Homelands Pt. 05 Ch. 03

"Noooo," she said.

"And what do you call it when you're forced to have sex against your will?"

No one here wore any color but white. Many of them even feathery wings, or wings made of pure light. Patty had seen men and women with halos, and a few with golden nimbuses surrounding their entire bodies. Even the ones that lacked such flourishes could hardly be mistaken for anything else though.

Angels.

Not literally, of course. No such beings had ever existed, as they'd heard many a sunlit official proclaim to the throng of lesser immortals hoping to be granted entrance. But these were the beings that had inspired such myths. Of that, there could be no doubt. Even if they didn't proudly boast of it themselves.

Which they did.

Often and loudly.

And with an utterly transparent false humility.

"Beings of pure good, you say? Created the universe, you say? No, no, not us. Though, of course, you can't blame those charming mortals for thinking so!"

A year ago, before she knew she was immortal, before she'd ever heard of the Homelands, if someone had told Patty that one day soon she'd walk the streets of Heaven, bumping elbows with angels, she'd have laughed her fool head off. If that same person had told her that she'd find those angels to be haughty, vainglorious, and insufferable, she'd have rolled her eyes.

And if they'd told her that she'd want nothing more than to leave before she even set foot inside the main city, she'd have known they were crazy.

Her cousin's clothes had changed to match the local custom as well. On him, though, it didn't look ridiculous. Especially since his skin had turned gold like his mother's.

It was beautiful, in a way. But it also made him seem strange and alien. Like the two of them weren't really part of the same family after all, regardless of the fact that his father and her mother were brother and sister.

"We'll stay here for a while, maybe pick up a few tricks, and then head back," Kurt said. "By then, things will have all blown over. The king will have forgotten about you. And if not, we'll be ready to deal with him."

Patty frowned.

"Give me an hour," he said. "Let's find my grandfather. Talk to him. See what he thinks. If you still want to go back, that's what we'll do."

She looked around at the crowd of lesser immortals. They all wore the white on white on gold on white attire of the sunlit folk. But none of the others had golden skin that veritably sparkled under the never-setting-sun. Just Kurt.

He belonged here.

She didn't. It wasn't going to take her an hour to figure that out.

Still, she didn't relish the thought of going back and submitting to the king and his cold eyes either. And how long had she dreamed of being alone with Kurt? Here she was, as alone as alone got. Just her and Kurt and a bunch of strange, ethereal beings with serious delusions of grandeur. Beings that seemed perfectly willing to pretend that she didn't exist.

"An hour," she said with a sigh.

Her cousin ran a hand through her hair and kissed her forehead. "You won't regret it."

"Hmmph," Patty grunted.

It was as close to a reaction as she could muster.

#

"He'll be okay, sweetie," her mother said.

Veronica nodded absent-mindedly.

"He's in good hands," she added.

Of that, there seemed no cause for doubt. As Veronica watched, a busty young woman with daringly short hair knelt at the foot of the bed, holding her hands over the stumps of her brother's legs. That woman, who looked at first glance like she might have been in her late-twenties, was her grandmother.

Lady Hardt.

The author of the diary Veronica had read so many times, who had traveled to Eternal Garden of the Sun, ended the feud between House Hardt and House Moody back before Jennifer or Gabriela had been born, let alone raised a family of Moodys and Hardts together. Veronica certainly wouldn't have known as much if her mother hadn't told her, though. With her caramel skin, brown eyes, black hair, and generous bosom, she certainly looked like a Hardt. But she didn't look at all like the Grandma Flori that Veronica remembered. Because, of course, she wasn't. Not really. Rather, she was a figure of almost legendary proportion. A woman who knew the Homelands and the gifts given to its people better than anyone Veronica was likely to ever meet.

Nick wasn't just in good hands. He was in the best of hands.

Still, Veronica found herself sick with anxiety.

There had to be more that her grandmother could do. That the rest of them could do. All she was doing was sitting there, eyes closed, holding Nick's bloody thighs, while Veronica and her mother watched from across the room.

In the back of her mind, Veronica knew that there was nothing more that could be done. That the wilted petals from the flower on the nightstand floating in the air and the lights flickering and the mirror swirling and glowing were all signs that her that her grandmother was wielding a stunning amount of energy. More energy than would pass through Veronica in a dozen years was being poured into her brother.

