"What about Uncle Lion and Uncle Dragon?" I asked.
"Tomorrow, after we recover from tonight, we'll take you to the beach house we talk about sometimes, and show you how your uncles fit into the equation," Dad said. "Let's watch the news as Pheligar requested. I'm sure we'll see something unexpected."
We did.
Vice Principal Jameson was attacked by the monster that used to be Marilee Short. I almost gagged when that thing bit out his throat and gobbled up the flesh before devouring his arms and part of his chest. Others died in the attack, too, but that was the one shown in detail on the news.
"Dude, that's just sick," Mack huffed beside me. Yeah, he'd already seen it before, just not from Marilee.
"That thing isn't her," Dad said, as if he'd read my mind. "She died the moment one of those creatures bit her. It takes thirty seconds for the saliva to infect and destroy a human after the bite."
"Are you going to talk about your claws, Dad?" I turned toward him and ignored the carnage being shown on the eleven o'clock news.
"Tomorrow. You'll hear it from me—and your mother—tomorrow."
I turned back to the television then, in time to see the screen go fuzzy and hear the journalist announce that all cameras, including cell phone cameras and video cameras, stopped working at the same time.
Eyewitness accounts were also spotty after that. It made me wonder about the blue man and how he managed to do all that.
* * *
Adam's Journal
Pheligar appeared in our bedroom as Kiarra and I were preparing for bed. He was exhausted, although his eyes held a bit of anger. "I had a lengthy meeting with Thorsten," he explained, holding up a large, blue hand. "Thorsten claims you went looking for those spawn tonight, instead of reacting as he asked. We must all tread carefully from now on. He made threats." Pheligar shook his head, as if he were confused.
"What the hell is going on?" Kiarra demanded.
"I fear that if you react to further attacks by spawn, there may be consequences. I fail to understand this, as that is why your race was created in the beginning. I know not what has precipitated this reaction."
"What are we supposed to do, then? Let them take over?" I snapped.
"Let me think on this," Pheligar sighed. "Perhaps there is a solution. We will discuss this again very soon."
He disappeared, leaving us in confusion.
* * *
Justin's Journal
"Did you sleep last night?" Mack asked as he shuffled into the kitchen the following morning. Neither he nor I usually got up before seven-thirty on any Saturday morning. Today, we were both up at six.
"Nah. Too much to think about." He scooted onto the barstool beside mine and stared at the refrigerator opposite the island.
"Want cereal?" I asked.
"Yeah. Dad says that now the wolf has made his presence known, I'll be hungry because I'll be growing."
"Seriously?" I turned to blink at him.
"That's what he says. We talked for a long time last night after you went to bed. I saw his wolf. Man, he's huge."
"You were no slouch," I pointed out and stood to walk toward the pantry. I pulled out a box of cereal, then got milk from the fridge and set it on the island before grabbing spoons and two large bowls from the cabinet.
Mack and I were crunching away on crispy rice squares when Mom and Dad walked into the kitchen.
"How are my boys?" Mom asked, giving us both a hug.
"Better now," Mack offered her a grin.
"Good." She ruffled his hair affectionately before heading toward the fridge and the coffeemaker.
"Dad, are you British? Is that why you always drink tea instead of coffee?" I asked.
"I am. I was born in the mid-eighteenth century," he said. "This house was built from the same plans used to build my family home back then—on a smaller scale."
"What?" Mack stared at Dad.
"I'll tell you soon enough. Your father said you could come with us to the beach house for the weekend. He has Pack business to attend to this weekend anyway. He wants his wolves to go hunting for spawn, since our hands are tied on that, at the moment. The Sacramento Pack may join the Fresno Pack, to help track these things."
"Seriously? They can do that?" I said.
"Werewolves are the best trackers," Mom said. "A friend of ours, Daniel Carey, is coming from Corpus Christi to help out. He has plenty of experience tracking spawn, so he'll work with Martin and Thomas Williams on this. We set it up last night, after everyone else was in bed." I could tell there was more to the story, but didn't ask. If I needed to know, she'd tell me.
