Clearing the Winter Air
Winter Solstice, 2007
The week before Christmas, and things had finally settled down to a strange sort of calm.
Thank the gods.
From the Germania working onwards, it had been a hard couple of months. I'd seen a side of me that I really didn't like. I'd nearly lost my son - twice. And then there had been the pointless trial in BNA, which basically resulted in a slap on the wrist for the man who had probably orchestrated the kidnapping and torture of my grandson, whose only crime was to have been born to the wrong parents. And of course, all that was beside the difficult conversation with 'Sir Chad', which had finally led to his confession that he was my grandson; the unexpected appearance of another descendent, Thomas, on Tenterden, pursued by bear in the form of mysterious Uncle Delwin; and my trip to Germania to consult Dieter's genealogical records to see just how many more surprises were still waiting for me.
Two, as it turned out.
First, I learned that I have a son with Marina, named Artur. Over the years, I'd thought we'd begun to trust each other, and yet somehow she hadn't thought it was important to tell me that at some point in our thirty-year relationship, she'd borne my child. That really hurt.
And then there was Adam, the man I had considered to be my non-aligned friend. His mother and I had known each other in the SOE, and occasionally we'd got together. But then she met the dashing Ian Sinclair, after the death of his first wife, and it was love at first sight. They'd married within weeks and as far as I knew had had a long and happy life together. However, apparently there had been a certain amount of pragmatism behind their haste. After I became friends with Adam, I'd re-met his mother, who had aged remarkably well, but was still far older than the woman I remembered. And for obvious reasons, like the fact that I was now living as Ian Hawke, and was far too young to have been her colleague and lover from the early-1940s, she had treated me as a stranger.
The genealogical overload had all been too much, and had left me unaccountably depressed. So many people out there bore my blood, yet I'd been involved in the upbringing of precisely none of them. And being introduced to Wolf's newest son, five-year old Soren, who was firmly in Dieter's clutches, had rammed that one home to me the hardest. Like Thorsten before him, the child was going to be brought up in a Nazi Hell pit, and there was fuck all I could do about it, short of declaring war on Germania and dragging him home.
I hadn't thought I'd been that careless in my affaires du coeur over the years, but apparently the universe had other ideas, and almost all of them were children of at least a double-Clarissa bloodline. About the only ones who weren't, as far as I knew, were Adam, and Richard and Geoff, all of whom it would be unfair to screw over by acknowledging them.
About the only good news was that Adam's work with Armand had been surprisingly successful. Sufficiently so that Wolf barely protested when our friend suggested that they go back to Edinburgh early in December, and leave Armand in Kent with me, to complete his convalescence. I think the fact that Adam was willing to let me install a transfer portal in the garage at his Edinburgh home, so that all of us could get back and forth without having to rely on British Airways, was a big factor in Wolf's agreement. As a result, Armand had been visiting them a couple of times a week since they'd headed back north, both to see his father, and to continue his sessions with Adam.
He'd split the rest of his time between Wittersham House and Wolf's place in Lancaster Gate, and I'd given him space when he wanted it, but at least I'd finally had the opportunity to get to know him a bit better, and found him well worth getting to know. He was likeable, charming and decent, unlike the uniform he wore. Of course, the great unspoken elephants in the room were that he would eventually have to go back to work; and more importantly, he was eventually going to have to finish his Pattern training. I had no idea whether it should be me or Wolf that did that, or whether Wolf would either willing to, or capable of, doing it, given his own experiences in Shadow.
For my own part, I'd taken Adam's advice and done my best not to meddle with the work he was doing. I'd been up to visit once, but apart from that, the only time I'd seen my son had been when we'd attended the farcical trial in BNA. That had left him angry and frustrated, and did nothing to either give him closure for what had happened to him and Armand, or to lighten the dark place where his spirit seemed to be residing.
Indeed, once my son had finally made his own way home from BNA (it had seemed best not to ask him what had kept him there after I'd left, as I suspected plausible deniability might be wise), Adam had told me privately that he felt there was a lot of work to do there, and suggested that it would be weeks before Wolf returned to London on any form of long-term basis. They'd even taken Ava up to Scotland, where she had apparently become the terror of small creatures around Adam's country estate.
In my mind, I knew that letting Wolf stay with him was the right decision, but it didn't take away from the fact that I missed my son. And now I'd learned that they were brothers, which somehow made things worse: one day, Adam was going to have to be told. But perhaps that was a stone best left unturned until he needed to know. After all, why ruin his life for the Amber Family.
