My Reaper's Daughter (47 page)

The High Lord sighed again. “Don’t start with me, Aingeal,” he warned. “I’m in no

mood for it.”

Lady Aingeal Cree stood at the foot of the stairs, a hand on the newel post. “He

could not let the little one die. Surely you can understand that if not condone it.”

Lord Kheelan straightened but did not turn around. “It wasn’t only that

transferring a hellion to the child was morally wrong, Aingeal. He disobeyed a direct

order. Had it been left up to me, I’d have discharged him, slapped his ass in a con cell

for two years and let it go at that. It wasn’t me who ordered the flogging.” He winced

for he hadn’t meant to say that.

“You flogged him?” Aingeal questioned with a gasp. “Kheelan, how could you?”

“It was Morrigunia’s decision, not mine. Why don’t you take it up with Her and ask

her why She chose that particular punishment for him.”

“Is he all right?”

“He’s fine and he’ll heal. The lashes were closing even before he was taken down

from the whipping post. He took the punishment well and has paid dearly for his

momentary lapse of judgment.”

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“Momentary lapse of judgment? Will you get your head out of your ass just this

once, Kheelan? He loves that child and she loves him,” Aingeal told him. “Do you

understand what that means? Do you have any conception of what love is? Have you

ever
loved anything in your life?”

The Shadowlord never looked around as he started up the stairs again, his normally

rigid shoulders slumped. “I love you,” Kheelan admitted softly.

* * * * *

Valda sat her dolly in one of the four little chairs that were ranged around the table.

“Now, Angie, you be good while I make us a cup of tea,” she said.

“Knock-knock.”

The little girl glanced around to see a very pretty lady with bright red hair standing

in the doorway of the playroom.

“May I come in, Lady Valda?” the lady asked.

Valda nodded, unable to speak for her visitor was the most beautiful thing the child

had ever seen.

“Oh, you’re having tea!” the lady said, green eyes dancing, palms coming together

in a silent clap. “May I join you?”

Recovering from her surprise, the little girl lifted her chin. “Please do,” she said,

and indicated a chair. “You can sit with Angie.”

“I would be ever so delighted,” the lady responded, and pulled out a chair. “Good

afternoon, Angie.” With infinite care, she took the dolly’s hand and shook it. “So

pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Valda was intrigued by her guest and when she brought the small china tea service

Harold had given her over to the table and set it down, she asked the lady’s name.

“My dear, dear friends call me Morri,” the lady said, and put out her hand.

Valda shook hands with the lady, smiling broadly. “Would you like one lump or

two, Morri?”

“Two please,” Morri replied. “And lemon if you have it.” She lowered her voice. “I

do so love lemon in my tea. Don’t you?”

“Oh yes,” Valda agreed. She dropped two pretend lumps of sugar into Morri’s cup,

a hard squeeze of make-believe lemon then the imaginary tea. “Be careful. It’s hot.”

Morri took up her cup delicately, blew across the rim then took a sip, rolling her

eyes before declaring the tea the very best she’d ever drank.

“Would you like a scone?” Valda inquired. “With jam?”

“Oh please.”

For the next half hour, the little girl and her visitor chatted politely, partook of their

make-believe tea and then retired to the small loveseat Sir Giles had provided for

Valda’s reading and coloring activities.

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My Reaper’s Daughter

“This is a most pleasant abode, Lady Valda,” Morri complimented her.

“Yes, I am quite content here,” Valda acknowledged. “I have everything except…”

She frowned.

“Except?” Morri encouraged.

Valda sighed loudly. “A puppy.” She gave Morri a sad little expression. “I really

wanted a puppy but that mean old man wouldn’t let me have one.”

Morri leaned over and in a very low voice said, “We mustn’t call him a mean old

man, but you know what we could call him?”

“What?”

“Mom,” Morri said.

“He’s not a mama,” Valda disagreed. “He’s a boy. You’re being silly, Morri.”

Morri’s eyes sparkled. “Can you spell mom?”

