I had no idea what or looked like, but it probably wasn’t pretty. I waved that idea away.
“However.” I eyed every person gathered around the kitchen island as I spoke. “The new Calliope has some catching up to do. I want to be able to leave this property for trainings and workshops. I need to know that Harper, Thatcher, Sallie, and anyone else living here is as safe as they can be without feeling like their lives are on hold. I know what it’s like to live that way, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.” Tapping my fingers against the countertop, I let that confession sink in.
“Granddaughter, may I speak?” Christoph asked.
“Please. Yes.”
“I’ve not spent much time with little ones. In my position among the Magicals in the north, I was given the responsibility of mentoring teenagers and those who bloom later, even into their early twenties. Now that our family is reunited, there is nothing, nothing, that would please me more than to stay here and guide my great-grandsons into their unique magics.”
Oh, Goddess, I was going to need to build an addition to the house, complete with an aerie.
“I want to say yes, Christoph, but one thing concerns me.” I pointed to the arches of his richly feathered wings rising behind each shoulder. “Your wings. You can’t go out in public, even here on Salt Spring Island. I’ve seen people with wings cavorting around downtown. They ain’t real wings. Your wings…” I’d taken the cup with his name on it and turned it over and over in my hands. “Your wings exude magic.”
Wes coughed. “Christoph?”
My grandfather worried at the rings on his thumbs and cleared his throat. “I can force my wing feathers to molt, everything but the coverts. With Wes’s help and a bit of ingenuity, we can manufacture a flexible, removable garment that will hold the wing bones to my arms, from the humerus”—he pointed to his upper arm—“all the way down to the metacarpals and phalanges.” He wiggled his fingers. “It’ll mean I have to wear long-sleeved shirts or sweatshirts all the time, maybe gloves, but that’s manageable.” He chuckled. “The change takes my ability to fly out of the equation, but I have other magic I can tap into. The boys’ll just have to help me practice. I haven’t molted in years. It’ll be fun.”
Mischief lit up his eyes. When he glanced at Thatcher and waggled his eyebrows, I almost pulled the plug on using our genetic connection to safeguard my sons. I wanted to know what Christoph’s “other magic” was—and I kind of did not—but sending the boys away to private school on another continent, under aliases, was not an option.
“How does that sound to you, Thatcher?” I asked. He gave the idea two thumbs up. “And what about you, Harp?”
Where Thatcher’s eagerness made his whole body vibrate, I couldn’t deny that the resonating silence of Harper’s hesitation made my heart hurt.
“Mom?” he started. “Can you take me off speakerphone so I can say something?”
I palmed my phone, walked around the island, and stepped onto the front porch. “It’s just you and me, sweetheart.”
“I didn’t ask for any of this, Mom. I didn’t ask for a father who’s a power junkie and who doesn’t give a fuck about who I am and what I want. I didn’t ask for a mother who lied to me about who she really is either. And I didn’t ask for wings.” He chuffed out his breath. “But I love you, Mom, and I love Thatch, and I’m probably going to need a lot of therapy at some point in my life.”
“I’ll start a money jar today.”
He snorted softly. “I want my life to be as normal as fucking possible while I finish high school. I want to go look at colleges and do stupid shit with my friends and spend time with Lei-li where we’re not having to be under adult supervision twenty-four seven. If you can promise me that, Mom, I’m on board. One hundred percent. But I need some freedom and space and normalcy. And I want to drop Dad’s last name.”
I glanced into the house. No one had moved, but they were talking. Maybe Thatcher and Sallie were expressing similar thoughts. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and spoke a vow I prayed to Goddess I would not regret. “Harper Jones, I promise you a normal life.”
“Thanks, Mom. And just so we’re clear, I expect my normal to be off-the-charts magical.”
I returned my cell phone to the counter. “Harper? I have you three on speakerphone.”
Thatcher’s notifications were firing. “Harp, man, I can’t keep up with texting, but yeah, Sallie and I agree, magical normal’s the new normal.” He turned off the ringer and pocketed his phone. “Sorry.”
“At this rate you’re going to need a bunkhouse, Calliope,” said Wes, interjecting a bit of comic relief.
“Funny you should mention that because yeah, I don’t know what other options we have.” I was ready to table this discussion and get on with breakfast. “Christoph, you can have my office as soon as I transfer everything I need into my bedroom.”
“Bunk beds!” said Thatcher, high-fiving Sallie.
I cleared my throat. “Two more items. Stay with me. I met Jessamyne.”
“Who’s that?” asked Thatcher.
“An old friend of Tanner’s,” I said. “She brought Cliff and Abi to the hospital late last night. After we’re done here, I’m calling to see when I can visit. I want to believe Jessamyne did what she said, but I won’t until I see the Pearmains in person.”
“Do you want anyone to go with you?”
I shook my head. “If I can’t reach Tanner and have him meet me there, I’ll go in alone. I might have to finagle my way past the police. But Officer Jack’s an old friend.”
“Do you know where Tanner is?”
Busted. I shook my head again and rearranged the
