Eric wiped his hands on a dishtowel and crossed the kitchen to press 'stop' on his portable stereo—Bon Jovi, at fairly high volume, had been making the chore of doing dishes go much more quickly.
There, again. Someone at the front door, knocking. Not family or friends, then; they knew to come to the kitchen door. He tossed the towel on the counter, brushed an escaping strand of bright blond hair out of his eyes, and headed for the living room. He spotted a narrow, red-furred muzzle peering around a corner to see what was going on, black nose twitching; what Jade discovered, his grandmother would learn in no time.
He opened the door, and hid a groan, not needing his own rather marginal witchblood to inform him that this woman was a witch: he'd met her often before.
“Ms Batista,” he greeted her politely. “Sorry I took so long. Come in, I'll let my grandmother know you're here.” He backed up to let the woman enter. Her greying brown hair was neatly styled, her fit body clad in blazer and blouse and slacks that looked new and expensive and perfectly tailored. She looked very out of place in the well-worn, slightly-messy country living room. Not that she was likely to pay any real heed to her surroundings, he thought dryly.
Jade darted out into plain sight with a saucy flick of her white-tipped bushy tail, and turned back towards the rear of the house where his grandmother's sitting room was, giving him an imperious glance over one shoulder.
“Then again, it would appear my grandmother knows already,” he added, and gestured an invitation for her to precede him.
The vixen trotted along ahead of them, leading the way down a hall, one wall lined with overfilled bookshelves, the other painted with a mural of Earth from space. He couldn't recall which members of his enormous extended family had created that, since several had artistic inclinations, and it had been done before he was actually living here. Possibly it was a team effort.
“Gran?” Eric said questioningly.
“Show her in, Eric,” came the prompt reply.
Eric pushed the door open, and their visitor brushed by him immediately. He followed, and perched on the edge of a hard chair just inside the door, unwilling to leave even with Jade present.
The vixen returned to her large turquoise pillow at Margaret Lyndell's feet and curled up, watching alertly.
It hurt, watching his grandmother, always so energetic and active and full of life, gradually losing her mobility. It was from her, through his mother, that he'd inherited his six-foot, broad-shouldered build and persistently good health. In the last few years, much of what had been hard muscle had softened, as she found it more and more painful simply to rise from her chair. Yet silver-grey hair lay over one shoulder in the same loose, careless braid as always; she'd worn that same blue-print dress, now much faded, when he was small. Over her lap was her favourite afghan, a cherished gift from an old friend now dead, summery green splashed with other colours like wildflowers in a grassy field. A leather-bound book lay on the small table beside her, a frayed once-scarlet ribbon trailing out of it as a bookmark. He couldn't recall that Margaret had ever cared much for material things.
She loved plants, though, and immeasurable greenery flourished here, in the light of the huge windows in the south wall; they hung in corners, rested on windowsills, and were wedged into the bookshelves that overflowed into this room.
“Nadine,” Margaret greeted their visitor, gesturing to one of the mismatched collection of chairs. “I wasn't expecting you today. Eric, would you make tea, please?”
“Sure, Gran.” He returned to the kitchen, put the kettle on, found the teapot and arranged it on a tray with two cups and everything else they'd need.
By the time he returned, the two women were deep in conversation. Margaret thanked him when he quietly served her tea, but Nadine Batista seemed not even to notice. Eric cleared space for the tray on the longer table against one wall; as usual, it was strewn with embroidery materials and sewing projects, yet more books, and a considerable collection of clutter that always reappeared no matter how often Eric found homes for it all. He retreated to the chair near the door, out of the way but ready in case he was needed. The dishes could wait.
As near as he could tell, their visitor sought any information his grandmother might have on a trio of witches from a nearby city who had moved to Europe, leaving behind one young witch who appeared to be showing quite a lot of potential. Eric leaned back in the chair, arms crossed, listening simply because any information could prove useful; having always made a habit of that, he knew already exactly why Nadine was interested. A talented young witch as a protegé could, if manipulated properly, enhance her own prestige and standing within the so-called Fellowship. Margaret had rejected the whole organization for its tendency towards political status games and restrictive views, their attitude towards liminals and elementals being high on the list, and had encouraged all of her gifted descendants to do the same.
Young and alone and strong, he thought cynically. Fresh meat, ripe for the slaughter, unless he's smart enough to not only see what they're going to try to do, but stay out of the traps.
