Chapter 11

After stopping at Subway and getting whiskey for Mark and Tequila for herself, Brooklynn made her way back to the house. She didn't want to go through this. She didn't want to see Bastet die. Her heart was shattering repeatedly in her chest, remembering what that beautiful feline had done for her and Mark. She had saved Mark's life and brought him back to her. Undertaker hadn't helped the way she thought and she nearly tossed their love away because of her fear of Nemesis. Wiping her tears away, Brooklynn walked into the house and saw the lights were still out, so she headed upstairs and stopped at the sight of Claira crying against her father's chest.

"Please…please don't leave us, Daddy…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for being a bitch and I won't do it again!" Claira was scared to death, shaking her head repeatedly and crying her heart out, clinging to her father for dear life.

"Where are you going, Mark?" Brooklynn was now completely baffled and perplexed.

"Nowhere." He said tiredly. Mark had sensed Claira lurking and his energy had been waning. He had closed the circle, put Bastet down on his pillow atop the bed and opened the door. Claira had freaked the hell out and wouldn't leave his arms now. "Ssshhh, lil darlin'," He soothed, stroking her hair gently. "I'm not going anywhere." What in the name of all that was sacred had this girl been told?

"N-No, you're lying, Dad! Mom, he's lying to us! He told me about Familiars, how they're linked to your lifeline and if they die, that means if Bastet is dying, so is Dad! They're linked!"

Claira was shaking like a leaf, covering her face with her hands and wished she could talk to Seth right now. She needed him to calm her down, to help her through this. Losing a parent was something she never thought she'd have to go through, not at this age anyway.

"Claira, sweetheart, Daddy's not going anywhere and he's not…dying…" Brooklynn suddenly thought back to that nightmare with Undertaker, waking up next to Bastet and moved her gaze to Mark, a hint of fear filling her own eyes. "Mark, you're okay…right?"

"Oh my Ra, you two, get the hell out." Mark ordered, shaking his head down at the two loves of his life as he began nudging them both away from the door. "Downstairs." His tone left no room for argument, watching as both Claira and Brooklynn headed, very reluctantly, towards the stairs and really hoped Brooklynn had gotten his whiskey. "Go. You can eat, I'll drink, and tell you how this works."

"I'm drinking with you."

Brooklynn really needed to shoot a few back, after the past few days they'd had, both good and bad. She poured herself a tumbler of Tequila, a tumbler of whiskey for Mark and handed over the Subway sandwich to Claira, sitting down on the couch. Mickie and John would be here tomorrow with their daughter, Milayna. She was 2 years younger than Claira, but very mature for her young age. Fourteen going on 30 is what Mickie always said whenever they spoke, which wasn't often enough.

"I had a nightmare, Mark. It wasn't just any nightmare either, it was…it was…Him." She still couldn't say his counterpart's name. "And when I woke up, Bastet was on the bed next to me. What the hell is going on?"

"No idea." That was the truth and he shrugged, swiping the bottle of whiskey and eyed the tumbler. Tonight was a drink from the bottle night and he sighed, dropping down into his oversized armchair, a glass/bottle in each hand. "She wasn't feeling good the other day and she's still not feeling good, and don't tell Claira Bastet is dying." Because as far as he was concerned, that simply wasn't on the table.

"But if she does, Dad, what happens to you?"

"Raging," He downed half that tumbler. "Alcoholic."

"Brilliant, Mark." Brooklynn muttered, already planning on leaving him if he ever did become a raging alcoholic.

She loved him, but wouldn't stay with a drunk, especially after all his talk about seeing the world together. Bastet meant just as much to her. She'd spent the past 17 years taking care of that cat and loved her with all her heart. Granted, she didn't have the same connection with Bastet Mark did, but that didn't mean she loved the cat any less. Brooklynn turned to Claira, who still looked scared for her father's safety and life.

"Claira, Mickie will figure this out. If Daddy doesn't know, I'm sure she can figure out what's going on and everything will be fine, okay?"

Claira simply nodded, though her eyes strayed to her Dad. She wasn't entirely sure, but she was fairly certain his lips had done a quick twitch like he was trying not to smirk. Mickie would probably throw up the minute she got near this house, let alone HIS Familiar.

