Peter couldn't meet Aunt Miriam's eyes. He knew she wanted to comfort him and to console him. He felt her arms around his body and her head on top of his. She tried to rock him soothingly in his chair as if he was still a boy. He should be grateful for her support and for her not asking any questions. But since they returned home, as everyone did with nary a word after the senseless chaos, all he could feel was rage—rage and loss.
Why didn't he move quicker blinded or not? Why didn't he kill that sadist when he had the chance instead of pulling his punches? Why did they have to come on this day? He knew he was to blame. With great power comes great responsibility? No matter how much power he has, he'll always be a failure. Virginia and her father are two more people he cared about who he couldn't save, just like Uncle Benjamin and Sir Nicholas. Instead of his wedding night, he was in the darkest moment of his life.
"I'm going," he abruptly said. He shook off Aunt Miriam's arms and wiped the tears from his face. Without looking back at her he went to door and left.
"Where are you going?" she asked with worry in her voice. Peter didn't respond. He couldn't if he wanted to.
.
Wanda left Jean's room quietly. For all the power the professor and grand inquisitor believe Mistress Grey has, Wanda sees her as more a helpless child than a deity. She must have heard, with her ears or otherwise, the violence by the church. Instead of acting on it, she curled up into a ball in one of the corners of her room. Wanda found her whimpering when they returned. The strange girl could not even articulate her fear.
"How is she, Sister Wanda?" asked a solemn Enrique. He had waited outside the bedroom the last half hour.
"She….she's fine," Wanda answered. "It took her a while to go to sleep, but she's resting now. I only hope she doesn't have any nightmares tonight," Wanda said with a shiver. The one night Jean did have bad dreams last month resulted in the house nearly burning down (thank God for Roberto's icy hand).
"I'm glad to hear it," Enrique said with an apologetic look in his eye. He put his hand on her shoulder and she felt comfort from this man for the first time in the ten years she's known him.
"What troubles you?" she asked, taking his hand down but holding it in hers. She felt the coldness of age and regret in his grip.
"If I had been there, I could have stopped those fools before things escalated."
"Roanoke's losses….they were great. I know not what will become of us now, but you saved many of us. You saved me."
"But you were almost…lost," Enrique said with reddening eyes. "If I lost my daughter, I could never forgive myself." Her mind crashed. 'My daughter?'
"Did you say…"
"The reason I kept you in those Catholic garbs away from the Inquisition…the reason I wanted you to know Carlos Javier's kindness more than just my authority is because you and Pietro are the only things I've been yet able to accomplish in my life.
Wanda was speechless. A small tear rolled down her cheek.
"I'm sorry," he said turning away for the stairs. She immediately spun him around and wrapped her arms around him. It was the embrace Enrique always wanted, but the hug he never expected or deserved.
"You're not upset?" he said cautiously.
"I don't know why you did what you did…but you've been there for us when we've most needed you. You've made us strong." Enrique closed his eyes and thanked a God he had long stopped believing in. "Thank you, father."
.
Peter opened the door to the Dare House. He didn't quite know what to expect. He wasn't even sure why he was here. But he felt drawn. He shut the door behind him and looked around. He stood in the central room with its grand table—for dinners and meetings—in front of him. It had plates and the only silverware in America set-up and decorated around it. Two candlesticks sat atop the red tablecloth that Virginia herself had made. This was to be used after the wedding that never happened.
Peter remembered when he met Ananias Dare two years ago in this room. Still a shy boy of only 14 years, he could barely get his words out in the man's presence. It worked out that little Virginia Dare had no problem doing more than twice the talking for both of them. She explained to her father how he absolutely had to stay there and how she always wanted a friend her own age and it would be murder to turn him out or send him back to England and that if loved her she would let him stay. Peter smiled to himself. Ananias let them all stay. He let the Fantastik four stay long enough to write a declaration for his colony. He let Carlos Javier stay and turn Roanoke into the first sanctuary for Witchbreed. And, he let Peter stay in his own house. He let Peter stay with his own daughter. Ananias was a great man and Peter failed to save him just as he failed Virginia. The smile faded. Peter sat in the dark at the empty reception table alone with his misery. He ran his fingers through his hair and again wondered what he could have done differently.
