Cat's Quill (29 page)

Mikey stared. "You never said anything about a Wynne Emerys Edmonds," he griped. "You're supposed to be telling me about this stuff. I'm helping."

"Wynne's middle name is Emerys?" Tomas spluttered. He grabbed the pile of letters for 1918 and started looking back through them frantically. "She doesn't say that, I'm sure she doesn't. I would have remembered!" Their son had Cathal's last name as part of his, and it was the same as the elusive author he'd been tracking. No wonder Cathal had connected with the bloody book quickly and been so adamant there wasn't a sequel. But Tomas still wasn't convinced. Just because he couldn't find it didn't mean Alice and Christian's story had to end there....

Diving into his bag, he pulled out his copy of
In Hidden Places
, scanning the ending. How could he have been so stupid? Christian and Alice were the names of the main characters. He'd lost her, she'd grown old and died, and they had never seen each other again. Their story had ended on a very melancholy note, rather than the happy ending he'd expected and wanted. It was one of the reasons why the book had haunted him.

"Tomas?" Donovan laid a hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Tomas breathed, ignoring the fact that Mikey was in the room and he shouldn't be using that kind of language. He looked up, seeing Donovan and Mikey yet not, his mind going back to something Cathal had said to him when they'd discussed the book. "This is what happens when lines are crossed and rules are broken," he remembered out loud. No! This was not how it had happened, not how it was going to happen this time.

He pointed to the final words of the book, handing it to Donovan, who read it aloud.
"However long it takes, I will come back for her. I need to feel her hand in mine, kiss her and hold her again if only for one last time before we both pass on, each from our own world to the next. We will have our forever, a future together, whatever it takes. For she is mine and I am hers and they cannot take what we had away from us for our love will endure, even if our mortal lives do not."

"Don't you see?" Tomas waved one of the letters at Donovan. "She could have written this, or at least someone who knew her did. It's their story, not some work of fiction. It has to be."

"Why don't you ask him?" Mikey snatched the book out of Donovan's hand, turning it over so he could see the front cover. He ran his fingers over the illustrations and laughed. "See, I knew Cat believed in dragons! This proves it."

"What?" Tomas glared at Mikey. "Give that back," he growled, but Mikey kept staring at the watercolor of the dragon on the front cover, smiling at it almost as though the attention he gave was returned. The creature was very ethereal-looking, the outline of its body solid yet somehow not quite real as it stood behind the man, providing him with protective shadow as he shielded the woman from some unseen foe.

"You could just ask him," the boy repeated as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, so obvious both Tomas and Donovan were missing it completely.

"Ask who?" Donovan asked. "I know you believe in dragons, Mikey, and magic and all that crap, but that doesn't mean they exist."

"It does too!" Mikey clutched the book close to him. "Cat thinks they do, and so does my granddad. He's seen stuff too, just like I have." He stared defiantly at both of them. "Just because everyone doesn't see things doesn't mean they don't exist."

Tomas was beginning to lose his patience. "Ask who?" he snapped.

"My granddad," Mikey said.

"Why would we want to ask your granddad, Mikey?" Donovan's voice was very calm, the same tone he'd used with Tomas earlier in the day when he'd hit his head.

It was Heidi who answered from the doorway of the kitchen. "Because," she said, "apparently he's Alice and Christian's son and, I'm guessing, the guy who wrote that book."

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Chapter Nineteen

"Did anyone ever tell you how annoying you are when you pace?" Mikey leaned against the wall of the reception area of the nursing home, a pink bubble blowing out of his mouth and then popping several times over, each more irritating than the last. What was even more disturbing was the fact the color of the bubbles was a perfect match for the paint on the walls, long corridors of pale pink interrupted at intervals by paintings of what appeared to be local scenery.

"What's taking them so long?" Tomas eyed the bell on the front counter again, logic reminding him that the nurse on duty had already told them it would be at least five minutes. After all, although they had shown up before the end of the residents' afternoon sleep, it was important to keep to established routines. While the place seemed nice enough and bright and cheerful, it was not somewhere he would want to stay long-term. Logically, he knew routines had their place, but he'd hated them enough during his school years to know he certainly didn't want to spend the later years of his life being told when to eat, sleep, or... anything else.

"Granddad sleeps until five every afternoon. I already told you that." Mikey popped another bubble, picked up a magazine, turned it at several angles, looking at it this way and that, and then threw it back onto the large wooden coffee table. "I keep telling them they should have decent stuff in here to read, but they don't listen to me," he griped, plonking himself down onto one of the comfortable stuffed couches. "No one does."

Tomas sighed, his helpful little inner voice, for which he already had a slow and painful death planned, having already pointed out connections he had been trying not to dwell on. That voice also sounded suspiciously like the annoying kid in front of him; that same kid to which, it appeared, Cathal was related. Fuck, how the hell had that happened? All this time of looking for clues, and everything had come together to this.

They'd all stared at Heidi as she'd explained what she'd found at the church and described her growing realization that they were about the only people in the village who didn't know about Alice Finlay's descendants. Wynne Emerys Edmonds had married later in life to a woman called Sarah Maria Donaldson, shortly before his mother's death in 1945. They'd had a daughter, Elizabeth Winifred Edmonds, in turn, and she had married one Edward Joseph Flynn, giving birth to Michael Emerys Flynn only to die three days later, leaving her husband a widower with a newborn baby to care for.

