Smoke Dance
Page 8
“Why don’t you do that instead?”
“We don’t necessarily want Bran to know we’re after him,” Emil answered. “The idea would be for you to meet Will outside, somewhere relatively secluded to reduce the chance of being caught.”
“Yeah, makes sense.” He eyed Will again. The man looked and carried himself like a soldier. He trusted Will had the skills he claimed. “What about Annika?”
“She understands that there are some things I have to do that take me from her. If she objects strongly, then we may have to rethink the whole thing, of course.”
There was nothing obviously duplicitous about the way Will answered, except Damien thought he detected an undertone. Was it possible Will was hoping she would kick up a fuss? And if she did, wouldn’t that only mean that someone else, like Malcolm, would take over the role of Damien’s protector? The man might wear a skirt most of the time, but he was like a warrior of old. He was no one to fuck with, that was for sure.
He also wasn’t Will. Damien wanted Will. He said nothing about that, however. It wouldn’t be fair of him to put pressure on Will. His kid came first. Damien understood that about the man and it was one of the things he admired about him. And there was nothing he wouldn’t do for Emil, the man who had been more of a father to him than the asshole who’d raised him, the guy who’d looked at him with such disgust as he’d literally tossed him out of his home. The pain of that rejection still cut deep. And while there was nothing Damien could do about his past, this spying scheme was a way to pay Emil back that was more than baking cookies.
“Okay. I’m in, guys. Tell me what to do.”
Emil smiled. “Thank you, Damien. I can’t tell you how much this means to the family. We’ll go see Val after dinner is finished and he’ll go over everything you need to know. We hope you can infiltrate as early as tomorrow.”
Damien nodded then glanced up at Will. He wasn’t smiling. In fact, he looked like every commanding officer in every movie Damien had ever seen as he gave the order for the suicide mission. Maybe there’d be a goodbye fuck for him after all.
A boy could dream.
* * * *
Annika peered around the doorjamb, shushing Babette, who wiggled in her arms. Dafydd was on the floor playing with Idris. They were stacking wooden blocks. Well, Dafydd was stacking them. Idris seemed more intent on knocking them down. They appeared to be content, and Annika sensed no tension in the changed human. She was confident in disturbing them. The two of them were part of her hive, and although there was no one to tell her so, she knew instinctively that it was her duty to ensure that they were well. She simply wasn’t sure of her welcome. It was hard to get a read on the Welshman. Although, again, no one had told her as much, she knew that he’d suffered greatly from Dracul. It was up to her to try to mend that damage.
Squaring her shoulders, she knocked on the jamb and stepped inside the room before Dafydd responded. It was harder to deny her entrance that way. She smiled brightly. “May I join you, Mr. Dafydd?” Politeness was ingrained in her as well. She never assumed familiarity, not yet. She might be Queen, but she was also young, and those more mature than she were owed certain courtesies.
Dafydd’s gaze shifted from his son to Annika with obvious startlement. He started to stand, and not wanting to inconvenience him, she bent to set Babette free. Her dog raced over to Idris, who squealed with delight. The baby loved Babette, and the feeling was mutual. She attacked him by covering his face with licks. As usual, he grabbed for her fur with both hands.
His father intervened, keeping those chubby fingers from taking too great a hold on the dog. “Gentle, Idris,” he said in English, then repeated the warning in Welsh. He flicked his gaze to her long enough to say, “Come in and join us.”
Pleased with the reception, Annika skipped over and plopped down on the floor, careful to sweep the long skirt of her dress under her bottom. “Thank you. How is Idris coming in learning his letters?” She’d had similar blocks to learn Dutch. English had come later, as had other languages. She now knew seven, although she used computer programs to master new ones. She rather missed the blocks, though.
She picked one up and turned it around to its various sides. There was a capital C and a lowercase one, along with pictures of a cat and carrot, as well as the whole words themselves. It was all in English. “Are you teaching him Welsh?”