Wait, did she seriously just say Terevan? Isn't that Gran's friend Ruth's family?
“Seth's son Jacob specializes mostly in plants and earth magic,” Nadine said. “Apparently he really doesn't have his father's talent in dealing with liminals, just earth-based elementals. Jacob married Rosa Murdoch from Scotland or Ireland or some-such, twenty-some years ago, and she really isn't terribly powerful, she's just been lucky enough to find and keep allies that compensate somewhat for it. We approached each of them, Jacob when he was in his teens and again later, and Rosa just after she moved here, and then both of them while Rosa was pregnant, but neither one was smart enough to consider the advantages for them and for their child if they joined. Not a big deal, since they didn't have much to offer anyway and aren't any kind of real threat.” Possibly it occurred to her that she'd just said that to a non-Fellowship witch; she hastily added, “They don't, after all, have a large family and therefore a wide pool of skills and resources to draw on.”
Maybe they don't figure they need or want that. And how much family does Rosa have in Scotland, if she wanted to go back there? Or, hey, they could ask us. Seriously, I was only eight or nine when Ruth Terevan died, but I can remember how long and how deeply Gran mourned and how terrible she felt that this was something she and Jade couldn't heal. If you had any idea, you wouldn't be giving us background on a family Gran knows much better than you do.
“Seth's sister Ruth died almost ten years ago, she was such a cliche, always surrounded by those cats of hers, and she never married, rumour was that she had the morals of a cat as well. His wife Cecilia, Jacob's mother, died something like three years ago, and she was best known for knitting, crochet, that sort of thing, and working subtle spells into it. Protection, health, calm, unexciting and unambitious little domestic things.”
Like that afghan right in front of you? Ruth asked her to make it for Gran, and even in warmer weather than this, she always has it in reach.
“She actually left the Fellowship to marry Seth, even though her family warned her that she'd be disowned. I'm sure she must have regretted it eventually, all alone without a proper social circle, but she refused to come back no matter what anyone did or said. Self-deluded or too proud to admit she'd made a mistake, I suppose.”
That or she liked the quiet.
Eric didn't think their guest realized that, with nods and noises of agreement at just the right times, his grandmother had Nadine doing all the talking.
“The one who's still in the Terevan house, Christian—what kind of name is that for a witch, anyway?—is about twenty or so, and he's been living there alone for almost two months except one completely ungifted human. We can't even detect any significant liminal allies. For the past several months he's been doing fairly well with basic Tarot readings and some general cleansing of negative energies, that sort of thing. Nothing terribly ambitious, but as far as I can tell his witchblood is respectably strong. Not remarkable, really, but more than adequate. Of course, it's too soon to tell where his strengths are, but it would be best for all of us if someone were to offer him some form of guidance.”
And, of course, you're prepared to make that sacrifice, purely for his sake, aren't you?
Let's talk about 'adequate' witchblood, shall we? Have you ever even heard of tact?
“Guidance can be a very positive force in a young witch's life,” Margaret said noncommittally.
“Exactly. The more I know about him and his family, the better I'll be able to decide what angle to approach him from to make him understand my intentions.”
Know your prey, so you're less likely to spook it. Do you really think you're fooling either of us?
Frighteningly enough, yes, I think you actually do.
Or are you actually fooling yourself?
“I'll certainly keep that in mind if I learn anything about him that you should know,” Margaret assured her. She sipped from her half-empty cup. “So, how does the whole matter stand between you and Philomena?”
Nadine humphed, sitting back in her chair with her brows drawing inward and down. “Why that woman thinks she has the faintest chance of ever sitting on the Fellowship's High Council when she hasn't the wits of one of those hummingbirds she insists on bringing with her wherever she goes, I will never understand. If the best she can do is talk to birds, and I do mean the best since she can't seem to master even bare basics beyond that, why would any self-respecting witch ever listen to her?”
“Why indeed,” Margaret murmured. “The world is full of witches with delusions of grandeur.”
“My point exactly. She had the nerve to speak patronizingly to me. As though being able to talk to animals were an ability that actually matters!”
“I believe it's one you never developed, isn't it?”
“I never bothered to try. It makes no difference to me whether I can do it or not, I would never lower myself so much. Yet Philomena insists that one can learn from animals. The woman is mad.”