"Don't lie to her or give her false hope, Brooklynn." Claira was 16, she was old enough to realize even magical beings had a lifespan. Granted, Bastet's should have lasted as long as his and his eyes narrowed on his daughter thoughtfully.

"Are you kidding me right now? You JUST told me not to tell her Bastet is dying and now you're lecturing me about not being honest with her?! Pick one or the other, Mark!" Brooklynn was on the verge of having a breakdown with everything that had happened recently. Their lives had been peaceful, tranquil and now her kitchen was jacked up and constantly arguing with Mark. "You either want me to lie to her or you want me to be truthful with her, can't have it both ways." Downing her Tequila, she refilled her tumbler and leaned back against the couch, not understanding what was happening to their lives lately.

"Bastet ISN'T dying and telling her MICKIE is going to be able to pull some magical ability to tend to MY Familiar are both lies." He said sternly, not about to coddle her at the moment. "Bastet CAN'T die, not unless she is purposefully murdered and there is NOBODY around who is capable of doing it!" Mark regularly did 'checks', wanting to make sure he was the biggest, baddest dog in the yard, so to speak, when it came to magic. Minor Wiccans, idiots thinking they were Witches, sure. A genuine Witch or Warlock, not within a 30-mile radius outside of him and Claira. "I need you to stop assuming and just… just stop, Brooklynn." Telling Claira anything outside of 'Bastet was sick' was just a recipe for disaster. Brooklynn wasn't a Witch; she was a Seer of spirits, he didn't need her giving misinformation to Claira.

Brooklynn knew it was pointless arguing with him and just kept her mouth shut, also refusing to turn into a raging alcoholic as she set her tumbler on the coffee table. "Hopefully, you and Mickie can figure something out then."

Obviously, there WAS a danger around them or else Bastet wouldn't be sick or dying. That was an unnerving thought. What if there was someone out there trying to hurt Bastet and Mark hadn't sensed them? She frowned, having a feeling Mark was thinking the same thing and glanced at their daughter, knowing she wouldn't be capable of hurting a Familiar. Her powers weren't completed because she didn't want to train them, which Mark was the only one who could help her since Mickie lived in Massachusetts with John.

Honestly, training Claira, if she had been inclined, would have been on hold regardless until she had 'shown' which area on the good/bad spectrum she fell, in simple terms. If she was like him, he would have trained her. If she were more inclined towards the lighter side, he would have probably sent her to Mickie for both their sakes. He doubted Claira would have appreciated the nausea and sickness she would have felt.

"Is she bringing John?" John was an 'automatic' Writer. When others may not pick something up, he sometimes could. Though it was weird, the way his hand tended to operate independently of his body.

"Yeah. And Milayna too."

Just like Claira, Milayna had been granted both her parents gifts and she started out at a very young age. Five, to be precise. She began training at age 10 to hone her powers, both Wiccan and Writer, respectively. John trained her in the writing field, while Mickie took care of the Wiccan and tried to help with the Writer part whenever necessary.

"Isn't Milayna kinda like me?"

"How do you mean, honey?"

"She's got both powers from her parents too, right?"

"Yes. She is a Witch and a Writer. They kind of go hand-in-hand, unlike your father and my powers. There's really nothing he can do for me with the spirits and I can't do anything for him with his magic."

"You guys are total opposites; how did you end up together?"

"That…is very complicated and I'll tell you the story one day. Not tonight though. Mickie, John and Milayna should be here in the morning. She said she was booking them all redeye flights to come here." Maybe having Trish and Steve here could help too.

Melina had been smart, she had gotten with a man with no magical or supernatural abilities and, as far as anyone knew, hers hadn't been passed down. Palm reading, however, was an old, old gypsy thing so… he wasn't sure if it was supernatural or just some seriously high form of perception. Either way… the fact that kids were inheriting both sets of powers, gifts, just seemed odd. A bit cruel as well, especially for those like Claira, who seemingly wanted nothing to do with magical or the supernatural world in general. Mark supposed he couldn't blame her.