With his hands still hovering around Idris to keep him from playing too roughly with Babette, he answered. “Yes, but only the spoken word, as you just heard. Ric is adding in Spanish. Idris seems to be absorbing it all.”
“Oh yes, I expect that as a hybrid, he will be able to easily master quite a few languages like I have and continue to.”
Dafydd frowned. “He’s not a Queen.”
She giggled. “He doesn’t have to be.” She cocked her head as she considered the import of his words. “Do you think being male makes him less intelligent than I am?”
Before he could answer, Idris piped up with a series of, “Ba, ba, ba.”
Annika clapped her hands. “Yes, that’s it, Baby Idris. Her name is Babette. She’s a dog.”
“Dog!” Idris repeated and clapped his own hands.
“Very good,” she praised and beamed at Dafydd. “You see, Mr. Dafydd? He’s very smart. Soon he’ll be speaking in full sentences, I shouldn’t wonder.”
Dafydd looked skeptical. “If you say so. It hasn’t been my experience that hybrid sons are particularly clever.”
Annika turned serious. This was why she’d come, after all. “You are thinking of your other sons.”
“Yes.” Dafydd’s voice was very quiet. His sadness radiated off him. She felt it keenly.
“I am sorry about the older one. Father Willem has told me about him. He has been catching me up on everything that has happened since the ship crashed. I need to know these things, you understand, if I’m to lead my hive.”
Dafydd gave up hovering over his son as Babette had lain down across Idris’ legs and he’d mastered petting her. He looked at her straight in the eye. “If you say so. I know little about your culture. Dracul told me nothing and I didn’t want to know, in any event. I don’t ask about any of it. If you want to know the truth, I don’t care.”
“I understand. You want to live a human life again.”
“Yes.” The man was back to not looking at her.
“Dr. Ric will make that possible. He spends most every night here with you—and days when he isn’t working. You have welcomed him into your life, so he is also welcome in the hive.”
“We are…feeling our way on all things. He wants to marry me,” he added, although his tone implied skepticism and Annika sensed his conflicting emotions.
“It is hard for you to adjust to a new life after so many years with Dracul.”
Dafydd’s gaze flicked at her, surprise clear in his expression. “Yes, it is. Ric is very patient, however.”
Pleased with the open exchange, she let silence fall for a little while. They sat watching Idris alternating between his toys—the living one and the others. Babette was amazingly patient with the boy.
Annika didn’t quite share that trait with her dog. “Does my presence make you uncomfortable?” She knew the answer already. It radiated off the man in such an obvious way, she figured that even a human would detect it.
“Yes.”
Such an honest reply. “I understand—and I think you are very brave for saying so.” When he shrugged in response, she added, “It is not my intention to bother you…or anyone. It’s simply a matter of my following my destiny. I am Queen, and that means I can’t do as I’d like and stay in the nursery, playing with dolls and blocks.”
She turned the one in her hand over and over, still enjoying the bright colors and the cute expression on the cat’s face. “I came here to see how you were doing.” She paused and licked her lips. This wasn’t easy, and she rather expected that much of what she’d have to do for the rest of her life would be hard. “You have
heard about your son Bran?”
Dafydd closed his eyes briefly and a terrible pain showed on his face. “Yes. I know he’s here, up to something that isn’t good.”
Putting down the block, she scooted closer to him and put her hand on his knee. She wasn’t sure how to accomplish it exactly, but she was trying to give him comfort. “I promise to do whatever I can to bring him into the hive.”
She thought some tension left his body, although she couldn’t be sure. Reading the emotions of those around her was something she hadn’t yet mastered.
“You are kind,” he said. “I think perhaps that will prove impossible. To a large degree, Dracul ensured their doom the moment those boys came into the world.”
“It’s important not to lose hope.” She removed her hand and said, “Would you like me to leave? Babette can remain and play with Idris, of course.”