"You didn't listen to me either," Mikey continued. "If I'd known all that stuff, I could have helped." He grinned. "I guess Cat and I are cousins or something. That's way cool."

"Not from where I'm standing," Tomas muttered. If they found Cathal, brought him back, and his and Tomas's relationship continued, did that mean he might be related to Mikey as well? He shuddered, not wanting to go there in the slightest. One crisis at a time, and more importantly, they needed to find Cathal first.

"Dad never said anything about my mum meeting him either." Mikey chewed on his gum, his mood suddenly switching to something more thoughtful. "But then he never talks about her anyway." He shrugged. "He didn't even tell me that our family used to own the house before it became an inn. Granddad always said I inherited the drawing thing from his mother, but he never mentioned her name and I never knew." He frowned. Tomas wondered what else Mikey didn't know about his family history. Quite a bit, if his reaction to recent information was anything to go by.

"Cat talked about someone called Libby," Tomas reminded him. "Just because your mother's name is Elizabeth doesn't mean it's her."

"Granddad will know." Mikey had moved away from the wall to stare at the window. "He knows a lot of stuff. No one comes to see him except for me. You need to be nice to him." He lowered his voice. "People don't believe what he says sometimes, and he gets upset. You're not going to do that though, are you?"

"No, I'm not going to do that," Tomas promised, wondering what the old man said that people didn't believe. Considering who he was, it could be any number of things, and nothing should be dismissed as not holding at least an element of truth.

"Mr. Kemp?" The nurse who had greeted them earlier came striding down the corridor, the white of her stiff uniform catching what was left of the sun's rays through the skylight as she passed beneath it. "Mr. Edmonds will see you and his grandson now." She smiled at them. "He's looking forward to seeing you again, Mikey, although he does seem a bit surprised that you've brought a friend."

"Oh, Tomas isn't just a friend, Trudy," Mikey said brightly. "We've just found out he might be related one day, as he's going out with my cousin." He grinned at Tomas, who glared back.

"Oh, how nice," Trudy beamed. She was a plump woman, at least in her late forties, graying hair secured up in a bun, except for one errant strand she kept tucked behind her right ear. "I didn't know you had any cousins living locally, Mikey. You'll have to tell me all about her."

"Cat's not from around here," Mikey said, falling into step with the nurse, talking rapidly now he had a willing audience. "He's missing and we're trying to find him. He's really cool though. He and Tomas have promised to help build me a skateboard ramp. I'm sure we're going to spend lots of time together once he comes back."

"I see." Trudy glanced back over her shoulder toward Tomas, who was trailing just a little behind them. "I hope you find him, then, and bring him in to meet your grandfather, Mikey. We'd all like to meet him too, of course."

"Of course," mumbled Tomas. Trudy seemed to be taking Mikey's ramblings in stride; the look she'd given Tomas was one of sympathy, although he wasn't sure of the reason for it. She hadn't batted an eyelid over the revelation that Cathal was male and that he and Tomas were in a relationship.

Mikey grinned from ear to ear. "I drew you another picture too, but I haven't got it with me. I'll bring it next time, okay?"

"That would be lovely, thank you, Mikey." Trudy paused at the third door on the left along the corridor they were in. "I'll look forward to it. You should paint something to go on the walls here. They could do with a bit of life on them, rather than all this scenery where nothing happens."

"I don't paint," Mikey said, his expression suddenly going blank, his tone more than a little nervous. "Just sketches for friends, that's all. I already told you that."

"Think about it, okay?" Trudy glanced at Tomas again before smiling at Mikey. "It's up to you, dear, but it is a shame for all that talent to go to waste. God gives us gifts to share, not to keep to ourselves."

"Yeah yeah, sure he does." Mikey pushed past her into the room. Tomas went to follow, but Trudy stepped quickly between him and the door.

"He's a good kid but short on friends," she explained. "I went to school with his mother and promised her I'd keep an eye on him when she died." Her gaze bore into him; he met it squarely. "I don't know you, and from what I've heard, you've been saying crazy things about being attacked by people who don't exist. If something happens to Mikey, or you're using him to get close to this cousin you're interested in, I shall hunt you down and make you regret the day you were born."

Didn't anything happen in this bloody village without everyone knowing?

"I assure you, I do not need Mikey to get close to anyone," Tomas informed her icily. "You don't know me, so don't judge me and then I won't judge you." He glared at her. "Nothing is going to happen to him as long as I have any say in the matter. I'm not some arsehole who is going to drag some bloody kid into God knows what, however much he wants to help. Give me some credit."

To his surprise, Trudy grinned. "Right answer," she told him, "but my promise still stands." Opening the door, she ushered him inside with a warning not to tire Mr. Edmonds out too much and that she'd be back later. He turned to inform her that she needed to check the dictionary definition of "promises" because this was definitely more of a threat, but she'd already gone.