"So we can't track them?" I asked Mom.
"Your dad, your uncles and I are prevented at the moment," she said. I could tell she wasn't happy about that, either. "We can't hunt them; we may only be able to react if they attack us directly. As you probably know, that is far too little and much too late."
At least a hundred questions circled my brain, most of them dealing with who would prevent the hunting of those monsters—and why. "Where are they from?" Mack sputtered.
"They can be from anywhere. As you've probably guessed, the spawn need a host to perpetuate their race. Humans are especially susceptible. They incubate in the host for two weeks or so, then slough off the outer skin like a chrysalis, to become a newly-hatched spawn, hungry and prepared to attack any food source available," Dad said. "They are supernatural creatures and generally, humans are too slow to combat them with success. It takes another supernatural creature to fight them."
"I saw you take their heads, so that's what I did, too," I said. "Is that the only way to kill them?"
"Yes. Guns don't work. You'd have to have a really big bomb that covered a lot of area to make that an effective option, and the side effects of that sort of attack are just too risky. They move too fast, otherwise. You can toss a grenade at them and they'll outrun the blast. Same thing with rockets, and weapons such as that. Only a few weapons exist that will take them out, and those haven't been created yet on this world."
"Damn," Mack muttered.
"What do you mean, this world?" I whispered.
"Son, Earth is only one of many and not very advanced compared to others," Dad said. "Get your clothes on; we'll show you what we mean."
* * *
"I remember this, now," I said as Mack and I took in the huge space that was part kitchen, part dining room. On one side was a wall of glass at least thirty feet tall, and beyond that, far below the house, was an ocean with tall, sharply spiked rocks standing in the water. I watched in fascination as waves boomed and broke against those rocks.
"I thought this was in Australia," Mack whispered.
"Me, too," I whispered back.
"This is a private planet. It belongs to your mother," Dad said, settling a hand on my shoulder. "She brought me here shortly after we met."
"You own a planet?" I turned to face Mom.
"I own three," she said and shrugged, like it was no big deal.
"You own three?" Dad asked. "You never told me that."
"You never asked," she replied. "They have to be uninhabited, and I had to do something worthy of the award."
"Which ones, pray tell?" Dad sounded confused and angry at the same time. I moved away from him. When he's mad, I prefer to be as far away as possible. Mom, on the other hand, never backs away.
"One doesn't have a name, and it's pretty dead. All I get from it is the minerals, gems and precious metals. The other is Tiralia."
"What the holy fuck?"
Dad never swears—at least when I can hear it. He was swearing, now.
"What does that mean? What's Tiralia?" Mack mumbled beside me.
"Tiralian crystal," Dad growled. "The most precious and expensive gem in the known universes. That's what." He stalked toward Mom. Mack and I backed up a second time.
That's when Joey appeared from nowhere. "Time to go to the beach," he announced and pulled Mack and me away with the same traveling trick that
Mom and Dad used.
* * *
Adam's Journal
"I own the planet," she shrugged and walked away from me.
"You have that much money at your disposal?" I growled.
"It's my savings account," she said. "You haven't told me about all the accounts you have everywhere, after all."
"Is that what this is about? Full disclosure?"
"No, it just never came up and you never asked. I don't care about your money. I don't care much about my money. I own Tiralia. End of statement. If you want Tiralian crystal cufflinks, I can oblige that request."
I could see she was upset. I couldn't stop myself from pushing anyway. "I want Tiralian crystal cufflinks, cut and spelled by Grey House," I snapped.
"Will that get you off my case?"
"Mostly."
"I'll have them ready by your birthday in October."
"Good."
"Will you stop being an insufferable asshole, now?"
"I'm an insufferable asshole?" I pointed to my chest in self-defense.
"That's what I'm seeing from my perspective."
"I'll have a record of all my accounts, profit and loss statements and anything else you might want delivered to you on Monday," I huffed. "Is there anything else you haven't told me in the twenty years we've been together?"
