SULLIVAN GRAY
E.C. FARRELL
Blood of the Dragon Shifter
Copyright 2019 Sullivan Gray & E.C. Farrell
No part of this book may be copied, reprinted, or redistributed without express written permission of the authors, except for small excerpts used in reviews.
Contact: sullivan@authorsullivangray.com
CONTENTS
1. REUNION
2. BARE HELLOS
3. WHAT’S YOURS
4. AWAKE
5. UNLEASHED
6. ROYAL DINING
7. KNIFE’S EDGE
8. DRESS REHEARSAL
9. COUPLE GOALS
10. DEJÁ VIEWING
11. PARTY LIKE IT’S 1699
12. THELMA & LOUISE
13. BACKSTREET’S BACK
14. THE MAD KING
15. ONE-TWO PUNCH
16. OUTSOURCING
17. RISKS AND REWARD
18. POWER STRUGGLE
19. THE SIGHT
20. ONLINE
21. LANDING
22. THE CHALLENGE
23. BEAST MODE
24. THIRD TIME’S THE CHARM
25. FAMILY
26. SOULLESS
27. CONSUMING FIRE
28. AFTERLIFE
29. EPIGLOGUE
Also by the authors
About the Authors
REUNION Sebastian
The closer we get to clan lands, the more restless my dragon becomes. It’s an excited restlessness, though it makes sitting in the car even harder. We didn’t risk flying, so we broke the trip up into two days of driving from Blakemore to South Dakota. It’s felt endless. Thanks in huge part to my companions, namely Kurt. Being trapped in a car with the cocky vampire is a special kind of hell.
But holding the beautiful and still-unconscious Cade in my arms is a totally different kind of torture. One that’s kept my heart in a vise for the past few days. If she doesn’t wake up … I can’t allow myself to think of that loss.
“You okay?” Han meets my eyes in the rearview mirror, fixing his gaze on the road immediately after.
“As much as I can be.” I shift in my seat, smoothing Cade’s long brown hair away from her cheek. My dragon presses uncomfortably against my ribs, aching for me to shift, so he can wrap his warm body around her.
“It’s normal for you to want to shift,” Han says. “He’s feeling the call of the other dragons.”
I’d felt it for the last few hours, the pull on my chest toward home. The urge of my dragon to be free. It’s harder to resist now that we’re on clan lands. My heart races at the thought of being here for the first time united with my dragon. I may have been the prince, but without shifting, the sense of not belonging gaped underneath me. I felt like I walked across a bridge of twine, swaying over a bottomless cavern. Alone, unsteady. Now, I’m coming home complete.
I feel so torn, part of my heart here with this woman in my arms. And another part straining toward home, my mother, and my people. I try not to give my father much thought.
“You should shift,” Han says. I know he’s right. My mentor and trainer, he is the closest thing I have to a friend here. Though he’s been nothing but testy since he met us an hour ago at the edge of Clan Locke to drive us in. I know he thinks returning home with a vampire and an unconscious human is a bad idea. He didn’t need to say it in words.
Yourpeopleneedyou, he says, his voice reaching inside my mind.
I hear what’s unspoken: My allegiance should be to my people. Not to Kurt or Cade. He doesn’t understand. I’m not sure anyone will, to be honest. I have no idea why my mother wants me home, or what her reaction will be to Cade or Kurt. Especially when I explain about the mate bond.
I don’t know what any of this means for my future. For the kingdom. For me and Cade. It was much simpler to talk about choice and think about love outside of clan, where no one understood the expectations on me or the depth of dragon loyalty. But here …
Han’s voice pushes past my conflicted thoughts. Letyourdragon free.Comehomeasyoushould.Letthepeopleseetheirreturning prince.
“Do I get to see you go dragon again?” Kurt asks. “Can’t wait.” He leans over from the third row of seats. When he touches the back of Cade’s hand, I do my best not to snarl at him. “You doing okay there?”
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice sounding way too rough.
“Sure,” he says, smirking. He knows exactly how I feel seeing him touch Cade. And yet he does it anyway, like he means to push me to the edge.
If I didn’t know Cade would want him here, I would have dropped him by the side of the highway a day ago. But she and Kurt have a deep friendship, one I wish I didn’t feel jealous of. And honestly, I don’t think I could have traveled alone transporting her.
I stroke Cade’s cheek, which calms my dragon somewhat. Mine. Shechoseme. The closer I am to her, the happier he is. Physical touch soothes him. Still, it won’t be fully better until she wakes up.
Not if. When.
The bond has been more intense since I finally shifted three nights ago. I feel her like a heartbeat inside of me, warm and alive, even though I’m missing the sensation of her emotions. Since I pulled her from the lab, she’s been like this. Alive, but not awake, other than a few minutes right after I freed her from the machine. If she’s dreaming or aware, it doesn’t impact her emotions. The connection to her is steady and powerful yet feels somehow empty without her consciousness.
I try to block out what the Healer at Blakemore said when I got her back after pulling her out of the lab at Virginia Tech. “I’m sorry,” the woman had said, her wrinkled hands resting on Cade’s pale brow. “She's hardly hanging on. It feels like her soul is connected by hardly more than a thread. I can’t say when or if she will regain consciousness.”
“I don’t understand,” I had told her. “How was she able to do this?”
The Healer looked uncomfortable. “Cade is a Source. They’re rare. I only know—knew—of one other. A Source can connect to the powers of others, enabling and strengthening. I didn’t recognize it when I tried to read her aura a few weeks ago. Though her powers are gone now, I can feel the signature of her magic. A normal supe wouldn’t have been able to do what she did. Or survive. I still can’t be sure that she will.”
Her words squeezed me like a vise. She has to wake up. Levi and Mr. Norris and Kurt couldn’t get into the lab after I left with Cade.
And without her awake, we don’t know exactly what happened or what the plan was, but whatever machine they had Cade strapped to enabled her to return power to all the supes.
Allthe supes. Including the ones in supernatural prisons who’d had their powers removed. Now most of them had escaped. Whether this was the plan or not, it’s unclear. But the event has caused complete chaos. The country is on the verge of declaring martial law. It wouldn’t shock me if they start trying to round us up and put us in internment camps. When she wakes up, it’s going to be to a firestorm.
It’s why we brought Cade here, far from the fray. And away from her parents who are right in the middle of it all. I made the decision quickly, before her parents came to the Academy for her. Mr. Norris is running interference with the Blakemores, which will hopefully keep them from declaring her kidnapped. He gave me a week.
Considering we just finished a two-day road trip, the clock is ticking.
I won’t give Cade to her parents without a fight. Until I hear otherwise, I have to assume they were a part of this. They suppressed her magic and wanted to use her. The thought makes me sick. It’s as bad as anything my father did to me. It’s their fault she’s lying here, still and warm in my arms. She’s eighteen, though I’m sure in a court battle, given the circumstances, her parents would get her back.
She’ll be safe on clan lands. At least from her parents and the huge mess that is our world right now. It won’t work forever, but hopefully she’ll wake up soon and figure out what to do next. I bet she’ll want to go back, right into the fire.
“You never back down from a fight,” I murmur, leaning down to kiss her temple. “I love that about you.”