Still, at least Wolf was coming down for Christmas, and possibly for Winter Solstice, although he still hadn't confirmed the latter. With him back at home, along with Armand, Michel and Tony, it was going to be a busier family Christmas than usual. I'd even invited Marina, given that things had seemed to change between us around the time she'd walked the Pattern. Of course, that had been before I'd found out that she'd neglected to inform me about Artur, and now I was regretting issuing that particular invitation.
My reverie was interrupted by the sound of a powerful motorbike coming down the drive, and I wondered who on earth would be visiting. Curious, I walked over to my study window - my study was in one of the old morning rooms at the front of the house, looking over the drive - and was surprised when I saw the German number plate. I looked more closely, and realised that the visitor was a military courier. He pulled up at the front door, and rang the bell, and moments later Carmichael opened the door for him. The courier bobbed his head in thanks, and then walked inside.
Shortly thereafter, there was a knock on my office door, and my butler came in.
"There's a military gentleman with a message for Master Armand," he said, trying to keep the disdain out of his tone as he described the courier, "he refuses to give it to anyone else. Did the young master tell you where he was going to be today?"
"Last I heard, he was planning on going for a run, then heading back to London."
"Might it be possible for you to give him a call, sir? Otherwise, I have a feeling that his visitor may take up lodgings in the entrance hall indefinitely."
"Leave it with me," I answered, and he backed out with a nod, presumably to go back to the preparations he and his wife, Mary, were making for the Christmas festivities. Wonderful smells had been issuing from the kitchen for over a week.
I reached into my pocket for my Trump deck, shuffled out Armand's card, which had eventually turned up a couple of weeks before (no doubt Dworkin had needed to get around to drawing it - or perhaps it had just seemed like that, given the speed Tenterden was running at, relative to Amber), and gave him a call. He was wary when he answered it, and I could tell that he was ready to spring the knife out of the wrist sheath he'd taken to wearing pretty much whenever he wasn't either at Wittersham House, or at either mine or Wolf's homes in London.
Therapy can apparently only go so far.
"Hey, Ian," he said with a smile, and I saw him visibly relax as he recognised me.
Despite our getting to know each other better over the last few weeks, he obviously couldn't bring himself to call me grandfather. Even though it made me feel old when relative strangers like Chad called me that (Gods, which cruel bastard called him that? It sure as Hell wasn't me), from him, I think it would have liked it. But perhaps my relatively youthful appearance just meant it would never happen. After all, grandfathers usually look a bit more than ten years older than their grandchildren.
"There's someone here to see you," I answered, "can you come back?"
"Who is it?"
"Carmichael described him as a ‘military gentleman'. I think he's a courier."
"Your military or mine?"
"Yours, if the plate on his bike is anything to go by."
I saw Armand frown, obviously puzzled, and he offered me his hand. I took it and brought him through to me. Despite the cold December weather, he was dressed in just a track suit and t-shirt, and by now he was barely even out of breath. He'd been working hard on recovering his previous fitness since he had physically healed well enough to do so, and in a way running had become a kind of therapy for him as well.
"Where is he?"
"Carmichael put him in the drawing room."
"I'd better go and see what he wants," he answered, then headed out of my office.
Less than ten minutes later, I heard the bike start up again, and soon it was fading into the distance. Curiosity finally overwhelming me, I went out into the hall, to find Armand standing by the front door, staring at the letter he'd received. In his left hand, which was hanging by his side, was an official looking envelope.
"Problem?" I asked.
"I've been recalled to Active Duty," he answered, and from his body language I wasn't sure if he was pleased or disappointed.
"It was going to happen eventually."
"I know, but I hadn't expected it so soon. Still, I suppose it's well over a month, and I was only expecting to be here for three weeks."
"So...back to fighting partisans in Poland?"
"No," he answered, his tone puzzled, "I've been reassigned. I'm ordered to join the GGR Embassy Protection Detail in London."
"You're staying in England?"
Secretly, I was pleased that he wouldn't be going back to Danzig, which didn't sound as if it was particularly more stable than it had been in the late-70s, when I'd been caught in a bombing there, and Marina and I...
I scotched that thought quickly.
"And I've been promoted to captain."
"Congratulations," I replied, automatically, but this time I knew my smile was forced.
