#A Conor Thorn Novel

[danielleurbansblog]

Review: Trust No One

Synopsis: Loyalists meant to rid their country of a double-dealing collaborator. Instead, they created a threat that could destroy Allied unity.Algiers. Winter 1942. Conor Thorn is devastated. He’s been fired from the OSS. His wife, Emily, has been fired from MI6. They allowed their morals to bend certain truths concerning the outcome of their last mission. Forever dedicated to defeating Axis…

[welcometophu]

The Meaning of Home, Chapter 1

The Meaning of Home Chapter 1

Tags for all Welcome to PHU novels will be available at the PHU tag list on Pillowfort. This list is under construction as of Sept. 5, 2021.

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Even knowing that he’ll see him at the end of the trip, it’s strange for Pawel to be driving to his childhood home without Conor in the car. Usually his son would be requesting music changes, playing videos so loud that Pawel could hear them even with Conor’s headphones in place, or generally talking up a storm. Even after cranking the radio up to fill the silence, Pawel feels alone in a way he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

He can’t blame it entirely on Conor. Yes, as a single father he hasn’t had much, if any, time to himself in the last nine years. But this past academic year has been chaos to the point where it seems strange not to have one of his students in the car as they head off to save the world.

Students, yes, but he’s not that much older than most of them. Some of them are friends as well.

Rest. Take the summer and rest.

The voice in his mind sounds suspiciously like Mac, and he hears Carolyn’s soft, aggravated huff not long after as she adds, Get normal amounts of sleep. Take a shower. Eat real food.

Spend time with your kid, imaginary Mac adds.

Great. He’s back to being that only child who used to have conversations with invisible friends, except now, as an adult, it’s advice about self-care from real people who aren’t even here.

The thing is, they’re not wrong. He knows he has a tendency to focus intently on the one most important thing at hand and tune out everything else. Since fall semester—for the first time in nine years—that wasn’t Conor, and he still feels guilty about that. He feels the kind of guilty that means there are two brand new games for Conor’s handheld system in a bag on the back seat, along with a cooler holding freshly butchered grass-fed bison steaks as a thank you for his father for helping him out.

Pawel exhales.

Maybe he’s having a little trouble letting go of the chaos. In a way, it felt good to be busy. To fix things.

They saved the world.

Nobody knows it, but it happened. And Pawel knows, so he should be satisfied with a job well-done.

The question is: what can he do now?

Rest.

For all that they’re imaginary, the voices of his students are right, and he knows this. It’s just hard to let it all go, to accept that the chaos has ended and he can do that. But he’s clean-shaven, and his hair is neatly trimmed, even if he didn’t go back to his buzz cut. He looks older in the mirror than he remembers being when the school year began. He might even look his age, which would go a long way to gaining respect from incoming freshmen in the fall.

He just needs something to do with himself while on vacation over the summer.

Maybe his old dojang would let him step into a taekwondo class or two while he’s visiting Dad. It’d be nice to be the student rather than the instructor for once.

You couldn’t let go of control that much.

“Shut up.” He says it as if imaginary Mac would even listen.

One song ends, and for a second, the silence in the car echoes before the next song begins.

This isn’t working.

He reaches out to touch the button on his radio dash for the phone, then presses Mac’s number from his contact list.

“Aren’t you with your family?” She starts speaking without bothering to greet him.

He adjusts the volume so that her voice isn’t quite so loud. “Hello to you, too. I’m almost there now. It’s quiet in the car. No Conor. Not even any grouchy almost adults grumbling about saving the world, or muttering about sparring.”

Mac snorts softly. “I’m only a few years younger than you, Pawel. And out of us all, Rory’s probably got the oldest soul. I take it you’re bored?”

“A little,” he admits. “Pels’s family moved into the house on Friday, then left for Burlington. As far as I know, everything’s gone well up there; they weren’t back before I left the house today. Anita’s got my number in case she needs anything for the house while they’re renting it out this summer. Traffic’s been decent, so I’m maybe fifteen minutes from my Dad’s house now, and the silence is killing me. How’s your summer break going?”

There’s a delay before Mac replies, and her voice sounds determinedly cheerful when she does. “It’s a break. I’m thinking about my research, and the fact that my advisor is in Italy until the end of June and told me I can’t work without him there. Which means Mom thought I should come home for a while, and right now things are… awkward… with me and Dad. So. There’s that.”

When Mac says it, Dad means Senator Delwin Palmer. Pawel knows what that meant to Mac as a part of a secret government training program for Talented children, before she came to PHU. He knows that everything they learned about the government involvement in the creation of the soul-destroying Shadows has only made her relationship with her stepfather more difficult.

He makes a small noise. “Are you going back to PHU soon?”

“Mid June, so I’ll be here about three weeks. I’m going to take my brother to the festival when Rory and Thorne are in DC in a couple of weeks, and I’m spending most of my time in the museums and libraries in DC until then.” She exhales. “I’ve thought about going to see my father, but I think that’ll be the weekend that I drive back up to PHU. I’ll just stop in to visit him in the city while he’s got some time off work.” Mac hesitates, her words more forceful when she asks, “How long are you planning on staying with your dad?”

Fine, Pawel will accept the change of topic, changing conversational directions at the same time as he takes the exit into town that will lead to his childhood home.

Sort of. It’s not the same house he grew up in, but it’s close to the same neighborhood.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m on leave for the summer. It’s not a sabbatical—they don’t do that for less than a year, and right now they won’t let me go for a whole year until the department has more experienced faculty. But it’s a paid leave and I’m supposedly researching my next book. The thing is, Dad doesn’t have a lot of space since he moved into the retirement community. I’m going to be crashing on his couch. Conor’s got the bed in the guest room.”

“Sounds great for your back.” Mac laughs. “You’ll probably still sleep better than you did for most of the spring.”

“Probably,” Pawel agrees. “I think—” He stops abruptly, because that makes it sound like he has a plan in place. “I’m going to play it by ear. Conor’s made friends there, although he’s clearly missing Alan and home, too. Everyone keeps telling me that I need to just stop trying to fix things and take a break. Including a voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like you.”

“Good to know my voice has infected your brain, like the way I hear yours saying ‘commit to the kick’ whenever I’m sparring and going for that head kick against a much taller opponent,” Mac says dryly.

“They’re all taller than you.” Pawel takes a series of turns, remembering to turn left instead of right at the critical intersection. He slows down; there’s no one else on the road behind him to annoy, and he’s not quite ready to arrive yet.

Mac sputters. “Rude.”

“True.”

“Fine. True,” she agrees. “Taekwondo is a sport for tall people. I’m just a good jumper, and before you say it, no, I’m not teleporting to get there. Most of the time.”

He rolls down the road towards a four-way stop. There’s a sign across the way proclaiming the entrance to Hart Acres. If he turned left, he could make his way to the police station where his dad works, and right would loop him back behind his old neighborhood.

Straight takes him into his dad’s new life in a retirement village where half the people who live there aren’t actually retired. His dad’s been living there for a year, and Pawel’s not sure when he’ll finally step down as Police Chief. He likes his work far too much to give it up.

Dad says it’s easier to keep working when he doesn’t have to worry about the little things like mowing the lawn. Hart Acres takes care of that for him.

Pawel’s pretty sure Dad’s going to work until he has both feet in the grave, and then he might just keep going.

“Hey.” Mac’s voice is low. “Did I lose you?”

Right. He was having a conversation.

“I’m just about there,” Pawel admits. “There’s an old lady walking her fluffy dog down the street. I guess I should hang up. Focus on finding the place and not hitting the two people that are in the middle of the road having a conversation.”

No exaggeration. Now that he’s pulled into Hart Acres and is following the first traffic circle he encounters around to the second exit, there are small knots of people gathered everywhere. Including two smack dab in the middle of one of the side streets.

They see him looking and lift their hands in cheerful synchronized waves.

“I am really not ready to see my dad as the kind of guy who needs to be surrounded by old people looking for a social life,” Pawel mutters. He makes a disgruntled noise when Mac snickers.

He’s in front of the house before he can say anything else.

“Go,” Mac says. “Hug Conor for me, and tell him to work hard. He’s still in school, right?”

“Another three weeks, yeah,” Pawel says. “I might take him out for a day on Friday to head up to Buffalo for Rory and Thorne’s tour, though. It’s a holiday weekend, so maybe the school has the day off—they do weird things with snow days sometimes. Although the weather was strange this winter and they might not have the extra days.”

“Nikki would apologize if you need her to,” Mac says. She’s quiet for a moment. “Hey. You really should take the time to rest. Let your dad be the parent for a little while. Enjoy being home, and with your family. You don’t have anything you need to save right now. The world isn’t ending. Just have fun for the summer.”

“Only if you promise me that you’ll rest, too,” he responds. He wants to say that he understands that it’s not that easy. He understands that talking to Delwin Palmer is going to be complicated, and that putting herself back in that environment only brings the PTSD out in full force. “You can always call me if you need someone to talk to.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m back in the area,” she says. “Maybe we can get together and spar. I’m taking a break from organized classes while I’m home.”

Her old dojang isn’t full of happy memories like Pawel’s is.

“Sure, we can do that.” He catches movement out of the corner of his eye; the door to his father’s unit nudges open. “Conor’s coming out. I need to go.”

“Bye, Pawel. Rest.”

“I will,” he promises.

The music blares for a moment after she hangs up; he turns the key and silences it. He manages to get out of the car as Conor races around it and slams into him, hugging him hard. Pawel wraps his arms around him, and exhales as he feels the familiar crackle of Conor’s magic around him.

“I missed you,” Pawel murmurs. His hand is between Conor’s shoulder-blades, and it feels higher than it used to rest in this same position. “Did you grow in the last two months?”