My dragon purrs his agreement then goes right back to grumbling about being freed. I can’t seem to make him understand that we’ll be there soon enough.
Han pulls the car over near a stand of trees and then turns to face me. “You really should shift and fly the rest of the way.”
I stare down at Cade. Though she’s the strongest person I know, at the moment she’s completely defenseless. So vulnerable that it
makes my jaw ache. My dragon wants to fly, to be free, to come roaring home. But I don’t want to leave her.
“I’ll watch over Cade,” Kurt says. For once, his voice lacks his signature teasing tone.
I do my best to keep my lip from curling. It’s a reflexive response. I know that Cade doesn’t have feelings for Kurt beyond friendship. At least, I’m pretty sure. I’ve never sensed anything from her when she’s around him other than the warmth of fondness and loyalty. A sense of protection.
That last one gives me pause. Protection is myjob. To keep her safe is for me alone. I don’t share. And I’d be willing to bet that Kurt is in love with her, whether he’s admitted that to himself or not.
“Bash?” Han gets my attention. “It’s a show of strength I think our clan needs.”
“Do your thing, dragon prince,” Kurt says. The urge to punch him grows stronger. But I know Han is right. “I’ll set up her IV once we get settled. I’m sure you have people to see.”
“Thank you.”
Cade isn’t in a coma. It’s some kind of magical state that the Healer called stasis. She’s breathing, but some functions of her body seem to be on pause. Thankfully, we only have to worry about an IV once a day, but not a catheter or any other kind of care. Her hair has stayed soft and shiny, her skin healthy. She looks as beautiful and full of life as ever. A true Sleeping Beauty. But a kiss won’t wake her. I’ve tried.
“Bash?” Han asks.
“If you’re sure,” I say. The last thing I want to do is set Cade down. But I know Han is right. I need to do this. Most of the clan already respects me, definitely more than they do my father. Still, they need to see my dragon, to see that my shift is complete. And my dragon needs this. I think I do too.
Kurt is already jumping out of the back of the SUV, walking around to Cade’s side of the car. When he lifts her from my lap, I can’t hold back the growl rising in my chest.
“Down, boy,” he says with a grin.
Though I didn’t want Kurt to come with us, I do know he’d do anything for her. It doesn’t hurt to have someone else to share the burden of care. Not that Cade is a burden. But another pair of hands was helpful on the drive to South Dakota. Even if I had to fight my own and my dragon’s raging jealousy sometimes.
I climb out of the other side once I know she’s secure in his arms.
In.His.Arms.
I’ve never known jealousy like this. Never knew I could be so possessive. I have to turn away as I step out of my clothing, leaving it piled on the seat.
Kurt whistles, staring at me with a smile. “You know what they say about shifters and the size of—”
I slam the door on whatever crude remark he’s about to make. It barely closes when scales ripple over my skin and my dragon bursts through me in a flash of rending and tearing. Intense but fleeting pain followed by a sense of completeness.
I take to the air quickly, not wanting my dragon to act on any of this possessiveness. Circling overhead, I stay until I see Han pull back onto the road. I fly above, my shadow covering the SUV until I’m urged forward.
Home.Home.Home.
I roar, my chest vibrating with the sound.
A moment later another roar joins mine. Then another. Wings on the air sound as all around me, dragons rise, answering the call of their prince. My clan is welcoming me home.
Asense of hot pleasure warms me as half a dozen dragons flank both my sides. Pride and love and a sense of rightness flows through me. I lift my head to release a spout of flame.
A single dragon emerges from the group, the others parting to make room for her silver-blue scales. Ally. My dragon and I have two very different reactions. I want to stay as far away as possible, but he huffs a greeting as she moves close, nudging me gently.
I’vemissedyou, she says, the words traveling straight to my mind. Her voice in my head is jarring, a reminder of just how long I’ve been away. Welcomehome,Bash.
A year ago, I stood at my Shifting Ceremony, unable to call forth my dragon. That forfeited my title as prince and broke my betrothal to Ally. I had been conflicted about her at the time, having seen a side of her I hadn’t before. Her push for me to shift had reminded me of my father’s singular focus.
But before that, Ally had been my childhood best friend. My love. Hearing her voice in my mind, flying beside her—this had been my dream. Now that’s changed, but nostalgia and memory form a heady buzz. To my dragon, she’s clan. Home. Despite my hesitation, with
Ally I sense belonging. I can’t help the bittersweet question of what could have been.
But this isn’t what I want. Sheisn’t the one I want.
The only woman I want is somewhere below us, cradled in Kurt’s arms. The thought heats my blood, making my dragon growl and shaking me from my thoughts of the past. Despite the bond with Cade, my dragon isn’t bothered by Ally. He’s been resistant to the touches or even the nearness of other women since the bond. But now, he rumbles something like a laugh, a welcoming sound. A spike of trepidation shoots through me.
Of course he’s comfortable with Ally. We grew up together.
She’s clan, a dragon like me.
Shewasalmostmywife.
I feel like I’m wrestling my dragon for control. The feelings he has for Ally aren’t like our connection with Cade. But the closeness he feels for Ally is too much. If I’m bothered by Kurt’s friendship with Cade, she will be much more concerned about my dragon’s familiarity with Ally.
Cade, I remind him. Mine.
Home, he says in return. Clan.
My dragon is not trying to claim Ally, but there is a something between us that Cade and I don’t share, won’t ever share, even with the mate bond. Because Cade won’t ever be a dragon.
Maybe bringing Cade home was a massive mistake. And not for any of the reasons I feared. I suddenly understand the worry written all over Han’s face. Being here is already pulling me in two directions: my place with the clan and the life I built in the last year on the outside.
I swing away from Ally, needing the space.
I focus on the buildings below. I see the King's Keep, the massive mansion I grew up in. It’s more like a palace, completely out of place in the harsh landscape and among the more normal homes and buildings on clan lands.
My dragon growls at the arena where I have taken lives before, forced to defend my title in challenges to the death. The last time against my cousin Gregor. I’ve tried not to think of him, banished by
my father after I refused to kill him. The few times over the past year I thought of Gregor, I had to push the memory from my mind. I know he wouldn’t thank me for my mercy. He’ll hate me until his dying day.
As much as I’d prefer to avoid it, the arena is the best place to land with this large group of dragons flanking me. Clan members are already running through the gates. I give a final roar, echoed by the dragons beside me. Ally still hangs closer than I’d like.
My feet touch the dirt of the arena and I’m already shifting back into my human form. The crowd presses in on me, a sea of familiar faces, all wanting to touch me.
“Fealty,” many of them say, and I struggle with the tangle of emotions in my gut.
The warmth of pride surges through me but touched with a thread of doubt. I’m honored, but do I deserve their loyalty? Do I even want it, or want to rule? Would Cade stay beside me, be my queen? The past year, I stopped thinking of this as a possibility. It’s hard to consider it now.
“Bash!”
The crowd parts and Ally stands there. I swallow. Until now, my nakedness hasn’t bothered me. It’s much more normal as clan, simply a part of shifter life.