“M.O.M,” Valda pronounced proudly.

“Well, now. Those appear to be the same letters of the words mean old man. Aren’t

they?” Morri queried, gently putting the thought into Valda’s very active brain.

Valda perked up. “Yes, they are!” She giggled. “I’m going to call him mom from

now on!”

Morri laughed. “That would be fitting, I think.” She lowered her voice again. “And

I think I can do something about getting you a pet.”

“A puppy!?” Valda gasped.

“Well no, because he was right about this not being a good place for a puppy. I

have something even better in mind.” She laid a soft hand on the child’s shoulder.

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just close your eyes and I’ll give you a
big
surprise!”

Valda closed her eyes.

The Triune Goddess got to Her feet and tenderly lay the child down on the loveseat,

willing Valda into a deep slumber that would last until She returned. Then with the

twinkle of an eye, the goddess was gone.

Through time and space and the blackness of the megaverse She flew until She

arrived on Cengus, a place far, far away from Terra. It did not take Her long to find the

abode of Rory Quinn and his lady-wife Kendall.

“Lady Munchkin?” She called softly at the window. “May I have an audience?”

The Elfinish hopped up on the windowsill and stared at the goddess. “
Mo Regina
,”

she acknowledged regally. “How kind of you to visit us.”

“Might I intrude with a moment of your time?” Morrigunia inquired.

“Of course.”

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Morrigunia slipped through the wall and into the small house where the Phantom

and his mate had settled.

Munchkin’s overly large, overly pointed ears twitched, and the sparse tuft of hair

on her head quivered. “What brings you to this humble residence,
Mo Regina
?” the

Elfinish asked.

“A favor I would ask of you.”

The Elfinish inclined her little head. “Go on.”

“All is well with you and Dasher?” Morrigunia inquired, referring to the lanky cat’s

sometimes mate.

“We share pleasurable things at times though not my litter box,” Munchkin said

with a sniff. “No one shares my litter box.”

“As it should be,” the goddess agreed. “Where is the Dashing Romeo now?”

“Back on Theristes with the one he owns,” the Elfinish answered. “You know we

must watch them every moment lest they do something stupid.”

“And that is as it should be as well. Humans need the guidance of Worldly Ones

else they do not live up to their full potentials.”

“Is that why you are here,
Mo Regina
?” Munchkin asked.

“There is a child on Terra who needs such direction and I believe one of your

progeny might provide just the right kind of assistance for her.”

“I see,” Munchkin said, and patted over to the sofa and hopped up. She preened for

a moment, licking the balls of fur that grew in clumps on her side and back legs.

Morrigunia waited patiently for the Elfinish for She knew such creatures could not

be rushed. They disdained humans and allowed only grudging companionship to those

they considered worthy. They only spoke to humans who met certain criteria and could

be very acerbic to those they considered fools.

“Is this child special then?” Munchkin questioned then began hacking, finally

coughing up a reddish brown fur ball, which she calmly deposited on the sofa. After a

close inspection of the matted evacuation, the Elfinish moved away from it. Either Rory

or Kendall would get rid of it.

“The child is six Terran years and was given a hellion by one of my Reapers. She is

indeed very special and her destiny is such that she will be spoken of in history tomes

yet to be written.”

“Ah,” Munchkin said. “Then I believe I have just the teacher for her.” She padded

toward a door leading deeper into the house.

* * * * *

Valda felt the scrape of something wet and rough against her cheek and opened her

eyes—which widened as she gazed at the diminutive creature perched upon her chest.

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My Reaper’s Daughter

“I am Bumble Bee, though I find that name utterly detestable,” the cat declared. “I

am of course an Elfinish from the lineage of Lady Munchkin and Lord Dasher. You may

call me Precious if you are so inclined. I rather like that name.”

“You’re a cat!” Valda whispered. “You’re not supposed to be able to talk!”