“An inch since he arrived.” Dad stands on the lawn next to a girl about Conor’s age that Pawel doesn’t recognize. Her mouth is pinched and her brows furrowed. She has her arms crossed tight across her chest as she leans forward, a myriad of braids falling forward across her shoulders and down her back. Dad puts a hand on her shoulder, and she straightens up, shoulders relaxing. “I started a growth door for him here. We’ll need to get a mark on it for you so he can see what he’s aiming for.”

There was a piece of trim in Pawel’s childhood house that had marks for every few months of his age, from toddlerhood to adulthood. He wonders if the new owners painted over the careful notes made in his mother’s hand, and the messier ones his father wrote after she passed away.

“I had Dziadziu put Emma on the door, too.” Conor slips from Pawel’s hold and grabs his hand, dragging him towards Dad and the girl who still watches warily. “This is Emma. She’s in my class, and she’s a Weather Witch, and she’s my friend. We’re both new here. She’s talked to Alan with me.”

“I know they’re married,” Emma says with a heavy sigh and an eyeroll. “Conor’s not my boyfriend. I don’t want a boyfriend.”

“You say that like people have been trying to tell you that you can’t be friends because you’re a boy and a girl.” Pawel stops in front of her and holds out his hand solemnly. “Hello, Emma. I’m Pawel. And don’t worry, I understand that most people are full of shit. Right now my best friend is a girl and I can assure you I have no romantic intentions towards her whatsoever. And if I did, she might kick me in the balls.”

Dad makes a strangled sound.

Emma tilts her head, brow still furrowed. “I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t say that people are full of shit.” She takes his hand and looks at their joined hands in some confusion, then drops it again. “But you’re right. They are. Come on, Conor.”

“I think you’d like Mac,” Conor says as he walks by Emma’s side and they disappear into the house. “She’s small but fierce. She used to be a gymnast and now she kicks ass.”

Pawel should say something, but he did just tell them that people are full of shit, so maybe he can cut him some slack for language this time.

“I did say that someday you’d be lucky enough to have a kid just like you,” Dad observes. “That said, Conor’s been a good kid while he’s been here. Getting good grades, getting his work done. He and Emma bonded straight off—her parents disappeared not long before you did, so they had something in common. Except, of course, you’re back and they’re not. She’s living with a foster family here.”

There are a dozen potential things wrong with everything Dad’s just said. Pawel rolls the thoughts around in his mind as he heads back to his car, opening the doors so that he and Dad can both take several things into the house. “Do they know she’s Talented?” he asks.

“You know where the guest room is.” Dad points through the living room and kitchenette to the small hall beyond. “Right at the end there. Just take Conor’s stuff down. We’ll put your things to the side in the living room for now.”

Conor pops his head out of his room just as Pawel arrives. “What do you mean for now? Aren’t we staying all summer? I thought we’d stay here all summer, Dad. Dziadziu said we could.”

There are times when Pawel wonders what their family looks like from the outside: three generations having three separate conversations in tangled instances, answering questions in random order. He can see where Emma sits on the bed, Conor’s tablet in her hands. She doesn’t seem concerned.

“I’m sleeping on the couch, Conor. We’ll stay in town, but we might need to get a hotel room. I’m going to need a bed eventually,” Pawel points out.

“I’ll move in with Emma. Her dads wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t think they’d even notice,” Emma says dryly. “I like Conor better than Matt.”

“She has four foster siblings,” Conor stage whispers.

Emma looks up, gaze pinning him. “They aren’t my siblings. I’m an only child. We’re all just fosters in the same house, except Nevaeh and Jennie. I think they’re almost as good as adopted. Jennie doesn’t even remember her parents.”

For once, Pawel is the one getting whiplash from the swift turns in conversation.

“Is everyone Talented?” It’s the same question, asked a different way, and this time he throws it out there for anyone to answer. He drops the bag of Conor’s summer clothes on the bed, next to where Emma sits.

“Her dads are both Talented!” Conor bounces up onto the bed, almost knocking the suitcase off. “One’s Clan and one’s—”

“They aren’t my dads,” Emma snaps. She drops Conor’s tablet on the bed and stands up, her body shivering so hard that her braids shake. “My mom and dad are coming back. They aren’t my dads at all. I’m just staying there until—”

“My dad can find them.”

Emma’s mouth is slightly open, her voice a small squeak. “What?”

“My dad is really good at everything about Talented people. He’s an expert.” Conor nods quickly. “He’s so much an expert that he teaches people not to be stupid—uninformed,” he corrects himself, “about what it means to be Talented. He knows everything.”

“Not everything,” Pawel tries to stay, but Conor steamrolls over him.

“He just saved the world, and he’s friends with Clan and with Mages, and we know this entire commune of Mages up in Burlington and if anyone can find your parents, he can,” Conor says firmly. “You’ll do it, Dad, right?”

“I think I’d need a little more information before I can promise that,” Pawel says slowly.

“Your father is supposed to be resting.” Dad stands behind him, and Pawel doesn’t need to turn to know the look Dad gives Conor. He was on the receiving end of that look himself many times as a child. Dad continues, “The last time your father got involved in something, he disappeared and you came here.”

Conor’s mouth snaps shut, lips pressed and his cheeks flushed. “He came back,” he mutters. “He always comes back.”

Emma pats the bed and when Conor sits, she puts her arms around him and holds on. “Maybe mine will come back, just like yours did. Then your dad won’t have to go find them.” Her whisper is too loud to be entirely secret. “I don’t want your dad to disappear again.”

“Me neither,” Conor admits.

“Emma.” 

“Dziadziu!” Conor interrupts him. “Did you ask Emma’s dads—”

“They’re not my dads.”

“—if she can stay over tonight?” The sadness is gone from Conor’s expression as he bounces on the bed. “She’s got stuff in a drawer from the last time she stayed. She can get on the bus with me in the morning, and we can play games with Alan online later.” His gaze skates to Pawel. “If you say it’s okay, of course.”

It’s only been a couple of months, and Conor has somehow built himself a routine here. Pawel isn’t entirely sure how he fits into it.

It’s strange thinking about Conor growing up and growing apart from Pawel when his son is only nine years old.

“I talked to them,” Dad assures them. “But that means sleep tonight. It’s a school night, and I’ll be checking. No magic after dark. No surprise storms. No more rain indoors.”

“That was once!” Conor protests.

“Lights out by half past eight, and I want you asleep by nine,” Dad says in a tone that brooks no argument. “You’ve got plenty of time before then; we haven’t even had dinner yet. You might even be sick of each other by then.”

“Never!” Conor and Emma chorus.

Pawel has to wait for Dad to move before they can both slip out of the room, leaving the door cracked. “I’m glad he’s made friends here,” Pawel says quietly. “He and Alan are—well, I’d almost call them codependent sometimes. I was worried. But they both seem to be doing well.”

“Conor’s fallen on his feet, that’s for sure. He’s a lot like another child I once knew: just starts talking until he finds his spot to fit in. Might even have a bit of a savior complex.”

Pawel gives his father a dark look. “I do not have a savior complex. If I did, I’d have followed you into law enforcement, rather than going into academia.”

Dad smiles. “You’re still saving people. You just go about it in a different way on a daily basis. But it seems to me like you didn’t even hesitate when you found out your students needed your help. You can’t resist a puzzle.”

“Apple didn’t fall far from the tree, I get it,” Pawel mutters. “Fine, fine. We’re all peas in a pod, and a hundred other trite descriptive phrases. The Szczek men have similar traits.”

“Mm.” Dad leads the way outside, so they can retrieve the last few things from Pawel’s car. “Some of us have learned how to ask for help,” he says quietly. “Conor’s made himself at home in Emma’s foster house. He’s spent more than a few nights there, and yes, before you ask, I trust her foster fathers completely. One of them works with me. But that’s something you might want to think about this summer, Pawel.”

Pawel shoulders the backpack with his computer in it, and closes the door to his car. “What’s that, Dad?”

“You don’t have to do everything on your own,” Dad reminds him. “For the summer, you’ve got me. Think about what to do when you get home. The fate of the world doesn’t need to rest on your shoulders alone.”

It seems like everyone’s got something to say about his bad habits. The thing is, Pawel’s got help at home. He’s a single father; he knows he needs assistance sometimes. He’s got Alan’s family next door. Emily’s always willing to help out with Conor. But he’s also got… a lot of responsibility. He’s a professor, and a dean, and he leads Coven and the taekwondo team. 

Who the hell else is he going to rely on? Pawel does the things no one else is available to do.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” he says, because he knows it’s what Dad needs to hear. “I’m not going to overwork myself again. I’ll make sure I’ve got help.”

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[constakes]

Great, and it’s no mystery why.

By Conor O’Farrell

When one thinks of the surname Holmes, I’m confident that the name Sherlock comes to people’s minds before any non-fictitious figure that shares his surname. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s brainchild is now steeped in both literary folklore and popular culture, whilst probably being the most famous fictional detective aside from The Dark Knight. Both Robert Downey Jr. and Benedict Cumberbatch’s takes on the iconic character have without doubt allowed Holmes passage into a new generation, and although Henry Cavill turns in a rather toned-down portrayal in a nonetheless assured performance, Sherlock takes a back seat on this occasion (perhaps channelling his long-time sidekick, Dr. Watson). Enola Holmes centres itself around his little-known younger sister, who is similarly sharp and witty but quite oppositely fiery and fierce (when she needs to be). This is much to the dismay of older brother and stern traditionalist Mycroft, whose usually dislikeable features are dialled up in a great Sam Claflin performance (aka the last actor you’d expect to play such a detestable character, hinting at an impressive versatility). This band of misfits share Helena Bonham Carter’s Eudoria as a mother, whom despite a limited amount of screen time is well cast to foster the rebel within Millie Bobby Brown’s Enola, who again shoulders the weight of a major role with a grace and poise beyond her years whilst dangling enough charms for two bracelets (actually scrap that, for 10).