But it’s incredibly awkward as my former fiancée and oldest childhood friend rushes toward me, throwing herself into my arms. I grasp her shoulders, trying to pull back at least slightly so I don’t have to feel every part of us pressing together.
She giggles, her breath igniting an unwanted shiver down my spine. I think of Cade, still unconscious somewhere, and guilt sparks through me, even though physically, my body responds in a primal way to the way our skin is almost fused together. Guilt surges through me.
Where is my possessive dragon who growled at a waitress just days ago? Shouldn’t he be putting up more of a fight against Ally pressing up against me like this?
I’m finally able to step back. Which leaves her completely exposed to me. I focus on her eyes. Only on her eyes. She blinks,
looking up through her long lashes in a way that used to affect me. Her gaze strays from my face, unashamed as she takes me in. Covering myself would be awkward, but would it be more awkward than having her look at me this way?
“I don’t remember you being so modest,” Ally says. “Then again, a lot has changed in the past year. And seems like some things haven’t changed at all.”
She traces a fingertip down the center of my chest and I swallow hard. Before I realize she’s going to do it, she steps up on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to my lips.
I pull away quickly, but don’t miss the pleased look in her eyes, like she’s just proven that we still have a connection. That I’m still hers. Memories flash through my mind, a fast-forward version of hours spent with her. Laughing, talking, playing, kissing. At one time, I loved this woman, or thought I did. Despite our history, those feelings are nothing compared to what I feel for Cade.
Cade.My dragon snaps out of his indifference, suddenly restless to be near her.
I realize why only a second later. Kurt stands at the gates of the arena, holding Cade in his arms.
Oh,God…didheseeAllykissme?
Han is suddenly between me and Ally, shoving my clothes into my arms, giving me a hard look.
But it has nothing on Kurt’s death stare. I’m sure if he weren’t holding Cade, he would already be on me, not caring about the consequences for laying a hand on the prince. Or former prince. I’m not sure where things stand, technically speaking. But if anyone here doesn’t care about my title, it’s Kurt. The only thing he seems to care about is Cade.
Again, I’m struck with an irrational flare of jealousy. Ridiculous considering my ex just kissed me while we were both naked, but I can’t seem to control my feelings, fair or not.
Hastily, I put even more distance between myself and Ally, turning away from her to put my clothes on. By the time I look again at the gate, one of my mother’s servants is leading Kurt away,
toward the King’s Keep. His shoulders are a hard line and my dragon rumbles at the way he holds Cade close.
Youcan’thaveboth, I tell him. Ifyou’vechosenCade,youcan’t befinelettingAllygetsoclose.
But I can already tell that this won’t be so simple. Ally, now in a silvery-blue dress, smiles up at me like she has so many times before. She snakes her arm through mine. “Shall we? Your mother will be so thrilled to see you.”
I pull away. “We need to talk.”
Her face lights up in a brilliant smile as she moves even closer. “That’s not all we need to do,” she murmurs.
Han makes a sound of disgust in his throat and I move next to him, leaving Ally behind. “I have to go,” I call to her. I need to see my mother, but what I want is to find Kurt and explain that what he saw wasn’t what it looked like.
Han and I walk shoulder to shoulder as the crowd parts to let us through. They don’t disperse, though, following us all the way to the house. More pledges of fealty rise, and I feel my skin flush with the cries of praise and admiration.
I don’t feel worthy of either at the moment.
WHAT’S YOURS
Idon’t have a chance to catch up to Kurt and explain. Instead, I’m whisked to the King's Keep, and straight into my mother’s arms. Mother.
My eyes are hot with tears as the full weight of being apart from her this past year hits me like a boulder in the chest. I hadn’t let myself think too much about all I left behind. I had to focus on the memories of pain, of my father’s whip, of the burns and the blows. That’s the only way I could leave her behind. Doing my best not to think of her here. Trapped with him.
“Oh, Sebastian,” Mother says, pulling back to examine me with her emerald eyes. The lines around them look deeper, the light in them dimmer. She strokes my cheeks, smiling as she wipes away an errant tear. “My son.”
“I’ve missed you so much.”
My voice cracks, the way my heart is breaking at the sight of her. Pain is etched on her face. Was she safe? Did he hurt her? That was my greatest fear when I left.
I knew he would kill me if I didn’t go, but Mother risked her life helping me get off clan lands. I worried he would retaliate against
Sebastian
her. From what Han told me, he didn’t see evidence of that. But then, with the healing abilities dragons have, we can hide pain well. No one really knew what he had done to me for so many years. Even though I wasn’t able to shift, I still had the quick-healing properties that made the signs of his abuse disappear. I hope that’s not why she looks worn so thin.
As though she can sense my worry, she smiles. “I’m fine.”
“Are you?”
She sighs. “Your father—”
“Did he hurt you?” My jaw clenches, my dragon rumbling.
“No. Your father never physically hurt me.” Her smile is sad. I hear what she doesn’t say. She told me once that she married my father for love, thinking that he felt the same way. He hid the monster he truly was until it was too late. She’d left her home in Scotland and was trapped here in South Dakota, a queen with a cruel king for a husband.
“I’m so sorry, Mother.”
“My sweet boy. You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who’s sorry.” She strokes my cheeks again, then drops her hands. “Come. You need to see him.”
I hoped I’d never see my father’s face again. I’m not ready for this. But I have to be.
My mother leads me to a bedroom where the man who used to be my father slumps in a wheelchair. I stop in the doorway, blinking as I try to make sense of what I’m seeing.
My father’s broad shoulders are hunched over, slightly more on the left side than the right. His hands rest in his lap, the sleeves of his robe exposing forearms that still look heavily muscled. It’s a shocking suggestion of strength on his limp frame. Sinews of drool stretch from his chin to his flannel pajama pants. Mother steps forward, using a handkerchief to wipe him clean. Her gentleness with this man astounds me. The whole time she stands in front of him, his dull eyes don’t move from their fixed gaze on the carpet.
This isn’t my father. It’s the shell of a man.
Despite this, my dragon rages. I have to fight the urge to shift. My dragon wants nothing more than to burn my father to
nothingness where he sits. I admit, the thought doesn’t sound so bad to me either. But he cannot hurt us anymore, so I manage to hold my dragon at bay. He continues to growl, agitated and in defensive mode.
“How long?” I ask, finally able to walk into the room. I circle around my father, examining his glossy hair and the neatly trimmed fingernails. Someone—Mother, I suppose—must be taking care of him. How can she bear to care for someone who has been so cruel? I know that this isn’t all about me, but it’s hard to see her doing anything for him after all he’s done to her. To me.
“It started a few months ago,” Mother says, taking a seat on the couch closest to his wheelchair. “Little things: confusion, forgetfulness, acting out of character. Three weeks ago, we lost him. He’s been like this ever since.”
She strokes her delicate fingers through his dark hair. I do my best not to shudder. Bile rises in my throat, a manifestation of the sick feeling growing inside me. I should be sad. He is, after all, my father. But this is what he deserves.
No, he deserves worse.
“How can you …?” I trail off, not able to complete the thought. My eyes cannot stop staring at her fingers in his hair.
“Despite it all, I love him.”
“Loved him, you mean?”
She shakes her head. “Lovehim. Still.”