As Peter ruminated on his mistakes and regrets, he barely registered the door to the home swinging open. Peter stood up straight, worried that another German mercenary had returned to Roanoke. He stared into the dark as a figure emerged from the outside world. Peter didn't have that strange buzzing feeling in his head, but could feel his heart stop. Out of the blackness emerged a wet and cold Virginia Dare. Peter nearly felt his jaw pop from the shock.
"Virginia!" he cried. She was soaked and tired. Her wedding dress looked dirty and splashed with small drops of blood from her shoulder. It must have been just a graze but it was more than enough to scare young Parquagh. "My God," he yelled as he ran to her and wrapped his arms around her tighter than a grizzly.
"Peter," she muttered through her voice. Tears ran down her face. She could not tell if they were still tears of sorrow or of relief.
"I thought you were dead," he whispered in a choking voice.
"Maybe I should be," he broke off the embrace and looked at her in disbelief. "My father…they killed my father." These were definitely tears of sorrow, now.
"I know, Virginia."
"Where is he?"
"We moved all the dead of Roanoke into the church. We've left the thugs to rot for the night," he replied. "I'm so sorry, I couldn't save him."
"You couldn't?" she asked with surprise. She shook her head. "I waited until he was dead to use my God's gift. What purpose did it serve to be blessed?" Peter looked at her in equal disbelief. He shut the door behind her.
"You were able to lead the revolt. You saved Roanoke."
"I almost died," she said grasping her shoulder. "I thought I did die up there, but I think I only fainted due to the blood loss causing my bird form to collapse." She lowered her head in shame, letting her wet sagging hair fall over his face.
"Virginia, I thought he shot you…I saw him shoot you," Peter said as the horrific memory came back.
"No, before I passed out, I saw the raven I scared off from the steeple fall from the sky."
"A raven?" Now, it all made sense. She'd flown up there and collapsed from the light wound in the mud by the bells. It wasn't her bird that Schmidt shot, but the dark shrouded that truth from them. Peter lost all interest in any other details for the time being. He pulled Virginia into him again and hugged her even tighter.
"You're alive. That's all that matters." She closed her eyes, finding what solace she could in Peter's arms. After several minutes, he opened his eyes and looked at her flesh wound on her bare shoulder, the dress torn by the water and musket ball. He kissed the top of it.
"We need to get you to the doctor," he said.
"No," she said so low, Peter wasn't sure he heard it at all.
"I don't want you getting sick," he explained in her ear.
"No," she said much more firmly as she pulled herself away. "Not tonight." He looked at her uncomprehendingly. "I don't want to think about that or anything else right now."
"Virginia…"
"Peter, it's my wedding night," she said. He was going to mention they were still not married, but he realized he didn't care. She stood on her tiptoes, pushing her face up to his and kissed him passionately. More aggressively than they had ever kissed by the meadows and the waters. Peter lost all other thoughts or questions and quickly found himself trying to undo her lacing. Growing impatient, his hand started ripping it off of her, destroying what was left of the dress. She threw off his suit jacket and spun around him. On instinct, she climbed backwards onto the dining room table, hitting the candlesticks and remnants of her old life away. The silver made a loud clang as it smashed against the floor. Soon, he was on her, in her, pulling her hair, biting her neck and tearing her stockings with his fingers.
She didn't want to think about her pain or her loss. She didn't want to think about her sadness. She just wanted to feel like she had a home again and find that pleasure and innocence she had lost. Sadly, one day soon she'd realize that innocence will never return. But in this moment she found the pleasure and escape she needed. Peter moved in her so hard the table cracked underneath them. She moaned softy, losing herself in what home she had left.