While the film’s vibrant inhabitants such as Marquess Tewkesbury (portrayed charmingly by relative newcomer Louis Partridge, whose career could seriously elevate from here on in) are a definite drawcard of this feature, there are other elements that aptly assist in turning such vibrancy into substance. With critic’s darling Harry Bradbeer providing direction, striking a hot iron with both Fleabag and Killing Eve, and veteran screenwriter Jack Thorne at the helm, their collaboration results in nicely interspersed and comedic fourth wall breaks, engaging character interactions and even kick-ass action scenes amongst many other impressive touches. The narrative is interesting, keeps a brisk pace and is well oriented towards the statements that the film wishes to make in spite of a few loose ends. As it officially stands as an adaption of American author Nancy Springer’s novel of namesake, the latter point marks the story’s most impressive feat. On the topic of hot irons, Daniel Pemberton turns in a lively, youthful score that shows him at ease with more traditional orchestral arrangements, most appropriate due to the film’s status as a period drama.

While cinematographer Giles Nuttgens does well to captures colour in a time and location rather bereft of it (making it seem as if we’re viewing the world through Enola’s rose-tinted spectacles; fairly sure sunglasses weren’t an option in Victorian England) and editor Adam Bosman cuts the film’s action scenes with a particular aptitude, parts of its art direction misses the mark for me. I understand the intention of imbuing the feature with a youthful scrappiness and edge to match its titular character, but personally an overcompensation is made in this department (this is proper nit-picking however, the guilty sequence lasts for under 10 seconds from memory). Ultimately, the greatest achievement of Enola Holmes is the healthy and balanced message at its core for not only young women, but also young people in general. It acts as a guardian-like figure, putting an arm around you and stating softly “you can be anyone and do anything you want in this world, but you don’t have to do it alone” (in reality it’s a bit more complex than that, but we’ll leave it there for now). With a handful of gritty scenes and the inclusion of real-world issues working well in grounding a mostly whimsical ride, the consequent balance of style and substance makes Enola Holmes a pleasure to watch.

[fussingoverfassbender]

Kevin Barry's Night Boat to Tangier (Canongate) will be adapted for the big screen by Hollywood actor Michael Fassbender.

Andrew Eaton of Turbine Studios and Conor McCaughan and Fassbender of DMC Films are jointly optioning the multiple-prize-winning Irish author's book for feature film adaptation.

Barry is adapting the novel for the screen himself. The deal was handled by Lesley Thorne of Aitken Alexander Associates, on behalf of Lucy Luck at C&W.

Read more

[rincondejoss]

Book Blitz: The Ultra Betrayal

Book Blitz: The Ultra Betrayal

A Conor Thorn Novel, Book Two

Thriller, Historical Thriller, Military Thriller

Released: June 9, 2020

Publisher: TMR Press

  One man’s dark deal with the Nazis could bring the Allies to their knees..

Autumn, 1942. Rule breaker OSS Agent Conor Thorn is assigned a mission to help the Allied war effort when a key Swedish cryptographer stationed in England goes missing. Thorn…

[bookjunkiez]

The Ultra Betrayal Blitz

The Ultra Betrayal Blitz

A Conor Thorn Novel, Book Two

Thriller, Historical Thriller, Military Thriller

Released: June 9, 2020

Publisher: TMR Press

  One man’s dark deal with the Nazis could bring the Allies to their knees..

Autumn, 1942. Rule breaker OSS Agent Conor Thorn is assigned a mission to help the Allied war effort when a key Swedish cryptographer stationed in England goes missing. Thorn is determined to find…

[insightsintobooks]

The Torch Betrayal: A Classic World War II Spy Thriller (A Conor Thorn Novel) by Glenn Dyer The Torch Betrayal: A Classic World War II Spy Thriller (A Conor Thorn Novel) by Glenn Dyer…

[welcometophu]

The Meaning of Home, Chapter 10

The Meaning of Home Chapter 10

Tags for all Welcome to PHU novels will be available at the PHU tag list on Pillowfort. This list is under construction as of Sept. 5, 2021.

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Despite the rocky start, Emory, Jaiden, and Alanna integrate with Conor and Emma as easily as breathing. By the time they are back at the hotel, far later than any of them should still be awake, they are fast friends. Conor carries Alanna, napping as a mouse, cradled in one hand as he emerges from the back seat of Lucy’s car, Emma just behind him. Emory jumps out of the front seat, singing loudly in chorus with Jaiden; Pawel wonders if they ever stopped.

Emma stops in front of Pawel and Leo, holding out her hand, palm up. “Key,” she says.

“Emory, Jaiden—grab your overnight bag. Leave the rest of your things in the trunk,” Lucy directs. She presses a button and the hatch of her blue car clicks unlocked.

“Behave,” Leo says, pressing the key card into Emma’s hands.

“Don’t run with a child in your hands!” Pawel calls out. Conor slows to a brisk walk, both hands cradled together to keep Alanna safe.

“They’ll be fine,” Lucy says as the children disappear into the hotel. “Are you sure you’re okay with having all of them here tonight?”

“It’s no problem,” Leo assures her. “The beds are big, and I don’t think any of them will have an issue with piling in together. If all else fails, I know that three of them are willing to sleep in their smaller forms. Jaiden tried to convince me they could ride back in our car, but they don’t make seatbelts for mice, so no.”

“I’ll be back in the morning, I promise.” Lucy closes the hatch that Emory left open. The back of her car is packed full with three small duffels and two large trash bags. “I’ll drive them to your place, and help you get them settled. You’ll need Alanna’s carseat, too. The other two are small, but have been insisting they’re too old for boosters. After we had a fight about it in the store, I didn’t pick up new ones for them. I’ll leave that to you.”

Leo stares at Lucy’s car, his mouth slightly open and moving. Pawel wonders if he’s counting seats in his own cars and coming up short. Pawel has a feeling that Colt and Leo will need a larger car sooner rather than later.

“Leo.” Lucy touches his arm. “I really appreciate this. I think it’s the right decision, and that the kids will fit in together, but if you can’t do it, you’ll need to let me know. Eight kids is a lot. Nevaeh is learning to drive, right? If you need to have another car available to help move this many kids around, I might be able to help you get something cheap.”

Pawel can’t stand the way Leo stands so stiffly, as if it’s all just hit him what he’s doing. Pawel edges closer, lining up their arms; he leans his shoulder against Leo’s until the air rushes out as Leo exhales.

“We’ll be fine,” Leo says, his voice tight. “Cap may be able to help me get a van from an auction. Maybe we should get them to form a sports team. Or a band. They all seem to like singing.”

Lucy chuckles softly. She grips Leo’s arm, drawing him forward until she can wrap her arms around him, hugging him until he relaxes. When Pawel just stands there, she grabs him, too, dragging him into a three-way hug. “Thank you both, and tell Colt I said thank you, too. And Pawel.” She frames his face in her hands as she pulls back. “Thank you for everything over the year. I’m glad my boys have someone to rely on. PHU was a good school a long time ago; I think it’s even better now.”

“Thanks.” Pawel’s not sure he can take credit for taking care of Rory and Thorne. He still feels like he should have protected everyone better. The last year was a chaotic mess and instead of stopping his students from getting into trouble, he ended up in the thick of it with them.

“I’ll be back with donuts for breakfast.” She draws away, waving as she goes. “Enjoy your night!”

Leo’s fingers at the base of Pawel’s spine are warm. He’s gotten used to it over the course of the afternoon and evening, as they moved from stage to stage, show to show until the finale at the main stage that ended only a half hour ago. It’s late, and Pawel resists the urge to lean into Leo’s touch and let Leo take his weight.

“I shouldn’t be this exhausted,” Pawel murmurs. “I’m an expert at surviving on little to no sleep.”

“Do it often enough and you need longer to recover each time,” Leo says sagely. “Come on. Let’s get in before they destroy the place.”

They won’t. Will they?

Pawel can hear them before they even reach the door. Five voices raised in song, shouting out the words with the creak of springs under their feet. He puts on a burst of speed to get to the door before Leo does, unlocking it and pushing it open quickly.

Five children fall onto the bed, arms and legs spread out. Eyes widen in pure innocence.

“They heard you on Mars,” Pawel says dryly. “Even these human ears. It’s almost midnight; maybe you should calm down before someone reports us for noise.”

“One more song.” Conor lies on his stomach, flipping through something on his tablet. “Here we go! Emma, you’re up!”

The sound is a little distant on the video, and cheering overwhelms the music briefly. Pawel recognizes those opening notes, from when Phoenix Rising played in the background while Thorne reached down to help Emma climb onto the stage. The cheering rises even louder; Pawel remembers her bowing as she grinned brightly.

In the present, Emma stands on the bed with her feet planted wide. Alanna clings to one ankle, looking up at her. Emma curls her hand around an imaginary microphone and swings her hair, braids flying. “Hello, Buffalo!” she calls out in time with Thorne’s words—this can’t be the first time they’ve reenacted this performance. “This is ‘September Cries’!”

The drums slow down, easing into a soulful undercurrent to the way that Rory’s guitar draws out the notes. Emory pushes their hands down so they can get to their feet, the bed wobbling beneath them. Emory leans in close to Emma, sharing the invisible mic as they both sink into the slow, sad ballad. Lying at their feet, Jaiden supplies the background chorus of “oooh” and “ahhh” at all the right moments.

Emma and Emory pass the words back and forth, taking turns between the verses until they join together at the end, singing out, “And it’ll all be over when September cries. You know I’ll still love you when September cries.” Emma holds the final note, leaning back dramatically until she cuts off.

She almost falls over when she bows, caught by Emory, who hauls her back to standing. Emma claps them on the back, laughing. “You are awesome,” Emma says.

“You, too,” Emory agrees, cheeks flushed a warm rose. “Today was fun.”

“Even if you stink.” Jaiden pushes a toe against Conor’s leg.

“Whatever,” Conor replies. He locks his tablet and slides off the bed so he can plug it in. “We’re done now, Dad.”