As if all the little physical manifestations of her grandmother's power weren't enough to Veronica that she was witnessing something few of their kind could achieve, Veronica felt the energy bleeding out into the room. And she'd never been intimate with her grandmother. Nor did she have Nick's talent for sensing the energy in which their kind trafficked. For her to sense the type of thing that no one save her brother ordinarily picked up on, something uniquely momentous had to be happening.

Not that it showed.

Nick was still unconscious, looking pale as death. And his legs were still missing.

"If he was in real trouble, you'd know it," her mother said, taking one of Veronica's hands in hers. "We Hardt women have a way of knowing when those we care most about are in danger of being taken away from us."

"We do?"

Her mother nodded.

But Veronica could tell by the look on her face that it was a lie. She might as well have been talking about the tooth fairy or the Easter bunny. A little white lie to allow her daughter to believe the world was a better, more magical place than it was.

The kind of lies she sometimes suspected that Nick was really good at telling. Perhaps that was a talent he'd learned from their mother. Or a gift he'd inherited.

Most of the time, she was thankful for it. Even when she was all but certain that she knew he was lying to her, she appreciated the thought behind it. Her brother's eagerness to please her was one of his better virtues.

Just at the moment, though, she didn't want a comforting lie. She wanted the truth, however ugly it might be.

Their kind had all sorts of amazing powers. But knowing when their loved ones were about to die wasn't one of them. At least, not one that the women of House Hardt all shared. Her grandmother might well have such a talent. There didn't seem to be much her grandmother wasn't capable of. But Veronica and her mother were a different story.

"Maybe you should go see what Grandpa and Annie are up to," her mother said. "They might need help with dinner."

Veronica scoffed at that, though it came out more like she was choking.

Her mother gave her a sad smile and patted her thigh. "Yeah. I can't imagine leaving his side either. Not even for an instant."

That, at least, was true.

Whether it was simply because he was her son, Veronica was less sure. Their mother was more interested in women than men. And she seemed to have a real thing for her mother. But Veronica suspected that there was still something of a special place in her heart, and between her legs, for Nick.

"Just seemed like something I ought to suggest," her mother added.

"Not doing him or me any good to sit here, worried sick," Veronica said, speaking the thoughts she felt sure were on her mother's mind. "I know that. I do. But I can't be anywhere else right now. I just can't."

With a lingering kiss on her forehead, her mother said, "You're most definitely your mother's daughter. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

If anyone else had been trying to do so, it was news to Veronica. Perhaps her mother was referring to Gabriela and House Moody? Did it bother her so that Nick and Veronica wanted to help Patty?

Her mother's gaze drifted back to Nick. "This part is never easy."

A lump rose in Veronica's throat. She wanted to ask her mother if she'd ever lost anyone, but words failed her.

Besides, the faint nod her mother gave her said it all. Not who or when or why, but there could be no doubt that her mother had watched someone she loved die.

"Ask me about it sometime," she said. "But not today."

Without a word, Veronica rested her head on her mother's shoulder.

#

When Eric and Olivia went back inside, their parents immediately fell silent. And all eyes turned to Eric. Not him and his cousin. Him, specifically.

"Hey, sweetie," his mother said. "Everything okay?"

"With me? Yeah. Just wondering when we're going to decide what we're doing."

His mother turned and stared at her brother.

Uncle Wes sighed. His mouth opened, then closed again, without producing any words. He scratched the back of his head and stared at the ground.

Aunt Zoey glowered at her husband, then turned her gaze on Eric. She was, at the moment, wearing a partial disguise. That is, she didn't look like a moderately attractive woman in her forties, the way she had all while he was growing up. She was currently a statuesque blonde with the kind of curves most men would consider perfect. The kind of curves that allowed a woman to feel comfortable wearing a string bikini like the one that was currently making a poor attempt at covering her charms. But her skin was no different in color than that of her daughter's. Her eyes were blue, and her lips red. When she allowed her true self to shine through, her skin was less bronze than gold, and it took on a metallic glint. Her lips generally became a deep golden-brown, her hair platinum blonde, and it was easy to imagine that some ethereal choir was singing her glory.