"Plenty," she shrugged.
"Fuck," I muttered and stalked away.
* * *
Pheligar found me pacing the deck outside the house ten minutes later. "There are some things she finds it difficult to tell anyone," he said, forming a chair with power and pointing me toward it.
"Sure, tell me that now," I snapped.
"She earned Tiralia after she saved it, when it was classified as not worth saving. Unfortunately, the remaining population killed itself anyway, so the planet came to her afterward. It still has a cloud of poison about it, so one has to be heavily shielded in order to visit it. Tiralia's atmosphere would be toxic to most humanoids, no matter how well they believe their suits will protect them."
"She goes there?" I stood again. Pheligar forced me back onto the chair.
"She knows where all the veins of crystal are, and Pulls what she needs or wants away."
"All right," I muttered and scrubbed my face with both hands, as if that would scour away the image of my wife going into a known poisonous environment. Tiralia had killed itself with chemical warfare; that fact was widely accepted. Nobody attempted a landing there—not if they wanted to live.
"The crystal and the profits from it, instigated the war to begin with, if you'll recall," Pheligar pointed out.
"I remember."
"She hasn't told you how old she is," he said, forming a second, much larger chair and sitting beside me.
"No," I said. "She hasn't. I didn't ask, because it's custom not to ask another vampire his age. It doesn't matter to me."
"She's nearly fifteen thousand years old," he said. "Time was bent to collect her, then bent again to deliver her to the proper place. She has existed for nearly one hundred fifty of your Earth centuries."
I choked and coughed, until Pheligar put his hand on me to relieve the onset.
"If she reveals her past to you, I hope it is with more acceptance than what you displayed earlier," he said. "I regret not picking her up myself, all those years ago. I sent Lion and Dragon, instead. It is one of their favorite recollections. Perhaps you should ask them to tell it, sometime."
"I overreacted, didn't I?"
"Yes. And now she is upset—over nothing. She bears your daughter. Does that mean nothing to you?"
"I don't know why I picked the fight," I admitted.
"You are frustrated. She is frustrated—with the way things are and an unplanned pregnancy. No, do not think for a moment she doesn't want your daughter," he reached out and placed a hand on my arm. "She does. As she stated before, the timing is inconvenient."
"There's something you're not saying," I said.
"I worry that this is an arranged pregnancy," Pheligar sighed. I'd never seen him so frustrated before.
"Arranged? By whom?" I was ready to stand and begin pacing again. The Larentii held me down.
"I worry about many things," he said. "Perhaps they are baseless. Perhaps not."
Yes, I worried, too, about the timing. This—this just seemed wrong, somehow. All of it, from being forbidden to actively combat spawn to this.
Justin's early turning worried me, too. "I thought you had a power ward on Justin to prevent his turning—if it were possible," I said.
"I did. I removed it yesterday. Soon, too, I wish to discuss things with you and Kiarra, which will involve your son. I should wait until his birthday for that discussion."
"You're thinking of putting him into this fight, aren't you?"
"I see few ways around it. He does not belong to the Saa Thalarr, but he has the ability to destroy spawn. You saw it yourself last night. He and the werewolf child, too. Perhaps there is a higher hand in this, gently unraveling the ties Thorsten has placed upon you."
"I hope we're shielded right now," I muttered.
"We are. I would never say that outside the strongest shield any Larentii might place upon a conversation."
"Thank you," I sighed. "I worry for the race as a whole, if spawn and their makers are allowed to run amok throughout the universes and all we're allowed to do is react against a direct attack, instead of being proactive."
"As do I," he replied. "I will do all within my power to see that the race survives. You should go to Kiarra, now, to make your best apology. She does not feel well."
"Fuck." I was out of my chair like a shot and shouting Kiarra's name the moment I folded into the house.
* * *
After pulling her away from the toilet with Pheligar's help, we settled her onto the bed with a cold compress on her forehead. She'd never been this ill with Justin; Joey said so.
