A/N—I don't own The Children of the Lamp; that amazing series belongs to P.B. Kerr.
SPOILERS FOR #7: THE GRAVE OF GENGHIS KAHN! READ FROM NOW OWN AT YOUR OWN RISK.
Notes: I've read the last COTL book (#7, The Grave Robbers of Genghis Kahn) a couple times now, and while it's grown on me immensely since my first reading—at which, I'll admit, I was initially disappointed—something still bugs me about the end. That something is the fact that, after spending 7 books getting to know and love their uncle, John and Philippa lose the thing that brought them together.
Luckily…that's what AUs are for!
Summary: Two years after losing their powers and returning to "normal," John and Philippa Gaunt are sucked back into the djinn world on a search for a cure when the stakes are unnaturally high. Rated T for possible triggers, vivid imagery, and high emotional content.
The Hypocrisy of Hippocrates
After two years of living—without interruption—a "normal" life, John and Philippa Gaunt had decided (without a lingering doubt) that their East 77th Street home was absolutely, positively—
"Boring. That is the only word for this place," John moaned, slumping as deeply and as unattractively as possible into his chair. "Boring, boring, boring."
"Shhh!" Philippa hissed, jerking her head toward the dining room, where Mr. and Mrs. Gaunt were finishing their glasses of wine. Her grey eyes were chiding, but held in their sharpness a hint of understanding: she didn't ask her twin not to voice his unhappiness, but only to lower the volume with which he voiced it. "You'll upset mom and dad."
"I know, I know. But—"
"Stop saying but, John. There's no changing it. Why gripe, and why now?" Tears wavered behind Philippa's voice as she slammed her book—1001 Nights—shut in order to glare at her brother.
IT—the it that John bemoaned and Philippa (if her tears were to be believed) lamented—was the loss of their djinn powers, which had unfortunately occurred at the end of their last adventure two years previously.
"Because," John huffed, "I don't want to be normal anymore. Being normal means that I'm bored. Being normal means hanging out with people I don't like. Being normal means not seeing Nimrod."
Another unfortunate occurrence following the loss of their powers had been their mother's final edict: no more djinn affairs…period. With that edict had come the painful blow of complete separation with Nimrod—their mother's djinn brother, and their uncle—whom the infuriated Layla Gaunt had seen fit to include in the embargo package. The twins, who had been rushed into their "normal" life with all the speed of an intervention, had not even been allowed to say goodbye (something which caused the both of them pain, and John more than a little animosity toward his mother).
"Please," Philippa snapped weakly, the tears in her voice now edging into her eyes, "don't keep bringing this up. That part of our lives is over. We're never getting it b—"
The telephone rang, and John—like an untrained puppy—leapt to his feet and barreled down the hallway. "I'll get it!" He skidded to a halt by the telephone and yanked it off the wall. "Gaunts, John speaking."
The voice on the other end of the phone was one that he had not heard in a long time.
"You've gotten older, I say, you've gotten older since I last spoke to you, laddie," came the all too familiar tones of…
"Mr. Groanin!"
Philippa heard her brother's ecstatic voice, and she heard the name. Her heart did a tiny gallop in her chest—was Nimrod reestablishing contact? It appeared not, however, for John's face (which she could now see due to the movement she had made when she first heard him name the caller) fell, and he nodded.
"Yeah, yeah, she's here. Yeah—MOM!" John raised his voice in order to page his mother without stepping away from the phone.
Layla Gaunt swept out of the dining room, looking mortified. She took the phone from John, giving her son a glare that forebode doom once she was done. The glare quickly disappeared. Whatever she heard on the other end of the phone made her go pale. She hissed something at John, who sidled back into the room before she closed the hallway door behind him.
"What did Groanin want?" Philippa asked anxiously, all her previous excitement gone with the image of her mother's pale face and the echoes of her sharp, though intelligible, words to John. "And what did mom say?"
"To talk to mom. He didn't say why, and he didn't mention Nimrod. Mom just told me to go back and sit with you. She did tell me anything else."
"Why would Groanin not want to talk to us, though?" Philippa asked, disappointed. "He hasn't called in ages! And why wouldn't he mention—?"
The twins jumped as the sound of the phone clattering to the floor resounded from the hallway, and their mother's voice could be heard sobbing incoherently. Both John and Philippa rushed for the door, only to be met by their father opening to door to greet them.
"Dad?"
"What's going on with mom?"
"Out!" Mr. Gaunt snapped, pointing toward the staircase to their rooms. Before either of the twins could protest or get in another question about what was happening in the hallway, the door was closed again and the lock had clicked.
John and Philippa did not go to their rooms, because they knew that neither of their parents would be able to tell the difference until later, and because going to their rooms made—to them—no difference. They both stood there, in the sitting room, staring at the door, hearing the incoherent weeping of their mother and the inaudible dialogue of her father. They knew that when they heard whatever news Mr. Groanin had called to give that it was going to hurt, even though they didn't yet know what that news was.