Tears gather in her eyes and I turn away, not able to see them slip down her face. Instead, I stare at a painting of horses running in a field. Their heads are painted clearly in focus, but their legs and the background are a blur of colors, depicting motion. I wish I could join them, running from this room.
“I know I should hate him. Especially after what he did to you. My son,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry I didn’t do more.”
I had never been angry with her. Not through the years of abuse, when my father tried to force my shift with violence. But now, I am angry. How could she have sat by and let him continue? How can she sit by him now?
There is a soft knock at the door. Ally enters the room, smiling tentatively at me. She smooths her hands down her silvery-blue dress, which is the same color as her dragon. The style is more formal than what she used to wear. She looks like a miniature of my mother, other than her blonde hair.
“Ally, darling,” Mother says, opening her arms wide. Ally crosses the room to sit next to her. Mother gives her a side hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. My family had always known and liked Ally. But this closeness is new.
I don’t like it.
Mother pins me with her gaze and a knowing smile. “Ally has been a lifesaver since you’ve been gone, Sebastian. I’m not sure what I would have done without her.” She glances slyly from Ally to me.
I cannot swallow, cannot breathe for the ache in my throat.
“I know I speak for the both of us when I say that we’re so glad you’ve come home. Even under such circumstances.”
Thiswasamistake.
I know it, suddenly and deeply, all the way down to my bones. Coming back here, bringing Cade to clan. I’m not ready for all this. The memories, the weight of being the royal son, the expectations of the crowd who pledged their fealty to me less than an hour ago. And Ally, who is apparently now my mother’s best friend and wants to pick right back up where we left off.
Mother stands, taking Ally’s hand in hers, drawing her across the room to me. I stare at Mother, dumbfounded, unable to meet Ally’s eyes. I don’t need to look directly at her to see her wide, white smile. A creeping dread curls through my chest.
I am so shocked that I don’t resist at first as Mother joins my hand to Ally’s, presenting her like she’s an offering. A gift.
“It’s time to claim what’s yours, my son. My Sebastian.”
Ally smile widens and my stomach twists, thinking of Cade. I realize suddenly that I haven’t been feeling the separation from her as acutely as I did at Blakemore. After I shifted to my dragon and rescued her from the lab, I haven’t left her side. Being more than a
few feet from her made me jittery and irritable. Even my skin seemed to hurt when I wasn’t touching Cade.
Now? I don’t even feel a dull ache. Why is that? Immediately my mind goes to the darkest place. Has something happened to her? Even if he’s angry with me, I know Kurt would have sent word. Did the bond change? The thought sends ice straight to my heart. My dragon rumbles a very clear no.
Family, he says. Home.
It must be the impact of being on clan lands and around other dragons that has kept him calm, even apart from Cade. He’s at peace, at home. This is where he belongs.
ButdoI?
“I’m so glad to see you two together again,” Mother says.
“So am I.” Ally’s voice is a soft murmur, laced with affection and even a hint of seduction that makes me distinctly uncomfortable.
I realize that my hand and Ally’s are still joined, and I pull away. Ally’s smile falters. Running my fingers through my hair, I move away from them both. I hadn’t planned out exactly how to explain Cade and the bond, but it definitely wasn’t like this. The mate bond can’t be undone. And even if it could, no matter what their reaction will be or what the reaction of our people will be, it is my choice. I can’t shy away from this now. Cade needs me to stand with her, stand forher. More now than ever.
Ourchoice, my dragon reminds me. I’m glad he still knows that, despite his inability to care when Ally touches me.
“I’ve formed the mate bond,” I say. Both Ally and my mother stiffen. I swear I even see my father’s hunched shape twitch. But when I look, his dead eyes still stare down at the floor.
“What?” Mother’s voice is a harsh whisper that slices bone deep. “Who? How?”
I meet her gaze. “While working at the Academy. Her name is Acadiana.”
Mother scoffs. “Not the girl you brought with you? Impossible.”
“The human?” Ally practically spits the words, all softness gone from her tone, which is laced with condescension. Finally, finally, my dragon growls at Ally.
Tookyoulongenoughtocatchon,buddy.
Mother’s eyes suddenly go wide. “Tell me that’s not Acadiana— the Blakemore girl.”
I’m instantly wary. “Yes. She goes by Cade.”
Mother spins, turning away from us both. Her hand moves through her hair, tugging the strands roughly.
“How?” Ally hisses. “It’s not possible.”
“Apparently it is. I don’t know how it happened, but it’s very real.” I flinch, realizing that it doesn’t sound like I meant for it to happen. As though it were an accident or something I had no control over, just like Cade feared when we spoke about the bond. I shouldn’t hesitate to tell them this. I should be proud of Cade, defending her. I hadn’t anticipated the desire I’d feel for my mother’s approval. For her blessing.
I’m about to say, Iloveher, when Mother spins back to face me. “Do the Blakemores know she’s here?”
“No. It’s … complicated. She’s here for her protection. How do you know her parents?”
“I’ve been in talks with the Blakemores since your father …”
She glances over at him, still slumped in the chair and lightly snoring. It’s easy to forget that he’s even here. I prefer it that way, actually.
Shaking her head, Mother continues. “The Blakemores and I have been discussing more dragon involvement. Signing more of the accords. They’ve been working with me and with the Fae king to bring us more fully into the fold.”
I gape at her. “After so many years of keeping us separate from the rest of the world? You’re thinking of opening the gates? Changing the laws?”
This is something I had long supported, mostly because so many of our dragons would like to be more connected to the outside world. Living in an isolated plot of land like this has a lot of downsides. Add in the cruel way my father has ruled his people and it’s meant that more and more dragons have left clan lands, breaking ties completely with their people. If it didn’t mean
negotiating with the Blakemores, I would be all about this. But now, I can’t help but wonder what their end game is.
Mother lifts her chin. “I doubt it will happen now. The whole world outside of the clan has gone mad. I’m not sure the Blakemores could do anything to convince me. Not now. But to keep things civil, I must insist we tell them she’s here.”
My dragon practically roars at the thought. “No.”
Mother’s eyes widen in surprise and even Ally studies me, trying to puzzle this out. I don’t want to tell them everything, but I’m not sure why. A sense of unease prickles my skin. I don’t know if it’s because of my mother and this new development or Ally. Or even just talking about Cade around my father, as useless as he is. I search for an excuse.
“The Healer thought she would do better in a safe environment with no stress. Her parents must have more than enough to worry about right now. And their relationship has been strained.” To put it mildly.
“They don’t know about you, do they?” Mother’s eyes cut right through me.
“No.”
“Interesting. What’s wrong with the girl?”
“She was attacked. The Healers aren’t sure that she’ll regain consciousness.” My chest tightens as I say the words, and I fight my dragon for control. Even just talking about the possibility that Cade may not wake up has him in a frenzy.
“Do her parents know about the attack?”
“No.”
“Sebastian, this is kidnapping!”
“She’s eighteen. Legally, an adult.”
“And unconscious, which means her parents are still her guardians. You have no right—”
I stop following her words as a sudden sensation envelops me, heady and intoxicating. Something I haven’t felt in days. An awareness and a rush of feelings.
