“They have been acting that way for some time now. But ignoring a direct request? I am the leader of the clan. This was not a suggestion,” I grouse, frustrated by their inaction.
“I will do everything I can to push them. In the meantime, focus on helping your mate as best you can from there. I will call you as soon as I know anything,” he allays.
I thank him for his help before we hang up. Their negligence leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I try calling my uncle and then my cousin. Neither answer. I send both a quick text reiterating my request. Something tells me I am being ignored.
To take my mind off the stress of my clan, I explore Ada’s house to take note of what needs to be done. Towels and sheetsfill the hampers in the guest bathrooms. Her linen closets are stocked so everyone can replace them as needed. No one has taken the initiative to run a load of laundry, I noticed earlier, even though we have been living in her home for over a week at this point. I fill the washing machine with dirty towels to start the load in her small second story laundry room. A second basket will be thrown in after this first one is done.
The others have been cooking or fending for themselves for meals. But they have been remiss in fully cleaning up after themselves. Dishes pile up next to the sink from the breakfast Aurelia made this morning. I unload the dishwasher and reload it with the dirty dishes. I handwash pans and wooden utensils that seem like they need it. It all takes less than twenty minutes, which makes me even more annoyed at my fellow guests’ laziness.
The cats wind around my feet while I wipe the counters, perhaps looking for scraps. “You did not get any sausage this morning?” I ask them, dubious.
Earl Grey meows a response I do not understand.
“Alright, little ones.” I grunt as I bend over and pick them up, one in each arm. “Where does your keeper store your belongings? You two look like you could use a brushing.” Their coats are short but lush. I have no doubt Ada goes to great lengths to keep them healthy.
Walking around the empty house, I look in corners and shelves for any hint where their supplies could be. I remember a junk drawer of sorts in a credenza that her parents kept in their living room. Ada retrieved items from it countless times all those years ago. It is still there I believe.
Upon opening the drawer after setting down the cats on the nearest sofa, I spot the brush right away, sitting on the edge of the drawer marking its frequent use. I take it and sit down with the cats on the sofa. They take turns walking over my lap,curling their tails into question marks as they do. When the first swipe of the brush slides across Vanny’s back, a fur clump immediately shoots over to the corner. Ah, one of those dust collector charms the witches create. No wonder this house looks so clean. I continue brushing both, alternating between cats as they both seem to enjoy it immensely, and the fur hurls itself to that corner, keeping it off me and the sofa.
Once the cats’ coats shine, I scratch their cheeks and rub along the bridge of their noses until they decide they no longer want attention from me. They chase each other out of the room and gallop up the curved staircase in the foyer.
Delicate footsteps on the sidewalk shift my attention away from the cats. Those light, protracted footfalls are unmistakable. My ember is tall for a female witch and her legs are long. The quiet open-and-shut of the door is characteristic as well. To less attuned ears, she would be nearly silent. Her physicality is graceful and poised in a way that I always found ethereal. Though her good humor and kindness ground her to this earth.
She startles, her hand flying to her chest, when she notices me sitting in the living room. “For being so big, you are unusually quiet.” She exhales. “Is anyone else here?”
“The boys were in here with me until a minute ago,” I answer calmly. “No one else is in the house.”
She eyes the brush sitting next to me on the sofa. “They let you brush them?” The question sounds like an indictment of my character.
“They did. Both seemed to enjoy it. Vanny was purring,” I recount.
Ada shakes her head in disbelief. “At least someone is glad you’re here.” She starts to leave, but pauses, saying through gritted teeth, “You can’t waltz in here and act like everything’s peachy. I don’t like you. I don’t want anything from you. Don’t buy me anything else. I know you lied to me the other day aboutthe gift basket. I’m done with your lies. And with you.” Her expression is cold at first before turning dispirited.
When I nod my understanding, her head dips slightly and then she turns to walk away.
“Ada,” I call out. She stops and looks back at me with tired eyes. “I am sorry I did not tell you.”
“You never told me much of anything.” She purses her lips. “I’m still not clear why you’re here. But if you think I will forgive you and get back together, you are sorely mistaken. I’m not dumb enough to make that mistake twice.” She resumes walking up the stairs and disappears into her room.
I pull on my beard, mulling over our interactions since I arrived. It was unwise not to fess up to the gift, but I wanted her to enjoy it unconcerned with who it was from. I will not do that again. I will have to be more considered in my efforts. There is much I can do that is not gift-giving. Chores are not gifts, so I will continue those.
Walking into the salon—or the grand ballroom as Ada liked to call it when I swept and dipped her around the room in our early days here—I continue my assessment of the state of her house. The room is dark, though. Walking over to one of the tall windows, I pull the curtains aside and look out at the porch and her front lawn. The view reminds me of the day I try, and forever fail, to forget. It has haunted me for fifteen years. Pacing across this room, listening to my brother’s heavy words, demanding I sacrifice my future with my mate to save the future of my clan. Part of me died that day when I weighed the burden and chose my clan over my mate.
I left my warmth and compassion for them in Monstera Bluff that day too. Right here in this spot, in fact. I will never forgive my uncle’s failures that forced me to go back without her.
Fifteen Years Ago
My phone buzzes in my pants pocket. Looking at the screen, my younger brother Elgar’s name appears. I walk into the salon and shut the doors as to not disturb Ada, who has been cleaning out her mother’s workshop for hours. Though I suspect she is lost in her memories and not getting much done. It is understandable. It has only been a few months since her parents’ deaths. Each day is still filled with grief. Answering my phone, I greet, “Hello, brother. How goes the day?”
“Not well. I have no easy way to say this, but Uncle Harlok was gravely injured. He will have to step down as the Huntmaster,” Elgar begins, sounding weary.
“Will he live?” My voice is thick, shocked by the news.
“It is likely, though he will be physically impaired when he wakes up. He may never walk again,” he answers. He draws in a long breath before continuing. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. He was too old to hunt in such a small party, but he was too stubborn to listen. That side of our family is all the same. Utterly irresponsible. His party encountered several revenants traveling together, an unusual encounter they were unprepared for. Now he is wounded, in a coma. Our healers say his recovery will take months if not years.”
“Was Torman with him?” My voice shakes.
“For better or worse, no. Our cousin rarely hunts now. He dodges all responsibility, and his father looks the other way. Now he is busy trying to take up his father’s mantle, making the proclamation that it is his right to govern in his father’s absence. But he is still unpopular. The hunters are already deeply divided.Some are refusing to go out at all. They refuse to elect our cousin. And I cannot blame them. But they do not want to give me the job either. They say that I am too young, too untested even though I have led hunts for years. There will be civil unrest until you get back here,” he speaks adamantly.