I'd never managed to imagine the young man in front of me in uniform and once again I was angry at the twist of fate which had decreed that Wolf and his family were so locked into Dieter, and his Tenterden and Germania interests. I'd hoped that perhaps my cousin would have been willing to let the lad go, especially after everything that had happened. But realistically, it was a pipe dream. If Dieter hadn't taken his claws out of Wolf, even long after my son had come to England, he certainly wasn't going to take them out of Armand, who shared not only Bleys's and Brand's bloodlines, but Fiona's as well.
"I'm sorry, Ian," he said, quietly, "it wasn't my doing."
"I understand that. I also understand that the military is your chosen career. At least for now."
"But you wish it was a different military."
"You have no idea how much," I said, with a sigh, "still, your father will be pleased. When do you have to report?"
"Friday 4th January. To be ready for duty the following Monday."
"Where will you be living?"
"My orders aren't specific on that, but the Embassy owns the adjacent buildings, which include quarters for certain of the Embassy staff. So in there, I'd guess."
Unlike many other worlds on the Earth Line, the fact that Germany had never been defeated in the same way during WWII, meant that the GGR still held its original properties at 8-9 Carlton House Terrace, and after the war, it had bought out #6-7 as well. Meanwhile, the Royal Society was still in Burlington House.
"And somehow between now and then I need to get my things moved from Danzig."
"Presumably that can be organised through your Divisional Headquarters."
"I suppose it's going to have to be."
"I know this probably isn't the question you want me to ask. But how far did Wolf get with showing you how to use the Pattern."
"Not very," he answered, his tone hesitant.
"Could you get from here to Danzig? So you could get back and do what you have to?"
"I'd rather catch a plane," he replied, his tone flat, and from his expression, I'd reminded him of just how badly his trip with Wolf had gone.
Curse bloody Licent and his cronies for hurting him the way they had, and causing him to deny himself the freedom that the Pattern could give him.
"I strongly recommend that you let one of us finish your training," I said, quietly, "not all Shadow trips end the way yours did, and it really will help you in the long run."
"I'd rather catch a plane," he repeated, and I knew he wasn't ready for me to pursue that conversation.
"Do you need Carmichael to make the arrangements for you?"
"No. I have the contact number of my new CO. I'll talk to her. But realistically, I'll need to sort it out in the next couple of days, as I'd like to be back here in time for Christmas."
"Well, it's the 20th now. That shouldn't be impossible. And while flight prices are pretty evil at this time of year, it seems very probable to me that you will be able to get a ticket."
"Because you control this place?"
"And because probability can be manipulated. Theoretically, as long as you think it's likely that you'll find a seat before you contact the airline, or search the Web, or whatever, then it will happen. The Pattern has other uses besides just moving in Shadow. Just remember that."
"I'll try," he answered, but I could tell he wasn't convinced.
"I'm sure you'll do what you need to, Armand," I said, with a slight smile, and headed back to my office to finish the article I was writing for Military History Magazine.
* * * * * *
He departed first thing the following morning, a couple of hours before Wolf phoned me.
"Hello, Ian."
"Hey. How are you doing?"
"I wanted to let you know that I'll be coming down for the Group meeting tonight. I've got some things I need to finish up, up here, but I should be there around five."
"That's really good news," I answered, truly meaning it. I hadn't been sure that he'd have the courage - or the inclination - to join us for our Winter Solstice celebration this year, "Will you then stay down until after Christmas?"
"That's my current plan," he replied, "is that likely to be a problem."
"Wolf, it's never a problem you being here," I said, quietly, "you know that."
There was a strange silence at the other end of the phone, before he answered.
"Yes, I do."
"I'll see you later," I said, and he hung up, leaving me feeling despondent once more.
He only ever used to call me Ian when he was angry with me, or he thought I was about to do something spectacularly stupid. Now he didn't call me anything else. The combination of Germania, and what had happened to Armand had broken the easy relationship I used to share with him, and I wondered if Adam would ever be able to help him, so that one day things would go back to being as they were.
Families can give you as much grief as they do joy, and Wolf had given me both over the years.
"Are you alright, sir?" came a quiet voice from the doorway, and I looked up to see Carmichael. On his face was a look of concern which I'd seldom seen before.
"It's nothing," I answered, with a shake of my head, "there's just been a lot going on lately, and I'm not sure I'm keeping up with it."
"Perhaps you need a change of scenery. I understand there's a shoot over at Lyminge today."
"Is that your polite way of telling me to get my head out of my backside and do something useful?" I said, half joking, half serious.
"I would not presume, sir," he answered, keeping his expression completely neutral, "but I'm sure Mrs Carmichael would be very grateful for two brace of pheasant, so she can make her signature game stew for Boxing Day."
