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ELIZABETH
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LEGS SLIGHTLY APART, arms crossed over his chest, Brian stood at the garage entrance, looking exactly as I’d hoped—mad as hell, yet unable to disguise a smile in his ostensibly stormy, slanted turquoise eyes.
I jumped out of the Aston Martin, the biggest smile on my face.
In the blink of an eye I was in his arms, his lips on mine, all his anger disappeared. “You! Don’t do that ever again,” he said between kisses. His voice was low, fierce and scared. “I would never keep you here against your will. You’re free to go if that’s what you want, just don’t run away from me. Hear me?”
“I know. I never doubted when you said it. I just had to be sure I was a vardanni,” I said, running my fingers through his hair and kissing him back with the same hot intensity. “I truly am. I remembered everything. I went to Bonnybrook, had coffee at a small drive-in and then I drove back.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have gone with you. Bonnybrook is close enough to our land.”
“And what if you popped into a wolf right there? And I wanted ...” My voice trailed off for a moment. I had to tell him, I said to myself. I had to be completely open and honest. That was my best chance to win his heart. “And I wanted to see if you were going to miss me.” There. “I’m sorry.”
He cupped my face and studied it for the longest moment. “Missing you doesn’t cover it. For a short while, I thought I’d lost you. And that hurt. You’ve become my anchor, Elizabeth.”
I love you, Brian.
How easy and beautiful it was to say it. If only to myself.
I loved him, I thought. With all my heart.
It didn’t feel like a revelation; the world didn’t tilt in its axis. It felt natural like breathing, like a heartbeat, like sunlight.
I love you, I wanted to tell him, but the words wouldn’t pass my lips. I needed to hear them back, and I knew I wouldn’t. Not yet. And my declaration of love would only scare him.
The realization that followed, however, had the power of a metaphysical earthquake: with aching certainty, I knew I would never love another man as long as I lived. And that my life could be very long.
I looked up at him and blinked. “I bought coffee for everyone,” I said and grabbed the paper tray with tightly-lidded coffee cups from the passenger seat. “It’s still hot. And I somehow managed not to spill it.”
He smirked. “That won’t help you get off the hook, cariad. But thanks anyway.”
In the house, I was met with cheers and hugs. We all had breakfast together in the kitchen. After I assured Brian I didn’t feel tired at all, Harriet, Lily and I set out to bake cakes and pastries for Rosie’s birthday party, scheduled in two days.
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BRIAN KEPT ME IN SIGHT at all times, as if I would disappear into thin air if he turned his eyes away even for a second. He even helped us, grinding walnuts and whisking eggs.
Brian, Harriet and Lily were taking turns telling me about their world. “Our family connections are tight,” Brian said. “We’re not numerous, as I mentioned earlier, so we’re careful that people from a close genetic pool don’t marry. That’s why clans are divided into ‘families.’ It does happen from time to time that two members of the same family marry, but it has to be approved by the High Council.”
“This would be your government, right?” I said.
“Yes. The Council consists of the heads of the families. Rowena presides over the Council. There are twelve families in Red Cliffs, and twelve here.”
“Does Jack preside over the Red Cliffs Council?” I asked.
“No. Astrid does. As the clan’s ellida, she is the highest-ranking clan member. She holds nominal, legal and constitutional power.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of power,” I said.
“Some of it is ceremonial. Astrid will be glad to tell you more about ellidas and their roles. Don’t hesitate to ask her,” Harriet said.
Lily turned off the mixer she had used to beat egg whites. “You’ll meet two more ellidas at Rosie’s birthday. Morgaine, the ellida of Gelltydd Coch, is Astrid’s former mentor. Ariel is the ellida of Winston.”
“Brian mentioned Ellida Morgaine. Who is the Gelltydd Coch einhamir?”
Brian’s lips tugged upward. “Robert, the Lord Einhamir of the Northern Lands,” he said in a ceremonial voice. Then added, laughing, “My father.”
Oh, dear. “How ... how do I address him?”
“My Lord, of course,” he said, dead serious.
“Oh. I’ve never ‘my lorded’ anyone before.”
“I’m teasing you, sweeting. You’ll call him Rob, like everyone else. I’m surprised my mother isn’t here already. Someone must’ve tipped her off about what happened here.”
