by Chris Cannon
“I’m not going.” Jaxon took a step backward. “Tell my mother I left to check on a gift.”
Before she could argue the point, he took off like a man fleeing death. Fierce Jaxon traumatized by a girlie tearoom seemed absurd. Whatever. She hurried to catch up to her grandmother. They were waiting outside the tearoom.
“Where’s Jaxon?” Lillith asked.
Please don’t let her cry. “He said he needed to check on a Christmas present.”
“Oh, well I guess it’s just the three of us.” Lillith entered Suzette’s.
The dining room at Suzette’s looked like a florist’s shop had exploded. Floral carpet, floral wallpaper, floral tablecloths, and dear God, there were even floral dishes.
Yet the place was packed. Women of all Clans sat in small groups. There were a few dispirited young men who seemed to have been dragged there by their mothers. The males all had the same get-me-the-hell-out-of-here look on their faces.
Bryn blinked and then checked her grandmother’s expression.
“Something you wanted to say?” Her grandmother looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary.
How to be diplomatic about this? “This doesn’t look like a place you would enjoy. The decor is…busy.”
The hostess met them, grinning like she was in on the joke. “It must be your granddaughter’s first time with us.”
“Yes,” her grandmother said. “She isn’t known for her subtle ways. I’m waiting for her to make a comment.”
Bryn crossed her arms over her chest. “If they have pancakes, I can deal with the froufrou decorations.”
“We’ll do froufrou next time,” her grandmother said.
“This way.” The hostess led the three of them to a side door and down a hallway that led to a room that was the complete opposite of the floral nightmare up front. The walls were a soothing pale blue, the tablecloths were cream-colored, and the floor was polished hardwood. Not a froufrou item in sight.
“Is this more to your taste?” her grandmother asked after the hostess seated them.
Bryn stared around the room. Several women nodded in their direction. Her grandmother and Lillith nodded back.
A waitress brought them menus. Once Bryn saw the words “blueberry pancakes,” she was good to go. After they placed their order, she settled back in her seat. “What’s the deal with the fake front room?”
“Sometimes you want a place to get away from the men in your life,” her grandmother said, “a place they fear to tread.”
“The flowery room is a front for the real restaurant?”
“Exactly. For generations, women have dragged their sons and grandsons into Suzette’s. Once they’re grown men, they never come looking for us here again. As you can see from Jaxon’s reaction, it works.”
“That is sneaky and brilliant.” Bryn had a new respect for her fellow dragons’ feminine ingenuity. “Who thought of this?”
“A couple of Green dragons came together with the idea and approached the Blue women’s league asking them to finance the operation.” Lillith picked up her menu and turned the pages.
“And the men have never suspected anything?”
“They all want out the front door so badly, they never investigate anything else,” her grandmother said. “All the women take turns eating in the floral farce once a month. That way the room is always full.”
Their food arrived, and Bryn worked her way through the pancakes in the most ladylike way she could manage. Which meant she only dripped syrup on her dress three times.
“We need to work on your etiquette,” her grandmother said.
Bryn dabbed at the front of her dress with a wet napkin. At least the syrup didn’t show on the dark-colored dress. Time for a topic change. “What’s next on the agenda?”
Lillith sighed in satisfaction. “I finished my shopping, so I believe I’m going home to rest.”
“Perhaps we should go home, too.”
“But we were supposed to shop for desserts.” She cringed at the thought of going back to her room and staring at the walls.
“Yes. Well, you weren’t supposed to scare the life out of me.” Her grandmother’s words were harsh, but her tone was soft. She touched Bryn’s shoulder. “You might need rest.”
“Rest won’t fix the problem. Nothing will fix it, but keeping busy might help me cope. I’ll try to keep the breakdowns to a minimum.”
After a visit to the bakery to discuss dessert options, Bryn and her grandmother returned to the car. The driver sat in the front seat reading a book. Did he have to stay by the car like he was he on call? She needed to figure out how this system worked.
And that made her think of something she couldn’t believe she’d forgotten. When would she get her driver’s license?
“Will I have driver’s training classes at the institute?” Bryn asked as they took the winding road back into the forest to her grandparents’ estate.
“Why would you need to learn how to drive? One of the drivers can take you anywhere you need to go.”
Drivers? As in more than one? Wow. “At my old school”—she stopped short of saying “human school”—“everyone takes driver’s training classes. It’s mandatory before you can take the driver’s test and get your license.”
“That isn’t part of the institute’s curriculum.”
And apparently that topic was over. Okay. Maybe she’d ask Valmont to teach her to drive.
“We need to talk about what happened today,” her grandmother said.
“About what?”
“I understand you’re grieving, but what happened today is unacceptable. If you can’t cope better than that, then we might need to speak with a medic about helping you relax.”
Seriously? “First off, I didn’t plan it. Second, I’m not ashamed of grieving for my parents.”
Her grandmother’s lips set in a thin line. “Grief is meant to be acted on in private, not in public.”
“I’m so sorry. I’ll be sure to schedule my next breakdown for a time that’s more correct by your standards.”
