was making her awkward. “You awake, Cam?”

  “Sure.” He lied, opening one eye. He might be a sullen, grumpy son-of-a-bear these days,
but he never whetted the rough edge of his tongue on his little sister. Never. “What’s up, kid?”

  “Just checking on you. Do you need anything?”

  He forced himself to sit up. “It’s time I had a drink.” And more painkillers.

  “Do you need any help?”

  He grabbed his walker and used it to support himself to standing. He’d been on the cane too much today as it was. He shuffled off to the bathroom and then to the kitchen. He glanced at the clock and gulped the meds he’d skipped at twenty hundred hours because getting up was too much like work. When he got back, Tasha was straightening the living room.

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said. “You’re tired enough after running after those two girls all day – and growing your baby.” He sat down on the couch and tried to look like her big brother.

  “I’m just neatening things.” But she sat down again and rubbed her swollen belly. “I can’t believe I still got two and a half months to go.”

  She looked beyond tired. Her curls were limp and her face was strained. “Should I be worried about you?”

  She gave a crack of laughter. “If you have to ask, I guess so. I’m fine really.”

  He sighed. “It’s just that I can tell how I ought to feel, but I don’t feel like that. If you understand what I mean?”

  “Are you saying you’re just apathetic? That you don’t care about anything?”

  “No. More that there’s a barrier between me and what I should be feeling. I see you and I think, it’s Tasha. My sister. I love Tasha. But I don’t feel it. Not really.” Now what had possessed him to burden little Tasha with that shit?

  Her voice was very gentle. “Do you think it’s permanent?”

  The silence grew while he tried to think of an appropriate response. What he managed was, “Heaven knows. Probably not.”

  “Well, give it time,” she said weakly. She didn’t seem terribly reassured.

  They sat together in the dark living room until he stretched out again, too weary to keep sitting up. “Don’t go to sleep out here,” she pleaded. “Let me help you to bed. Have you showered today?”