I took a sharp intake of air and exhaled loudly, making Lily and Harriet laugh. “You’ve been doing great,” Harriet said. “Don’t chicken out now. Rob and Anwen are very friendly. You’ll like them a lot.”
I hoped they’d like me, too.
“Tell me something else, Brian,” I said, stirring the conversation toward more general topics. “Are all three races genetically compatible among themselves, as well as with humans?”
“Yes, although we mate with humans more often than with the others.”
“Where do these offspring live? Do you consider them yours?”
“One way or another, humans are key for our existence,” he said. “We all mate with them. Without humans, our reproduction would stop. Our genetic pool would become too small for healthy offspring. Tel-Urughs depend on humans for obvious reasons—they’re the source of their life and, ultimately, their immortality. They also can mate with humans, but it doesn’t happen often. Asyngaer—wizards—well, they occasionally do breed with humans, as well as with others, but they’re least dependent on them.”
“Why’s that?”
“Unlike werewolves and Tel-Urughs, wizards are mortal. Their genetic pool is bigger.”
“Wizards often live a span of several human lives,” Lily said before the magnitude of Brian’s statement completely sank in. “Our humans live longer than the outside ones, and they’re fit and healthy. A little reward for sharing our world with us.”
“You say ... you’re not mo-mortal?” I choked over my words.
Silence.
Brian abandoned his task, circled the table and came to me, hugging me from behind. “I prefer to say we have very long lives,” he said resting his chin on my shoulder. “Immortality implies infinity, no-time; no-end implies no-beginning.
“Semantics,” I murmured processing this newest revelation. I lifted my head and looked at Lily and Harriet. Both had stopped working, watching me. “Hey, I’m not going to faint,” I said to them, even though I felt lightheaded. “You can resume your work.” I even managed a wink. “How old are you, Lily?”
“Oh, twenty-three. I mean, I haven’t stopped aging yet.”
“When do you stop aging?”
She shrugged. “Between age twenty-five and forty. Depends.”
“On what?”
“Leaders tend to grow older in human age,” Brian said from behind me. “To look more serious, I guess. I stopped aging at thirty-eight, so this is my age.”
“Jack seems a bit younger. Thirty-two?”
“Thirty-five.”
“Harriet?”
Harriet gave her lemon icing a few vigorous swirls and turned to me. “I was born in 1762, in England. I’m about a hundred years older than Jason. He always teases me about it. But my aging stopped when I was twenty-eight, and Jason’s when he was thirty-one, so he is older.
“You look amazing for your age,” I said before my vision blurred and my legs gave way. Brian held me with one hand, pulling a chair out with another. “Here, sweeting. Sit down a bit. Harriet! A glass of water, please. And honey.”
“I’m sorry,” I said after regaining my composure. “I’ll be okay,” I said. “Brian, put the next batch in the oven.”
He wanted me to quit baking and lay down, but I would hear none of it. After a teaspoon of honey and a glass of icy cold water, I was as good as new.
There would be more shocking facts, for sure. The principal earthquake was over, though, and these were expected after-tremors. And since I was already shocked ...
“Brian?”
“Yes, sweeting?”
“How old are you?”
He shook his head. “Not now, Elizabeth.”
I smiled and, pulling the honey jar to me, dipped the spoon into it and shoved it into my mouth. “Yes, now.”
Lily and Harriet decided they needed something from the pantry, leaving us on our own for a while. Brian crouched in front of my chair, took my hand in his and kissed my fingers. “I’m relatively young, sweeting. I was born in 1694.”
“1694,” I repeated slowly. “What date?”
Brian stood up, pulled out another chair and sat, holding my hand all the time. “August fifteenth.”
“Your zodiac sign is Leo,” I said. “I’m Libra. October tenth. Our signs are compatible.” Not that I believed in astrology, but it stirred my mind away from the time of Voltaire and the Age of Enlightenment, if only for a moment.
He smiled. “Yes. Your air gives life to my fire. We’re a perfect combination. You okay, cariad?”
I nodded but remained sitting. Just in case. “Air and fire. Cool. What about your parents?”
“What about them?”
“When were they born? A.D. or B.C.?”
He chuckled. “My father was born in 1553 in England, the only son of a knight. He was a naval officer, a commander of one of the fire ships that attacked the Spanish Armada in July 1588 in the Battle of Gravelines. It was his idea to provoke the Spaniards to fire and spend their ammunition, while the English stayed out of their range. Then they closed. The rest you know. The Invincible Armada was defeated.