Leo has his phone to his ear and is turned away; Pawel can’t see his expression, but he suspects he’s smiling. “Get ready for bed,” Leo says, voice low. “Hey, Colt, yeah, we’re finally home. Want to meet the kids?”

“I’d love to.” Colt’s smiling on the small screen of the phone when Leo turns it around to show everyone. Colt lifts one hand. “Hi. I’m assuming the three I don’t know are our new kids, unless you picked up some spares while you were out.”

Alanna giggles, her thumb creeping into her mouth.

Conor points without looking. “That’s Emory—she/they. That’s Jaiden—he/him. That’s Alanna—she/her. They’re pretty cool even if Jaiden’s kind of an ass.”

“Language,” Pawel says, and Conor rolls his eyes in response.

“Whatever.” Conor falls back on the bed, tablet held above him.

Emory and Jaiden jump off the bed and come closer, peering into the phone. On the bed, Alanna lies down and is replaced by a rat, curled with her tail over her nose.

“Most of the household is asleep,” Colt says quietly. “Nevaeh’s up because she wanted to hear all about how the day went, but I had to send the rest to bed.”

“It’s late,” Emory agrees. Their hands are twisted behind them, wringing out of sight of the screen. “It was a pretty cool day. The bands were good. Emma’s got a really good voice. She sang with one of them.”

“You did?” Nevaeh’s suddenly there, pulling the phone out of Colt’s hands. “I am totally jealous, Emma! I want to go to the next festival. Can we go? Is there going to be another day that it’s near us?”

“This was the closest stop, and we’re here because Pawel invited us. Be nice to him and maybe he’ll introduce you to his rock star students,” Leo says. He tosses the sling bag at Emory, who almost fumbles catching it. “The CDs are Emma’s, but the shirts are all for Nevaeh. If you want to show her.”

As bonding techniques go, it’s not a bad idea. It’s certainly an icebreaker. Emma crawls to the edge of the bed to sit behind Emory and Jaiden, and they all talk over each other to describe the different bands to Nevaeh. Emory pulls out the signed t-shirts from Lot 42 and Phoenix Rising; Nevaeh’s squeal when she sees the signatures is piercingly loud.

Pawel moves away, rubbing at his temples. It’s late, and he’s not running on an overabundance of adrenaline anymore. His head is starting to ache, and each sound pokes at his brain. He sinks down on the edge of his bed, trying to ignore the way the kids are still going strong.

There are five kids. One might be a rat at the moment, but there are still five of them, and he can’t think they’ll all fit in one bed. Someone might need to crash with Leo.

Maybe Pawel should look and see if the bathtub seems comfortable. He could close the door and have a few minutes of peace.

Who is he even kidding? It’d only last until someone needed the bathroom to pee. The tub is really not an option for sleep.

The bed dips as Leo sits next to him. The mattress is soft enough that Leo slides into him, a hand on Pawel’s knee to steady himself.

Pawel is tired enough that he tilts towards Leo as well, eyes wanting to close but unable to do so with all the yelling.

“They are never going to sleep,” Pawel mutters. “We are going to be driving home with no sleep tomorrow.”

Leo squeezes Pawel’s knee. “I’ve been doing this a while, so I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. Don’t worry. We’ll be okay. We also don’t have to get on the road at the crack of dawn. It’s okay if we sleep in.”

Pawel hears the opening strains of ‘September Cries’ again; Conor has his tablet back in hand and is holding it up, showing the video to Nevaeh.

“You could just text it to her,” Colt says dryly. “Or wait until you get home to show her.”

“That is awesome. I am so fucking jealous,” Nevaeh grumbles.

“Language!” Emma and Conor chorus cheerfully.

Nevaeh’s grumble is louder. “I am pretty sure that this is one time where I can blow as many F bombs as I want without someone bitching at me.” She cuts off abruptly, the sigh heavy enough to shake the air even through the phone. “Fine. Fine. Go to bed, all you small people. It is way past your bedtime. You need to let Pawel and Papa rest.”

Conor shuts the video off and hooks his tablet up to charge again. Emma slides off the bed and offers the phone to Leo and Pawel, Colt’s face on the screen again. From the angle, it looks as if the phone is propped on the dining room table; Colt sits on one of the benches, one hand over his face.

Leo lightly touches the screen with a forefinger. “Hey,” he says softly.

Colt raises his other hand with one thumb up, as if responding to an unasked question.

Right, these two need a little privacy. Pawel can’t think they get a lot of chances for that.

He has a brief moment of insanity where he thinks that he could offer to take care of the house full of kids while Colt and Leo get a weekend away, but no. No. He’s not prepared for that at all.

Instead, he touches Leo’s back lightly. “Why don’t you walk outside and say goodnight,” Pawel offers, more of a command than a question. “I’ll wrangle these monkeys through getting ready for bed and actually getting as far as lights out.”

“Not monkeys,” Jaiden retorts.

Pawel is not going to argue semantics with shapeshifters.

Leo leans back for a moment, then pushes to his feet, his phone still cradled in one hand. “Pawel’s right,” he says firmly. “Get ready for bed. All of you. Figure out your sleeping arrangements and don’t crush Alanna along the way.” When Leo gestures, Conor carefully lifts the sleeping rat and moves her to a spot at the foot of the bed. “When we get back, lights will be out and conversations will be done. I want to hear snores and nothing else, so we can get some sleep.”

Emory jumps to their feet and claps their hands. “You heard him. Teeth brushing and bathroom breaks and pajamas now.” They lower their voice. “I’ve babysat. I can handle this.”

“No they can’t,” Jaiden says. “Emory’s a pushover.”

Emory shoves at Jaiden, and Jaiden shoves back. Pawel is about to get between them, but Leo has his wrist in a tight grip and pulls him towards the door. “They’ll sort it out,” Leo says. “I meant what I said. Get ready for bed, then lights out. You can talk for a little while, but you need to be asleep before we get back.”

“How long is that going to be?” Conor asks.

“Until we’re done talking.”

Conor snorts. “Dad can talk forever.”

“Bed,” Pawel says sharply, just in case Conor thinks he’s found a way around it. The kids might outnumber the adults now, but he’s damn well going to keep control here. As much as is possible, anyway.

“Bed,” Leo repeats, and from the phone, Colt echoes the sentiment.

The kids don’t get a chance to say anything else, as Leo pulls Pawel into the hallway and shuts the door behind them.

Leo touches his finger to his lips and stands quietly. The kids are quieter now, but Pawel can hear them moving around. Leo relaxes and says softly, “I hear the water running in the bathroom. I think they’re doing what we told them to.”

Colt’s head is still down. “Is this going to work? Are we getting in over our heads?”

Leo heads down the hall, and Pawel can’t really do anything other than follow. “I think we’ll be fine,” Leo says. “There might be some growing pains. There will definitely be a lot of chaos, but we’re used to that. I know Cap’ll give me time off if I need it, and if we really have to, we can invoke family leave. We are getting three new kids, after all. But I think we’re going to be fine. Has it been a bad weekend?”

Leo’s stride is longer than Pawel’s, and he’s far enough ahead that Pawel can no longer see Colt on the phone. But he can hear exhaustion in his voice. “Not that bad,” Colt says. “Fairly typical, really. Matt played a prank on Duke, and Duke retaliated. When Duke wanted to go out with his friends, I said no, and Duke’s been in his room sulking and refusing to let Matt game with him. Nevaeh wanted to go driving, so I took her and Jennie out for a little bit and she had a meltdown when parallel parking was hard. Nevaeh had the meltdown about parking; Jennie had a tantrum because I refused to stop at the coffee shop and get her an apple fritter. She said I should be glad because it was healthy since it had apples.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Leo says quietly.

Pawel slows his steps, not wanting to intrude. He’d hang back entirely, but Leo reaches the door and holds it open, waiting for him.

“I miss you.”

Leo looks down at the phone. “I miss you, too. Wish you were here.”

A soft laugh. “Me too.”

Leo touches the phone to end the call before glancing at Pawel. “Are you coming or not? If you’re worried, we’re just going to go sit on the car again. The kids are going to settle down better without us there, believe it or not. Half of it is performance, vying for attention.”

“I only have one. My experience with multiples is minimal,” Pawel admits. “At least at that age. Alan—that’s Conor’s best friend, or husband, depending on when you ask him—is over a lot, but more than two seems to get complicated.”

“It does.” The door bangs shut as Leo lets it go. Leo’s hand is at Pawel’s back again, guiding him towards where they left the car in the lot. “Sometimes they compete with each other. Sometimes they gang up on us. Sometimes they try to do both at the same time. But in the end, they’re just small people, so we treat them that way. Conor and Emma are good kids, and they were fine last night. I trust Lucy, so I figure Emory and Jaiden aren’t trouble, either. Plus, they’re older, even if Jaiden doesn’t want his sibling to babysit for him. They’ll be fine.” He glances at Pawel. “You sure you’re up for hosting Emma for a while? How’s Cap going to feel about that?”

Pawel snorts. “I get the feeling Dad likes you better than me these days. He’ll be fine with it. Besides, Emma doesn’t take up much more room than Conor on his own.” He climbs up on the hood when they reach the car, scooting over so Leo can sit beside him. There’s a chill in the air; Pawel doesn’t mind when Leo stays close, a line of warmth against his shoulder and hip.

“I’m worried,” Leo admits. He leans back against the windshield, his body tilting closer to Pawel’s. “We didn’t set out to be this. We took in a pair of kids who needed someone, even though the older one was born when Colt was in middle school. Jennie calls us Dad and Papa; Nevaeh switches between that and our names. We thought about adopting them, but then we just… got more kids. I can’t say no, Pawel.”

“Of course you can’t.” That seems obvious to Pawel. These kids need someone. Who could just push them away?

“Nevaeh’s a junior in high school. I know she’s looking at PHU as an option when she goes to college, because it’s not that far away, and because it’s welcoming to everyone,” Leo says quietly. “You’ll be back there by the time she’s a student. Do me a favor and keep an eye on her?”

Keep an eye on her.

