Seraph of Sorrow Read online

  “What, you mean stay in the house while he works, cook and clean for him, bear his many children, service him in the bedroom in all manner of ways without complaint? What’s wrong with that? Aren’t you going to do the same for me?”

  Jonathan wasn’t completely sure the straw-spoon wouldn’t have gone through his pupil had he not grabbed her wrist in time. “Bear a child for you someday, maybe. Everything else, you’re on your own. And you don’t want me to cook.”

  “Not if you’re going to spend every trip to the grocery store hunting up and down the aisles for blue raspberries to use in your recipes. What makes you think Wendy could kill me? Personally, I don’t think your average beaststalker would stand a chance.”

  “She’s not average. In any case, how would you fight her? Delight her to death with your amazing chameleon skin?”

  “Unless beaststalkers are fireproof, I don’t think it’ll make a difference what color my scales are when I roast her.”

  He took her silence as a signal he had gone too far. “Oh, hey, I’m sorry. I’d never do that, not to anyone, unless they were trying to hurt you.”

  “That’s not—” She took a deep breath and licked her lips thoughtfully with a bright blue tongue. “You’re right. Wendy isn’t fireproof.”

  “Anyway,” he continued, “Dad was saying a few weeks ago that he’s finally going to teach me the elder skill for our kind.”

  “Elder skill?”

  “Yeah. Apparently older dragons can do stuff we young ‘whippersnappers’ can’t. Elders keep this stuff pretty quiet, since they don’t want us trying it before we’re ready. Dad says teenaged dragons used to die all the time trying skills they couldn’t do right.”

  “Hmmph.”

  “What, hmmph?”

  “It’s interesting.”

  He lifted his head and gave her an impatient sigh for making him drag this out of her. “What’s interesting?”

  “All the stuff you dragons don’t tell each other.”

  “It’s sacred, Elizabeth. You have to appreciate that. There are things a parent has to keep from a kid. Didn’t your family keep stuff from you?”

  Her hesitation was almost imperceptible. “Loads. But we’re not kids anymore. And it wasn’t necessarily right, even back then.”

  “What do you care? It’s between my father and me.”

  The straw-spoon was back in the cup, jabbing apart whatever frozen blocks remained. “And there are secrets between you and me, of course.”

  “Liz, let’s not talk about Crescent Valley.” He immediately regretted the phrasing. She didn’t need to reply: We never talk about Crescent Valley.

  She paused long enough to see him wince, and then shifted gears. “So he thinks you’re ready for this next step, whatever it is?”

  He shrugged and enjoyed the way the back of his head shifted her skirt. “I guess.”

  She snorted. “You don’t sound ready. One moment you’re talking about defending me against Wendy, the next you’re mumbling about guessing. You’ve never gone up against a beaststalker. Wendy would take three seconds to do in you and your lousy self-confidence.”

  “I got all the confidence I need, when I’m with you.”

  “Your hand is under my sweater, Slick.”

  “True. So what makes you think—”

  “Let’s go.” She yanked his hand out, nudged his head off her lap, and got up. “Date’s over, unless you want to admit there’s such a thing as a blue raspberry.”

  “No way. And as long as Wendy doesn’t start anything with me, she has no worries.”

  “You’re wrong,” she told him with gentle certainty. “On both counts. Come on, I’ll let you buy me another slushie on the way home.”

  “So, you were a sociology/anthropology major when you went here for college, huh?”

  Wendy Williamson awarded him a baleful stare, barely visible in the blue incandescent light that flooded the sorority house basement. She took a sip of cheap beer from her plastic cup and called back in clipped tones over the party music. “Yeah. And?”

  “And, er, nothing.” Wow, she hates me. “I’ll bet you’re glad to be back on campus.”

  She shrugged. “This was more Lizzy’s idea than mine.”

  “Yeah, she wanted to check out some of her old haunts, introduce me around. I’m glad you and Hank could come along. Where is he, anyway?” Neither Liz nor Hank was in the basement with them—not a huge surprise, since the party was spread over the three floors of the sorority house, and involved over one hundred college students, alums, and assorted others.