This child was different, in so many ways. "I don't feel good," Kiarra mumbled as I stroked hair away from her face. "Adam, somebody needs to get Justin and Mack and explain things to them."
"I'll get Lion and Dragon to do it," I murmured. "You need rest, my heart. I'll stay with you."
"Joey can take care of me," she said. "Justin needs his father right now."
"I will stay," Pheligar said. "I will ensure that the sickness does not return."
I folded to the beach to catch up with Justin and Mack—at least Joey had called Bearcat to stay with them until I could get there.
* * *
Joey's Journal
Shortly after Adam left to find Justin and Mack, I watched in shock as Pheligar lifted Kiarra and held her like a baby in his arms. What surprised me next was the sound he made. It was a beautiful humming noise, so restful that my eyes closed and I fell asleep in seconds.
* * *
Justin's Journal
"Dad?" I said the minute he appeared beside me. Mack was busy tossing bits of shell into the water, after he carefully examined each piece. Few of them resembled what we'd find on any of Earth's beaches.
"Your mother isn't feeling well—morning sickness," I explained. "I wish she'd tell me these things before letting me pick a fight with her."
"That sort of upsets me," I admitted.
"I know. Nobody is going to hurt you, Son. Not your mother or me, anyway. I think I send out vibes when I'm angry, and you pick up on them. That's my fault. There's no way I'd hurt your mother, either. You'll understand, someday, that people have disagreements, sometimes over things that don't mean anything."
"Okay." I hung my head. "It just upset me to see Mom so upset," I added.
"I know." He pulled me into a hug. "This is supposed to be a good day for you. I'm sorry for ruining it so far."
"We have lots of questions," I mumbled against Dad's shoulder.
"I know." He let me pull away.
"First," I said, doing my best to look Dad in the eye, "What the heck are we?"
"Your mother and I belong to th
e Saa Thalarr. We're supposed to be sterile. That makes you a miracle," he said. "And your baby sister is a miracle, too."
"Seriously?" Mack had come to stand beside me—he was just as curious as I was. "You and Mrs. G are gonna be parents again?"
"Yes," Dad nodded. "But that means several things, the most important of which is this—your mother can't take her other shape or use much of her power past three months, or it could harm the baby. Therefore, she will not be fighting these creatures after another month has passed."
I could tell Dad didn't like the fact that she was fighting them, now. I let that go.
"The next thing," Dad said, "is that we're immortal, unless the enemy finds a way to kill us."
"What?" I'll admit, I was surprised. As in I almost came out of my socks surprised.
"Dad told me werewolves live to be two hundred or so, unless they get killed," Mack grumbled beside me. "Immortal? Wow, dude." He elbowed me.
"What's Mom's other shape?" I asked.
"I'll let her show you. Here's mine." He changed.
Boy, did he change.
A huge, black Gryphon stood before us, looking fierce even before he flapped his wings and his eagle head screamed a battle cry. Mack cringed beside me, it was so loud.
In a split second, Dad was back. "Holy crap," I shook my head.
"Here comes your Uncle Dragon," Dad nodded toward the ocean behind us. Mack and I turned. Yeah, Dad is impressive, but there's nothing like your first sight of the biggest red dragon ever, flying low over the water.
He landed nearby and breathed fire before he turned. Mack dropped to his knees in hero-worship. If he'd idolized Dragon before, it was just multiplied by ten, at least. "Meet the former Falchani Dragon Warlord," Dad said beside us.
"Falchani?"
"Falchan is a world hundreds of light-years from your own, young werewolf," Dragon said and offered a grin after turning back to himself. "Lion is coming."
He did come, arriving in his other form, a huge, black lion. He roared for us and that's all it took.
"So Aunt Wolf and Aunt Tiger and Uncle Lynx?" I asked.
"Are named after what they are," Dad said. "Your mother is the only one who didn't choose her animal name for herself, at least in some way. I chose Griffin as my last name instead of the first, for obvious reasons."
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