“Well, of course I can talk, silly human child!” Bumble Bee stated. She cocked her

small, furless head with its single spiky tuft to one side. “And I would appreciate it if

you would not refer to me as a cat or a feline. Those are such boring, inadequate terms

to classify a being of my splendor.”

That said, Bumble Bee jumped down and with the strangest walk Valda had ever

seen began inspecting the playroom, sniffing everything in her path, her tiny little

mouth open as she sucked smells into her Jacobsen’s gland. The Elfinish’s back feet

made little quirky kicks as she moved.

“Where
is
my bed and where
is
my litter box?” Bumble Bee queried. “I must have

both here in this room and in your sleeping chambers as well. One on every floor would

not be amiss either.” She turned her very small little head from side to side. “And my

feed and water bowls? Where are
they
?”

It was at that moment that Penthesilea Aracnea stuck her head in the door, curious

about the playroom of which Sir Giles had spoken and eager to let the child—the future

Reaper—know she bore no ill will toward the little girl’s new father. Upon seeing the

Elfinish, Penthe let out a shriek and rushed into the room.

“Oh Worldly One! Greetings!” the Amazeen went to one knee before the little

creature, head bowed with deep respect. “I am honored to be in your august presence.”

She extended her hand, palm up, eyes down.

“Well, of course you are,” Bumble Bee grumbled as she lightly touched her paw to

the warrioress’s palm. “Now get up. You look silly on the floor.”

Valda giggled although she was a bit afraid of the tall woman who towered above

her and who was nearly as big as her new papa.

“Sit, warrioress,” Bumble Bee ordered with a flick of her hairless tail. “I have been

informed of you and together we must train this young one for her destiny. We shall

discuss her preparation.”

Penthe’s eyes shown with unshed tears. “Worldly One, I am not worthy of such an

honor.”

“Most likely not but if the goddess believes you are, I must accept the possibility—

farfetched as it may seem—that you could be.”

“I will strive to earn your respect, Worldly One,” Penthe swore.

“Humpf,” was the Elfinish’s reply.

Valda sat on the loveseat and her little eyes moved back and forth between the

warrior woman and the tiny creature who paced about the room with that weird, jerky

gait. A talking cat was such a shock and she couldn’t wait to tell her mother and father.

“By the gods, an Elfinish!”

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Three sets of eyes zeroed in on the door where the High Lord stood, his face as

white as chalk.

“Oh yes, I believe you are the one called mom,” Bumble Bee growled. “Go away.

We do not wish your company.”

“Mom?” Lord Kheelan repeated, forehead creased. “No, Worldly One, I am—”

“Proving to be an utter nuisance. Go away, I say!” Bumble Bee hissed. “Warrioress,

close that door. His very presence offends me.”

The Shadowlord was still standing in the doorway when Penthe stood and shut the

door in his face.

Lord Kheelan’s lips parted for no one—no one—had ever dared to slam a door in

his face. That it was his head of security was without doubt an added insult.

“An Elfinish,” he repeated then winced. “I hate cats.” His curled into his palms. “I

hate
cats!”

“Then you should have let her have a puppy,”
an amused voice whispered in his head.

* * * * *

The pain had proven to be more than Glyn had bargained for and as he lay upon

the cot in sickbay, he thought of that first lash and how unprepared he’d been for the

agony of it. Though the discomfort had left him, he felt weak and laid low by the

punishment.

As he was being flogged and straining valiantly to keep his head up and not to

make a sound, he was acutely reminded of the lightning strike that had killed him. His

fellow Reapers were standing side by side at his back watching, and when the last

stroke was delivered, the Amazeen had come up to him to whisper, “It’s over, Reaper.

Well done.”

Arawn and Bevyn had stepped forward to unshackle him. Neither of them spoke to

him and he realized they most likely didn’t know what to say. They supported him

until he was able to stand upright, using his waning strength to walk unaided. It had

almost cost him his consciousness to square his shoulders and take that first step but the

moment he turned, his fellow Reapers snapped to attention and saluted him. Owen had