Luckily, Milayna was the only child to inherit both of her parents' gifts just like Claira. Due to the fact, Mickie was a Wiccan, Brooklynn chalked it up to that since the same thing happened to Claira. Melina's children hadn't inherited any type of palm reading techniques or fortunetelling, which was probably a good thing. To her knowledge, Claira and Milayna were the only children 'gifted', and only one accepted their fate. There was nothing more to be done tonight. Tomorrow would be hectic and Brooklynn contemplated keeping Claira home from school, just in case Bastet did pass on. She would leave it up to the teenager on what she wanted to do.

"We should all get some rest. Claira, you can stay home from school tomorrow, if you want." She pressed a kiss to her daughter's head and squeezed her shoulder, smiling softly despite the situation. Then, she walked over to Mark and extended her hand, after taking the bottle away from him. "Come on, you're dead on your feet and there's nothing more you can do for Bastet right now."

He toasted her with the freshly topped off tumbler. Mark had one in each hand and drained it in one long, teeth gritting swallow. It took a hell of a lot to get him drunk, he weighed quite a bit, ate a lot, and had a tendency to use magic to ward off outright drunkenness. Mark had a bit too much pride to be letting himself get that blitzed. His eyes narrowed in on Claira again, ignoring Brooklynn for a moment. He was willing to bet, if she didn't see ghosts, she'd have embraced just about anything. How had Brooklynn managed to not come out totally messed up? And why had his cat fallen ill the day he had sent her to tail his daughter?

Brooklynn could see the questions swirling in his eyes while he looked at Claira, a thoughtful frown on her own face. All this happened right after the girl set their kitchen on fire…and he'd set Bastet to watch over her at school. Was there someone at the school harming his Familiar? Brooklynn was too tired for this, it'd been a very long day, the power was still out and she was exhausted, beginning to blow out the candles. It was bad enough they had a kitchen they had to be redone, they didn't need the whole damn place burning down.

"I'll meet you upstairs." She murmured quietly, kissing his cheek and headed off upstairs, changing into a nightgown before slipping into bed to snuggle with Bastet.

Claira sat there for a few minutes longer, beginning to shift uncomfortably under her father's piercing stare. Her mother scared the ever loving piss out of her when her temper was up, her father… was, surprisingly, usually, the less scary. But when he looked like that, there were times she could swear she saw acid in his eyes.

"Night, Daddy." She murmured quietly, clearing her throat uncomfortably.

"Night, lil darlin'." He rumbled, watching as she hauled her cookies upstairs like it was on fire. Mark glanced out the window as lightning lit everything up for a brief second. After a few minutes, he stood as well, going to join Brooklynn and Bastet.

Bastet remained sleeping on the pillow Mark had set her on to rest. She still didn't look good and slept, not even opening her eyes when Brooklynn entered the room. Something wasn't right. First, the dream with Him and now Bastet was on her deathbed. What the hell was going on? Why was this happening now? Claira had honestly scared her briefly with the possibility of Mark dying, if Bastet did. That wasn't possible though since Bastet was connected to Mark, her lifeline and lifespan anyway. However, it rose another concern…one Brooklynn was afraid of posing to Mark.

Would Undertaker be released if and when Bastet died?

It'd been 17 years since Brooklynn had any kind of association or connection with Undertaker. Now all of a sudden he had invaded her dreams, out of the blue, and now Bastet was sick. There had to be some kind of connection to that happening. Was it possible Undertaker was killing Bastet? Granted, Mark assured her there was more than enough power in the Familiar to hold his darker half back and keep him locked away. Brooklynn had believed him and they hadn't spoken about it again. The timing was too coincidental for this to just be a 'time's run out' type deal. No, Bastet was dying for a reason and Brooklynn could only hope Mickie figured out why before it was too late.

When the door opened, Brooklynn looked up at her rugged, tired looking man and frowned, immediately reaching over to rub his shoulder and back. No words had to be spoken between them. She could tell Bastet's illness had shaken Mark to his core and he was troubled because he couldn't figure out what was causing it. They both settled down on the bed with Bastet between them, her hand moving to cover Mark's. He laced their fingers together and Brooklynn blinked back tears, her nose directly by Bastet's head while the feline continued sleeping. Even though they weren't religious, Brooklynn said a prayer that night for Bastet, hoping whatever higher power in this world heard her and spared the cat's life.