The rest of the ride was a frosty affair. Her grandmother was angry. She got that, but how could the woman not understand how hard this was? She couldn’t adjust to her parents’ deaths overnight.
Over the next few days, Bryn did her best to meet her grandmother’s expectations. Not that they interacted much. Her grandmother’s time seemed to be taken up with planning the Christmas Eve ball. Her grandfather appeared at meals and kept mostly to himself.
Desperate for something to do, Bryn decided to investigate the mansion, avoiding any and all rooms with desks, lest she tread on her grandfather’s territory again. She started in her grandmother’s wing. She found a ton of guest bedrooms, some sitting rooms, and the occasional bathroom. None of the rooms were super interesting.
When she came across books, she investigated them, but most were about interior decorating or maintaining a proper staff. She knew her mother’s old rooms had to be around somewhere, but didn’t feel like she could ask. She suspected the rooms where Alec had taken Jaxon and Lillith after he’d drugged them were her mother’s, simply because they’d been neglected. The smell of mold and dust had only been outdone by the gasoline Alec had poured on the furniture to prevent her from using her fire. What had her grandparents done after the attack? They couldn’t leave gasoline-soaked furniture sitting around. For all she knew, the entire suite was probably destroyed during the battle. Searching through rooms kept her occupied in between meals with her grandparents.
One evening, she found a side stairwell that had a light that didn’t work. Very odd. Somehow, throughout this giant mansion, the staff kept everything dust-free and well lit. Could she have finally found a way to reach her mother’s old rooms?
Producing a flame in her right hand for light, she ascended the staircase, which ended at a landing crowded with boxes and cleaning supplies. A door stood ajar. Her heart beat faster. She pushed the door open wide enough to enter and sighe
d in disappointment. Whatever this space might once have been, it had been wiped clean. No furniture, no light fixtures, no carpets or anything filled the space. Although when she looked at the ceiling she could see bare wires hanging down where lights used to be.
Her footsteps echoed through the room and she realized it opened up into a much larger space. On the far wall she saw the elevator doors, which meant the way she’d come in had been the bedroom area, and she was now out in the larger sitting room area backward of the way she’d seen it on the night she’d faced Alec.
She headed back into the bedroom area, hoping to find a closet that might still hold some remnant of her mother, some proof that she’d existed. The closet in the bedroom proved to be empty and freshly painted like the rest of the room. It was long and narrow like a short hallway. At the very end, on the right side, Bryn saw the outline of another door half the size of a regular door, like something that might lead to an attic. She turned the knob and pulled, discovering that it had been painted shut. She yanked harder, and it came open. Kneeling down, she peered inside. Stairs, there were stairs. She crawled through and then stood, brushing dust off the front of her jeans. And there was a lot of dust. The cleanup effort hadn’t extended this far.
Bryn climbed the half flight of stairs and came to a small room with a pitched ceiling. Her breath caught in her throat. Pictures of her parents when they were still in school were tacked onto a makeshift bulletin board. She crossed the space and traced her fingers over the photos of her dad smiling with such love she had no doubt it was her mom taking the picture, and photos of her mom grinning like she was the happiest woman in the world. Under the photos there was a stack of books. Bryn picked one up and recognized them as part of the Legends series from the library, about a time when dragons could fall in love and marry without Directorate interference.
She opened the top book, unpinned the pictures, and carefully slid the photos between the pages to keep them safe. A piece of paper fell out of the book. She picked it up and saw a familiar circle divided into four sections, each section containing a triangle…the symbol for rebellion. She flipped through the pages in the remaining books, hoping to find more notes. But there was nothing. Had her mother drawn the symbol because she’d seen it somewhere, or did it mean something else? She could imagine her mother sitting up here, reading about people falling in love and fantasizing about running away. Now that she’d met her grandparents and lived in this world, she realized what courage it had taken for her mom and dad to do what they did. She was proud of them.
It was nearing dinnertime. Bryn decided to take the books and photos and hide them in her room. Not that she should have to hide them, but if her mom had taken the trouble to do so, she felt like she should continue the tradition. There might be other photos of her mom in the house, but she’d yet to see any, and her grandmother had never offered to show her where they might be kept. So she wanted to keep these photos safe. The drawing didn’t seem like something she should carry around. Since it had belonged to her mother, she wouldn’t feel right throwing it away. Instead, she slid the piece of paper behind the bulletin board.
She made it back to her room without encountering anyone. She used a damp cloth to clean the dust from the books, and then she put them in her book bag. If asked, she could say they came from the library, not that she expected anyone to go through her bag. Once that was done, she changed and freshened up before going to dinner.
During dinner, she listened to her grandmother talk about details for the Christmas Eve ball. She did her best to smile and nod in all the right places. If her reactions were off, her grandmother didn’t seem to notice.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
While she’d dreaded Christmas Eve for the sadness it would bring, she was grateful when it finally arrived. The ball could be fun. At least she’d see other people.
Bryn checked her reflection in the full-length mirror. The strapless emerald gown her grandmother had bought her fit like a glove, but not in a skanky way. It skimmed over her curves, looking like it had been made for her.