“My father was gravely wounded, though. His best friend, my Uncle Elis, that is, who was also an officer, turned him even before the battle was over. Father recovered, fell in love with my mom, Uncle Elis’s sister, and only wanted to marry her and enjoy a long and quiet life. But Queen Elizabeth made things a bit complicated by granting him a title and land for his heroism.
“Mom and dad married and lived on their estate for a while. When they grew tired of pretending to be their own mortal descendants, they ‘died’ and moved to Gelltydd Coch, the territory of my mother’s clan. Their estate was passed on to some distant male relative. When Gelltydd Coch’s einhamir stepped down, my father became the clan leader.” He picked up a lock of my hair and tucked it behind my ear. “Thus Robert Fitzroy, Viscount Renly, became Robert, the Lord Einhamir of the Northern Lands.”
“How did you get the family name, Canagan?”
“My mother’s a Canagan, from the House of Canagan, and by default, my father as well. He took it as his surname.”
“Robert, the Lord Einhamir of the Northern Lands,” I repeated slowly. “Sounds like a name from a fantasy novel. Are you sure I should call him just Rob? And what about your mother? How do I address her?”
Brian chuckled. “Officially, she’s Lady Anwen, but everybody calls her Annie.”
“Now, when was Jack born?”
“1894, in Red Cliffs.”
“When did you and Eve marry?” I asked, aware that my rapid questioning sounded like an interrogation.
It didn’t seem that Brian minded. “Four years before Jack was born.”
My heart sank. It took Brian more than a century and a half to find the right woman to marry. And here I thought he might be ready soon for the second shot.
I slapped my knees with my hands and stood up. “Alright. I have to check the oven. I think my cake is done.”
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THE MORE I LEARNED the less I was shaken up. Fear, confusion and shock were replaced by fascination and curiosity. Once I’d opened my mind to accept the reality of the Langaer realm, I became like a sponge, absorbing everything from a global perspective to the smallest detail.
“Let’s go to the library,” Brian said after dinner. “I want to show you something.”
Once inside, he pulled down a well-hidden hatch and a part of the wall turned around, disclosing a collection of books, manuscripts and scrolls shelved on the other side.
“Langaer books?” I asked, fascinated. I lifted my hand to touch them, then pulled it back. “I need gloves.”
“Likely not, but if you insist.” Brian opened the desk drawer and pulled out a pair of white cotton gloves. “I believe my predecessor had this device built. It’s not a part of the original house design. I assume there are quite a few rare and valuable manuscripts here, not only ours but humans’ as well. We’ll have them evaluated, too. Those written by humans, that is.” He waved toward the volumes on the other shelves, books I was familiar with. “I prefer this side anyway. These are books of my own choice, my own collection of my favorites. Most of them written by humans. Art is one of the fields where they are superior, although we have our stellar moments, too.”
I felt a rush of excitement. “Am I familiar with any of your artists?”
He turned, pulled out several books and piled them on the desk.
My jaw dropped. In front of me lay several well-known classics. Brian tapped each book with his finger. “A wizard. A Tel-Urugh. An asyr. A blaidd.”
My gaze stopped at the last volume Brian had pointed at. “Oh my god! I visited his grave in Paris!”
Brian laughed. “He says that he himself often goes there. For inspiration. These days he writes—” he turned once more and reached out for another book, a contemporary classic this time— “under this name.”
“High school students all around the world write term papers and essays about the influence of the former on the latter. This is absolutely fantastic!”
He told me about some other famous artists, scientists, doctors, and law makers who were Langaer. “Sometimes we work together with humans, sometimes we push them in the right direction. Other times we let them take credit for our discoveries. We try to help discreetly so that we don’t compromise ourselves. It’s easier in science, for example, than in medicine.”
“Because humans are mortal?"
“And fragile. It’s difficult to find cures for their diseases. Take, for example, antibiotics. For a long time, wizards have known that penicillium fungi kill certain types of bacteria, but it took them—and humans—forever to understand it enough to start producing it synthetically and cheaply so that everyone could benefit from it. You know the rest of the story. Now they work together to deal with the consequences of penicillin overuse.”
“You can’t cure humans, in spite of your advanced knowledge?”
