Nora Jean

and the Amber Irises

"We've all got both light and dark inside of us.

What matters is the part we choose to act on.

That's who we really are."

-Sirius Black

i.

The kettle whistled softly in the predawn hush as tapered, callused fingers drummed nervously against the glossy grain of the mahogany table. The bones of the hands were fine and light, the nails neat and uniform. A thick gold wedding band, dull with age, encircled the ring finger of her right hand as the sound sliced through the silence. Absently gazing into space, she wondered how much the piece of furniture had cost the master of the estate. It was an antique. She speculated that everything in the house was an antique. In all of her sixty-five years as a caretaker, she didn't think the table had ever been used as anything more than decoration. It was a shame, really; a waste. She supposed the wealthy could afford expenses such as that as she drew what appeared to be a stick from the pocket of her apron. Closer inspection revealed that was not merely a stick; it had been carved and whittled, fitted into a handle. There was something else about it, something that couldn't really be categorized. The object resonated with an aura as old and powerful as time itself. A wave of the wand lifted the kettle from the burner and sent it soaring through the air until it came to a neat stop atop the table. The water gave a quiet hiss as it splashed into the hand-crafted china teacups, swirls of dark orange and pale green emerging from the tea leaves at the bottom of each.

"You know she won't drink that, Camille."

The housekeeper turned her head slightly to appraise the visitor, keeping the task at hand in her peripheral vision. His unruly brown hair was tousled on either side, giving him the appearance of having licked a live outlet. Blue eyes were glassy and slightly unfocused from lack of sleep. His shirt was untucked on one side and his trousers had come uncreased. It was not often that the master of the house came down to the kitchens, and it was even less common for him to let his appearance become so unkempt, not that she blamed him.

A small smile graced the housekeeper's lips as her worn hands took up a teaspoon and dropped a lump of sugar into each cup. The house had settled into a tense silence, as if the estate had begun to hold its breath in anticipation. The master of the estate observed her quietly as she busied herself with adding milk to both cups. Petite and stocky, Camille had been serving the Remington family since her childhood. Her curls were the color of copper, though streaks of gray had begun to show in the past few years. Her eyes were still the same bottle green, her skin still the color of aged ivory mottled with freckles and creased with laughter lines. He smiled as she offered him the cup.

"It wasn't meant for her, sir," She gestured towards the kitchen's Dutch doors, beyond which spanned the rest of the manor. "There isn't anything we can do for her until she's good and ready. But I thought you could use an excuse not to sit by her bed and pull your hair out." Her keen eyes flicked from his mussed hair to his untidy clothes. The sigh that escaped his lips was fatigued. The grandfather clock in the foyer tolled midnight, its sound shattering the silence like glass; the mistress of the house had been in labor for a full day and the anticipation of her son's delivery was agony for her husband.

"It shouldn't be taking this long," Unsure whether the murmur was directed at her or at himself, Camille remained silent for a moment, as if considering his words. In reality, though, she was willing herself to be patient. She'd had the opportunity to deliver several babies during her lifetime. Aramis, she reminded herself, did not come armed with that experience, and it did nothing to soothe his troubled nerves that his wife had rejected the assistance of the Healers' magic in favor of a natural birth. A warm smile graced her chapped lips as she laid a hand on his arm.

"The little one will arrive when he's ready, and not a moment sooner. You're doing yourself no favors by worrying. Let nature take its course," she scolded him gently. The tension lay like a blanket over the estate as Aramis' weathered hands grasped his teacup with white knuckles and mechanically went through the motions of sipping. His bleary unfocused eyes stared idly into the distance, the silence growing between them in a manner that was not uncomfortable. The minutes stretched infinitely into hours and still they waited, helpless to do anything but exercise patience. When his teacup stood empty, the master of the estate got to his feet and began to pace across the kitchen floor, worry creasing the skin between his eyebrows.

One of the young servant boys came bounding through the kitchen's Dutch doors, sputtering sentence fragments as he slumped against the wall. No older than thirteen, the boy was winded as though he had run the entire length of the estate from the master's wing. He gestured wildly, massaging a stitch in his side between gasps.

"Sir! The mistress sent me-! It's time!"

Both adults were on their feet before the boy had finished speaking. Camille gripped her wand tightly as Aramis placed a hand on her elbow, and there suddenly was nothing but air in the place where they had once stood. They simply vanished, only to manifest in the master bedchamber. Camille righted herself and rolled her sleeves up past the elbow to reveal heavily freckled forearms, braced for the scene before her as she washed her hands in the basin that stood in the corner.

The Healer hovered off to one side, casting anxious looks at the spellbook before her. Ancient runes dotted the cover of the tome; something to do with magic applicable to childbirth. Camille prayed that it was merely a precaution, wasting no time in closing in on the bed. Her mistress lay abed with her belly huge, sweat beading furiously along her hairline as her forehead creased with exertion. Her lips were white with pain, standing in stark contrast with her flushed face. Long, graceful fingers clawed at the blood-drenched silk sheets as the woman cried out in pain, her frantic husband reaching her side with three long strides. Her vicelike grip crushed Aramis' fingers as the housekeeper dabbed at Noreen's damp brow with a washcloth.

"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am, but you need to push," Camille's lilting brogue soothed the woman as yet another contraction wracked her petite body. Noreen moaned in response, tears forming in her eyes. Losing patience, the housekeeper gently, but firmly, seized her shoulders and shook her gently. "Ma'am, push." The urgency in her voice seemed to snap her mistress out of her pained trance and, in several moments that felt like an eternity, the startled cry of a newborn baby sliced through the air, still with anticipation. The housekeeper's gentle hands lifted the infant from the bloodstained sheets as the Healer descended upon Noreen, and Camille pointed her wand at the baby. "Tergeo," she murmured, siphoning blood from the child's delicate skin as the newborn squirmed and wailed. Skilled hands guided the child's limbs until Camille had successfully swaddled the squirming bundle; the cyan blanket had been painstakingly knitted by Noreen's deft hands for her firstborn son, and Camille nestled the baby into the new mother's arms as the Healer dabbed a cold cloth against her brow.

She had always been a beauty, but with the birth of her child, she was radiant. The blonde sat, seeming to emanate a golden glow as she shifted to greet the newborn. Her golden locks were soaked with sweat, pulled back into a low ponytail to keep it out of her face. Her eyes were gleaming silver and shining with adoration as she pulled back the top of the blanket to press her lips against the infant's forehead. Camille shifted uncomfortably as the Healer peeked at the child over Aramis' shoulder.

"Congratulations, ma'am," She smiled warmly at the parents, preparing herself inside. "What will you be callin' her?" The new father chuckled, brushing a stray lock behind his wife's ear; Noreen's unwavering eyes were riveted to the housekeeper.

"Her? Camille, you misspoke. This is my son. The Healers told us we were to have a boy."

Camille shook her head slowly, gesturing at the infant with a trembling hand.

"I beg your pardon, Master Aramis, but I'm certain the child is a girl."

The silence that followed sent tremors into the very foundations of the universe as the newborn baby girl steadily met her mother's gaze, steely irises mirrored back at Noreen while she regarded the infant in disgust.