"So you're Tomas." An elderly man, frail-looking with white hair, sat in a rocking chair, his legs covered by a blanket. His eyes were bright, a mixture of blue and green, similar to Cathal's but not quite the same, and his voice was firm, although the tone was light.

Tomas stared for a moment before remembering his manners. "Yes, I'm Tomas Kemp," he introduced himself. "I'm pleased to finally meet you, Mr. Edmonds." He approached the chair and held out his hand.

The grip on his hand was strong; this man seemed full of contradictions already, just in his appearance. "Finally?" Wynne Edmonds chuckled. "I didn't realize my grandson had talked about me so much."

Mikey reddened, looking a little sheepish. "I haven't, Granddad," he mumbled. "Tomas has been looking for you and didn't realize who you were."

"Really?" Edmonds raised an eyebrow, his tone suspicious. "And who might you be that you're looking for an old man like myself?" His eyes narrowed. "Tell me, Mr. Kemp, do you believe in dragons?"

What the hell was this bloody fixation with dragons? Tomas opened his mouth to reply that he didn't, then closed it again quickly, his mind racing as realization dawned that the way in which he answered this would very much result in how things progressed from here. "I'm not sure," he said finally, slowly. "I'd like to, I think, but I've never seen one." He paused. "My friend, Cat, says that just because you don't believe in something doesn't mean it doesn't exist. I think he believes in them." Another pause; he could see Edmonds watching him closely, his eyes widening very slightly, almost imperceptibly at the mention of Cathal's name. "And in magic."

"Shut the door, Mikey," Edmonds told his grandson, not taking his eyes off Tomas. "Who are you, Mr. Kemp, and how much do you know of such things?" He pulled the blanket over himself more, his fingers turning the edge of it this way and that.

"I've met Cat too, Granddad," Mikey butted in. "He's cool. He and Tomas were kissing."

Edmonds raised his eyebrow. "I see," he said slowly, his tone softening. "Just how far have you fallen for him, Mr. Kemp?"

"I...." There was something in Edmonds's expression that reminded him of Cathal, although they were not directly related as such. Tomas wondered for a moment how much of a family resemblance there was between Cathal and his cousin, or rather, how much there had been. He swallowed. "I'm in love with him," he admitted, wondering why he was telling this man he'd only just met how he felt.

"I see," Edmonds said again. He sighed. "Mikey, I need you to do something for me before this goes any further. Your sketchpad is in the usual place. Do you think you could sketch me a picture of Cat so I can see what he looks like?"

"Sure." Mikey opened the bottom drawer of the tallboy in the corner of the room, taking out a sketchpad and a pencil case. Choosing a pencil, he settled himself down on the floor and began drawing. "I can draw them kissing, if you want." Tomas glared at him. "Or not."

"Tell me a little about yourself," Edmonds asked Tomas, "and why you've been looking for me." He shrugged. "I'm not exactly someone anyone looks for, and I prefer it that way. I keep to myself, and about the only person who visits me is Mikey here." He smiled fondly at the boy, but Mikey had his head down, busy sketching, and didn't appear to notice. "He reminds me of my daughter, Libby. He has her coloring which is the same as my Sarah's." He shifted his gaze to the window, although his eyes grew unfocused. "Everyone leaves or dies, without even having the chance to grow old and live a good life. Why is that?"

Mikey's head came up at the mention of his mother's name. He shot Tomas an "I told you so" look, but his grandfather gave him a curt shake of his head, and he returned to his sketching.

"I don't know," Tomas answered honestly, sitting down on the other chair in the room; it was cane and straight-backed with an embroidered cushion on the seat. "I've often wondered the same thing." He cleared his throat, not sure how to start describing himself and not wanting to share too much. This amount of attention made him nervous, especially with someone he didn't know. He hadn't realized just how much he had opened up to Cathal until now. There was so much he still needed to tell him, so much to be learned in return. It just wasn't fair.

"Mr. Kemp?" Edmonds prompted gently.

"I'm a writer," Tomas explained in the finish. "I found your book
In Hidden Places
years ago, and I've always been convinced there was a sequel. I tried to find you, but I couldn't." He let the hope rise again just for a moment. There had to be more than what was in the letters. Maybe Christian had returned to her but she'd hidden it, cautious right to the end. They'd have to have seen each other again, even briefly.

"My book?" Edmonds shook his head with a sad smile. "I wish it were that simple, lad, but these things never are." He nodded toward the cup on his bedside table. "If you could hand me that, I'd appreciate it. I was drinking it before you came." He frowned. "It was lunchtime, or was it teatime? I can never remember." For a moment he looked lost; the expression on his face was one of bewilderment. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Tomas." Tomas got up and retrieved the cup. It was cold. "Do you want me to get you another?"

"Another what?" Edmonds frowned and then focused on the cup in Tomas's hand. "No, that coffee is terrible. If I let it go cold, they tip it out, you know." He tapped the side of his nose. "Besides, I prefer the hot chocolate my mother used to make. Have you seen her today? She promised to bring me some if I was good and went to bed on time." His tone lowered. "I think she's busy though, writing in that journal of hers. Do you want to see it? I know I have it here somewhere. She gave it to me, you know."