Chapter 116 Blood From the Father and the Mother
The heavy front door groaned open, bringing a gust of cold mountain air into the warm sanctuary of the family room. Damon entered first, looking windblown and grim, followed closely by Elder Horne and Elder Thorpe, who looked relieved to be out of the car.
And then, Elder Veda walked in.
She was a small woman, shrunken with age, wrapped in layers of heavy wool shawls that smelled of sage and unmistakenly like wet dog. She carried a walking stick made of gnarled weirwood, topped with a clouded crystal. Despite her size, she sucked the air out of the room. She was the Matriarch of the High Council, the Keeper of the Old Ways, and the only person Fennigan had ever seen his father nervous around other than his mother.
Everyone in the room stood immediately. It wasn't a choice; it was instinct. Even Jax, usually irreverent, straightened his spine.
Veda’s sharp, milky eyes swept the room, landing on Leela, the twins, and the swell of her belly. She didn't bow. She simply nodded, a slow, acknowledging dip of her chin.
"Matriarch," Fennigan said, inclining his head.
"Alpha," she rasped, her voice sounding like dry leaves skittering on pavement. "We have work to do."
Leela shifted Caspian on her hip, shielding him slightly from the intensity of the Elder's gaze.
"We will let you talk while we put the children down," Leela said, her voice steady but firm. She met Veda’s eyes. "My sister and I will join you to hear the logistics after they are asleep. The future of the pack needs its rest before we discuss its war."
Veda’s lips quirked upward in a ghost of a smile. "A mother who guards the nursery before the armory. Good. Go."
Ginny moved forward, taking Briar from Fennigan’s arms. The little girl grumbled sleepily but settled against her aunt.
"Come on," Ginny whispered to Leela. "Let's get your little monsters down."
They carried the heavy, milk-drunk toddlers up the stairs, leaving the heavy silence of the elders behind. The transition from the tension downstairs to the nursery was abrupt. It was a battle of a different kind.
"No, hold still," Leela soothed, trying to wrestle a very limp, uncooperative Caspian into his dinosaur pajamas. "You have to put your arm through the hole, Cas."
"Nuh," Caspian argued, dead-weighting his arm.
Ginny was having a similar struggle with Briar on the changing table. "Briar, please, just let me wipe your face. You have mashed potato in your eyebrows. How did it even get there?"
It took twenty minutes of negotiation, warm washcloths, and gentle wrestling to get the twins clean, changed, and smelling like lavender instead of roast chicken.
Finally, they moved to the large floor bed in the corner of the nursery—a nest of pillows and blankets designed for exactly this purpose. Leela lay down on the left side, curling around Caspian. Ginny lay down on the right, pulling Briar into her chest.
The room was dark, lit only by the starlight filtering through the curtains.
They lay there in the quiet, two pregnant women guarding the current generation. Leela began the rhythmic pat-pat-pat on Caspian’s diapered bottom. Ginny matched the rhythm on Briar.
Pat-pat-pat. Pat-pat-pat.
It was a heartbeat. A signal of safety.
Slowly, the wiggling stopped. The breathing deepened. Within ten minutes, the synchronized, soft snoring of the toddlers filled the room.
Leela carefully extricated her arm from under Caspian’s head. Ginny rolled away from Briar with the stealth of a ninja. They stood up, smoothed their shirts over their bumps, and looked at each other.
"Ready?" Leela whispered.
"No," Ginny admitted, her hand trembling slightly. "But let's go."
They walked back down the stairs, the silence of the house feeling heavier now. They bypassed the family room and went straight to the study.
The mood inside was stifling. The fire had been built up, casting long, dancing shadows against the walls of books. The Speculum Terrae—the massive crystal—sat on the desk, looking like a dormant eye.
Veda was sitting in Fennigan’s leather chair, while the Alpha stood behind her like a sentinel.
"They are asleep," Leela announced, stepping into the room and closing the door behind Ginny.
"Good," Veda said, gesturing to the empty chairs in front of the desk. "Sit. You need to understand what we are about to do to your body, child."
Leela sat, her hand going instinctively to her belly.
"The Vitae Ward is not a shield, Leela," Veda began, her voice blunt and clinical. "It is a decoy."
"A decoy?" Leela asked.
"The Dead Zone will hunger for the baby," Veda explained, pointing a gnarled finger at Leela’s stomach. "It wants the spark. If we put up a wall, the Dead Zone will just batter against it until it cracks. So, we don't build a wall. We build a mask."
She pulled out a jar of thick, red mud—the river clay mixed with the Iron Root and crushed beetles.
"I will paint sigils over your womb and your heart," Veda said. "This mixture... it smells like death to the spirits. It tastes like iron and old blood. When the connection opens, the Dead Zone will sniff you, and it will think you are already empty. It will think the baby is just... meat. Not magic."
Ginny covered her mouth, looking pale.
"But the cost," Veda continued, looking at Fennigan, then back to Leela. "To make the paint work... it needs a binder. It needs to bond to your bloodline."
She slid a small, silver ceremonial knife across the desk.
"I need blood from the father," Veda said, looking at Fennigan. "To mix into the clay. It tells the magic that the child is claimed. Protected."
Then she looked at Leela.
"And I need blood from the mother. To tell the magic that the vessel is sealed."
Leela looked at the knife, then at the red clay that would hide her baby by making it smell like death. It was gruesome. It was dark magic, the kind the Council usually forbade.
"Do it," Leela said, her voice not wavering. "Whatever it takes."