Pawel tilts his head back, looking up at the dark sky. The moon is a sliver in the sky, just past new. While the parking lot is lit, they didn’t park under one of the lights, so the darkness seems to surround them. He half expects Chelsea to step out, but she doesn’t interrupt this moment.

He’s left sitting in the awkward stew of his own failings.

“You know I’m not a perfect influence on my students, right?” Pawel says quietly. “You got that out of the story I told you about the last year. I managed to take several of them through the Dreamscape into another world entirely. Brought two kids back with us. Found my dead ex-girlfriend who wasn’t so dead after all.”

“Did you lose any of them along the way?” Leo’s elbow pokes against Pawel’s arm. “You said you helped one out with anger management and Clan politics, which can’t be easy in a traditional Clan community. You obviously get along well enough with your rock stars, and their mother trusts you. Chelsea said there were some who cared enough about you to try to care for you, too. You sound human, Pawel, and you sound like you treat your students as if they’re human. That’s all we can do.”

“Would you think less of me if I said I think one of my students might be my best friend?” Pawel asks quietly. “She’s not a kid. She came in on a GI bill, and she’s about four years younger than me.”

“Best friend, or…?” The question lingers in Leo’s voice, hanging between them.

Pawel snorts, shaking his head. “God, no. Mac’s a friend. A good friend. She kicks my ass when I need it—sometimes literally. She coaches our taekwondo club. But I don’t think of her like that, and I’m damn sure she doesn’t want me to. She’s been to hell and back, before I ever knew her. GI bill, remember?”

“Mm.” Leo slides down on the hood of the car and Pawel goes with him, until they’re both lying down, staring up at the sky. They have to bend their knees to stay on the hood, and the windshield is a terrible pillow, but Pawel’s not moving after that.

It feels good. Weird, but good.

“You shouldn’t cut yourself off from your past,” Leo says quietly. “It almost sounds like you’re afraid to be friends with people, Pawel, if you think people are going to judge you.”

“She’s my student.”

“Are you in a position of power over her?” Leo counters. When Pawel shakes his head, Leo continues, “Then be friends with her. That’s fine. You’re not holding anything over her head, and she’s not holding anything over yours. You’re just two adults. And remember: you didn’t lose any of your kids last year. You seem to think like it was your fault, but it sounds like when they needed help, you stepped in and helped without judgement. You acted like an adult, Pawel.”

It doesn’t entirely change the fact that Pawel can still think of a half-dozen places where he probably mis-stepped, or should have made another decision, but it helps.

“When you go back, try to remember that you can stay friends with the people from your past, too,” Leo says. “Just because things didn’t work out—”

“We broke up because you left,” Pawel points out, cutting him off. “Colt and I broke up because we both left.”

“And strangely enough, we all came back.” Leo reaches out, hand brushing over Pawel’s where he holds them clasped against his chest. “We can still be friends, too.”

Pawel doesn’t move. 

Leo pulls away, the ghost of his touch lingering on Pawel’s skin. “Besides,” Leo adds, his tone sounding purposefully light. “It’s not like Emma and Conor are going to lose touch, right?”

“Right. Guess we’ll have to figure out some kind of visitation for them. I think Conor wants Emma to meet Alan in person someday.” Which reminds Pawel. “I’m going to look for Emma’s parents. Like the kids asked me to.”

He can hear the smile in Leo’s words. “See. You have to step right in and help. Try to remember that there are people who’ll help you, too, Pawel.”

It’s all a good thought, and Pawel does store it away. But the thing is, he doesn’t need help right now. Friends, sure, he can use more of those. And he did miss Leo. And Colt. Not that he’s going to tell them that. But he’s fine. He’s relaxing. He’s enjoying his summer. He’s trying to rest.

And he’s doing what he does best and looking into something strange about Talent.

He’s not the one who needs help.

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[welcometophu]

The Meaning of Home, Chapter 2

The Meaning of Home Chapter 2

Tags for all Welcome to PHU novels will be available at the PHU tag list on Pillowfort. This list is under construction as of Sept. 5, 2021.

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Pawel spends much of Monday lounging around the house. He gets up to help get Conor and Emma on the bus, so his dad can leave on time for work. After meeting the bus in his pajamas, he walks back to Dad’s house and lies down on the couch. He doesn’t really need a blanket, but he pulls it up to his nose anyway for the comfort factor and spends the day dozing and streaming old movies on his dad’s TV.

He never makes it as far as thinking about cooking anything for dinner, so he treats Dad and Conor to a night out. It eats up more time than he’d like, and it means Conor needs to scramble to finish the last of his homework once they’re home, but it’s nice to spend an hour letting someone else do the cooking.

Later that evening, after Conor goes to bed, Pawel and Dad spend the next couple of hours finally talking through everything that’s happened. Pawel doesn’t want to leave things out, but there are a few things he avoids for Dad’s safety, like the government involvement, and one thing he just doesn’t know how to explain.

He hasn’t seen Chelsea in a while. She’s relearning how to work within the world without draining souls to stay alive. He highly doubts she’s planning on stopping by his father’s for a visit, and even if she did, Dad never got to meet her as anything other than one of Pawel’s friends a decade ago.

Yeah. That is a complicated mess that he has no desire to go into detail about.

They go to bed late, but Pawel still wakes early on Tuesday to get his own kid on the bus. He figures it’s the least he can do, letting Dad get to work on time on a regular basis again.

Alone in the house again, Pawel feels refreshed and awake.

And bored.

He puts the phone on speaker as he putters around the kitchen, pressing to dial the number for Pels. She picks up after two rings, her voice gravelly and low. “What? Did we burn your house down?”

“I’m assuming you would have called me, rather than the other way around, if you burned my house down. Since you’re the one staying there.” Pawel rifles through his father’s cabinets until he finds a slow cooker. It’s dusty, but he’s pretty sure it’ll be functional. There should be enough ingredients for chili around. 

He looks into a cabinet, and nearly bare shelves stare back at him.

Okay, maybe not.

“What?” Pels asks again. “You woke me up. Are you looking for my mom? I thought you had her number.”

Pawel finds tomatoes and beans, and starts emptying them into the slow cooker. “I do. I thought she’d be at work, so I called you instead.”

“It’s too early and—Dad, Dad, no, I’ll talk to him. Give me back my phone.”

“Hello, Ammon.” Pawel might not be able to hear Pels’s father, but he’s well aware by now that the ghost can hear him.

“He’s leaving, and I’m not putting this on speaker,” Pels mutters. “I thought he was going to start spending more time with Mom now, after the whole unbinding ceremony last weekend, but apparently she told him not to follow her to work.”

“Can she see him now?” That would be an interesting development. Pawel sets the empty can on the counter and reaches for a pad of sticky notes so he can scribble a reminder to himself to look into more detailed information about the ritual that the Burlington community performed for Pels and her mother in order to remove the bindings from their Talents.

“I think so. I mean, I’m pretty sure she can, but we’re not really talking about it. But seriously. Did you call for a reason? Cheyenne’s got these final projects to finish up since she left school a couple weeks early, so she’s not bothering me. Dad wasn’t bothering me. I was sleeping.” Pels grumbles under her breath.

“I just wanted to see how things were going.” Pawel peels off the sticky note and tapes it to the fridge, where he might see it later. Another search of the cabinets turns up chili powder and a few other seasonings. “Now that you’ve had a chance to settle into the house.”

“We’re fine. We’re figuring out how to be a family again without Peter.” Pels hesitates. “I’m learning how to see the world a whole different way now that I can see everything my Talent lets me see. Shane and Jess and I are talking a lot, and I’m going to figure this Mage thing out. So… thanks. For everything. Including letting us stay in your house while you’re gone.”

Pawel shakes some cocoa powder into the slow cooker, before adding a handful of dried onion. “Someone’s got to water the plants.”

“The plants were already dead when we got here.”

He laughs at Pels’s dry words. She’s not wrong. Pawel was gone for a month; everything went to hell, while his son went to stay with his dad.

Which, yeah. That brings him right back around to where he is now.

Pawel stares at the slow cooker. “If you need anything, you’ve got my number.”

“I’ll tell Mom to check in with you periodically. Oh and—” Pels hesitates before asking, “Cheyenne wants to know if it’s okay if she uses your backyard to practice flying?”

Pawel thinks of the time they used Alaric’s dragon to summon a Shadow in that same backyard. “That would not be the strangest thing the neighbors could have witnessed. But she should try not to break anything, including herself.”

“I think we can do that. Gotta go. Dad says there’s someone at the door.”

The line goes abruptly silent, and Pawel looks down at the screen of his phone as the connection is lost. “Okay, then.” He gives the vegetarian chili a quick stir, then puts the lid on, plugs it in, and switches the appliance on to cook on low. “That’s set, at least.”

He feels a little better, knowing that his home is in good hands, or at least, it’s not burning down. It sat empty for a month before; having someone live there for the summer should be better.

As long as none of the newly powered Mages set the place on fire.

Fire.

That reminds him.

Pawel checks one more time to ensure that the slow cooker is on and set to low, then heads back to the living room to dig out his laptop. He starts it up and finds the tab he’d left open for the outdoor music festivals, with a list of dates.

That’s what he thought: the festival that Rory and Thorne’s band, Phoenix Rising, is touring with will be in Buffalo this weekend.

Pawel buys four tickets. He figures Dad will come with them, and Conor will want to bring a friend. Probably Alan. And if Dad doesn’t want to go, Alan’s mom, Emily, might join them instead. He’s not worried if the tickets don’t all get used; he just wants options.

Conor will be pleased by the surprise, anyway.

He closes the laptop and looks back to the kitchen.

How the hell does his dad live like that, anyway? And what has Conor been eating?

No, he saw the answer to that this morning. Toaster pastries and cereal, and Pawel’s pretty sure that the last of the eggs were finished off as well.

Fine.

If Pawel’s going to be here all summer, squeezed into his dad’s small space, the least he can do is lay in supplies.