“I would certainly have to agree that Philomena may have some questionable priorities.”
So does virtually anyone I've ever met or heard of who actually buys into this Fellowship nonsense.
The conversation continued in much that vein; Eric knew better than to offer any comments of his own, so he saved them to share with his grandmother afterwards.
The tea was cold by the time a soft beeping made Jade's ears perk up.
Nadine fished a small pager from her blazer pocket, and looked at it. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave, something's come up...”
“Of course, dear,” Margaret said. “You go take care of your business, I understand.”
Brief farewells were said, and Eric escorted Nadine to the door.
Margaret gave him a questioning look when he returned. “Well?”
“She sees another resource to boost her own status,” Eric said promptly. “Guaranteed, she isn't the only one. And Christian Terevan is going to need genius-level perceptiveness or Lady Luck's own blessing, or preferably both, to stay out of the net alone. I sure hope his family warned him about them.”
“She may actually believe that she's doing it for his own good. Nadine isn't evil or cruel, she's simply walking around with her eyes closed believing that she has them wide open. Fully-functional brains and open minds breed true more consistently than strong witchgifts in this family, and you're used to being around people who are intelligent and perceptive and often introspective. Don't assume that just because she can't see beyond her own small world that she has no heart.” Margaret smiled. “You are, however, correct, that's effectively what it all boils down to in the end.”
Jade sat up, and suddenly a petite red-haired woman with sharp narrow features took the place of the vixen. Her silky white dress had long loose sleeves and fell to her ankles with no particular shaping, though it draped close to her slim body. “Don't assume that caring for the well-being of others renders one incapable of inflicting great harm with exactly that intent in mind,” she pointed out. “Whatever one's intentions might be, it is one's actions that matter.”
“I met Seth and Cecilia,” Margaret said reflectively, stroking the afghan across her lap so absently Eric wasn't sure she was aware of doing it. “A number of times, in fact. Ruth, though... she was wonderfully outspoken and shameless and cared not at all who she scandalized. And Seth and Cecilia never wavered in supporting her. I still miss her. I wish we'd had more time to spend together.” She smiled wistfully. “But then, sometimes it's easier to share everything in writing than out loud, and long letters back and forth every week add up to a lot of intense private conversation. Distance or not, I could never ask for a better friend.”
She blinked, and finished the last swallow of her tea. “Cecilia, now, she was nearly as bad, but usually more subtle. When she was upset she'd smile sweetly and say something that would sound innocent until it started to gnaw and nag hours later. Traditionalists railed at Seth to make his wife and sister behave more appropriately, but Seth generally just invited them to try and then sat back to enjoy the show. Lovely and loving family, really. You met Christian once, in fact, but you were both very young at the time—you were going to start school that year, and Christian had a year before. Or maybe two, I can’t recall. You had a lovely time playing together. I wish... oh, I wish so much I'd been able to do more for Ruth than just reduce the pain. Cecilia died so suddenly, I didn't even know until after the funeral.”
She sighed, raised her teacup again, discovered that it was empty, and set it down. “The world is a duller place without them. I can't imagine someone raised in that family is likely to take kindly to anyone attempting to impose rules or restrictions. I don't see that we should in fact take action of any sort at present. The choice is his, whether to follow in the footsteps of his family, or to join the Fellowship. If it comes down to the Fellowship trying to coerce him or otherwise make trouble for him, then I might look into it more deeply. Seth sent me a letter before they left to let me know and tell me that Christian had contact information for me. He asked me to do what I can if Christian comes to me for help, and obviously I’d be happy to do so, but that isn't the same as intruding uninvited. I doubt, also, that Seth and Rosa and Jacob left Christian entirely alone and unprotected to sink or swim. That they have failed to identify any form of protection doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. It would be wise for them to remember that the Terevans do things their own way and are full of surprises. For the time being, it's something to be aware of, and no more.”
Eric nodded. “Aren't you the one who keeps telling me that no one learns to reach their full potential if protected from making their own choices? Can't hurt to keep an eye out for new developments, though.”
“Which I believe is exactly what I'll do.”
“And I believe what I will do is go finish the dishes.” He leaned down to kiss Margaret's cheek, dropped to one knee for a much wilder kiss from Jade, and headed back to the kitchen, his new CD, and the waiting dishes.