In short, she looked like an immortal from the Homelands, all right. But, at the moment, she looked like a woman of Summer, rather than the Eternal Garden of the Sun. Unreasonably, supernaturally, painfully attractive she might be, but she didn't currently remind Eric of classical paintings of angels.

He wished she'd let her true self out.

It would make it easier to remember that she was an outsider. That he didn't have to listen to her. That, while Kurt might have been her son, she was no Moody.

"How about now?" Zoey said.

Eric snorted. "Fine with me. In fact, that's-"

"I say we put it to a vote," she said, cutting in.

A vote? Was she kidding?

If there was anything that could convince Eric not to do everything in his power to get his sister back, that sure as fucking hell wasn't it.

"All those in favor of opening negotiations with the king-" his aunt began.

It was his turn to cut her off.

"Fuck that."

Her blue eyes went wide.

Eric went and stood by his mother. "I don't care if there are three of you and only two of us. We're not going to crawl before the king on our knees, begging him to let us give him more of what he wants. He'll only see us as weak. After we give in to whatever demands he makes of us, he'll still refuse to give Patty and Kurt back, because he'll know that we won't do anything about it."

"Wait a minute," Olivia said. "Three of 'you'? I didn't say anything."

And, when her mother's eyes fell on her, Liv went right on not saying anything.

"You might be right," Wes said.

Zoey's hand closed the short distance between her and her husband, took one of his hands in hers, and gave it a squeeze. Eric could almost hear the bones in his uncle's hand popping.

Through gritted teeth, Uncle Wes said, "You don't know the Bravos, dear."

That the ceiling was not ripped off the roof by the storm behind his aunt's eyes struck Eric as a miracle. Her lips tightened and she asked, "So, you think I'm an outsider now too? I always knew that if it came down to it, you'd choose your sister over me."

Gabby scoffed.

Eric wasn't sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, he was aware that the primary reason his mother wasn't more interested in her brother was that she thought he was a bit too meek. The thought that he might have to worry about losing her to his uncle if Wes ever decided to grow a pair didn't sit well with Eric.

At the same time, he had to admit that he liked seeing the way his uncle looked at his mother. Liked knowing that his desire for her had, apparently, been a source of friction in his marriage. That made Eric proud of his mother, and further convinced him, as if he needed any more convincing, that she was hot stuff. That a man could be married to a woman who so perfectly embodied mainstream conceptions of beauty and still ache for more attention from Gabby gave Eric a perverse thrill.

And, for that matter, it was nice to see his uncle side with them about the king too.

Uncle Wes gave his sister a pained look before pulling his hand back from his wife and turning to face her. "This isn't about choosing between you and her. This is about what's best for our son. And I didn't say I don't think we should try to negotiate. But Eric's right that we need to worry about looking weak."

"So we're back to talking about taking hostages?" Eric's mother asked, sounding more than a little impatient. "I thought we'd all agreed already that that's not practical."

They had?

Good. That saved Eric some effort.

"We can't expect him to just hand our kids over," Wes said to his sister. "Nor can we assume that he'll honor his word if we make some concessions to him first."

"Sounds like we can't expect to reason with him at all," Eric said.

Aunt Nina had made it quite clear. He couldn't tell them what she'd said, of course. He hadn't yet told his mother about meeting Nina. Wasn't even sure if or when he would. But her voice echoed in his mind, and he knew he couldn't let his aunt and uncle talk him out of what had to be done.

Olivia plopped down on the couch, covering her eyes with her hands, muttering curses to herself in between sobs.

The sight of his cousin breaking down like that tore at Eric's heart strings, but he'd done his best to console her already. Her suffering was no longer his greatest concern.

His sister's was.

He'd let Patty slip from his thoughts too often of late.

"You can do whatever you want. Ask for a truce. Renounce membership in House Moody and negotiate on behalf of some new house. Whatever. Makes no difference to me," Eric said. "One way or another, I know what I'm going to do."