Pawel spends the day scouring the cabinets, making a long list of everything from prepared garlic and ginger for easy seasoning, to pantry staples like pasta, to critical items like various forms of protein for the freezer. His dad has a standing freezer in the garage, and even that seems woefully empty.

He loses time going through the sites online for each local grocery store, poring over the ads to determine which store will have the best value for this shopping trip. He types up the list to rearrange it by food type, so that as soon as Conor’s home they can head out and maybe they’ll be organized enough to get the trip done quickly.

“Dad!” The door bangs open. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving and something smells really good.”

“It’s not dinner time.” Pawel folds up the printout of the list and shoves it in his pocket. “We’re going shopping. Grab a snack.” His own stomach growls and he’s not sure how he made it from early morning to half past three without a meal. “I think I saw a box of granola bars.”

Conor lifts the lid to the slow cooker, inhaling deeply, while Pawel finds the last two granola bars. He tosses one to his son.

“Let’s get some food.”

“Can we get meat for the chili? That looked like it was all beans,” Conor grumbles. He buckles his belt, then directs Pawel to the grocery store. 

Pawel already knows how to get there, but he’s not going to tell Conor that. Not when Conor seems comfortable in this place and is enjoying showing off that comfort level. He stays silent while Conor points out the entrance to the parking lot, then finds them a space close to the door.

Conor grabs a cart from the corral and pushes it into the store. “Emma’s Papa picks her up after school, so she doesn’t have to take the bus. She said they’re doing stuff today, so she couldn’t come over. I thought we could work on our—Emma!!” 

Pawel catches the cart, stopping it from rolling when Conor takes off into the produce section. Emma’s answering shout is sharp and loud as Conor skids to a stop near a display laden with peaches. Pawel pushes the cart there, half an ear listening to the kids talking as if they weren’t together a half hour ago in school.

“Dad!” Conor waves at him, so Pawel picks up the pace.

He’s not sure who Emma is with. She stands next to an almost empty cart, except for a bag of peaches sitting in the seat. There doesn’t seem to be any sign of an adult.

“Emma’s shopping.”

Emma rolls her eyes, pushing braids back over her shoulder. “Obviously,” she says quietly. “Jennie had to pee. He’ll be back soon. She forgot to go before we left school.”

“Does your Papa have two carts? We can help you,” Conor offers. “You and me can do one cart, and Dad can do ours, and your Papa can do the other one.”

“You can call me Leo. I don’t think your dad would like it if you started calling me Papa like the rest of the kids.”

Pawel knows that voice.

He hasn’t heard the voice in a very long time, but there are certain phrases still etched in the deep recesses of his memory. 

He exhales, and very deliberately makes himself look at the man who has joined him.

He looks good. Older, yeah. It’s been more than ten years since Leo graduated and left town for college. Apparently he’s back now, and from the police uniform, this would be Emma’s foster father that works for Pawel’s dad.  He has the name ‘L. Papa’ embroidered on his uniform, just above the pocket, and his badge is still visible. Leo stands with one hand on the handle of the cart and reaches without looking to take a package of donuts out of the hands of the small girl sitting in the basket of the cart.

When he smiles, Pawel’s heart twists.

“I was glad to hear you reappeared,” Leo says quietly. His voice is a warm, low tenor, as careful and even as Pawel remembers.

“You’re fostering a Weather Witch.” It’s maybe not the best reply. Pawel refuses to wince when Conor snickers.

“I told you he’s single-minded sometimes,” Conor whispers loudly to Emma. “He’ll help find your parents. I know your Papa’s a police officer, but Dad’s a Mage.”

Emma’s brown eyes are furrowed and dark. Her lips purse, but she doesn’t say anything.

Leo takes two sheets of paper from his pocket, then hands one to Emma. “You know which cereals the boys like best. Pick one for yourself and Jennie that they won’t eat before you get a chance. Since you’re the one with me, you get to pick the pasta. I know it says twenty boxes of mac & cheese, but we only need ten. We’ll be shopping again next week.”

Emma takes the list and reads it over solemnly. “Nevaeh said we need more tuna, but it’s not on the list. I’ll get that, too. C’mon, Conor. There were some cookies on sale. Help me pick out ones that the boys won’t eat before we can.”

“Popcorn,” Conor replies. “Remember, we used the last of it last weekend? Did that get on your list?”

They roll away with the almost-empty cart before Pawel can protest.

The small girl in Leo’s cart has the box of donuts in her hands again. She opens the plastic carefully and takes one out.

“Jennie,” Leo says softly.

“I need sugar to sparkle,” she whispers around a mouthful of chocolate cream.

Speechless feels so strange. Pawel can’t remember the last time his tongue has been this tangled. “I—” He tries to break his own silence, and fails miserably.

“Things get chaotic with five kids in the house,” Leo says. When he smiles again, his pale green eyes crinkle around the corners with tiny lines that definitely weren’t there before. They match the faint hints of salt in his dark hair. “Conor’s got a lot of energy. He probably keeps you on your toes.”

“Dad says I’ve been cursed with a kid that’s just like I was,” Pawel says. He pushes his hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to recover his balance. “He didn’t tell me you were one of Emma’s foster fathers. Just that she had two of them. Foster fathers. And two missing parents.”

Meeting his ex-boyfriend shouldn’t be this unsettling.

Pawel blames it on the fact that he’s probably still in a sleep deficit—two weeks is not enough time to catch up on missing sleep for several months.

“There’s a local teacher who works with a group that finds placements for Talented kids who need Talented families to stay with.” Leo has the second page of his list in his hand, and he refers to it while picking out produce.

Right. Shopping.

Pawel looks at his own list and tries to focus on that to give himself a little distance and wrangle his brain back into working order. Salad. They definitely need things for salad. And fresh vegetables for roasting wouldn’t be bad.

“Alice asked Colt if he knew anyone who might be able to take on kids about four years ago, and when he said we would, she put us in touch with Lucy and Rowan, and that’s how we got Matt, our first foster kid.”

Leo’s voice rolls over Pawel, dropping tidbits of information that he struggles to grab onto.

“Matt’s not bad,” Jennie says around a mouthful of donut. “Sometimes.”

Pawel latches onto the names, his fingers closing around a broccoli crown and holding it a little too tightly. He fumbles with the plastic bag. “Lucy and Rowan? And… Colt?” He had to have heard those wrong.

He manages to get the bag open and shoves two broccoli crowns into it, dropping them in the basket of his cart.

Leo is silent.

When Pawel looks at him, Leo stands with his fingers wrapped around the handle of the cart, his grip tight. “Colt Harrison,” he says. “My husband. You—”

“Dated him in high school, yeah.” Pawel finishes Leo’s sentence for him.

That’s… too much information. Pawel is struggling to assimilate it.

“Dad did not mention that,” he mutters.

“This doesn’t have to be weird.” Leo grabs the container of donuts and moves it to another area of the cart. Jennie could still get to it, but she pouts instead, slouching down in one corner of the basket, her lower lip sticking out and flecked with chocolate. “Colt and I met when he was interning at the law office where he works now. We’ve been married about three years. We didn’t even know each other back in high school.”

“It doesn’t have to be weird,” Pawel echoes. He’s right, of course. It shouldn’t be weird. It’s not weird at all. People meet. They fall in love. They get married. They have kids. Sometimes there’s a small world effect and it turns out that they may have already been connected beforehand.

That’s all Pawel is in this; an ancient history connection.

“Your dad talks about you all the time,” Leo says. He pulls a napkin from his pocket and cleans Jennie’s fingers. “Try not to touch anything else,” he admonishes gently before tucking the dirty napkin back in his pocket. 

He’s so careful with her. Pawel remembers when Leo used to take care of his younger siblings. It only makes sense that he’d be good with kids now. As big and scruffy and rough looking as he is, he’s gentle, too.

“I need to—” Pawel holds up the list, showing just how long it is. “Dad’s cupboards are empty. I’m not sure what he and Conor have been eating, and I get the feeling that it’s takeout so I really don’t want to know. I need to stock up.”

“So do we. Matt’s eleven and Clan, and Duke’s fourteen. We go through a lot of food in our house.” Leo heads toward the back of the store. “Come on. We’ll catch up with the kids if we get moving.”

Pawel exhales and trails behind Leo. Jennie peeks around him, her thumb in her mouth as she looks at Pawel. Small brown brows furrow deeply before she turns away and curls up.

Her snores are adorable little rasps of sound. He can’t think how she’s sleeping through the rattle and squeak of the cart she rides in. Still, she’s silent as they work their way through the aisles, collecting items from their respective lists.

They turn down one aisle and spot Conor and Emma from a distance. Conor has sparks around his hand while Emma reaches for something falling from the shelves.

Pawel coughs, and Conor turns to give him an innocent look.

Wait. That reminds him.

“You’re taking in Talented kids,” Pawel says slowly. “So you or Colt must be—”

“We both are,” Leo says, glancing at him sideways. “I grew up Clan. Colt’s Emergent, but that’s his story to tell. I heard about you being a Mage from your dad. He’s proud of everything you’ve done at PHU.”

Pawel waves that away. “Youngest dean. Newest department. Only real expert on Talent as a whole because I’m the only person who’s bothered to go down the rabbit hole far enough to study it formally.”

“It’s still impressive.” Leo huffs.

“I just… I never knew.” Pawel thinks back and tries to catalog Leo’s family based on what he knows of Clan. He didn’t interview them for his thesis; they weren’t on his radar as a large Clan community. They grew up as a part of the town.

“You weren’t meant to.” Leo dips into his pocket and hands the napkin back to Jennie, who has somehow woken from her nap and polished off a second donut while they weren’t paying attention. “That was before the Emergence. We took a lot of care to be able to live here without anyone knowing.”

“But your community—”

“Widespread and buried within this town and the surrounding ones. We never really wanted to withdraw from the rest of the world. Which is what makes us good candidates for fostering. We don’t have those same prejudices that some might have.” Leo drops a hand to the top of Jennie’s head, and she looks up at him, smiling brightly.