"Hint taken," I said, with a weak smile, and got to my feet, "by the way, Wolf should be arriving around five."
"I'll make sure his room is prepared for him."
"Thank you. And can you let him know that Armand is out of town for a few days. I suspect he'll be surprised when the lad isn't here, but I don't want him to be worried."
"Of course, sir," he said, "should I go into details?"
"I'll talk to him about it later."
"Very good."
Then he nodded, and left closing the door behind him.
I reached for the phone and gave my nephew (on Audrey's side), Johnny Rose, a call, to check if the shoot was still on. I'd been formally invited to it a couple of weeks before, as a precursor to our celebration that evening, but had postponed making a decision on whether I was attending because of everything else that was going on. He confirmed that it was, and I agreed to join them for the pre-shoot lunch. I spent half an hour or so changing and collecting what I'd need, both for the shoot and for later. Snow was predicted for later in the day, so I decided to take the old two-seater Land Rover that I'd bought second hand, about five years before. Then I got the dogs into the car - a pair of shoot-trained Golden Retrievers - and we got under way.
We had a good day - I even managed to achieve that two brace of pheasant for Mary Carmichael - and I will admit I felt better for being out in the open air, even if the temperature plummeted during the course of the afternoon. Once the evening closed in, and the first flurries of snow began to circulate in the air, we adjourned back to Lyminge House for hot toddies to warm up, in preparation for dinner, which was scheduled for eight. By then, we were just down to members of the Group - those who could make it, at least, which unfortunately didn't include Michael, who had been unable to get out of his scheduled duties, and his wife Christine. That in turn led to the slightly thorny issue of who would preside that evening, as I was currently defrocked from being Man in Black, and Michael was supposed to be my replacement.
By seven, I was beginning to wonder where Wolf was. Admittedly, by then the snow was being more persistent, but it still shouldn't have taken two hours for him to reach Lyminge from Wittersham. In the end I begged use of the phone from Johnny and checked in with Carmichael, to be told that my son had left at around five-thirty. I decided not to panic just yet.
The big, old-fashioned doorbell rang at about seven-thirty, and Matheson, the Rose butler, opened it to 5'11" of very cold, very pissed off German.
"Too many bloody amateurs on the road, thinking they know how to drive in snow," he said, with what could only really be described as a snarl, as he was shown in to the drawing room, fair bristling with annoyance. Then he realised where he was, and that we weren't alone, took a deep breath and consciously tried to calm down and looked apologetic.
"Sorry..." he said, extending his look to the others in the room, "it's been one of those days,"
"What happened?" Simon Rathbone asked, handing him a hot toddy, which he downed almost in one. Simon refilled it in short order.
"Some maniac was belting along the Ashford Road near Mersham at forty. Didn't care who was in his way. I managed to avoid him, but hit the verge and ended up pitching the Beemer into a ditch. I had to wait for the AA to tow me out."
"At least they came," I commented, "if the snow carries on, they'll probably stop callouts."
He looked at me for a moment, then cursed in German about the inability of the English to deal with any snowfall over about two inches.
"Any damage?"
"The nearside front wing and my pride," he answered, "I limped it here, but I'm not looking forward to driving back after the meeting."
"Ride with me," I offered, "I've got the Land Rover. Assuming Johnny doesn't mind lodging your car in his garage."
"Not at all," came the answer, and I glanced back at Wolf. He considered for a moment, then nodded.
"That's settled, then," Johnny said, in his most placating voice, "so, we haven't seen you for a while, old friend. How have things been with you?"
"Busy," he replied, his tone neutral, "I've been up in Scotland. Only got back this afternoon."
"You were lucky to get out of Edinburgh," Johnny's son Peter commented, "if it's bad down here, it must be awful up there."
"Eighteen inches when I left, and showing no sign of stopping," he answered, carefully not mentioning that planes had no place in his travel plans, thanks to the portal, "but the Scots see more of it than you thin-blooded English types, so it doesn't grind everything to a halt as badly."
At least his tone was light, and his comment caused laughter, rather than offence, and from that point on, his darker mood seemed to lift, and the party became much more convivial. Melissa North - daughter of Edward and Alexandra, and granddaughter of Freddie and Caroline - even resorted to her usual flirting with him, and for once he took it in good humour. She'd had a crush on Wolf for as long as I could remember, but back then he'd been married and it was decidedly unrequited. It didn't stop her trying though, and now he was single again, she'd redoubled her efforts, despite the fact that I knew it annoyed him no end.