Eric wiped his hands on a dishtowel and crossed the kitchen to press 'stop' on his portable stereo—Bon Jovi, at fairly high volume, had been making the chore of doing dishes go much more quickly.
There, again. Someone at the front door, knocking. Not family or friends, then; they knew to come to the kitchen door. He tossed the towel on the counter, brushed an escaping strand of bright blond hair out of his eyes, and headed for the living room. He spotted a narrow, red-furred muzzle peering around a corner to see what was going on, black nose twitching; what Jade discovered, his grandmother would learn in no time.
He opened the door, and hid a groan, not needing his own rather marginal witchblood to inform him that this woman was a witch: he'd met her often before.
“Ms Batista,” he greeted her politely. “Sorry I took so long. Come in, I'll let my grandmother know you're here.” He backed up to let the woman enter. Her greying brown hair was neatly styled, her fit body clad in blazer and blouse and slacks that looked new and expensive and perfectly tailored. She looked very out of place in the well-worn, slightly-messy country living room. Not that she was likely to pay any real heed to her surroundings, he thought dryly.
Jade darted out into plain sight with a saucy flick of her white-tipped bushy tail, and turned back towards the rear of the house where his grandmother's sitting room was, giving him an imperious glance over one shoulder.
“Then again, it would appear my grandmother knows already,” he added, and gestured an invitation for her to precede him.
The vixen trotted along ahead of them, leading the way down a hall, one wall lined with overfilled bookshelves, the other painted with a mural of Earth from space. He couldn't recall which members of his enormous extended family had created that, since several had artistic inclinations, and it had been done before he was actually living here. Possibly it was a team effort.
“Gran?” Eric said questioningly.
“Show her in, Eric,” came the prompt reply.
Eric pushed the door open, and their visitor brushed by him immediately. He followed, and perched on the edge of a hard chair just inside the door, unwilling to leave even with Jade present.
The vixen returned to her large turquoise pillow at Margaret Lyndell's feet and curled up, watching alertly.
It hurt, watching his grandmother, always so energetic and active and full of life, gradually losing her mobility. It was from her, through his mother, that he'd inherited his six-foot, broad-shouldered build and persistently good health. In the last few years, much of what had been hard muscle had softened, as she found it more and more painful simply to rise from her chair. Yet silver-grey hair lay over one shoulder in the same loose, careless braid as always; she'd worn that same blue-print dress, now much faded, when he was small. Over her lap was her favourite afghan, a cherished gift from an old friend now dead, summery green splashed with other colours like wildflowers in a grassy field. A leather-bound book lay on the small table beside her, a frayed once-scarlet ribbon trailing out of it as a bookmark. He couldn't recall that Margaret had ever cared much for material things.
She loved plants, though, and immeasurable greenery flourished here, in the light of the huge windows in the south wall; they hung in corners, rested on windowsills, and were wedged into the bookshelves that overflowed into this room.
“Nadine,” Margaret greeted their visitor, gesturing to one of the mismatched collection of chairs. “I wasn't expecting you today. Eric, would you make tea, please?”
“Sure, Gran.” He returned to the kitchen, put the kettle on, found the teapot and arranged it on a tray with two cups and everything else they'd need.
By the time he returned, the two women were deep in conversation. Margaret thanked him when he quietly served her tea, but Nadine Batista seemed not even to notice. Eric cleared space for the tray on the longer table against one wall; as usual, it was strewn with embroidery materials and sewing projects, yet more books, and a considerable collection of clutter that always reappeared no matter how often Eric found homes for it all. He retreated to the chair near the door, out of the way but ready in case he was needed. The dishes could wait.
As near as he could tell, their visitor sought any information his grandmother might have on a trio of witches from a nearby city who had moved to Europe, leaving behind one young witch who appeared to be showing quite a lot of potential. Eric leaned back in the chair, arms crossed, listening simply because any information could prove useful; having always made a habit of that, he knew already exactly why Nadine was interested. A talented young witch as a protegé could, if manipulated properly, enhance her own prestige and standing within the so-called Fellowship. Margaret had rejected the whole organization for its tendency towards political status games and restrictive views, their attitude towards liminals and elementals being high on the list, and had encouraged all of her gifted descendants to do the same.
Young and alone and strong, he thought cynically. Fresh meat, ripe for the slaughter, unless he's smart enough to not only see what they're going to try to do, but stay out of the traps.
