Chapter Forty-Three
As soon as Owen saw his father, he strode toward us.
He had called Marcus the day Hargraves had been fired, leaving a message requesting his father’s assistance in Fortingall when the general was unavailable.
Much to Owen’s surprise, his father booked the first available flight to Scotland and emailed his travel details.
Freya must have met Marcus in Fortingall and let him into Neamh.
Although Marcus was an older version of Owen, broad-shouldered and imposing, he had a weathered and hard-lined face.
While Owen’s eyes could be guarded at times, especially around strangers, there was a quiet warmth to them I had come to know and love.
Marcus’s steel-grey eyes, on the other hand, looked like they had been dulled by years of grief.
“Charles,” Marcus said to his father-in-law, but Charles only huffed.
“Owen,” Marcus said, his tone wary as his son approached.
“General,” Owen replied.
The three men regarded one another in heavy silence, each waiting for the other to speak. Shamus, Freya, Jace, and Shae gathered their things and left the four of us alone.
Eventually Marcus’s eyes slid toward me, and I decided to break the ice.
“Hello, General Grant,” I smiled, stepping forward and holding out my hand. “I’m Kira Blackwell. Thank you for coming to our assistance. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
He shook my hand and said in a voice deep like his son’s, “Kira, the pleasure is mine. Owen’s message mentioned something about a battle and that you will be pivotal to our success. If so, you and I will need to discuss strategy.”
“Of course. Whenever you like.”
He studied me a moment, his gaze sliding briefly to Owen and back again. “May I ask who you are to my son, young lady?”
I drew back, surprised at Marcus’s directness.
Owen wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Kira is my partner, General, in every sense of the word. So whatever strategy you’re considering for her, know that it will involve me.”
“I see,” he replied, and the four of us fell into silence once more.
At last, Marcus turned to survey the garden around him. “The older woman, Freya, walked me through a tree. I haven’t slept well in a few days, so it could be my imagination, but what the hell is going on?”
He sat patiently while we explained everything, and I gave him a small magic demonstration. His face paled slightly, but that was the only change in his otherwise stoic expression as we told him about the events by the river and how Owen had saved me in the Veil.
“Craos is going to attack Earth on Samhain,” I finished, “and we need your help.”
“I see,” Marcus said. I suspected that the Geneal didn’t see at all.
“I didn’t expect you to come, General,” Owen said. His tone was cool and distant, and my heart went out to the young boy who only wanted his father’s approval and protection.
“I’m your father,” Marcus scoffed. “Of course, I came.”
Charles grunted, and Marcus turned to him with a stony expression.
“Too bad you didn’t have that attitude years ago,” Owen retorted, hurt evident in his voice.
“You were a mess—” Marcus began.
“I was grieving!”
“Well, so was I!” Marcus’s voice boomed, making me jump. “And trying to support your mother who was fighting with her own father. And you needed discipline!”
“I needed my father!” Owen stepped forward.
“Well, I’m here now, aren’t I? You were doing well for yourself before you were discharged—”
“Honourably discharged, but that wasn’t good enough for you, either!”
“I don’t know what you want from me, son,” Marcus said, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“This was a bad idea,” Owen muttered, his voice full of defeat, and my heart broke for him. “We’ll handle this battle on our own. Kira, I’m going for a walk. Join me?”
As I reached for Owen’s hand, I realized this must be how all their conversations went. They could not find common ground with each other. They would get frustrated, and one or both would walk away.
But, as I started to turn away, Marcus’s next words made me pause.
“Kira, talk some sense into my son. Please.”
The assumption that I would take anyone’s side other than Owen’s irritated me. Still, I was curious. “What would you have me say?”
“We can’t go into battle at odds like this.”
“General,” I said, my voice respectful yet firm, “I don’t know the whole story of your lives or your relationship.
I do know that Owen is the finest man I have ever met, and you should be damn proud of him.
But he’s hurting. A lot. Owen is a protector, and he cares deeply for those he loves.
He doesn’t show it to the rest of the world, but he is sensitive and kind, which means that the people who are supposed to love him have the power to hurt him.