There are, indeed, sparkles all around her, the air shimmering with her contentment and happiness.

“Conor wants me to help find Emma’s parents,” Pawel says quietly. “At the same time, I’m not sure if he really wants me to get involved, after everything that happened this last year. What do you—”

“I think they’re dead,” Leo says quietly. His hand still rests atop Jennie’s head, but his gaze is fixed on Emma. “I can tell you what little we know, but everything points to them being dead. The question is what happened to their bodies.”

Unfortunately, Pawel’s had experience with issues like that and can think of at least one scenario.

Which might mean they’re not dead.

They also might not be prepared to be parents anymore, either.

Leo pitches his voice louder. “You should come over for dinner some night.”

Both Conor and Emma turn to look at them. Emma grips the side of the cart, stepping up and holding on while Conor gives it a good push before jumping up himself. It sends them racing towards Leo and Pawel, until Pawel puts up a hand, throwing out a gentle cushion of magic to stop them before they crash.

“Yes!” Conor yells. “Dinner!”

“You could come over and meet everyone. If you want to.” Emma’s gaze drifts away, like she really doesn’t care about the answer.

“They’re like my second family. Third, maybe, because of Alan, but my second one here,” Conor insists. “And Emma’s dads are really nice.”

“They aren’t my dads.”

“I’m sure Colt would love to see you, too,” Leo adds.

Thanks for the gut punch.

“He says yes,” Conor says quickly. “Right dad? You say yes.”

What else is he supposed to do?

“Yes.” Pawel fishes out his phone, unlocking it and staring down. He doesn’t resist when Leo slips it from his fingers, opening up his text app and sending something.

Leo places the phone back in Pawel’s hands. “The first number is mine, the second is Colt’s. In case you don’t still have them.”

“I fried my phone and lost everything,” Pawel admits. “Back when I Emerged. So. Thank you.”

“It’s good to see you.” Leo’s touch is heavy and warm where he claps his hand against Pawel’s shoulder, then squeezes. 

Pawel could hug him, but he thinks that might be awkward. He’s never had this situation. He has three exes—two of them he hasn’t seen since they broke up, and the other one is Chelsea. Which is just complicated.

“Yeah, you too.” He watches as Leo walks away, Emma pushing the second cart beside him. Pawel wonders just how distracted Leo must feel since Jennie looks like she’s grabbing her third donut.

Or maybe that’s just how it is. Maybe he spoils his kids with plenty of sugar.

It’s not like Pawel knows anything about how Leo’s life is now.

Conor tugs sharply at Pawel’s shirt. “Dad. When are we going to dinner over at Emma’s house?”

Pawel looks down at his phone, at the new conversation sitting there. All it says is, this is Pawel.

He locks his phone and shoves it in his pocket. “I don’t know yet, but not tonight. Let’s go find that meat you wanted for the chili. Chicken might be good. We could sauté it up quickly and add it so it’ll get a couple hours in the slow cooker with the rest. Or we could cook it up with spices and add it afterwards.”

“You’re just saying that because chicken is healthy,” Conor grumbles. “I got more toaster pastries. Dziadziu lets me eat them.”

“I let you eat them, too, just possibly not in the same quantities,” Pawel protests. It’s not an argument he’s going to have right now, anyway.

He’s going to focus on finishing up the shopping, and finishing cooking dinner.

He’s going to focus on anything other than the fact that somehow both of the boys he dated in high school grew up to meet each other and end up married.

Yeah, he’s going to do his damnedest to focus on anything but that.

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[welcometophu]

The Meaning of Home, Chapter 8

The Meaning of Home Chapter 8

Tags for all Welcome to PHU novels will be available at the PHU tag list on Pillowfort. This list is under construction as of Sept. 5, 2021.

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Pawel is warm. Very warm. Comfortably warm. He’s lost the blanket somewhere, and instead has Leo draped over him. This would be far less embarrassing if he hadn’t also turned toward him, tangling their legs together. Leo is still asleep, and as far as Pawel can tell from the lack of noise, so are the kids. Maybe he can extricate himself….

“You had a picture of him, didn’t you?”

Pawel flails, shoving at Leo as he tries to sit up. “Chelsea!”

She straightens from where she’d been leaning over him, crossing her arms as her brow furrows. She looks more substantial than when he saw her last. Her hair is more brown and less shadow. She’s wearing a long sundress, and has a small backpack slung over her shoulders. “I’m doing better now, so Mattie and I came looking for you.”

Blankets. He needs the blankets. Pawel grabs for them, pulling them up over his lap as Leo sits up slowly next to him. Once he feels slightly more barricaded against the world, Pawel tries to take stock of the room.

Leo’s awake and rubbing his eyes. He doesn’t seem anxious, although Pawel hears a low rumble that might be a growl. In the other bed, Conor and Emma are both stirring slowly. The room is lit with pale morning light filtering through the blinds, casting the edges in shadows. Mattie’s dragged the desk chair closer to the shadows and perches on the edge, letting it sway from side to side.

“Chelsea, you do remember what it’s like to be human and knock on doors, right? I know it was nine years ago, and Mattie’s a terrible instructor, but still,” Pawel mutters, his fingers pressed to the bridge of her nose.

“Did I interrupt something?” Chelsea sits on the bed next to him, fingers grazing his arm. “The hallway was too light. We needed your shadows. Why are you in a hotel? This is Leo, isn’t it?”

“Dad? What’s going on?” Conor asks, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

There is no way this is going to go well.

“Chelsea, this is Leo.” Pawel waits for Leo to sit upright before he continues the introduction. “Leo, this is Chelsea. I told you about her last night. Over there is our friend Mattie. They’re Shadowwalkers.” He could leave it there, let someone else get a word in edgewise, but it seems simplest to just get it all out. “Chelsea, we’re on our way to a concert in Buffalo. We’re going to see Rory and Thorne’s band perform. I got tickets, and Conor invited Emma, who brought along her foster father.” He gestures to each of them.

He can see the moment that Chelsea figures out exactly who Conor is. Her expression softens, mouth opening slightly as she slides off the bed. She steps carefully as she moves around it, until she can sink to her knees next to where Conor sits. “Oh,” she whispers. “You’re….”

There’s a slow creak in the silence when her voice falls away. Mattie digs her toe in to stop her chair from moving.

“Dad?” Conor asks, voice rising with uncertainty.

Pawel fights to keep his voice even. “Chelsea, this is our son. Conor, this is your mother.”

“I thought your dad was missing and your mother was dead?” Emma whispers loudly.

“My mother died when I was born.” Conor draws his knees up, wrapping his arms around his legs. “My mother died a long time ago. My dad was missing and came back but my mother is dead.”

“I’m not,” Chelsea says. “I was something worse, for a long time, you’re right. I was soulless. Heartless, in a way. I fed on other souls because I was starving. Then I found your father and I have my soul back again. I’m no longer split.”

“Dad?” Even tighter now, Conor chokes on the word. “What’s going on?”

“Emma, your bag is near the door,” Leo says quietly. “Get your things and go take a shower and get dressed.”

Emma’s gaze is fixed on where Chelsea still kneels between the beds. “You were dead, and now you’re not,” she says.

“Not exactly. I was gone, and now I’m back to myself,” Chelsea replies. “That’s a better way of putting it.” She smiles slightly. “You know how when someone dies, they say that you lost them? Well, I’ve been found.”

Emma’s brow furrows more. “Were you—”

“Emma. Shower. Now.” Leo cuts her off, and her gaze slices towards him, glaring.

“Fine.” She digs into the bag to find clean clothes and marches into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Mattie stands, brushing invisible lint from her jeans. “If we’re going to see Rory play, I’ll meet you there.” Her grin is sharp. “He’s still my favorite.”

She steps into the shadows and by the time Pawel manages to turn on a light, she’s gone.

In the brightness of both lights by the bed, Chelsea has edges that weren’t visible in the darkness. Pawel can still see hints of the shadow around her, but she looks like a person. There are even tiny lines in her skin that weren’t there nine years before; she’s aged, despite being made of shadow.

Chelsea rises slowly, stepping back from Conor. “Are you angry at me?”

“I don’t know.” Sparks flicker around him, trickling over his skin. “I don’t know how to feel at all. I’m confused. Dad? Did you know? You don’t seem surprised.”

“It happened when I was gone.” Pawel glances at the bathroom door. The water’s running, which means Emma shouldn’t be listening. Not that it matters; Conor will tell her everything later. “As you know, there are five primary types of Lineage Talent.”

“Clan, Mage, Empath, Healer, and Dreamwalker,” Conor says quickly. “I know. And there are Legendary Talents, but you think they’re all the same thing.”

“I’m working on modifying everything I know and have written about Talent so far,” Pawel admits. “It turns out that Dreamwalkers and Shadowwalkers have a lot in common; they’re both a type of Traveler. I’m going to need to redo all of my published texts, or at the very least, issue errata.”

“I thought you said Shadowwalkers stole souls,” Conor said.

“I was wrong.” Pawel glances at Leo; they just talked about this last night. Leo’s fingers are flying over the screen of his phone. He’s probably talking to Colt, Pawel assumes. Whatever it is, Leo won’t be any help here. Pawel pushes his hands through his hair, and huffs out a quick breath. “Short version: Someone did a ritual that fucked things up—”

“Language!” Conor says, a small smile breaking through.

“And for a time, instead of Traveling into the Split, Shadowwalkers had their souls ripped from them, splitting them apart,” Pawel explains. “When we went between the worlds, we ended up in the same place as Chelsea, and we were able to help her return.”

“I have so many questions.” Conor carefully unfolds himself and slides out of bed. His hair sticks up, and his t-shirt is wrinkled, and there are still imprints from the blanket on his cheek. He solemnly holds out one hand to Chelsea. “Hi. I’m Conor.”