Cade. She’s awake.
Everything feels distant, but then, I know Mother would have set her up in the guest wing on the far side of the Keep. “I have to go,” I say, turning for the door. “Cade is awake.”
Before I can take two steps, Mother’s tight grip on my arm swings me around. I forget sometimes that a powerful dragon lies underneath her creamy skin and small stature. Her eyes glitter, as hard and cool as gemstones.
“We aren’t done with this conversation. She can’t stay here. And the mate bond is a serious business. It doesn’t happen with humans. It can’t.”
There is the slightest sneer on her face, which shocks me. Despite her strength and all that she’s endured, Mother has never been hard or harsh. I meet her gaze, feeling my pupils shift as my dragon roars inside, urging me to join my mate.
I need to be with her. Now.
“Except it did happen, Mother. It’s done and it’s real. We’ll talk later.” I rip myself from her grasp, completely ignoring Ally’s sobs as I bolt for the door and down the hall.
Scales begin to erupt over my skin as my whole body heats, my dragon desperately following the irresistible pull to our love.
Soheavy. My limbs and chest and head all feel weighed down. Not crushed, but a soft pressure. It’s surprisingly comfortable. The silence around me is comfortable. For a moment, I think I should just stay here in the warm darkness.
But something pricks my mind. A sense of urgency crumbles the lulling peace I felt just moments ago. I need to … something. Be or do something.
Ever so slowly, consciousness washes over me. I still feel heavy, but I can move my fingertips. I’m aware of light, even as my eyelids stay closed. There’s a familiar smell.
But it’s not Sebastian’s smoke and leather scent. That realization brings me fully to the surface with a gasp, like I’ve been underwater.
“Take it easy. Hey now, you’re okay.”
I blink my eyes open to a room I don’t recognize, but brown eyes that I definitely do.
“Kurt.” My voice is a rusty hinge, rough and scraping.
“Hello, gorgeous.”
His big hand reaches for me, brushing strands of hair back from my face with a surprising tenderness that makes me sigh. He’s lying
on his side, propped up on one elbow, grinning down on me. As I take in what I can see of the room—wood paneling, classic oil paintings in gold frames, heavy drapes drawn shut over windows— my mind searches for an anchor of where I am. Where I’ve been.
“Take your time,” Kurt says. “It may be a little while before you fully come back to us.”
Even as my mind is searching for memories, I’m taking inventory of my body. Fingers and toes, check. Arms and legs, check. Everything seems to be in place. There’s no pain, but it seems like there should be. I actually feel fantastic. Rested and whole. But heavy, like I’m underneath a weighted blanket. I simply need to shrug that off and I’ll be fine.
Except … something is missing. I reach for my powers, the instinct as natural as breathing.
Nothing. Not a whisper. Not a buzz. Only a yawning empty place.
“Back from where? Where have I been? Why do I feel like something horrible happened to me? My powers—it feels different. They’re gone?”
Though I’m struggling to find my last memories, I still know Kurt well enough to suspect something is wrong. He’s searching for the right words, his mouth opening and closing. He’s my irreverent, smart-mouthed friend. The one who never holds back.
“Kurt. You have to tell me. Whatever it is.” I reach for him and feel a sharp pinch at the inside of my elbow. “Ouch.”
Kurt bends over me quickly. “Hold still, baby girl.”
That’sanewnickname. I do as he asks, which is easy considering my body feels like it’s filled with cement. I watch as Kurt expertly removes an IV from my arm. IhaveanIV?He keeps his thumb pressed to the spot until he can unwrap a Band-Aid and place it on my skin. Pressing a gentle kiss there, he leans back, his eyes holding a sadness I didn’t notice before.
“Kurt, talk to me. Also, can you get me water?”
“Anything for you.” Kurt is a lot of things with me: flirty, honest, sweet. But usually it’s a mix of those. His tenderness right now has my stomach doing nervous flips. Or maybe that’s hunger? I’m starving. But there’s no way I can eat until I know what’s happening.
Kurt reaches past me for a bottle of water, holding himself up, careful to keep his weight off me. His T-shirt brushes against my nose. He smells spicy and masculine.
He helps me sit up in the bed—whose bed? In what bedroom?— and hands me a cool bottle of water. I can feel the cold travel all the way down my throat, soothing as it goes. The heaviness pressing down on my body begins to lift. I catch sight of the IV pole. It transports me back to the day I woke in the hospital after having my powers stolen.
Themages.
Like a bucket of water pouring over my head, memories come flooding back. Ms. Ellwyn’s office. Rafe. The weapon. Sebastian’s dragon.
Darkness. Pain. And so much power …
“Breathe, baby girl. You’re safe. It’s okay.” Kurt takes the water from my shaking hands and sets it back on the table. His big palms cup my face. I reach my hands up, covering his with my own.
“If it’s okay, why are your eyes so sad?” I whisper.
He looks away. While I wait for him to answer, I study his face. The normal stubble on his jaw has grown out into almost beardlevel. Dark circles frame his sad eyes. I’ve never seen this look on Kurt, and it scares me.
Whyisn’tSebastianwithme?
“Did something happen to Sebastian?”
Kurt’s eyes snap to mine. I can see an anger below the surface. His jaw tightens. “He’s fine. We’re in South Dakota at Clan Locke.” His words are laced with the hardness of granite.
“Kurt, please. You have to tell me why you look like that. And where is Sebastian if he’s fine?”
Sighing, Kurt rolls over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. My body still feels a little heavy, but it lightens more and more each moment I’m awake. I snuggle closer to Kurt, resting my head on the hard planes of his chest.
“I’m not sure where to start. You just woke up, and I don’t want to overwhelm you.”
“I’m not some delicate flower.”
He snorts at this. “No. You’re anything but. You’re more like a cat with nine lives. Or, maybe just seven now.”
“Kurt, come on. Start at the beginning. I remember the machine. I tried to stop them from stealing magic. I tried to give it back instead. Did it work?”
Kurt presses a kiss to the top of my head. “It did, baby girl. You did so good. Supes got their powers back. All because of you.”
The tension in my chest eases, ever so slightly. “But?”
“A few things. I’ll start with the not-so good one. Your sonic boom of power didn’t just give magic back to the people who had theirs stolen by Keller and Ms. Ellwyn and whoever else is involved in this. You know the supernatural prisons?” He winces.
“Oh no.” I don’t want to know whatever he’s going to say next. My whole body feels suddenly cold.
“It wasn’t your fault, Cade. But all the prisoners had their powers restored as well. Most of them managed to escape.”
I’ve never seen one of the prisons designed to keep supes. But I know a few dozen of the supes serving sentences because I helped put them there as an Enforcer. Some, like the steak-stealing ogre I helped stop the night of my birthday, were fairly harmless. Others had hurt or killed people. The worst kind of evil. I can’t imagine the fallout from this.
“Am I in trouble?”
He pauses. “No, but we didn’t know if any of them would come after you. And we still don’t know who all the players are in this grand conspiracy or your parents’ role. Things are a little bit wild out there right now. Riots, protests, people out for supe blood. We came here for your safety.”
The “we” must include Sebastian, but even as I try to feel for him, I can’t sense him. No emotions, no connection. Nothing. A pit forms in the center of my stomach.