Matheson called us through to dinner promptly at eight, but as we went through, Wolf tapped me on the shoulder and indicated for me to hang back.
"Where's Armand?" he asked, and I could detect concern in his voice, "Carmichael wouldn't tell me. He just said he was away for a few days."
"He's fine," I answered, "don't worry."
"Doing what?"
"His new orders have come through. He's flew back to Danzig this morning to sort some things out."
"New orders? He's been recalled to duty?"
"Yes."
"Is he ready?"
"Possibly...but who knows until he actually reports."
"He didn't even wait to say goodbye..." he said quietly, sounding hurt.
"He should only be a couple of days," I answered, trying to sound reassuring, "he's certainly planning to be back for Christmas...snow permitting. And if the snow doesn't permit, you can always Trump him. His card's arrived in the deck."
"I saw that. So what are his orders?"
"He's joining the protection detail at Carlton House Terrace."
"He's staying in London?"
"For now, at least. You probably know better than I do how long any given Waffen-SS posting is likely to be."
"He's staying in London," Wolf repeated, and this time he actually smiled.
"Come on. Let's go through to dinner," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder and turning him towards the door, then letting it drop as he fell into step beside me. "You know, if he is going to be here for a while, it might be worth talking to the others After all, there's no doubt that he's one of us, and right now, we only number twelve...maybe he would find membership of the Group comforting. Given him some other people in England who he could talk to."
"Much like you did with me?"
"Yes. And he's already better trained than you were...you saw to that."
"Would Dieter let that happen?"
"I think he might be more amenable than you realise...something he said when I spoke to him the other day."
"You saw him?"
"Not here...I'll explain later."
He didn't look satisfied, but he just grunted, before adding "I'll talk to Armand. See what he says."
"All well?" Simon asked, as we entered the dining room.
"It's fine," Wolf answered, "Ian was just telling me that Armand has received his new posting."
"Good? Bad? Indifferent?"
"Hopefully good," he answered, as he sat down between Michael's son Alex, the most recent initiate to the group, and Melissa. I sat across the table from him, next to Alison - our Priestess and a good friend of mine -and Matheson began bringing in the starters.
We had a very convivial meal, albeit light on alcohol, as we would be Working later. Wolf even answered politely when the Group asked after the health of him and his son. And then we adjourned to the library for coffee and the inevitable discussion of who would preside with Alison that night. After myself and Michael, Wolf was next in seniority within the Group, followed by Simon. However, Wolf was tarred with the same brush I was, at least until we'd proven ourselves once more, and in the end it was decided that Simon should take the position of Man in Black this time around.
We robed at around ten-thirty, and then walked out to the grotto in nine inches of snow. However, at least the sky was clearer than it had been earlier, and maybe we wouldn't get any more that night. As always, despite the chill outside, the grotto was warm, comforting and peaceful, and Simon and Alison guided us through our celebration of saying goodbye to the darkness, and welcoming back the light. It was always one of my favourite rites of the year, and I was determined to enjoy it, despite merely being a follower, rather than the leader, this time around. And I was pleased that when I looked over at Wolf, he seemed to have regained some of his inner peace.
We finished around one - technically, the actual Solstice wasn't until around six, but we'd decided not to worry about that, as in our tradition, the spirit of the law was more important than the letter - and adjourned back to the house for mulled wine and mince pies to warm up, dogs lolling at our feet enjoying the warmth. As we did, I was reminded - as I always was on Winter Solstice night - of my last conversation with Laurence, thirty-plus years before. I still missed the old man, even though Simon was very much a friend, and for some reason I'd felt it particularly strongly tonight. Across the room I caught Simon's eye, and realised that he was thinking something similar.
By two, we had had our fill. I stood, wished the others the greetings of the season, and then headed towards the door. Wolf disentangled himself from the over-amicable arms of Melissa North, and joined me.
"When is she ever going to get the message," he growled, as we headed out to where I'd parked the Land Rover. The pheasant were in a lock box in the back, so the dogs wouldn't eat them on the way home, although they'd need to thaw out a little before they could be properly hung until Christmas Day, and my shotgun had been cleaned and put back in its case. I climbed behind the wheel, waited for him to get into the passenger seat and then tried the engine. The faithful vehicle started with minimal fuss.
"Why are you so dead set against her?" I asked, as I put the car into gear and headed down the drive, "it's not like you're attached currently, unless there's something you aren't telling me."
