Bram smiled. “I admit, she is growing on me.”
“I love you, Bram.”
“I love you too, Oliver.”
20
A Flower Without a Story
Oberon Sebastian Goodfellow took his first breath in the lake behind Kilgarrah Abaddon’s house, which didn’t harm him one jot since he was a water jinn. In fact, when he surfaced, gasping at the cold air, he was so offended by it that he wailed all the way back to the house.
Bram had been taking his usual morning swim with Oliver, who followed him everywhere, when a dull pain pulsed around his stomach, squeezing at his insides. He had imagined that he would spend hours puffing and panting in a bed while Marnie and Oliver exchanged worried looks. The baby had a different plan, delivering himself swiftly into his other father’s capable hands as Bram breathed through his pain.
With the babe cradled in Bram’s arms, Oliver carried them both back to the house. Bram was exhausted but happy, and the baby had settled by the time Oliver got them inside. They niftily avoided Cecilia’s detection, but couldn’t escape Marnie’s notice, nor the subsequent fussing.
Bram and Oliver had stayed on at Abaddon’s house for reasons of safety and privacy, but soon they would move to Oliver’s ancestral home. This news caused Armando to sulk at length until Bram reminded him that they could translocate in an instant whenever they wished.
It was two weeks later when Uriel arrived with Davy, who was loaded with gifts as if he were a donkey. Uriel hogged the baby for his entire visit, muttering like a fool as Cecilia lifted his new pocket watch unnoticed.
“I bring news,” Uriel said, looking pointedly at Abaddon.
“Come, Cecilia,” Abaddon called. “Marnie needs a cake taster in the kitchen.”
The girl stealthily tucked the watch in her pocket before following her papa to the kitchen.
“What news?” Bram asked.
“Your mother has been taken in by relatives, but the rumours about your father are true, I’m afraid. He’s dead.”
Bram tried to feel something, but there was nothing there. He mustered a vague sense of pity for his mother, who hadn’t known the extent of her husband’s machinations. She had, by all accounts, been confused when informed that her husband was a gambler.
“And Vernon?” Bram asked.
“Abroad. He got in deep with the wrong person, attempting to gamble his way out of the mess your father left behind.”
“Who?”
Uriel looked shiftily out of the window. “A duke. Scottish bastard. You don’t know him, but he’s a nasty fellow. Vernon won’t be back.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“I never thanked you for everything you’ve done for us.”
“No thanks are necessary, Bram. That’s what real families are for.”
What was that about wanting to feel something? Bram’s moods were already unpredictable. Now this. Warmth welled up inside him and spilled out of his eyes.
“Now look what you did,” Armando grumbled, leaning his head against Uriel’s. “You terrible, wonderful person.”
Uriel laughed until Oberon started squawking again, at which point, he resumed his nonsensical mutterings in his musical voice, silencing the baby once again. Uriel smiled smugly.
Bram had never felt fuller, his new family surrounding him like the calming waters of the lake. He could never have predicted how lucky he would become.
Oliver offered him a long-stemmed poppy. At least, Bram thought it was a poppy.
He smiled as he took the vibrant purple bloom. “Let me guess… A saint murdered a dragon, but not without injury given his inferior armour, and wherever the saint’s blood spilled—”
“No,” Oliver said, shaking his head.
“I’ve got it. A handsome young man, fought over by vicious goddesses, was fatally wounded by a… a boar while out hunting, and—”
Oliver’s laughter filled his ears. “Love, you are thinking of Adonis.”
“A fair maiden caught in the snare of some fanciful god or other… all right, let us say Zeus since he is a terrible offender in this regard. And so his wife wouldn’t become jealous, he turned the beautiful girl, for no reason whatsoever, into a hippo, and oh, how she cried. And wherever her tears fell—”
Everyone was laughing now.
“Love,” Oliver said, “this flower hasn’t been discovered yet. There are no stories, which means… we shall have to create our own.”
So they did.
Thank you for reading.