Wait, did she seriously just say Terevan? Isn't that Gran's friend Ruth's family?
“Seth's son Jacob specializes mostly in plants and earth magic,” Nadine said. “Apparently he really doesn't have his father's talent in dealing with liminals, just earth-based elementals. Jacob married Rosa Murdoch from Scotland or Ireland or some-such, twenty-some years ago, and she really isn't terribly powerful, she's just been lucky enough to find and keep allies that compensate somewhat for it. We approached each of them, Jacob when he was in his teens and again later, and Rosa just after she moved here, and then both of them while Rosa was pregnant, but neither one was smart enough to consider the advantages for them and for their child if they joined. Not a big deal, since they didn't have much to offer anyway and aren't any kind of real threat.” Possibly it occurred to her that she'd just said that to a non-Fellowship witch; she hastily added, “They don't, after all, have a large family and therefore a wide pool of skills and resources to draw on.”
Maybe they don't figure they need or want that. And how much family does Rosa have in Scotland, if she wanted to go back there? Or, hey, they could ask us. Seriously, I was only eight or nine when Ruth Terevan died, but I can remember how long and how deeply Gran mourned and how terrible she felt that this was something she and Jade couldn't heal. If you had any idea, you wouldn't be giving us background on a family Gran knows much better than you do.
“Seth's sister Ruth died almost ten years ago, she was such a cliche, always surrounded by those cats of hers, and she never married, rumour was that she had the morals of a cat as well. His wife Cecilia, Jacob's mother, died something like three years ago, and she was best known for knitting, crochet, that sort of thing, and working subtle spells into it. Protection, health, calm, unexciting and unambitious little domestic things.”
Like that afghan right in front of you? Ruth asked her to make it for Gran, and even in warmer weather than this, she always has it in reach.
“She actually left the Fellowship to marry Seth, even though her family warned her that she'd be disowned. I'm sure she must have regretted it eventually, all alone without a proper social circle, but she refused to come back no matter what anyone did or said. Self-deluded or too proud to admit she'd made a mistake, I suppose.”
That or she liked the quiet.
Eric didn't think their guest realized that, with nods and noises of agreement at just the right times, his grandmother had Nadine doing all the talking.
“The one who's still in the Terevan house, Christian—what kind of name is that for a witch, anyway?—is about twenty or so, and he's been living there alone for almost two months except one completely ungifted human. We can't even detect any significant liminal allies. For the past several months he's been doing fairly well with basic Tarot readings and some general cleansing of negative energies, that sort of thing. Nothing terribly ambitious, but as far as I can tell his witchblood is respectably strong. Not remarkable, really, but more than adequate. Of course, it's too soon to tell where his strengths are, but it would be best for all of us if someone were to offer him some form of guidance.”
And, of course, you're prepared to make that sacrifice, purely for his sake, aren't you?
Let's talk about 'adequate' witchblood, shall we? Have you ever even heard of tact?
“Guidance can be a very positive force in a young witch's life,” Margaret said noncommittally.
“Exactly. The more I know about him and his family, the better I'll be able to decide what angle to approach him from to make him understand my intentions.”
Know your prey, so you're less likely to spook it. Do you really think you're fooling either of us?
Frighteningly enough, yes, I think you actually do.
Or are you actually fooling yourself?
“I'll certainly keep that in mind if I learn anything about him that you should know,” Margaret assured her. She sipped from her half-empty cup. “So, how does the whole matter stand between you and Philomena?”
Nadine humphed, sitting back in her chair with her brows drawing inward and down. “Why that woman thinks she has the faintest chance of ever sitting on the Fellowship's High Council when she hasn't the wits of one of those hummingbirds she insists on bringing with her wherever she goes, I will never understand. If the best she can do is talk to birds, and I do mean the best since she can't seem to master even bare basics beyond that, why would any self-respecting witch ever listen to her?”
“Why indeed,” Margaret murmured. “The world is full of witches with delusions of grandeur.”
“My point exactly. She had the nerve to speak patronizingly to me. As though being able to talk to animals were an ability that actually matters!”
“I believe it's one you never developed, isn't it?”
“I never bothered to try. It makes no difference to me whether I can do it or not, I would never lower myself so much. Yet Philomena insists that one can learn from animals. The woman is mad.”