“Okay. That’s bad, but that doesn’t explain the sadness I see in your eyes. Keep talking.”
He smiles and taps my nose with a finger. “I missed you when you were out. Though you make a lovely Sleeping Beauty.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure I look amazing right now.”
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this season is five, which is a respectable number. As Bolton pointed out— if we each got five to-day, and there were six extras, we should win. I suppose if one plays chess a good deal one thinks of these things.
Harold, I mean George, refused to field, so I nobly put myself in last and substituted for him. This was owing to an argument as to the exact wording of my bet with Gerald.
"You said you'd get him out," said Gerald.
"I mean 'out of the way,' 'out of the field,' 'out of——'"
"I meant 'out' according to the laws of cricket. There are nine ways. Which was yours, I should like to know?"
"Obstructing the ball."
"There you are."
I shifted my ground.
"I didn't say I'd get him out," I explained. "I said I'd get him. Those were my very words. 'I will get George.' Can you deny that I got him?"
"Even if you said that, which you didn't, the common construction that one puts upon the phrase is——"
"If you are going to use long words like that," I said, "I must refer you to my solicitor Bolton."
Whereupon Bolton took counsel's opinion, and reported that he could not advise me to proceed in the matter. So Gerald took second wicket, and I fielded.
However, one advantage of fielding was that I saw the editor's innings from start to finish at the closest quarters. He came in at the end of the first over, and took guard for "left hand round the wicket."
"Would you give it me?" he said to Bolton. "These country umpires.... Thanks. And what's that over the wicket? Thanks."
He marked two places with the bail.
"How about having it from here?" I suggested at mid-on. "It's quite a good place and we're in a straight line with the church."
The editor returned the bail, and held up his bat again.
"That 'one-leg' all right? Thanks."
He was proceeding to look round the field when a gentle voice from behind him said: "If you wouldn't mind moving a bit, sir, I could bowl."
"Oh, is it over?" said the editor airily, trying to hide his confusion. "I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon."
Still he had certainly impressed the sister of their captain, and it was dreadful to think of the disillusionment that might follow at any moment. However, as it happened, he had yet another trick up his sleeve. Bolton hit a ball to cover, and the editor, in the words of the local paper, "most sportingly sacrificed his wicket when he saw that his partner had not time to get back. It was a question, however, whether there was ever a run possible."
Which shows that the reporter did not know of the existence of their captain's sister.
When I came in, the score was fifty-one for nine, and Henry was still in. I had only one ball to play, so I feel that I should describe it in full. I have four good scoring strokes—the cut, the drive, the hook and the glance. As the bowler ran up to the crease I decided to cut the ball to the ropes. Directly, however, it left his hand, I saw that it was a ball to hook, and accordingly I changed my attitude to the one usually adopted for that stroke. But the ball came up farther than I expected, so at the last moment I drove it hard past the bowler. That at least was the idea. Actually, it turned out to be
a beautiful glance shot to the leg boundary. Seldom, if ever, has Beldam had such an opportunity for four action photographs on one plate.
Henry took a sixer next ball, and so we won. And the rest of the story of my team, is it not written in the journals of The Sportsman and The Chartleigh Watchman, and in the hearts of all who were privileged to compose it? But how the editor took two jokes I told him in the train, and put them in his paper (as his own), and how Carey challenged the enginedriver to an eighteen-hole solitaire match, and how ... these things indeed shall never be divulged.
EX NIHILO FIT MULTUM
I should like to explain just what happened to the ball. In the first place it was of an irreproachable length, and broke very sharply and cleverly from the leg. (The bowler, I am sure, will bear me out in this.) Also it rose with great suddenness ... and, before I had time to perfect any adequate system of defence, took me on the knee, and from there rolled on to the off-stump. There was a considerable amount of applause on the part of the field, due, no doubt, to the feeling that a dangerous batsman had been dismissed without scoring. I need hardly add that I did not resent this appreciation.
What I really wished to say to the wicket-keeper was (1) that it was the first fast wicket I had played on this summer; (2) that it was my first nought this season, and, hang it, even Fry made noughts sometimes; and (3) that personally I always felt that it didn't matter what one made oneself so long as one's side was victorious. What I actually said was shorter; but I expect the wicket-keeper understood just as well. He seemed an intelligent fellow.
After that, I walked nine miles back to the pavilion.
The next man was brushing his hair in the dressing-room.
"What's happened?" he asked.
"Nothing," I said truthfully.
"But you're out, aren't you?"
"I mean that nothing has eventuated—accrued, as it were."
"Blob? Bad luck. Is my parting straight?"
"It curls a bit from leg up at the top, but it will do. Mind you make some. I always feel that so long as one's side is victorious——"
But he was gone. I brushed my own hair very carefully, lit a cigarette, and went outside to the others. I always think that a nought itself is nothing
—the way one carries it off is everything. A disaster, not only to himself but also to his side, should not make a man indifferent to his personal appearance.
"Bad luck," said somebody. "Did it come back?"
"Very quickly. We both did."
"He wasn't breaking much when I was in," said some tactless idiot.
"Then why did you get out?" I retorted.
"L.b.w."
I moved quickly away from him, and sat next to a man who had yet to go in.
"Bad luck," he said. "Second ball, wasn't it? I expect I shall do the same."
I thought for a moment.
"What makes you think you will have a second?" I asked.
"To judge from the easy way in which those two are knocking the bowling about, I sha'n't even have a first," he smiled.
I moved on again.
"Hallo," said a voice. "I saw you get out. How many did you make?"
"None," I said wearily.
"How many?"
I went and sat down next to him.
"Guess," I said.
"Oh, I can't."
"Well, think of a number."
"Yes."
"Double it. Divide by two. Take away the number you first thought of. What does that make?"
"A hundred."
"You must have done it wrong," I said suspiciously.
"No, I am sure I didn't.... No, it still comes to a hundred."
"Well, then, I must have made a hundred," I said excitedly. "Are you sure you haven't made a mistake?"
"Quite."
"Then I'd better go and tell the scorer. He put me down a blob—silly ass."
"He's a bad scorer, I know."
"By the way," I said, as I got up, "what number did you think of?"
"Well, it's like this. When you asked me to guess what you had made I instinctively thought of blob, only I didn't like to say so. Then when you began that number game I started with a hundred—it's such an easy number. Double—two hundred. Divided by two—one hundred. Take away the number you first thought of—that's blob, and you have a hundred left. Wasn't that right?"
"You idiot," I said angrily. "Of course it wasn't."
"Well, don't get sick about it. We all make mistakes."
"Sick, I'm not sick. Only just for the moment.... I really thought.... Well, I shall never be so near a century again."
At lunch I sat next to one of their side.
"How many did you make?" he asked.
"Not very many," I said.
"How many?"
"Oh, hardly any. None at all, practically."
"How many actually?"
"And actually," I said. ("Fool.")
After lunch a strange man happened to be talking to me.
"And why did you get out?" he asked.
It was a silly question and deserved a silly answer. Besides, I was sick of it all by this time.
"Point's moustache put me off," I said.
"What was wrong with Point's moustache?"