"She's so...clingy. It always made me uncomfortable when she flirted with me when Susanne was still alive. And she's the wrong side of her fiftieth birthday."
"Says the pensioner sitting beside me."
"This from the centenarian in the driver's seat," he retorted.
"But doesn't look it."
"But what possible future could we have together, even if I was so inclined?"
"You could have twenty-five, thirty years."
"During which time she'd get old and I wouldn't. No, I'm not going there. Not with a mortal. Not again."
I glanced over at him, and saw sadness in his eyes, and realised that he was thinking of Susanne, who had died before her time when cancer had claimed her, shortly after her sixtieth birthday.
"I'm sorry, Wolf," I said, quietly, "I shouldn't have said anything."
In response, he just grunted, and lapsed into a pained silence, and I sighed inwardly. Every conversation with him was such a minefield these days. He didn't speak again until we were approaching the outskirts of Bethersden, about twelve miles from home.
"So what's the plan?" he said, finally.
"Michel is arriving on the 23rd. Tony should be joining us on the 24th, probably around six, depending on when he can get away. Armand is hoping to be back on Christmas Eve, and..." I paused, then added, "...I've invited Marina."
"Why, for God's sake?"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time. Although now I'm not so sure..."
"How come?"
"As I said, I went to see Dieter the other day."
"About what?"
"Family...genealogy. After the trial..."
"Fucking moron judge..." Wolf exploded, and launched into an impressive stream of German invective. I waited until he'd finished to continue.
"...I had a word with Sir Chad Winkler. It got...difficult."
"Why on earth did you go and talk to that pompous ass?"
"Because of some of the things he'd said in his testimony."
"So did he ‘fess up which of my descendants he bled and abused for those bloody experiments he was talking about?"
"Assuming it was one of yours," I answered, knowing this really wasn't to time to tell him, but feeling the likelihood of it happening anyway coming towards me like a train wreck I couldn't avoid.
"Come on, Ian. He talked about having experimented on double-Helgram blood for ten years, which pretty much means me and mine."
"Or Geran's children."
"I think his exact words were ‘the Lynx thinks it can obtain paramount power in a region of open shadow by using the blood of these sons of Wolf, in particular'. Therefore, probably not Geran's. So who did he abuse? Armand, Thorsten or Uwe"
I would have looked at him in surprise, if I hadn't been concentrating so hard on negotiating the road. By now, the snow was over a foot. But he obviously read my body language.
"It wasn't any of them."
"Then who, damn you?" he said, angrily, thumping the dashboard with his fist. I spotted a driveway with an open gate, pulled over to it and then turned off the engine, before meeting Wolf's furious gaze.
"Himself."
"Excuse me?"
"He used his own blood. He didn't hurt anyone else."
"How could he possibly be my son?"
"I don't know for sure. He said something about Brand breaking him out of the Lebensborn System, but I got the impression it was a while ago. Maybe even before you came to England. He also admitted he has a paternal half-brother named Thomas."
"And they were on E1? Matthew's private playground. Have you asked him about that? About why the Hell he didn't bother to tell us about them?"
"Not yet," I answered, "but I will, next time I see him."
"So call him."
"I haven't spoken to him since the business when we were looking for Armand, when he basically left us to it. He isn't my favourite person just now."
"No fucking shit Sherlock."
"Wolf. Please calm down. I'm not up for an argument with you this evening. Not after the Solstice celebration."
"Why the Hell should I calm down? It's just one bloody thing after another just now. In fact, I bet to cap it all, when you went to see bloody Dieter, he probably showed you more of my spawn. Gloated to you about them, and taunted you that you're too weak to do anything about it."
I looked at him, shocked at the sheer white heat of his anger - and at Dieter as much as me for once - and knew there wasn't a damned thing I could say just then to make things better. Unfortunately, I obviously let something cross my face which tipped him off to just how close to the truth he was. In the back, the dogs were stirring uneasily, obviously feeling the bad blood up in the cab.
"Christ, that's exactly what he fucking did, wasn't it?"
"You know, screw it. I've had enough of this. Do you think you're the only one this has happened to? And at least you get on with Dieter, and don't have a fundamental hatred of the system your children have been brought up in. How the Hell do you think I felt when I discovered that at some point during our acquaintance, Marina has given birth to my son, and never told me?"