“I would certainly have to agree that Philomena may have some questionable priorities.”
So does virtually anyone I've ever met or heard of who actually buys into this Fellowship nonsense.
The conversation continued in much that vein; Eric knew better than to offer any comments of his own, so he saved them to share with his grandmother afterwards.
The tea was cold by the time a soft beeping made Jade's ears perk up.
Nadine fished a small pager from her blazer pocket, and looked at it. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave, something's come up...”
“Of course, dear,” Margaret said. “You go take care of your business, I understand.”
Brief farewells were said, and Eric escorted Nadine to the door.
Margaret gave him a questioning look when he returned. “Well?”
“She sees another resource to boost her own status,” Eric said promptly. “Guaranteed, she isn't the only one. And Christian Terevan is going to need genius-level perceptiveness or Lady Luck's own blessing, or preferably both, to stay out of the net alone. I sure hope his family warned him about them.”
“She may actually believe that she's doing it for his own good. Nadine isn't evil or cruel, she's simply walking around with her eyes closed believing that she has them wide open. Fully-functional brains and open minds breed true more consistently than strong witchgifts in this family, and you're used to being around people who are intelligent and perceptive and often introspective. Don't assume that just because she can't see beyond her own small world that she has no heart.” Margaret smiled. “You are, however, correct, that's effectively what it all boils down to in the end.”
Jade sat up, and suddenly a petite red-haired woman with sharp narrow features took the place of the vixen. Her silky white dress had long loose sleeves and fell to her ankles with no particular shaping, though it draped close to her slim body. “Don't assume that caring for the well-being of others renders one incapable of inflicting great harm with exactly that intent in mind,” she pointed out. “Whatever one's intentions might be, it is one's actions that matter.”
“I met Seth and Cecilia,” Margaret said reflectively, stroking the afghan across her lap so absently Eric wasn't sure she was aware of doing it. “A number of times, in fact. Ruth, though... she was wonderfully outspoken and shameless and cared not at all who she scandalized. And Seth and Cecilia never wavered in supporting her. I still miss her. I wish we'd had more time to spend together.” She smiled wistfully. “But then, sometimes it's easier to share everything in writing than out loud, and long letters back and forth every week add up to a lot of intense private conversation. Distance or not, I could never ask for a better friend.”
She blinked, and finished the last swallow of her tea. “Cecilia, now, she was nearly as bad, but usually more subtle. When she was upset she'd smile sweetly and say something that would sound innocent until it started to gnaw and nag hours later. Traditionalists railed at Seth to make his wife and sister behave more appropriately, but Seth generally just invited them to try and then sat back to enjoy the show. Lovely and loving family, really. You met Christian once, in fact, but you were both very young at the time—you were going to start school that year, and Christian had a year before. Or maybe two, I can’t recall. You had a lovely time playing together. I wish... oh, I wish so much I'd been able to do more for Ruth than just reduce the pain. Cecilia died so suddenly, I didn't even know until after the funeral.”
She sighed, raised her teacup again, discovered that it was empty, and set it down. “The world is a duller place without them. I can't imagine someone raised in that family is likely to take kindly to anyone attempting to impose rules or restrictions. I don't see that we should in fact take action of any sort at present. The choice is his, whether to follow in the footsteps of his family, or to join the Fellowship. If it comes down to the Fellowship trying to coerce him or otherwise make trouble for him, then I might look into it more deeply. Seth sent me a letter before they left to let me know and tell me that Christian had contact information for me. He asked me to do what I can if Christian comes to me for help, and obviously I’d be happy to do so, but that isn't the same as intruding uninvited. I doubt, also, that Seth and Rosa and Jacob left Christian entirely alone and unprotected to sink or swim. That they have failed to identify any form of protection doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. It would be wise for them to remember that the Terevans do things their own way and are full of surprises. For the time being, it's something to be aware of, and no more.”
Eric nodded. “Aren't you the one who keeps telling me that no one learns to reach their full potential if protected from making their own choices? Can't hurt to keep an eye out for new developments, though.”
“Which I believe is exactly what I'll do.”
“And I believe what I will do is go finish the dishes.” He leaned down to kiss Margaret's cheek, dropped to one knee for a much wilder kiss from Jade, and headed back to the kitchen, his new CD, and the waiting dishes.