Terribly. And from what I have heard, General, you failed him, which means you owe him an apology.
Perhaps if you start there, you can both begin to heal. ”
Owen squeezed my hand, his eyes full of love, and Charles gave me a proud smile. But Marcus looked at me in stunned silence. I guess what I just said amounted to no, which Owen said wasn’t a word his father often heard.
Good. It was high time he did.
We had almost rounded a bend in the garden path when Marcus finally spoke.
“I’m sorry, Owen.”
Owen didn’t turn around, and I glanced at him. His face was set in stone, his grip tight on my hand, his lips pressed into a thin line. But his eyes…his eyes were those of a boy afraid to hope.
“Owen, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said I wouldn’t come for you. I didn’t mean it. I thought—I thought that if I threatened to leave you, you would get your shit together, and we could move forward as a family. I didn’t know how else to reach you. If I could take it back…”
“Is this General Grant talking? Are you only apologizing so we don’t go into the battle at odds?”
I’d never heard Owen sound so bitter. So hurt.
“Owen,” I breathed, and I tried to tell him without words that at least it was a first step.
That his father was trying. That maybe…maybe it was okay to accept some part of Marcus’s apology and attempt reconciliation.
For his own sake, if nothing else. I tried to tell Owen that I would give anything to have a second chance with my parents and that the only way forward was to share his feelings. His side of the story.
He stared at me for a long moment, and then eventually nodded, bringing the back of my hand to his lips in a grateful kiss.
He half turned toward his father. “It’s not just that you wouldn’t come for me. You blame me for Ava’s death.”
“What?! Owen, son, I do not blame you.’’
Owen spun around and strode to his father.
“I heard you! I heard you speaking to Mom. That night. You said Ava should have never gone with me to that cliff. You said it like you blamed me for her death! I already blamed myself, but to hear you say it as well… After that, well, after that I started ending up in jail.”
“No, Owen.” Marcus swallowed hard. “No, son. I do not blame you.”
“Then what? What is this thing between us? Ava’s gone. Mom’s gone. Even when I was in the military and we had some common ground, you and I barely spoke. What do you want from me? Why can I never measure up?”
“I blame myself!” Marcus’s outburst stunned them both, and they stepped back from one another. “It’s not you, son. I’m so damn proud of you. For everything. But I blame myself.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t go with you kids that day. I chose work over you, and there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think that if I had been there, too, then maybe… But it is not your fault, Owen. It’s mine.”
“Damn right, it’s your fault,” Charles growled, taking a step toward Marcus. “You didn’t stay with my Sophie when it was hard to love! You left her and she died with a broken heart.”
“She left me!” Marcus roared, and Owen moved a half step in front of me.
Charles drew back, his eyes widening. “What?”
“She left me.” Marcus’s voice broke. “Middle of the night. No text. No note. I had no idea where she was. Most terrifying three days of my life. When I finally found her, she said she wanted a divorce. A clean break. I tried everything to reconnect with her. Then she got her diagnosis and it was already stage 4…”
“Dad…this whole time, you let us think it was you who left. Why?”
Marcus turned a defeated gaze on his son. “Because after Ava, the family had already suffered enough. I couldn’t let you think poorly of your mother or—” He turned to Charles. “—your daughter. I hadn’t protected Ava, but I could protect how you remembered Sophie. It’s my fault Sophie left.”
“No,” Charles said, his eyes wet with tears. “It’s my fault.”
We turned to him.
“It’s my fault Sophie left. She discovered who I am. What I can do. She begged me and I couldn’t bear her pain. I—I brought Ava back. Worst mistake of my life. Sophie lost her mind with grief that night, and I’m so damn sorry. I never realized…”
“You brought Ava back from the dead?” Owen whispered, his voice raw.
“It was only a brief visit by her spirit. Humans cannot come back from death. Even I cannot make such a thing possible.”
“But I came back,” I whispered.
“That wasn’t me. I showed Owen the way into the Veil, but bringing you back was his doing. And yours. I don’t think another couple could have done what you two did. Besides, you’re not entirely human, are you?”
My gut twisted at that reminder.
