Darknight(63)

“Really?” I asked, startled. I had to turn away from him then, since, as with most meals, everything was ready at once, and I had to get the eggs dished up and the bacon draining and the biscuits out of the oven before they went from golden brown to just plain brown. Once everything was ready, and I’d taken the food over to the kitchen table, I went on, “So what does that mean?”

He shrugged. “No one knows for sure. I told you everyone thought it was strange that my mother lasted so long after Damon was born. They thought she’d be gone within the year, just like all the other primus wives had. But she seemed to be all right, and time went on, and then…then there was me. The miracle baby.”

This last was said in such dry tones that I knew he thought the exact opposite, that he wasn’t such a miracle after all. I would beg to differ, but I wasn’t about to get into that argument right now.

“Well, then,” I said, “maybe the curse doesn’t apply to you. After all, you’re of Jeremiah’s line, but you’re not the primus. It could be okay.”

“Do you want to risk it?”

The question hung, heavy in the air. I swallowed. “Not right away. No, of course not. But I think it means there might be some hope.”

“Hope.” He was quiet for a moment, considering. “That would be nice. But my family history doesn’t have too much hope in it.”

No, I thought, not much hope at all. Suicide and madness and untimely death. Not a very good basis for family planning.

I didn’t say any of that, of course. Instead, I reached out and touched his hand, squeezing his fingers gently, so he’d know I wasn’t about to give up, that I wanted to be with him, no matter what.

Even if it kills you? I wondered.

I refused to answer the question.



* * *



We ate in silence after that, neither one of us wanting to pursue the subject any further. Maybe it was better to let it go for now. After all, even though we shared the consort bond, knew this thing between us was serious and not some fling to be put aside in a few days or weeks or even months, we still had plenty of time. I had just turned twenty-two, after all, and I’d always wanted to wait until I was closer to thirty before I started a family. That was a lot of years to figure out how to stave off the Wilcox curse.

After we were done with breakfast, and Connor had washed the plates and silverware, and put them in the dish drain— he insisted on doing that, even though I said it was no big deal — I said, “Can I ask you another question?”

His expression told me that he really didn’t want me to, but he replied, evenly enough, “Sure.”

The image of the young woman with the honey-blonde hair, the one I’d seen Damon put his arm around, flickered in my mind. “Why do the women in your clan even allow themselves to be with the primus? I mean, at the first hint that he might be interested, you’d think they’d head for the hills.”

He finished wiping his hands on the dish towel and then hung it back from the hook where he’d found it. “Why do women in some off-shoot religions right here in America allow themselves to be married off to a man who already has five wives? Why did people drink the Kool-Aid at Jonestown? You can call it cultural conditioning or brainwashing or whatever you want — in my clan, it’s considered an honor to be the wife of the primus, to bear his child, even though you won’t be around to see that son grow up. And while you’re in that position, even if it only lasts for six months or a year or two, you’re the queen of the world.”

“That’s — sick,” I replied, staring at him in disbelief. Something in the cold mask that had settled over his features as he gave his reply reminded me a little too much of his brother, and I shook my head to rid it of that image.

“You think so, and I think so, but….” He lifted his shoulders. “It’s just the way it is.”

I had to ask. “And your mother thought the same way?”

“I don’t know. I was only three when she died, remember? We didn’t exactly have a lot of mother-son heart-to-heart talks. And if she ever said anything to Damon, he never shared it with me.”

No, he probably wouldn’t. I could tell from the tight set of Connor’s mouth and the shuttered look in his eyes that he really didn’t want to discuss the topic any further. Fine, I’d let it go for now. I’d heard enough, actually — enough to be very glad that we McAllisters had a way for me to sidestep the curse for now. No baby, no untimely death. Simple math.

“Okay,” I said. “You want to get out of here for a while? It looks like it’s shaping up to be a nice day.”