She solemnly takes his hand. “I’m Chelsea. I’m glad I got to meet you. I’m also very glad I didn’t eat you when I Emerged.”

“What?” Conor’s gaze skates to Pawel. “What? Would she have?”

“It’s actually very impressive that she didn’t,” Pawel admits. “Mattie’s parents died when she Emerged. As a new Shadowwalker, Chelsea would have been starving.”

“But you’re not now?”

“I’m not now,” Chelsea agrees. “I’ve remembered how much I love chocolate, and pizza, and sushi.”

“Huh.” Conor leans back against the bed. “Are you and Dad going to be together again? Now that you’re not dead anymore?”

“Conor….” This is a line of questioning Pawel doesn’t want to go down. Next to him, Leo stops texting and lowers his phone.

“What?” Conor asks. He gestures at Leo. “Emma’s dads are married.”

The water shuts off and Emma yells out, “They’re not my dads!”

Yeah. She’s listening.

Conor continues as if he wasn’t interrupted. “Alan’s parents are married. I’ve got two parents. You aren’t divorced. Therefore, are you going to be together again?”

Chelsea laughs. “Your father and I weren’t together when you were born.”

“What?”

“Chelsea,” Pawel says quietly. He slides out of bed, standing up so that he can stretch. He doesn’t want to look at Leo, now sitting quietly without texting, but he can feel the way Leo is staring at him. Conor’s magic crackles in the air like ozone before lightning. Chelsea sits on the end of the bed, her hands folded in her lap.

The bathroom door cracks open, and Emma peeks out. “Is it safe to come out?”

“I’m going to shower now,” Conor announces. “Then I want breakfast. Then we can go to the festival.” He grabs his things and pushes past Emma on the way into the bathroom, slamming the door as soon as she’s out.

“He hates me,” Chelsea says quietly.

“He doesn’t even know you.” Pawel puts both hands over his face. Maybe when he removes them, things will go back to normal. It was awkward enough waking up wrapped up in someone else’s husband. Chelsea appearing is just too much. “I need a do-over on this morning,” he mutters.

Chelsea makes a small noise. “Do you want me to go?”

Pawel wants to say yes. He wants to tell her to let him get through this weekend and get back home—for the value of home that really means his father’s place—and then he’ll introduce her to Conor. But it’s too late for that. 

“No.” Leo’s voice is low and firm. “I’ll take the kids down to breakfast; I can clean up when I get back. Conor probably just needs….” He doesn’t finish the sentence, and Pawel appreciates that. Conor is his kid, no matter how much time he’s apparently been spending with Colt and Leo. Pawel knows what Conor needs.

No. Not really. He has no idea what Conor needs right now, and he’s pretty sure Conor isn’t going to tell him. Mostly because he’s not sure Conor knows himself.

Pawel presses his fingers against his eyes, trying to steady his breath. When he drops his hands, both Leo and Chelsea are staring at him, while Emma is resolutely watching the tablet in her lap.

“Conor probably needs some time to process,” Pawel says slowly. “I’d been going to tell him about you, Chelsea, but time has not been on our side. I’ve only been here for a few days, and we’ve had a lot going on.” It’s only a tiny lie. Conor’s life has been fine. It’s Pawel’s mind that’s been moving a mile a minute. 

“Maybe he’ll talk to you and Emma.” Pawel directs his words at Leo. “He’s only going to yell at me.”

“These walls are really thin,” Emma says. “He can totally hear you talking about him right now. I didn’t even have to try to listen.”

“You could have at least pretended to let us have privacy,” Leo points out. He slides out of bed and grabs for his jeans and a t-shirt. He raises his voice. “Breakfast, Conor. Come on.”

“They’d better have bacon!” Conor shouts back, as the water turns off.

Pawel has to agree. This is a very bacon necessary kind of day.

Chelsea hunches her shoulders when the door to the bathroom bangs open. Conor marches past her to hold out his hand in front of Emma, taking his tablet back. He switches to a new video and hands it back to her to hold while he gets his shoes on.

“Hey.” Leo drops a hand on Pawel’s shoulder, leaning close enough to murmur, “It’s going to be okay. Take however long you need. Once you’ve had a chance to talk, and wash up, come on down to breakfast. You can stay with the kids then, while I come back up. If we’re a little late to the venue, that’ll be fine. It’ll all work out.”

“You must be the most even-tempered man on the force,” Pawel mutters. Leo’s patience is astounding.

“That’s your father,” Leo says. “And funny thing about both Cap and me. We both had to deal with your chaos when we were younger.” He flashes a grin, squeezing Pawel’s shoulder. “I’ll see you in a bit.” His gaze shifts to where Chelsea still sits on the edge of the bed, not meeting his eyes. “It was nice to meet you. But maybe next time it’d be nice if you weren’t standing over my bed while I sleep.”

“Mm.” Chelsea’s agreement is soft. Her fingers twist around each other, hands wringing until the door closes once Leo, Conor, and Emma have left. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know any other way to get to you. Mattie says I need a phone, and she’s right. I know that technology’s changed a lot in the last nine years, too.”

“Mattie has a phone and could have contacted me,” Pawel points out. He sinks to sit on the edge of the bed next to her. “Chelsea. We have to work out what’s happening here, and how you’re going to be in my life. Conor’s life. And if that’s even going to work out.”

“I can’t not be a part of your life.” Chelsea’s voice is tight, her hands twined so tightly together that her fingers show white. “I’ve spent a few weeks with Mattie. I have a handle on how my power works, and the one thing I know is that if I ever need to find you, all I have to do is step into a shadow, and when I step back out, you’ll be there.”

Wait. “Are you saying…?”

“Only a few times. To test it. You were sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake you,” she says softly. “I tried not to be creepy about it. I guess I failed.” She lets her breath out in a whoosh. “It’s hard, Pawel. I remember being a freshman in college, and I remember being pregnant, and I remember giving birth and being so excited. Then I remember being a soul-sucking creature, with a lot of murderous intent, and until I found you again I couldn’t control that. Even then it was a thin line sometimes. I nearly drank one of your boys.”

“Do you and Mattie have any idea how disturbing it is to hear you phrase it that way?” Pawel asks dryly. “Rory is her favorite because even he doesn’t understand how his power works. But he’s overflowing with it, according to her.”

“He’s the tall one?” Chelsea reaches one hand up, high above her head. At Pawel’s nod, she says, “I remember him, and yes, he is. He’d be delicious. But he’s not the one I almost accidentally snacked on. That was Seth. When he and Nikolai were together—their powers fed off of each other somehow. They twined together. They were truly tempting.” She presses her lips together. “I’ll try not to talk about it, but to be fair, I don’t have a lot of other lived experience in most of the last decade.”

“I know.” Pawel slides a hand over hers, his thumb stroking against her skin until she relaxes and he can gently twine their hands together. “You missed getting to raise Conor.”

“There’s still a lot more to go,” Chelsea says hesitantly. “I’d like to get to know him. I know that you and I—we weren’t, even then.”

“Yes, but please, next time don’t drop that like a bomb on Conor’s head.”

Chelsea’s cheeks go pink, her fingers squeezing Pawel’s. “I’m sorry. I just… you and I were just what we were. And it’s hard not to think of that as yesterday. I remember lying under the stars, with my belly as big as a house, and we were trying to talk about the future. And it’s so hard to see the future when you’re nineteen and about to give birth and you’ve got to think about exams and papers and getting to class on time. We promised that we’d do this together, and we promised that if either of us ever fell for someone, we’d leave room in our lives. In Conor’s life.”

“I remember.” Pawel had lain on the ground, his head on her shoulder and his hand on her belly. He had been able to feel Conor doing lazy flips. “We talked about all our lost opportunities.”

“And we vowed to help each other not lose any more chances. That if something came up, we’d be support for each other and grab onto things and hold on tight.” Chelsea glances at him. “That really was Leo, right? The guy you loved back in high school?”

“One of them.” Pawel had forgotten that he’d carried their photos in his wallet for so long. When he’d lost Chelsea, that had made him move on from all of them. He’d focused on Conor. He still focuses primarily on Conor. That’s more than enough for his daily life. “That’s Leo, yes. He’s married to Colt. They have five foster kids, and might be getting three more. One of his fosters has become best friends with Conor.”

“That sounds complicated.”

It is. Except. “It really isn’t.” Pawel looks at the floor. “They’re happily married, and I’m working on figuring out how to be friends with them again, for Conor’s sake. Do I have regrets about the past? Of course I do. But this isn’t the past, right? Me and them, me and you—none of us are who we were. They’re married. I’ve got Conor. I need to figure out how to help him understand what’s going on. That’s my focus now. And yes, you can get to know him, but only if he wants to. It’s got to be up to him. No more appearing from the shadows in rooms that have closed doors, okay? I don’t care who you feel drawn to.”

He has a suspicion her link isn’t only to him. She doesn’t confirm it, but she doesn’t deny it either. Pawel’s sure she’s on the same wavelength as he is. She always was before.

Chelsea lets go of his hand and stands slowly. She smoothes her skirt down, then fluffs her curls. “Fairy tales don’t have happy endings, because the part where the story ends is just the beginning,” she says. “Just like you said getting your black belt wasn’t an end, it was the start of a new journey. So. This is just another new story, right?”

Pawel leans his hands on his legs, tilts his head back. “Are you going to hate me if I say you remind me of my mom?”

“I’m pretty sure you said that to me when we met.” Chelsea giggles. “It was when we were playing hide and seek during orientation, and I said that maybe fairies were hiding in the bushes with us. You said that reminded you of your mom. I conjured lights, because I wanted to tease you, and your Talent promptly exploded in a shower of sparks and we lost the game.”

Right.

“You showed me magic was real,” Pawel says.

“And you showed me that Emergence and Lineage had nothing to do with power and strength,” Chelsea replies. “I knew you were a part of my life then. We just got wrong how it was supposed to be. This time we’ll get it right.”

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