  Wendy not only didn’t answer his question—she didn’t move. No help at all! Does she want this conversation to be painful?

  “Um, so. What kind of work do you do now?”

  “Why, you thinking of changing your major?”

  “No. I’m a graduate student. Architecture, remember?” Cripes, Liz, where did you go? “I guess I’m curious about what you studied, and what you do with it now.”

  Wendy leveled her aquamarine eyes. “I know where you’re going with this. You’re like my parents, telling me I’d never get a job, blah blah blah. For your information, I didn’t go to college to get a job. I’m not some cog in a machine. Hank and I are going to get married, and we’re going to have a child, and I’m going to stay home and raise the kid. Is that okay with you?”

  “Geez, yeah, that’s fine! I think that’s the right choice for you. Staying home, doing the kid thing, couldn’t be more right for someone like you.”

  Wendy’s blue-washed features lit up in indignation. “Right for someone like me? What do you mean by that?”

  Unsure of what he had stepped in or how much of it was still on him, Jonathan shifted his feet. “Uh, nothing! Hearing what you said, it just, you know, makes sense and all, and I’m glad you found the right choice. You know, for you.”

  “So if I want a career like Liz, that’s the wrong choice? She’s the smart and savvy career girl, and I’m the dumb housewife? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No!” He checked over his shoulder quickly, unsure if he could make it to the door before she gave chase and devoured him. “Geez, Wendy, I’m just saying it sounds like you’re going to be happy, and I’m happy that you’re happy, and—”

  “Because I’m not some trophy or prize for a man, if that’s what you’re saying.”

  “I’m not saying that! You’re no prize. Ah, I mean, I wouldn’t call you a trophy, or anything like that . . .”

  She brushed a bit of spilled beer off her dress as one dance tune ended and another began, sending the crowd around them into a frenzy again. “You know, I cannot for the life of me figure what Liz sees in you.”

  He breathed out. “I think it’s my sharp conversational skills.”

  Before she could turn to walk away, he grabbed her shoulder. “Wait! Come on, Wendy. We should try to get along—”

  “Hand. Off. Now.” Her head shifted slightly, and Jonathan noticed her arm move. He could not quite see the attached hand, or what it was reaching for.

  Irritation at her obduracy finally beat discretion. “Or what, you’ll deal me a deathblow with whatever you’ve got stored inside your dress? A dagger, or a gun, or a Persian flanged mace? Yes, Wendy—Liz already told me what you and she both are, and what Hank is.” He almost said the word beaststalkers , but decided to play it not so savvy. “You’re some sort of soldiers. You kill stuff. Fine, whatever! So you have to be a jerk to everyone?” He removed his hand so she could turn to face him. Her weapon, whatever it was, remained hidden.

  “Why do you care what I think about you at all?” Her voice was barely louder than the surrounding music. Someone behind Jonathan was jumping up and down to the music so wildly, he bumped into them. They both ignored it.

  “Because Liz is important to me,” he answered. “And you’re important to Liz. So you’re important to me.”

  Her sharp nose crinkled in what was almost a smile. No, wait—is that a sneer? “
That’s a sweet thing for an idiot like you to say.”

  “Um, thanks. Coming from the Queen of Charm, that means a lot.”

  She actually chuckled as she downed another swallow of beer.

  Paralyzed by fear of saying something to ruin the détente they seemed to have reached, he grinned back.

  For a few seconds, they listened to the relentless, plaster-shaking beat. He watched her lick a drop of beer off her lips with a small tongue and thought, She’s cute. Then she was suddenly upon him, kissing him and passing a long, delicate hand through his hair. Her breath was strong with alcohol, but the rest of her smelled like vanilla. Jonathan let the kiss last at least three seconds longer than he thought proper before breaking away.

  “Wendy—”

  She grabbed his chin with something between tenderness and authority. “Sorry if that freaked you out. I was just . . . doing an investigation.”

  “What?”

  There was no time to explain. Wendy glanced over his shoulder meaningfully, and Jonathan caught sight of Elizabeth coming back down the stairs. She was searching the crowd, but had not seen them.