The dress was good. Her red, blond, and black-streaked hair? That was another story. Pick a color, any color. Per her grandmother’s request, she planned to tone down her hair for the big event. What color should she choose?
All the guests at the ball would be other members of the Blue Clan, which meant they’d all be blond. Once again, she wouldn’t blend. Would it be worth the consequences to use Quintessence to stripe her hair red and green? Probably not. She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed.
Every guest at the ball would be craning their neck to see if the Sinclairs’ granddaughter was up to their standards. And the answer to that question would be a great big fat no. She didn’t have their manners, which Jaxon delighted in pointing out to her. She didn’t have their grace, which is why she opted for silk ballet flats rather than the heels her grandmother favored. What she did have was a screw-all-of-you attitude and the ability to roast anyone who pissed her off.
Though it might be better to save those extremes as a last resort. For now, she’d deal with her hair. Just to see what it would look like, she colored her hair platinum blond. With her fair complexion, she looked anemic. Option number two, she switched back to her original strawberry blond. Too boring.
She returned her hair to red and blond stripes without the black stripes. There, she’d given up one color for her grandmother. That would have to be enough.
A knock sounded on her bedroom door.
“Come in.”
Her grandmother entered looking regal in an ice-blue gown that matched her eyes.
“You look beautiful.” Bryn meant it.
Her grandmother gave a genuine smile. “Thank you. You look lovely as well.” Her gaze traveled to Bryn’s hair. “I see you reduced your hair coloring to two. Maybe you could pick one for this evening?”
“I tried. Nothing looked right. I did get rid of the black for you.”
“For that I’m grateful.” Her grandmother tilted her head. “With your coloring, you should go for a darker blond. Give it a try for me. If you don’t like it, you can change it back.”
Why not? She focused and shifted her hair color to a dark honey blond. The image in the mirror surprised her. It worked.
“What do you think?” her grandmother asked.
If it had been her idea, she’d like it more. “It works, but…” How to phrase this without ticking her grandmother off? “I don’t want people to think I’m trying to be something I’m not. Does that make sense?”
Her grandmother walked forward and touched the hair on Bryn’s right temple. “Add a red streak here.”
It worked. The cherry-red stripe gave a nod to her parentage but managed to appear sophisticated rather than punk rockish. “Good call. I like it.”
“Me, too. Now come with me and we’ll pick some jewelry to go with your gown.”
Since Zavien had turned out to be a cowardly jerk, she’d stopped wearing the necklace he’d given her. The key with the protection charm Onyx gave her hung from a thin gold chain around her neck. The key itself was less than an inch long.
“I don’t like to take off my protection charm.” She followed her grandmother down the hall to a room that had a keypad rather than a doorknob.
Her grandmother entered a long series of numbers and the door popped open. “If you must wear it, I imagine we can find a way to conceal it.”
Bryn entered the room and stood with her mouth hanging open. It was a jewelry thief’s dream. Display cases full of necklaces, rings, earrings, and bracelets lined the walls. There were separate cases for diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, and rubies. “Holy crap. All of this is yours?”
“It’s been handed down through generations,” her grandmother said.
Bryn stood still, afraid if she touched anything an alarm would go off.
Her grandmother walked over to a case and retrieved an emerald necklace with stones the size of pennies. “I think this wo
uld look lovely with your gown.”
Bad idea. “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t like it?”
“What? No. I love it. But I could lose it or break it or do something stupid with it. You shouldn’t trust me with something that valuable.”
“You’re being ridiculous. Nothing will happen to the necklace as long as you leave it on.”
Yeah, because weird crap didn’t happen to her on a regular basis. Still, the necklace was gorgeous. Bryn let her grandmother fasten it around her neck. The stones were cool at first, but they warmed to her body heat. She checked a nearby mirror. “I feel like a princess in a fairy tale.” Too bad fairy tales never ended well.
“You’ll need to take your other necklace off.”
Bryn unhooked the chain and removed the small gold key. Now what? The strapless bra she’d struggled into in order to wear this dress fit like a vise. She turned away from her grandmother and slid the key into her bra.
“I think I’m ready.” Wait a minute. “Besides keeping my elbows off the table and don’t chew with my mouth open, are there any rules I should know about?”
“Never disagree with someone even if they say something ridiculous, just smile and say, ‘That’s an interesting perspective,’ or ‘I’ve never thought of it that way.’”
“So, no shooting fireballs at anyone’s head?” She was only half joking.
“No. Not unless I request it.”
“That takes some of the fun out of it. Just so you know, if anyone insults my parents, I will fight back.”
“If anyone says something to offend you, come find me. I’ll have them escorted from the ball and have their names removed from next year’s guest list. In our social circles, this ball is the highlight of the season. A threat from me will carry far more weight than the threat of a fireball from you.”
“Yes, but shooting a ball of flames at them would make me feel much better than having them banned from your party.”
“No fireballs in the house,” her grandmother said. “The only exception is if you’re defending yourself.”