His mother stepped up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

If she hadn't been there, he'd still have said it. It was what needed to be said. But feeling his mother's breasts pressed against his back, her breath warm against his skin, her forearms covering his midsection, gave him additional strength. With his beautiful, loving mother behind him, there wasn't anything he couldn't do.

He looked his uncle in the eye. "So. What'll it be?"

Wes drew a deep breath. "We're with you."

"We are?" Zoey asked, a delicate eyebrow arched.

Wes turned to face her, back straight as a board. "Yes, honey. We are."

Olivia gave out a sigh of relief.

The sunlit woman's nostrils flared and she crossed her arms under her breasts, but she held her tongue. The venom in those eyes, which were starting to glow, would have set fire to kindling. Would have melted the polar ice caps. Eric wasn't sure how his uncle, the mealymouthed pushover, withstood that gaze. He did though. Without so much as blinking.

"Well, you know what we need to do then," Zoey said at last.

"What's that?" Eric asked.

"Gather up as much energy as we can," his uncle said, voice flat.

Eric blushed as he realized what that meant.

They had to fuck each other's brains out. Not for the fun of it, though there'd be more than a little pleasure involved. But to make sure that they were strong enough to face the king and his kin.

"For Kurt," Zoey said, eyes focused on Eric.

"And Patty," Eric added.

#

"Pass me that knife, please, gorgeous?"

Veronica blushed as she did as her grandfather bid. And tried not to notice the dirty look that Annie was gave her as she did.

"You should go check on Nick," her sister said. "See if he's awake yet."

"If only," Veronica said, pretending not to pick up on the subtext. "Grandma said he's not to be disturbed. And, apparently, being in the room with him would be a disturbance."

It pained her that she couldn't sit by her brother's side, confident that she'd be there the moment his eyes opened again. But her grandmother had been most insistent. Once she'd finally finished doing whatever it was that she'd been doing to him, that is. The look on Grandma Flori's face had brooked no argument.

Besides, though she never should really doubted that Nick would be all right, Veronica had begun to breathe easier when she saw the stumps at the end of her brother's legs slowly stretch out. He was still a long ways from being complete again, and if there was anything remotely resembling feet at the ends of his regenerating appendages, Veronica hadn't noticed them. But it seemed safe to conclude that there would be, soon enough.

Her brother would make a fully recovery, and they'd be together again.

The thought made her heart flutter.

In the meantime, Grandma Flori was regaining her strength. Which didn't mean taking a nap, the way it would with most grandmothers. No, it meant she was getting busy with her daughter. Veronica hadn't been sure whether to laugh or smile or blush at that. Even after two years of engaging in incest on something close to a daily basis, the thought of her mother and her grandmother together struck her as really perverse.

Of course,this was the first she'd seen of her grandparents since discovering the truth about her family. The first that she'd been forced to accept that the things her grandmother had written about in her diary were not bygones of some long past era, when Flori was still young and pretty, but the surprisingly recent exploits of an immortal woman who had never lost, and never would lose, her beauty.

That was comforting, on a certain level. It helped convince her that she too was beyond the reach of such devils as aging, disease, and mortality. But it was also terrifying. It meant that what happened to Nick wasn't part of some nightmare, but was simply part and parcel of her new reality. Her grandmother's diary was just as full of tragedy as it was beauty and wonder. And the worst of what her grandmother experienced might yet await Veronica too.

The sweet old woman who'd baked her cookies and taught her how to sew was the fairy tale, not the brave, powerful, beautiful heroine she'd read about in those yellowed pages.

And more or less the same went for her grandfather. Except, she only knew that the man who doted on her when she was a child wasn't real. What her actual grandfather was like, she didn't really yet know. The diary she'd stolen covered a period in her grandmother's life before she'd met Grandpa Randy.

That said, he was definitely making a good first impression on her.

Veronica had always had a thing for older men. She understood why, too. Wasn't much of a mystery, really, what with the absent father and all. When she'd finally laid eyes on her father, she'd almost melted. And, truth be told, he wasn't nearly as physically attractive as she'd pictured him as being. Her grandfather, on the other hand, looked exactly like her mental image of a sexy older man. It like the fantasy lover she'd created in her mind had stepped out of her head and into the real world, only he'd mistakenly taken the form of her grandfather instead of her father.