  “Tell me something,” Wendy whispered in his ear as he watched his girlfriend slowly make her way through the dancing crowd. Her fingernail traced a path down his throat. “Are you a man, or a monster?”

  The question made his blood run cold. He made a concerted effort not to look at her. “What do you mean by a monster—that I’d hurt Liz by dumping her? Wendy, you kissed me. You already drunk?”

  She began to titter, an unnatural sound from this woman. “On one beer?” Then her voice sobered. “You know what I mean by ‘monster.’ And you didn’t answer my question.”

  Sharp cookie.

  “Don’t lie to me,” she added. The fingernail on his throat dug in.

  His brain roiling, Jonathan gave the only answer he thought would satisfy her.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said casually, catching her finger with his hand and holding it. “I’m a big damn lizard, the kind your cult plots against at your supersecret meetings, where you all wear hoods or whips or whatever and then go out and chop up, well, dragons like me. I, um, breathe fire, right? And I fly around, and flap my wings, and poop big flaming turds all over the lands below. Mighty is my wrath. You should probably kill me before Liz and I get serious. Maybe you could pull out an ancient seashell horn and rally your troops to your side?” With his free hand he mimed a battle horn, a daring (and, he was fairly sure, dashing) smile on his face.

  Biting her bottom lip, she looked him up and down.

  “Conversational skills, eh? I don’t see it. Yours blow.”

  Wendy shook her finger loose, shoved past him, and nearly knocked over a surprised Elizabeth.

  “Hey, Wendy, where’re you—”

  “Don’t bother.” Jonathan sighed with a grin as they watched the woman scramble up the steps. “She really, really doesn’t like me.”

  “What is she doing here?”

  Jonathan pulled back from the embrace. “Dad, she—”

  “Today? Your mother is upstairs dying, and you decide today is the right day?”

  “It’s important, Dad. She didn’t want to come, believe me. She wasn’t sure—”

  “Then she’s the only one of you two with good sense.” Crawford pushed away from Jonathan and faced Elizabeth, wavering between sorrow and revulsion. “It’s not appropriate for you to be here. How my son convinced my bees not to swarm and kill you, I have no idea. In any case, you should go. Now.”

  “Dad, she’s not going anywhere. Of course the bees didn’t attack her—the bees have more tact than you do. I’m introducing her to Mom. Then we’re going to Crescent Valley.”

  Crawford spun away from Elizabeth and crowded Jonathan with all the force his aging frame could muster. “Crescent Valley! Are you insane? Do you have any idea what will happen to her—what will happen to both of you—if you take her there? I’ve done everything I could since Winona’s . . .” He trailed off in frustration. “I don’t know what else you want of me, son. You asked me to keep these things secret. And I have. I haven’t told your mother about your girlfriend here, or whom you’ve had to kill since meeting her.”

  “Jonathan,” Elizabeth said in a faint voice, “maybe this isn’t a good idea . . .”

  “Hold tight, Liz. Dad, I’m sick of the secrets. I’m sick of how it made me feel as a kid. I’m sick of how it screws up my life now. I’m sick of how it almost cost me Liz. And I don’t like what you’ve had to do, either. It isn’t right and we shouldn’t have to live this way. Liz is the love of my life, she’s going to be family, and she’s going to know everything. So is Mom.”

  His father barred the way up the stairs. “Son, don’t do this to your mother.”

  “Do what? Tell her the truth? What’s wrong with truth, Dad? Why do you have a problem with that?”

  “I have a problem,” Crawford spat, “with a son that tells me in one breath he wants to learn all the things he can about being a dragon, and then in the next insists he loves a dragon’s worst enemy. Do you think I’m going to keep passing on my skills and knowledge to you, if you keep to this course? Can you honestly expect me to keep the Blaze in the dark forever?”

  “I expect you to act like a father, and not a bigoted ass!”

  “Jonathan?” Caroline’s frail voice tumbled down the stairs. “Is that you?”

  For a few seconds, neither of them answered. They stared at each other.