Dafydd shook his head. “No, stay. Please. Idris likes your being here. Can you tell?” The baby was staring at her with a sloppy grin. “He recognizes you for who and what you are, I think. And, I want to become accustomed to you too, because I’m not going anywhere. I’m part of the hive, like, by default. Unlike Bran, I was never coopted by Dracul’s world view. And Ric has made it clear that he will do whatever’s necessary to stay in my life, including living this alien one.”
“I would that you’d be with us by choice.”
Dafydd didn’t respond directly, his emotions a jumble and impossible to get a read on. Instead he asked, “Do you like Legos?”
“Oh, yes indeed!” It was all right if he wanted to change the subject. She’d come to reassure him about his son, but she understood now that nothing she said was going to help. He wasn’t ready to trust again and perhaps he never would be. She had to prove herself with actions, not promises.
“Idris loves his Duplo blocks. Let’s get them out and see what we can build, heh?”
“A most excellent suggestion.” Annika beamed back at him and happily waited for him to fetch the basket of blocks. Being Queen wasn’t all serious business, after all.
She spent close to an hour of carefree fun building silly things out of the plastic blocks. Idris proved to be very adept at construction. In her mind, Annika was already assigning him a civil engineering job for the hive. It was impossible for her not to think in those terms. The planning and maneuvering were instinctive in her, and the urge to do so had grown greatly in the last few months. Resistant at first, as she’d been with most of her obligations, she’d stopped fighting it and there was peace of mind in doing so.
A knock on the door caught all of their attentions. Looking over her shoulder, she saw her father coming in. “Oh, Father Willem.” She smiled brightly, happy to see him, as always. Sometimes she wished she could be less formal with him. She longed to simply call him at least ‘Willem’, as she’d used to. He’d said humans would find that strange and that adding ‘father’ to it would be more acceptable. Back on the home-world, she would have had lots of males that were mated to her mother, all of whom would be her father legally, if not biologically. Distinguishing them by name was the norm.
It was interesting, in an academic way, how her mind insisted on following rules that didn’t apply on Earth. Except she really wanted to call him ‘papa’, but it never sat right on her tongue. Papa had always been Luuk, the human who’d made her conception and birth possible. She missed him with an ache that merely lessened occasionally in intensity, yet never truly went away. Although he didn’t burden her with his problems, she knew Willem also missed Luuk, to a degree that she worried he was shutting off the potential to find happiness again.
With his hands jammed into his front pockets, her father walked over to them and peered at their efforts. “That looks like a formidable structure.” Babette rose from where she’d been sleeping and pranced around his feet.
“It is mostly due to Baby Idris’ imagination. I only follow his commands.” Which was entirely made up of his finger-pointing and babbling.
“He can be quite demanding,” Dafydd agreed. “You’re very patient with him.”
“It’s easy to do so.” She smiled at him before focusing on her father. “Is it time for dinner?”
“Not quite yet. I was hoping to speak with you.”
Alone. He didn’t say as much, but she could tell that was what he meant.
“Certainly.” She stood and straightened her dress. “I’ll see you later.” She waved bye-bye to Idris and scooped Babette against her chest.
Seeing his playmate leaving sent Idris into a fretful state, his face screwing up and his arms waving. His mouth opened to wail. Dafydd grabbed him much the way Annika had her dog. “None of that now. You be nice, like.” Idris’ lips quivered, but he complied.
Good. It was lovely to see Mr. Dafydd being a true father to his son.
Shooting another wave, Annika left the room. Her own father followed in her wake, saying nothing until they’d reached their suite of rooms. The sitting area had been decorated to her tastes, as much as her bedroom had. She had tried not to make it too feminine, understanding that her father used this room, too. In the end, she couldn’t resist turning her private environment into a place of pretty colors, tufted furniture and lacy curtains. This was quintessentially female among humans and she’d found that part of her ran strong in her instincts. It was the same reason she couldn’t quite bring herself to dress in jeans and T-shirts. She was most comfortable clad in flowing dresses with fancy trim and wearing shiny shoes on her feet.