"It swerved the wrong way."
"I was fielding point," he said.
"I'm very sorry. But if you had recognised me, you wouldn't have asked why I got out, and if I had recognised you I shouldn't have told you. So let's forgive and forget."
I hoped that the subject was really closed this time. Of course, I knew that kind friends and relations would ask me on the morrow how many I
had made, but for that day I wanted no more of it. Yet, as it happened, I reopened the subject myself.
For with five minutes to play their ninth wicket fell. Mid-off sauntered over towards me.
"Just as well we didn't stay in any longer."
"That's just what I thought," I said triumphantly, "all along."
AN AVERAGE MAN
Of Tomkins as a natural cricketer It frequently has been remarked—that IF He'd had more opportunities of bowling, And rather more encouragement in batting, And IF his averages, so disclosed, Batting and bowling, had been interchanged; And IF the field as usually set Contained some post (at the pavilion end) Whose presence rather than a pair of hands Was called for; then, before the season finished, Tomkins would certainly have played for Kent.
All this, however, is beside the mark. Just now I wish to hymn the glorious day (Ignored by those who write the almanacs, Unnoticed by the calendar compilers), That Wednesday afternoon, twelve months ago When Tomkins raised his average to two.
Thanks to an interval of accidents (As "Tomkins did not bat"—and "not out 0,"
But this more rarely) Tomkins' average Had long remained at 1.3.
(Though Tomkins, sacrificing truth to pride, Or both to euphony, left out the dot—
Left out the little dot upon the three, Only employing it to justify A second three to follow on the first. Thus, if a stranger asked his average Tomkins would answer "One point thirty-three"— Nor lay the stress unduly on the "one" ...).
A curious thing is custom! There are men— Plum Warner is, of course, a case in point— Who cannot bat unless they go in first.
Others, as Hayes and Denton, have their place First wicket down; while Number Six or so Is suited best to Jessop. As for Tomkins His place was always one above the Byes, And three above the Wides. So Custom willed.
Upon this famous Wednesday afternoon Wickets had fallen fast before the onslaught Of one who had, as Euclid might have put it, No length, or break, but only pace; and pace Had been too much for nine of them already. Then entered Tomkins the invincible. Took guard as usual, "just outside the leg," Looked round the field, and mentally decided To die—or raise his average to two. Whereon—for now the bowler was approaching, He struck a scientific attitude, Advanced the left leg firmly down the pitch, And swung his bat along the line AB (See Ranjitsinhji's famous book of cricket).
And when the bat and leg were both at B (Having arrived there more or less together),
Then Tomkins, with his usual self-effacement, Modestly closed his eyes, and left the rest
To Providence and Ranjy and the bowler (Forming a quorum); two at least of whom Resolved that he should neatly glide the ball Somewhere between the first and second slips. So Tomkins did compile a chanceless two.
Once more the bowler rushed upon the crease, While Tomkins made a hasty calculation (Necessitating use of decimals) And found his average was 1.5. So lustily he smote and drove the ball Loftily over long stop's head for one; Which brought the decimal to seventy-five, And Tomkins, puffing, to the other end. Then, feeling that the time for risks was come, He rolled his sleeves up, blew upon his hands, And played back to a yorker, and was bowled.
Every position has its special charm. You go in first and find as a reward The wicket at its best; you go in later And find the fielders slack, the bowling loose. Tomkins, who went in just above the Byes, Found one of them had slipped into his score. 'Tis wise to take the good the gods provide you— And Tomkins has an average of two.
SMALL GAMES
PHYSICAL CULTURE
"Why don't you sit up?" said Adela at dinner, suddenly prodding me in the back. Adela is old enough to take a motherly interest in my figure, and young enough to look extremely pretty while doing so.
"I always stoop at meals," I explained; "it helps the circulation. My own idea."
"But it looks so bad. You ought——"
"Don't improve me," I begged,
"No wonder you have——"
"Hush! I haven't. I got a bullet on the liver in the campaign of '03, due to over-smoking, and sometimes it hurts me a little in the cold weather. That's all."
"Why don't you try the Hyperion?"
"I will. Where is it?"
"It isn't anywhere; you buy it."
"Oh, I thought you dined at it. What do you buy it for?"
"It's one of those developers with elastics and pulleys and so on. Every morning early, for half-an-hour before breakfast——"
"You are trying to improve me," I said suspiciously.
"But they are such good things," went on Adela earnestly. "They really do help to make you beautiful——"
"I am beautiful."
"Well, much more beautiful. And strong——"
"Are you being simply as tactful as you can be?"
"—and graceful."
"It isn't as though you were actually a relation," I protested.
Adela continued, full of her ideas:
"It would do you so much good, you know. Would you promise me to use it every day if I sent you mine?"
"Why don't you want yours any more now? Are you perfect now?"
"You can easily hook it to the wall——"
"I suppose," I reflected, "there is a limit of beauty beyond which it is dangerous to go. After that, either the thing would come off the hook, or ——"
"Well," said Adela suddenly, "aren't I looking well?"
"You're looking radiant," I said appreciatively; "but it may only be because you're going to marry Billy next month."
She smiled and blushed. "Well, I'll send it to you," she said. "And you try it for a week, and then tell me if you don't feel better. Oh, and don't do all the exercises to begin with; start with three or four of the easy ones."
"Of course," I said.
I undid the wrappings eagerly, took off the lid of the box, and was confronted with (apparently) six pairs of braces. I shook them out of the box and saw I had made a mistake. It was one pair of braces for Magog. I picked it up, and I knew that I was in the presence of the Hyperion. In five minutes I had screwed a hook into the bedroom wall and attached the beautifier. Then I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at it.
There was a tin plate, fastened to the top, with the word "LADIES" on it. I got up, removed it with a knife, and sat down again. Everything was very dusty, and I wondered when Adela had last developed herself.
By-and-by I went into the other room to see if I had overlooked anything. I found on the floor a chart of exercises, and returned triumphantly with it.
There were thirty exercises altogether, and the chart gave
(1) A detailed explanation of how to do each particular exercise;
(2) A photograph of a lady doing it.
"After all," I reassured myself, after the first bashful glance, "it is Adela who has thrust this upon me; and she must have known." So I studied it.
Nos. 10, 15 and 28 seemed the easiest; I decided to confine myself to them. For the first of these you strap yourself in at the waist, grasp the handles, and fall slowly backwards until your head touches the floor—all the elastic cords being then at full stretch. When I had got very slowly halfway down, an extra piece of elastic which had got hitched somewhere came suddenly into play, and I did the rest of the journey without a stop, finishing up sharply against the towel horse. The chart had said, "Inhale going down," and I was inhaling hard at the moment that the towel horse and two damp towels spread themselves over my face.
"So much for Exercise 10," I thought, as I got up. "I'll just get the idea to-night, and then start properly to-morrow. Now for No. 15."
Somehow I felt instinctively that No. 15 would cause trouble. For No. 15 you stand on the right foot, fasten the left foot to one of the cords, and stretch it out as far as you can....
What—officially—you do then, I cannot say....
Some people can stand easily upon the right foot, when the left is fastened to the wall ... others cannot ... it is a gift....