  “Crawford, is Jonathan here?”

  “Don’t shout, dear,” Crawford called back up. “You’ll tire yourself out. Yes, it’s Jonathan. He’s coming up now.”

  The old man took a step to the side. “Well, go on up. If you’re not going to kick your girlfriend out, then take her with you—I certainly don’t want her down here.”

  Jonathan took the first stair and motioned to Elizabeth. She paused and bit her lip. His father took advantage of the delay to grab his son’s shoulder. The elder’s expression was as caring and sincere as his words were sharp and vicious.

  “What is it about her that appeals to you, anyway? Is it the thrill? Desire for forbidden fruit? Or do you just hate yourself enough to throw your life away to some murderous whore?”

  With a sharp shove, Jonathan pushed his father away. He took his foot off the stairs. “Say she’s a whore again, Dad. Go ahead.”

  “I’d rather he didn’t,” Elizabeth sniffed with blinking, reddened eyes. “Mr. Scales, I mean no disrespect in being here.”

  Crawford regained his balance against the wall. “Disrespect is all you people know. My friends and I will never forget the graves desecrated at Pinegrove.”

  Her face tightened in resolve. “Mr. Scales, I would never—”

  “You’ll never get the chance. I meant what I said, Ms. Georges—go ahead up, if that’s what you and my son want. Go on up there and take a good look at my wife. It’s the last anyone like you will ever see of her. Touch her failing body, if you like. You’ll never reach her again. And say whatever it is you think you need to say—because shout as you like, your pathetic voices will never carry to her final resting place.”

  Her lip trembled. “Jon, I want to go home.”

  “Jonathan?” The words just reached them downstairs. “Are you coming?”

  “Liz, please. I need you. My mother’s dying up there.”

  “Then you should hurry and say good-bye. I’ll be in the car.”

  He watched her go, shocked, and then took in his father’s triumphant smirk.

  “She’s a real catch, Jonathan.”

  “You’re a real shit, Dad.”

  The stairwell’s carpet was still fresh from a remodeling upstairs. As he reached the top step, he noticed the smell of sickness had begun to settle over the new fibers.

  “Mom?”

  “Jonathan, you’re here.” The voice came from the master bedroom. It gained strength with every step he took. “Come where I can see you.”

  He slouch
ed into the room, observed the withered thing on the bed that used to be his mother, and mumbled a greeting.

  She squinted at him, eyes still burning gold within a paper-white face. “I’ve been waiting weeks to talk to you.”

  Jonathan realized she was right—it had been only weeks since they’d seen each other, but that had been long enough for so much to happen. For him to meet Liz. For them to fall in love. For him to kill a pair of tramplers and then cajole his father into hiding the truth from the Blaze. For his mother’s sickness to escalate.

  “Me, too, Mom. I, uh, brought someone. You remember Liz, that girl I talked to you about on the phone?” He sat down in the chair beside the bed, breathing through his mouth so his nose wouldn’t have to confront what was in the room.

  His mother grasped his hand with no more strength than a newborn. “You’ve talked about her a few times. She sounds splendid. Where is she?”

  “Er, in the car. The thing is, Mom . . .” He swallowed. “She’s, uh . . .”

  “In the car?” Caroline twitched her face enough to shake some gray strands off her sweaty cheek. “Won’t she come in?”

  “She did. But Dad didn’t let . . . He doesn’t think . . .”

  “What, he thinks I’m too weak?” The indignant tone recalled an earlier, stronger mother, and Jonathan almost smiled. “He thinks I’ll embarrass you? He thinks he can make these decisions for me? You go get her. I want to see her.”

  “I don’t know if now is the right time.”

  “Today’s the day,” she said with a dry smile. “The end is—”

  “Liz is amazing,” Jonathan interrupted. “She’s going to be a doctor. She’s gorgeous.”

  “Naturally.” Her giggling made her cough, and she mustered the strength to bring a fist to her mouth. They both pretended not to notice the smear of blood on her hand as it returned to her side. “She sounds like a winner. So go downstairs and tell your father I want to meet her.”