She sat on the edge of the settee with Babette on her lap. “Is something the matter?”
Her father didn’t answer right away. His tension was easy to detect. He was disturbed about something and obviously reluctant, yet determined, to discuss it with her. He sat heavily on a chair and leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs.
“I am coming to you because you are the Queen,” he began. “I have a favor to ask that I shouldn’t, but I can’t quite help myself, regardless.” He looked at her with troubled eyes. “I am being disloyal in this. I freely admit it. My concern is outweighing my sense of duty, though.” Running his fingers through his hair and staring at the floor, he added, “My brain is reeling from the conflict.”
“Speak plainly, Father Willem. Papa,” she made herself say.
His gaze snapped to her face. “I don’t ask this as your father but as your subject. I want your advice and intervention as a hive matter.”
“Understood.” She sat straighter and schooled her expression to a neutral one, letting none of her affection for the man show in her face.
“Alex called a meeting this morning to discuss the Bran situation. This human politician that he works for has a camp to try to convince young men who are gay that they are really straight. It also serves as the homestead for the guy and his wife, as well as headquarters for his campaign. We think it may be where we can learn something useful to stop Bran without, you know, killing him outright. We try to keep a low profile on this world.”
“Yes, a very sensible idea.” For now.
She didn’t say that last part out loud. While she understood and applauded how her father and the others had tried to keep their existence on Earth a secret, in order to survive more easily, as Queen, her mandate was quite different. Eventually, humans would learn of them, once the hive was big enough to not only survive but potentially dominate. She was concerned that none of the men understood that in his twisted way Dracul had been right. As a more evolved species, their kind was destined to rule over humans. Her way of going about it quite simply had a better chance of succeeding. And, of course, it wasn’t to hurt the humans. There would be no subjugation. All would become clear, eventually. But not now. It was too early for that revelation.
“Anyway,” her father continued, “we decided to insert a human boy into the camp to see what he can learn. I think we should try using one of our hybrids, who are arriving shortly. One of them may be grown enough to pass for a human adult and be someo
ne that can take care of himself. Bran wouldn’t recognize him, either, unlike anyone who was involved with the assault on Dracul’s castle. But I was overruled. The others don’t believe that even a hybrid could avoid detection by Bran, that only a human will do.”
Understanding came quickly. “They want to use Mr. Damien.”
Her father didn’t show any surprise. “Yes, I guess that’s obvious, isn’t it? He’s the only human of the right age that we’d be sure Bran didn’t know, because he wasn’t with us in Wales.”
“It’s also obvious because he’s the one you like, so naturally this plan bothers you.” She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. The idea of her father being smitten by the human was too marvelous. So romantic. It was the perfect solution to her worry that he might mourn Luuk for the rest of his life.
He reared back at her observation. “No, it’s not… I don’t… He and I aren’t—”
“You should be.” Putting Babette on the sofa, she slid off and over to her father. She plopped onto his lap, much the way Babette had on hers. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her and hold her close as he’d done for her entire life. There had been no lack of affection in her childhood, and her rapid approach to maturity didn’t change how much she loved being cuddled.
They sat there for long seconds, hugging, her father kissing the top of her head. “I love you so much that it’s almost a physical hurt. You are the center of my life, and that would be true even if you weren’t Queen.” He sighed. “It’s been hard since losing your papa. I wish you’d had more time with him, so that you could have known him better.”
Annika had very clear and wonderful memories of her human parent. He’d died when she’d been young, yet they’d spent a great deal of time together as he’d prepared for his end. ‘Take care of Willem. He’s going to need you when I’m gone, and eventually, he’ll rely on you to make hard decisions.’ “I have many memories of him and others that are yours that you’ve been kind enough to share with me.” She laid her head against his chest, so solid and secure. “And I believe he wouldn’t want you to be alone for the rest of your life.”