Keys: Yes, Veronica is fine, my friend. No worries there.
Panda: I can't tell you what's going to happen: it'll spoil the story. Lol. Yet, I can assure you that Veronica is a-o-k.
ChosenOne: Lol. Or so you think!
KDC: Yeah, Lillian not being able to speak is going to be a frustrating point through out the story.
Zeus: Sorry it took me awhile.
Kat: Lol. I just love writing cliffhangers. Yet, I'm a hypocrite because I hate it when others write cliffhangers. Lol.
Taya: EEKS! Can't have you dying on me. Lol.
Clux: Mystical, of course. Lol.
Chapter Four
Home Sweet Home
"Oh bloody Hell, Marguerite. Would you quit your bellyaching?"
"Oh, like you have the right to complain about my complaining! It is your damn fault, John!"
"I beg your pardon," his voice held defiance and denial.
"Well, I was following you. You led me straight into it!"
"The hell I did! I stepped around the damn thing. Why didn't you?"
"Because I didn't see it. I was too busy admiring your ass!"
He guffawed in merriment. "I say: couldn't resist the view?"
Veronica, who'd heard the argument from the nursery, strolled out into the living room with William nestled in her arms. She took one look at Marguerite's mud soaked clothes and face, and snorted as she tried containing her laughter. William stirred, his large hazel eyes settling on his mother, but not knowing what too make of the filthy woman.
Roxton dropped his rifle onto the wooden table as he briskly walked toward Veronica. He held out his arms. "Hey there, little lad. You're looking as dashing as ever." William squirmed against Veronica, happy to see his father. Roxton plucked the baby out of Veronica's arms, beaming cheerfully at his son. "Here's the little bugger."
Marguerite stiffened. "Well," she stated with her usual brusqueness. "I'm going to go wash up." She strode out of the room, her head held high. Yet, the moment she was out of sight, she chuckled softly to herself. Tumbling into that mud pit really was quite funny.
--
Marguerite hummed as she lathered the herbal shampoo into her thick, dark curls. There was nothing like a warm shower in the sultry heat of the Amazonian jungle. She rinsed off, spending an extra leisurely few minutes before shutting off the makeshift showerhead and wrapping herself up into one of Veronica's mother's robes.
She paused.
One of our mother's robes, she reminded herself, still unaccustomed to the whole surreal idea.
More than six months ago, Marguerite had learned from a sorcerer, Klor, that Veronica and herself shared the same mother, but different fathers. More extraordinary was who Marguerite's father was: another sorcerer. That is, if Klor could be trusted. The heiress was hesitant to believe it to be true. It frightened her. She'd already seen a glimpse of what her own power could do…and she didn't like it, especially since she had no control over it. It crept up on her, choking her with its ferocity. Occasionally she could hold it off, feeling it tingling in the back of her mind.
She didn't tell John about the nightmares that plagued her sleep and stole her days. She could go weeks feeling utterly normal, free of the power that ran through her blood. And then she could go non-stop for hours, her body prickling and her ears burning.
She wondered if Veronica ever felt the same, but the jungle girl never mentioned it to her. Did witches not have the same torment?
"Marguerite, are you coming out sometime today," Roxton's jovial voice called out to her from somewhere deeper in the tree house.
Marguerite sighed, reaching for her khaki skirt and sky-blue blouse. She immerged minutes later, her still wet hair dripping down her shirt. She stopped in the entryway, her eyes softening at the sight before her.
John was slouched on the bench, his feet laid across the seat. In one arm was Lillian and in the other William. He was singing softly to them, slightly off-tune but the babies didn't notice. John had one of those rich, soothing voices that you could listen to forever.
He kissed first one and then the other before tenderly peering up at his wife. "Are they asleep, yet," he whispered, unable to see their sweet faces.
Marguerite stepped closer, staring lovingly at her children and nodding. "Yes," she whispered back, gazing up into her husband's naked hazel eyes. His coffee-olive eyes were truly the windows to his honorable soul: always so open and full of depth. She was constantly finding herself lost in them.
Roxton brought his knees up, giving her room to sit. "Malone had quite the story to tell," he said in hushed tones.
Marguerite sat down, snaking an arm around his legs to rest her hand on his hard, comforting stomach. "What?"
"That Lilly knew Veronica was in trouble. He said they were in the nursery, playing on the floor when Lilly began pointing out the window insistently."
Marguerite shrugged. "So?"
"Well, darling, you didn't let me finish. Lilly grew upset…began to cry. Ned picked her up and checked the window for snakes. When he looked down he saw Veronica on the ground. It so happens that she had been hit by a poison dart."
"What? But she looked fine when we saw her earlier. Even with Challenger's antidote she should've been out of it for at least a day."
"Marguerite, you're missing the point. Lilly knew, but how?"
"Coincidence, John. Nothing more than that."
"Love, we've got to explore the possibility that maybe Lilly…"
"No, John," Marguerite pressed sternly. "I thought we closed that subject. Lillian is a perfectly normal child. And I won't hear anything otherwise spoken about our daughter." She stroked Lillian's back, murmuring: "It was a coincidence."
It had to be.
End Chapter Four
Don't worry, the story will be picking up soon. Sorry you have to swim through the boring stuff first, but I need to set the plot up.