“Not from terminal diseases, no. From some physical conditions and injuries, yes. Sometimes. We use our energy or give a small amount of our blood to heal them. It doesn’t always work, though. The only certain way to heal them is to make them one of us, but we’re allowed to do that only sporadically and under special circumstances, except for gwerin, that is. And, well, some others, who have the right to become one of us.”
Some others? Like vardans? I pushed the thought aside. “Is that how you cured the emperor?”
“Yes. He had a heart condition. It worked. My blood repaired the tissue and cells of his heart in the same manner it would repair a broken bone or a torn muscle. He was lucky because often we’re helpless. Human health is a great puzzle and challenge, partly because it is complex, and partly because we almost never suffer from physical illnesses or conditions. We can pass on to them very little knowledge and experience.”
“Not even wizards? They’re mortal.”
“They have a long life; they eventually grow older and die but remain healthy to the end. Only our children are different. They are tougher than human kids but still vulnerable. They can suffer from all childhood diseases: they could have allergies, they could have a cold or flu, pneumonia, appendicitis. Luckily, nothing chronic or untreatable. I’m talking about werewolf and wizard children. None of this applies to wee Tel-Urughs; they’re indestructible from the beginning.”
A few scary pop culture examples involving vampire children crossed my mind. “But they grow, do they?” I asked warily.
“Oh, they do, like every other youngster. It’s only when they reach maturity that they start feeding on blood. They don’t need much, though. A few ounces every two to three weeks. They don’t kill for blood. At least they don’t need to. Tel-Urughs eat regular food. The blood is like an essential supplement, sort of.”
Like multivitamins. How did they obtain their supplement? Oh, no. I decided I didn’t want to know.
I recollected something that Brian had just mentioned. “You said you almost never get sick from physical illness.”
“Ah, I knew you’d notice it. Physically, we’re in a state of absolute health. It’s logical. We’re immortal. We share all mental illnesses with humans, though. Everything, from anxiety to schizophrenia. They can be inherited, or acquired, some are temporary conditions, some require hospitalization, pretty much the way they manifest in humans. They’re less frequent and often easier to treat, thanks to our robust physical health. I suffered from depression before you came into my life.”
Before you came into my life, I repeated silently.
Something warm and sweet like honey spread inside my chest. But my presence didn’t cure everything, I reminded myself. “What about your leg? It still hurts. Doesn’t it qualify as a physical condition?”
“Not really. I was attacked by other werewolves, and my injuries were severe.” He rubbed his chin. “As I said, we can get injured or killed. Now my leg. Physically, it’s okay. I think the pain will disappear for good once I regain control over my wolf. As long as I feel pain, I need to change, and he can be here. It sounds irrational, but my wolf is trying to protect me. He doesn’t think I’m ready to be on my own. It probably doesn’t make much sense to you.”
“It does, in fact. Your wolf is your higher self. Don’t roll your eyes. Or better, your primal, fundamental self. We all have it. You know you can talk to him if you like?”
Brian’s lips tugged into a crooked smile. “Oh, that I know. We talk, and we argue even more.”
“Your leg doesn’t hurt you when we make love?”
He looked up at me. “No. Nothing hurts when we make love. You’re my perfect remedy, Elizabeth Chatwin.”
I walked to the door and locked it. “I’ve never made love in a library.”
“Are you sure you’re ready? The last three days have been intense.”
“As sure as the moon over Copper Ridge.”
“Well, I’d be delighted to further widen your horizons,” Brian said, already beside me.
My fingers got busy unbuttoning his shirt. “And yes, I want to enhance my sexual experience ... Hey, nobody can hear us, can they?”
Brian carried me to the massive Baroque desk, moved the books that lay there and sat me on it. He moved in between my legs, pushing them apart.
“Nope.” His head dipped, and his lips closed over mine. “You can be as loud as you want,” he whispered into my mouth. “I like you noisy, Miss Chatwin. I like your moans and sighs as much as I like your tight little queem, so hot and wet and ready for me.” He slid his hand between my legs. “You guess the meaning of queem, don’t you?”
I confirmed with a small cry as a surge of pleasure erupted inside my body, spreading like a wildfire. “I don’t know the etymology, though,” I panted. “Enlighten me.”
Brian’s lips moved to my ear, whispering, “It’s from old English queemen, which means to please. It’s also a root word for the modern verb to come. See, when you make love in the academic surroundings, you learn a lot.”
I was positive this was going to be a lesson I would never forget.