3. Bertram #3
Bertram had a feeling his mother had no idea what made for great chat at parties, and that People would be willing to listen to a rich, gorgeous vampire no matter what she was prattling on about.
Bertram looked back toward the bushes and sighed. “Now the birdweasel’s gone, and I didn’t even get a good picture of him.”
“That’s why I always say that sketching is superior to photographs. Photographs can only preserve what you’re seeing; sketches preserve what you saw.”
Bertram shook his head.
“My guess is we’ll see a dozen more birdweasels before we catch sight of the owl-bear.
” Jennie took another sip of blood. “Although, sightings of her have become more frequent recently—likely due to her reported injury. Did you know they added four lanes to the 394 last year, despite my vehement protests? If the owl-bear’s flying is limited, there’s no way she would be able to cross that freeway.
She’s trapped by roads on all sides now, completely isolated in these mountains and all alone, the poor thing. ”
“Mother,” Bertram groaned. “Don’t start personifying the animals before we’ve even begun the study. And is she alone? Your research proposal said she had a mate.”
“May have a mate.” Jennie smiled slyly. “As in, there have been sightings of a male owl-bear in these mountains intermittently over the years. But emphasizing the possibility of these mountains as a nesting ground helped get our owl-bear the attention she deserves, so I make no apologies. Still, even if the owl-bear does have a mate, current wisdom suggests he would be flying in every few years for breeding, then flying off again, leaving her trapped and isolated.”
“She may be just fine being alone,” Bertram said. “Some People—and owl-bears—genuinely like being alone.”
Jennie raised an eyebrow at Bertram. His stomach twisted with the terrible feeling that they were in danger of discussing his own life.
Logically, Bertram knew that five years was far too long to be emotionally affected by an ex-girlfriend. To be affected for five years by an ex-almost-girlfriend was a level of lunacy nigh unforgivable.
Unfortunately, his heart was not interested in logic. It was still bruised and still brooding.
Sure, Bertram had had meaningless flings since the betrayal, among them the goth elven prince who was an expert in shibari, the muscular werewolf who loved cuddling, and the mermillipede whose foot fetish was frankly exhausting due to the sheer number of feet she had.
And there was certainly no shortage of humans eager to see whether he slept in a coffin like his vampire mother or a cave like his orc father.
(The answer was neither—he slept in a bed, just as both his parents did).
But he never chose anyone who wanted to stay for breakfast, nor did he invite them to do so.
Sex was fine. Sometimes sex was terrific.
Love was never terrific.
Only terrifying.
None of these were sentiments he wished to discuss with his mother, however, especially when they were largely based around certain former associates of hers.
“I just don’t think we should judge our focal animal’s quality of life, particularly before we’ve even seen her,” Bertram said.
“Oh, of course, of course!” Jennie agreed, as if she hadn’t just been doing exactly that.
“And . . . don’t you think you might be particularly sensitive to the idea of a creature trapped alone without her mate?” Bertram said delicately.
“I’ve done a lot of healing on my own over the past year, and with help from excellent grief counseling in an Immortal-Mortal Mixed Relationship Loss Support Group,” Jennie said firmly.
“Nothing and no one will ever replace your father for me. And of course I miss him. Every day. I’m sure you do as well. ”
“Yes,” Bertram said.
“But I would not be out in the field on a project like this if I didn’t truly believe I could separate my own emotions and historical interpersonal relationships from the important work we’re doing in the field.” Jennie looked at Bertram, somewhat oddly. “You feel the same, don’t you?”
“That I miss my father? Of course.”
“No,” Jennie said, “that you would never let your historical interpersonal relationships interfere with the important work we’re doing in the field.”
“Yes, that too,” Bertram said.
“Say it.”
Bertram laughed. “What?”
“I want you to say, ‘I would never let my historical interpersonal relationships interfere with the important work we’re doing in the field,’ ” Jennie said.
Bertram raised an eyebrow. “You’re being so weird.”
“I’m your mother; it’s my job to make you think I’m weird. That doesn’t change just because you’re an adult. Now say it.”
Bertram sighed. “I would never let my historical interpersonal relationships interfere with the important work we’re doing in the field.”
“Excellent. Because this is a critical study for the future of owl-bear populations. The most important thing is getting irrefutable proof that this is the owl-bear’s primary territory, and therefore worth preserving as part of an otherfolk corridor and getting at least one crossing built over the 394.
This study has the chance to make an immediate, tangible difference.
For otherfolk, for mundane animals, even for People.
We’re here to do incredibly important, life-changing work. Don’t forget that, Bertram.”
Bertram’s brow furrowed. “Why would I forget that?”
Jennie fidgeted. “Well—”
“Dr. J!” a voice cried from over the hill.
Jennie leapt to her feet and ran to greet the new arrival. The curvy figure was silhouetted against the setting sun, and when Jennie hugged her, she did so in shadow.
Bertram ground his teeth but refused to panic just yet.
Most of her students called his mother “Dr. J.” If the voice sounded familiar, it was because plenty of women spoke in that register.
He wouldn’t have recognized her voice anyway, even if it was her, because he hadn’t heard her voice in five years.
Maybe it looked like her, but 5’5” was about average height for human women, or even mostly human women.
Two spoken words in a vaguely familiar voice from a vaguely familiar silhouette in no universe meant that the approaching figure was the heartbreaking backstabber known as Doctor Helena de Narbon.
“Hi, Bertram,” said Doctor Helena de Narbon.