And with that I opened the door, climbed out into the snow, slamming it behind me, and started walking. It was probably about 25°F, the snow was crisp and deep under my feet, and as I walked, I pulled my parka closer around me, and stuffed my hands in the thick down gloves I kept in the pockets. About twenty minutes later, I heard the Rover start up, the sound carrying in the stillness of the winter night, and Wolf caught me up shortly afterwards. He slowed down, and rolled down the window.
"You can't walk ten miles in the snow," he said.
"What do you care?" I snapped, "you blame me for all the shit that's come down on you lately."
"Ian, I..."
"Do you think this has been ANY easier on me than it has on you?" I said, stopping and glaring up at him in the cab of the vehicle, crossing my arms in front of me.
"Your son wasn't captured and abused by the Lynx."
"Yes, Wolf...you were. And before that, there was the business with Caine, or whoever the Hell it was. And before that there was Germania. I may have been a complete fuck-up as a father, but that's never stopped me trying to be there for you. But believe me, I know I've done a piss poor job of that lately."
He looked at me, and his expression softened slightly.
"You've never been a complete fuck-up as a father. But I'm beginning to see that I've not been the easiest son. Especially this last few months. I know what's been happening in Amber hasn't been easy for you...but I haven't exactly been cutting you any slack."
"What I don't understand, is why?"
"Neither do I," he answered, quietly, "that's something I've been trying to work through with Adam."
I relaxed slightly, as I realised that his voice had gone back to conversational levels of decibels.
"How have you been getting on with him?"
"He's my friend. And he's welcomed me into his home, which can't be easy for his wife and kids. Still, we get on well enough, and I like her. I always did. I don't know what it is about his place...even him...but somehow I feel comfortable with him. Maybe because he doesn't have all the pressure in the background that you do: the double life, the being Crown Prince of the most dangerous snake pit in the known universe."
"That's probably Thelbane, rather than Amber."
"And if Swayville is as sick as it sounds like he is, there's a good chance that is going to come and bite you in the backside, as well. You aren't just Royalty. You're senior line of one of the Poles of Existence...possibly both of them, depending on how Thelbane does its succession...and by extension, so am I. I'm not coping very well with that."
"And you think I am?"
"I thought you were...now, I'm not so sure," he answered, quietly, then gave a weak smile, "now get in the bloody car before you freeze to death."
I looked up at him, then walked around to the passenger side and climbed in. Once I had fastened the seatbelt, he gunned the engine and set off at a noticeably faster pace than I had been doing.
"You drive in snow like a girl," he commented, as he negotiated a bend with the skill of someone who drove well and knew the road, and I leaned back to enjoy the ride. In truth, I was actually glad he'd taken over. I'd always hated driving in snow.
"I wasn't brought up in bloody Bavaria," I answered, but my response was joking, rather than angry, and he laughed. It wasn't a particularly hearty laugh, and it certainly wasn't the confident laugh he used to have, but at least it was a start.
"It hurt you to watch Simon preside tonight, didn't it?" he said, quietly, a short while later.
"Yes," I answered, "and the fact that he was is another symptom of how difficult the last few months have been. Was it any easier for you?"
"I think perhaps it was. You've been part of the Group far longer than I have...longer than anyone else there. They're your family, literally in Johnny and Peter's case, whereas to me they're only friends."
"I missed Laurence tonight. I suppose I always do at Winter Solstice, but for some reason this time it was much stronger."
"You know, if he'd seen us like this, he would have stood us both up in front of him and told us to stop being so stupid and make things right between us."
"That he would," I said with a sigh, remembering my old friend and mentor.
"Do you ever wonder if he's been given a new turn on the wheel yet?"
"Yes. Him, and Audrey, and my father-in-law. All those members of the Group who've gone before us. And I wonder if we'll meet them again in this life."
"Who knows."
He fell quiet as he worked through a particularly tortuous set of bends, then spoke again.
"What did you mean about Marina?"
"Dieter's records. They mentioned a boy called Artur: mother, Marina Acker; father, Ian Cushing."
"How old is he?"
"No idea. The records didn't say."
"Have you talked to her about it?"
"Not yet."
"And my child?"
"Another boy. His name is Soren, and he's only five...and yes, Dieter even let me spend some time with him. Gods that hurt."
"Why?"
"As you said...he knew I'd do nothing to try to take the boy away from him."
"Why do you let him do this to you? To us?"
"What's the other alternative? We storm in there all guns blazing? You're never going to do that, however inclined I might be to, because he's your grandfather. And at least he can and will protect them. I'm not sure either you or I can say that just now. Not after what happened with Armand."