“What do you mean, a visit by her spirit?” Marcus asked, his eyes wide with horror.
Charles leaned on his sword, looking older than I’d ever seen him.
“When I—or rather, the Yew—brings the dead back to this world, they are not the same as they were when alive. Their spirit is there, but not their bodies. They do not speak. Cannot feel or hear or taste. They can only see their loved ones, and their time on Earth is limited. They are but shadows of the past, and it is painful for both the dead and the living. The pain one feels at the death of a loved one never goes away, but it does fade with time. Bringing people back is like tearing open an old wound. I would only do it again in the most dire of circumstances.”
Marcus’s face twisted with agony, his hands clenched at his sides.
Charles drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders, looking his son-in-law in the eye. “I’m sorry, Marcus. I’ve wronged you all these years. You’re a better man than I’ve given you credit for.”
Marcus was silent for a long moment. Then his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I should have been there for my daughter. My son. I failed, and I was so angry, and I pulled away. But Owen, if you’re so angry at me, then why did you ask me to come now? There are other generals. Why me?”
Owen stared at his father for so long I didn’t think he would answer. At last, he took a deep breath like he was about to jump off a cliff. “Because I’ve met the love of my life, and she’s in danger. And I don’t know how to protect her, Dad. She means everything to me, and I need you.”
I bit my lip to stop myself from crying at the pain I heard in Owen’s voice. The desperation. The pleading.
“She’s the strongest, bravest person I know, but even she can’t lead an army.
No one is taking us seriously. I need you to convince the governments and their militaries to help us and then lead us into battle so we can all protect her.
Because if I lose her, too, there will be nothing left for me, and—”
Tears streamed down my face as Marcus pulled Owen into a fierce hug, comforting him. Protecting him. Owen’s shoulders shook as he clung to his father. Charles laid a hand on Owen’s shoulder, his lips pressed together as he fought his own emotions.
When Marcus pulled back at last, his eyes were wet with tears. “I’m here, son.” Marcus exchanged a brief nod of acknowledgement with Charles, and then he looked at me. “I’m here, Kira. We’re going to figure this out. Together.”
Later that day, we gathered outside for Canadian Thanksgiving dinner.
I gasped in delight when I opened my cottage door and saw the garden transformed into autumn splendour.
A long wooden table with moss-green linens stretched under an arch of crimson sumac.
The canopy of leaves overhead was radiant with ambers, golds, scarlets, and coppers.
Occasionally, a leaf fluttered to the ground, catching the late afternoon sun as it twisted and turned in the air.
The table was ladened with root vegetables and squash pie, mushroom-and-wild-rice stuffing, corn pudding and apple compote, and bread studded with dried fruits and seeds.
Charles, Freya, and Shamus had truly outdone themselves.
“Happy Thanksgiving, love,” Owen whispered, wrapping an arm around my waist as we descended the porch steps and greeted our friends.
The eight of us took our seats and joined hands, giving thanks for the food before us, the company around us, and the garden’s protection. We talked and laughed well into the night, drinking sweet cider and mulled wine while fireflies flitted among the bushes like twinkling fairy lights.
Owen’s arm rested across the back of my chair, his fingers lightly brushing against my shoulder as my hand found his knee.
He spoke to his father, who sat on his other side, and every now and then, one or both would laugh, the sound tentative yet filled with hope.
Across the table, Jace and Shae leaned toward one another, whispering, while Freya and Shamus exchanged smiles full of tender love.
I looked at the faces of the people around me, all happy to forget for an evening what awaited us.
We all needed this. I felt a contentment I hadn’t felt in years.
This was the first Thanksgiving I’d celebrated since my parents died, and tonight I was surrounded by friends at last.
Not just my friends, I realized with a start. My family.
Meeting Charles’s watchful gaze, I realized this had been his plan all along.
When he had requested Freya and Shamus’s help with my healing, he hadn’t just meant preparing meals or changing sheets.
He had known I needed to heal from trauma that happened long before the events by the river.
Charles had given me the gifts of family, love, and cherished memories, and I would be grateful for them no matter what happened next during the battle with Craos.