Theo walked out of my house. Her ankles and one leg had been broken just days ago. My heart felt so big knowing I had helped, truly helped. But my conscience wouldn’t let my ego swell much. It whispered, “Saviors don’t set up the disaster they’re praised for rising above.”
A little over an hour later, as I was finishing cleaning up the bedroom, the phone rang. Picking up the cordless from my room, I answered. “Hello.”
“Seph, it’s Celia.”
“Make it okay?”
“Yeah. That rat drummer of theirs, Feral, was already here cleaning up. Said he didn’t want us to be overwhelmed.”
I carried the phone with me as I carried my cleaning supplies downstairs. “He’s a good guy.”
“He is. I just wanted to let you know that we made it and that things are gonna be fine. The door will be fixed quick, and she’ll have a place to sleep and working locks back on her doors. I figured you’d want to hear that.”
“I did. Thanks, Celia.”
“Sure. Bye.”
I clicked the phone off and laid it on the counter. Beverley had started the dishes. “You didn’t have to do that,” I said.
She shrugged. “I needed something to do. I’m not in school.”
“Well, I appreciate your help. Oh, crap!” It was Monday. “I have to call and get you excused from school!” I was going to have to contact the authorities and somehow get the matter of custody settled. I couldn’t even get her enrolled in school here until I had that straightened out.
“It’s okay. I mean, the school knows about my mother and all. Then there was all that…stuff with the reporters and all. I don’t think they expect me back in class right away. Besides, I deserve a break.”
“Yes, you do.”
She washed on in silence. I put the cleaning supplies away in the laundry room. When I came back through, she said, “Seph?”
“Yeah?”
“When the wolves changed in the circle, was it…” She kept her attention focused on the plate she was rubbing a rag over. “Was it like that for my mom too?”
I sat down at the table. “Yeah.”
“So that wasn’t different because of the circle or the magic?”
“No.” Staying matter-of-fact about it would keep me from over-or underrating the experience of being a wære.
She let the plate and the rag drop back into the soapy water and faced me. “Looked like it hurt.”
“I think it does hurt. A lot.”
Beverley shifted her weight, then turned back to the sink.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve seen it, Seph. I think I can handle the verbal details.”
She sounded so much older than nine; well, she was almost ten. Her birthday was in the first part of November, making her a Scorpio.
I got up and went to her. If she’d turned to me, I would have hugged her, but she didn’t, so I grabbed a dish towel and started drying the dishes and putting them away. She wouldn’t know where they all went anyway. “I’m not holding back, Beverley. I just don’t know more than that.”
“But you write a column about them.”
“Yeah, I do. But that’s social stuff. This is more specific individual experience stuff.” I looked around. “Where’s Johnny? I’m sure he would answer your questions. He knows it because he lives it; I just observe it.”
“I think he went out to get the stake and have it ready for the pickup.” She paused. “What if he doesn’t think I’m ready to hear the answers?”
“If you’re able to ask the questions, I guess you are able to hear the answers.”
I thought that satisfied her, but a minute later I realized there were long streaks on her face. I put the rag down. “Beverley?”
With her hands in the water, she dropped her head to her chest and the sobs came out.
I touched her shoulder. “What is it?”
“Me and Mom used to do dishes like this and talk.”
“Oh, honey.” Regardless of her dripping hands, I turned her and took her into my arms and hugged her tight.
“I miss her so much.”
“Of course you do.” I stroked her hair. However many times she needed to cry, I vowed to myself I’d embrace her and let her do so.
When her grief subsided enough that she could pull away and wipe her eyes, she said, “Sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for or ashamed of.”
She nodded, but she still looked miserable.
“I should teach you to meditate.”
“Meditate?”
“Yeah. It’s a great way to clear your mind or get your thoughts in order. If you’re feeling scattered or lost, it can help. It helps me, anyway.”
“Maybe.” She bit her lip. “I’ll try.”
The door from the garage opened, and Johnny stepped inside. Ares bounded in with him. Beverley backed up from me, embarrassed. “Find it?” I asked Johnny.
“Yep,” he said with a quick smile. He tapped his nose. “Followed your tracks.” He put the wooden box against the wall just inside the door.
That he would be back to himself and not hold a grudge about having to give up the stake reassured me.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said.
Apprehensive, I asked, “What is it?”
“Let’s go see.” He took my arm and led me into the dining room and to my desk.
“What?” I said, fearing a joke of some kind coming.
He bent down and slid my binder marked Research from the shelf.
“My notebook?”
He held it out to me. “Open it.”
“I already know what’s in it.” Had he looked through it and corrected passages or added information? Had he found something he didn’t like?
“Do you?” he asked.
Now I was really curious, and concerned.
He wagged the notebook at me. I took it and opened it. It felt much heavier than I remembered, but the first page was just as it should be, a handwritten table of contents. Nothing new listed. I tilted it to the side. The index tabs were all marked as they should be: Historical, Medical, Social, Shelters, Laws Enacted, Laws Proposed, Local, and National. The last two had clippings of articles and lists of governmental and citizen sympathizers, support groups, and anti-wære groups.
There was a new tab at the back, blank. I put my finger on it; glanced at Johnny, who was grinning; and flipped to that section. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Flipping the pages quickly, I realized what it was. “The Codex?” Every page, copied, from the ancient book Menessos had taken. “How did you—?” I looked up.
“Your scanner, duh. You really need to catch up with the times, tech-wise. Although you do have one non-techy thing I like.”
“And that is?” I had an idea of what he might say.
“That three-hole-punch thing. It is handy.”
I didn’t get to enjoy the surprise for long. When Nana found out, she took the notebook from me and started translating. “I’ll have Dr. Lincoln look these over, of course.”
I turned my attention to dinner. My cupboards were nearly empty. I mumbled, “Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboards are bare.”
“Don’t tell me this poor dog’s gonna get none.”
Johnny could put temptation into his voice so easily. I smiled. “Dinner’s gonna be slight.”
“Slight? You’ve got pasta and tomato sauce. I can work with this.” He reached and turned the oven on.
“Seph?” Beverley called from atop the steps.
“Coming.” I started for the hall.
She added, “Someone’s coming up the drive real slow-like.”
I stopped in my tracks and shot a look at Johnny. He stopped midway through pulling a skillet out of the cupboard and slid it back into place. He straightened and turned the oven off. With a dramatic gesture, one that revealed some of his still-remaining irritation with my decision about the stake, we headed for the front door.
“Beverley, you stay up there. Nana—”
“I’m not moving!” The sound of her lighter flicking followed her shout.
Johnny took up a position just out of sight beside the door as I started unlocking it. The steps of whomever Menessos had sent to collect the stake thudded purposefully onto my porch. When he came into view, I couldn’t believe it. And then—then it made perfect sense.