"He didn't protect Thorsten when Random grabbed him."
"No, but that wasn't on Germania."
"True enough."
"Would you want to them brought home?" I asked, "To Tenterden?"
"I think Thorsten's too damaged. And I have no idea about Uwe - I've never seen him, let alone met him, and know nothing about how he fits into Dieter's schemes. Soren, maybe. He's still young. But if I took him by force, I'd be burning a bridge that I don't want to burn, however much you'd like me to. What about these other two...Chad and Thomas?"
"Chad is very set in his ways. You'd be looking at the same decision I had to make with Richard and Geoff. Is it better to acknowledge them, with all the baggage that brings - especially now, with the whole Amber succession - and try to make them part of your life. Or is it kinder to let them live their own lives, and be the ones to make the decision about the direction their relationship with you should take."
"And Thomas?"
"I think both his mother and Matthew are looking out for him, and with due reason. There's at least one party out there who wants to bring him into their sphere of influence."
"Christ what a mess."
"At least you have Armand. And in my opinion, he's the best of all of them. He's managed to survive being brought up within the GGR and the Waffen-SS, and remained level-headed, free-thinking and likeable despite that."
"I'm proud of him."
"So am I."
"So how have you and he been getting on since I went to Edinburgh?"
"Actually, pretty well. I can see why you care for him. Love him. I feel the same way as I spend more time with him."
"I'm glad. Perhaps I should have let you two get to know each other better before."
"Like everything, it's complicated," I answered.
"Aye. That it is," he replied, as he swung the Rover into the gates of Wittersham House.
We crunched up the drive in silence, and then I jumped out and took the dogs to their kennels while he parked the car in the garage. By the time he joined me, having decided to leave the pheasant where they were until morning, I'd opened the back door and Ava was sitting on the doormat waiting for us, berating us for our late arrival. He must have brought her down from Edinburgh with him. We stomped through to the mud room and stripped off our coats, and then he picked her up. She started purring immediately and I watched them with a slight smile on my face.
"What?" he asked, looking sharply at me.
"I would never have figured you as a cat person."
"Aren't witches supposed to have familiars," he answered, jokingly. I think.
"I just have gun dogs," I answered, with a chuckle, "oh, and the resident cats...who your little Ava seems to have seen off."
"Being alone is depressing," he answered, "and given my history..."
"Alone is the last place you want to be."
He nodded, and then put her gently down on the ground.
"I'm here, Wolf," I said, quietly, "I always will be. All you need to do is ask."
"I know," he answered, "but sometimes you're the last person I can talk to."
I looked at him, sadly.
"Thank you for making me go to see Adam. It may not have seemed like it tonight, in the car, but it is making a difference."
"I'm glad."
"Is he Family?"
"Now what prompted that question?" I asked, curious.
"Sometimes he seems so...real. As real as you or I. And then, at other times, he’s just a genuinely good man who’s helping out a friend. I was trying to figure it out."
I paused for a moment, trying to decide whether to answer, and then came to the conclusion that it was the right thing to do.
"He's your brother. I met his mother during the war, before she married Iain Sinclair."
"How long have you known?"
"Not long - a couple of weeks."
"The same trip to see Dieter?"
"Yes. But somehow it made perfect sense. When you first introduced me to him, I felt a kinship with him. I'd put it down to our shared history as Servants of the Light over our many lives, but now I know it was more than that."
"Does he know?"
"Not as far as I'm aware, although he's no fool, so who knows. But for my part, I have no intention of telling him. Not until he needs to know. As you said, he doesn't have all the pressures that being Family brings, and so he can just be Adam. Solid, dependable, caring, a bloody good physician, and above all, a Light in the Darkness, guiding us home. We should let him stay that way for as long as we can."
"Amen. Selah. So mote it be," he said, quietly.
"We should turn in," I said, finally, "It's nearly four in the morning."
He nodded, and we made for the stairs, Ava padding along behind us.
Outside his room, he paused for a moment, then crossed to me and gave me a hug, before stepping back.
"Thank you Mihai."
"For what?"
"For not giving up on me. I know we get furious at each other, but I'm not sure what I'd do if you weren't there."
"You're welcome, Wolf," I answered, smiling, as I realised that he'd finally called me by the name he'd always used for me before his troubles.
Then he let himself into his suite, leaving the door slightly ajar for his feline friend. I waited until she'd squeezed herself inside, and then walked down the corridor to my own bedroom, hopeful for the first time in ages that perhaps there was light at the end of the tunnel for him.