Having recovered from my spontaneous rendering of No. 15 I turned to No. 28. This one, I realised, was extremely important; I would do it twelve times.
You begin by lying flat on the floor, roped in at the waist, and with your hands (grasping the elastic cords) held straight up in the air. The tension on your waist is then extreme, but on your hands only moderate. Then, taking a deep breath, you pull your arms slowly out until they lie along the floor. The tension becomes terrific, the strain on every part of you is immense. While I lay there, taking a deep breath before relaxing, I said to myself, "The strain will be too much for me."
I was wrong. It was too much for the hook. The hook whizzed out, everything flew at me at once, and I remembered no more....
As I limped into bed, I trod heavily upon something sharp. I shrieked and bent down to see what had bitten me. It was a tin plate bearing the words "LADIES."
"Well?" said Adela, a week later.
I looked at her for a long time.
"When did you last use the Hyperion?" I asked.
"About a year ago."
"Ah! ... You don't remember the chart that went with it?"
"Not well. Except, of course, that each exercise was arranged for a particular object according to what you wanted."
"Exactly. So I discovered yesterday. It was in very small type, and I missed it at first."
"Well, how many did you do?"
"I limited myself to Exercises 10, 15, and 28. Do you happen to remember what those were for?"
"Not particularly."
"No. Well, I started with No. 10. No. 10, you may recall, is one of the most perilous. I nearly died over No. 10. And when I had been doing it for a week, I discovered what its particular object was."
"What?"
"'To round the forearm!' Yes, madam," I said bitterly, "I have spent a week of agony ... and I have rounded one forearm."
"Why didn't you try another?"
"I did. I tried No. 15. Six times in the pursuit of No. 15 have I been shot up to the ceiling by the left foot ... and what for, Adela? 'To arch the instep!' Look at my instep! Why should I want to arch it?"
"I wish I could remember which chart I sent you," said Adela, wrinkling her brow.
"It was the wrong one," I said....
There was a long silence.
"Oh," said Adela suddenly, "you never told me about No. 28."
"Pardon me," I said, "I cannot bear to speak of 28."
"Why, was it even more unsuitable than the other two?"
"I found, when I had done it six times, that its object was stated to be, 'To remove double chin.' That, however, was not the real effect. And so I crossed out the false comment and wrote the true one in its place."
"And what is that?" asked Adela.
"'To remove the hook,'" I said gloomily.
CROQUET
PROLOGUE
"I hear you're very good at croquet," said my hostess.
"Oh, well," I said modestly. (The fact is I can beat them all at home.)
"We have the North Rutland champion staying with us. He's very keen on a game. Now then, how can we manage?"
This was terrible. I must put it off somehow.
"Is there a north to Rutland," I began argumentatively. "I always thought ——"
"Yes, I see. He shall play with Jane against you and Miss Middleton. By the way, let me introduce you all."
We bowed to each other for a bit, and then I had another shock. The N.R. champion's mallet was bound with brass at each end (in case he wanted to hit backwards suddenly) and had a silver plate on it. Jane's had the brass only. It was absurd that they should play together.
I drew Miss Middleton on one side.
"I say," I began nervously, "I'm frightfully sorry, but I quite forgot to bring my mallet. Will it matter very much?"
"I haven't one either."
"You know, when my man was packing my bag, I particularly said to him, 'Now, don't forget to put in a mallet.' He said, 'Shall I put the spare one in too, sir, because the best one's sprung a bit?'"
"Oh, I've never had one of my own. I suppose when one is really good ——"
"Well, to tell you the truth, I've never had one either. We're fairly in for it now."
"Never mind, we'll amuse ourselves somehow, I expect."
"Oh, I'm quite looking forward to it."
CHAPTER I
They kicked off from the summer-house end, and, after jockeying for the start a bit, the N.R. champion got going. He went very slowly but very surely. I watched anxiously for ten minutes, expecting my turn every moment. After a quarter of an hour I raised my hat and moved away.
"Shall we sit down?" I said to Miss Middleton.
"We shall be in the way if we sit down here, sha'n't we?"
"Outside that chalk line we're safe?"
"I—I suppose so."
We moved outside and sat down on the grass.
"I never even had a chalk line," I said mournfully.
"It's much more fun without."
"You know," I went on, "I can beat them all at home. Why even Wilfrid ——"
"It's just the same with me," said Miss Middleton. "Hilda did win once by a frightful fluke, but——"
"But this is quite different. At home it would be considered jolly bad form to go on all this time."
"One would simply go in and leave them," said Miss Middleton.
"You know, it's awful fun at home. The lawn goes down in terraces, and if you hit the other person's ball hard enough you can get it right down to the bottom; and it takes at least six to get back on the green again."
Miss Middleton gurgled to herself.
"We've got a stream ... round our lawn," she said, in gasps. "It's such a joke ... and once ... when Hilda..."
CHAPTER II
"May I call you 'Mary?'" I said; "we're still here."
"Well, we have known each other a long time, certainly," said Miss Middleton. "I think you might."
"Thanks very much."
"What hoop is he at?"
"He's just half-way."
"I suppose, when he's finished, then, Jane does it all?"
"It practically comes to that. I believe, as a matter of form, I am allowed a shot in between."
"That won't make any difference, will it?"
"No...."
"It's awfully hot, isn't it?"
"Yes.... Do you bicycle much?"
"No.... Do you?"
"No. I generally sleep in the afternoons."
"Much the best thing to do. Good-night."
"Good-night."
CHAPTER III
"Wake up," I said. "You've been asleep for hours. Jane is playing now."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Mary, still with her eyes closed. "Then I missed your turn. Was it a good one?"
"Absolutely splendid. I had a very long shot, and hit the champion. Then I took my mallet in both hands, brought it well over the shoulder—are you allowed to do that, by the way?"
"Yes, it's hockey where you mustn't."
"And croqueted him right down to the house—over beds, through bushes, across paths—the longest ball I've ever driven."
"I hope you didn't make him very cross. You see, he may not be used to our game."
"Cross? My dear girl, he was fairly chuckling with delight. Told me I'd missed the rest of my turn. It seems that if you go over two beds, and across more than one path, you miss the rest of your turn. Did you know that?"
"I suppose I did really, but I'd forgotten."
"And here I am again. Jane will be even longer. He's lying on the grass, and taking sights for her just now.... Why didn't you answer my last letter?"
CHAPTER IV
"It's this passion for games," I said, waking up suddenly, "which has made us Englishmen what we are. Here we have a hot July afternoon, when all Nature is at peace, and the foreigner is taking his siesta. And what do we do? How do we English men and women spend this hot afternoon? Why, immediately after lunch, in one case even before the meal has been digested, we rush off to take part in some violent game like croquet. Hour after hour the play goes on relentlessly; there is no backing out on our part, no pleading for just five minutes in which to get our wind. No, we bear our part manfully, and—— Are you awake by any chance, or am I wasting all this?"
"Of course I'm awake," said Mary, opening her eyes.
"What years I have known you! Do you remember those days when we used to paddle together—the mixed paddling at Brighton?"
"Ah, yes. And your first paint-box."
"And your doll——"
"And the pony——"
