On one particular sunny Friday morning near the end of October Jean and Halcyon were in the kitchen, washing up the last of the breakfast dishes. Not that there were so very many dishes to be washed; a plate and teacup apiece for Jean and Mattie, one pan for bacon and one for eggs, two little forks, two little teaspoons. Life was grown small and quiet, there in the last days of Thomas Blake's life. He was having difficulty swallowing on his own, and Jean had been forced to relent to his doctors' wishes, and allow them to cart him off to the hospital. It was the last thing she wanted, for Doctor Blake to die slowly in the hospital rather than in his own home - it felt, she thought, like a rather undignified end for such a man - but Jean knew when to admit defeat. She'd had rather a lot of practice at that.

"What shall we do today, Jean?" Halcyon asked her as he flitted round her head, eager and energetic as he always was first thing in the morning, and despite the heavy sorrow of her heart Jean smiled, just a little, watching him. He was undaunted, her daemon. No grief could hold him down for long.

"Well, I thought we'd pop in on Doctor Blake this morning," she said, "and then I should fix up some lunch for Mattie, and then I ought to spend some time with the ledgers."

"Doctor Blake hasn't seen a patient in months," Halcyon told her. "Why worry about the ledgers? We could go to Lake Wendouree instead, and we could -"

Though Jean longed to indulge him he did tend to get carried away, and if she gave into every one of his whims she'd never accomplish anything at all.

"Just because no money is coming in doesn't mean there's no money going out," she told him primly. "I'm in charge of Doctor Blake's finances until his son arrives, and I won't have him questioning our expenditures. I want to make it very plain that we have only spent what was necessary to maintain the house."

Although, she thought, it would be a lovely day to go and walk down by the lake. They could watch the cranes wheeling overhead, and perhaps if it was warm enough there would be rowers out on the water. Perhaps if the ledgers didn't take too long -

There came a sudden knock upon the front door, then, and Halcyon swooped through the air above Jean's head, spinning in excitable, dizzying circles.

"Oh, Jean!" he cried. "Do you suppose that's him? Young Doctor Blake?"

"We were expecting him by the end of the week," Jean mused as she wiped her hands dry on her little half apron. "And we aren't expecting any callers."

"Oh, it is him, it is, Jean, I'm sure of it," Halcyon crowed delightedly. They made their way out of the kitchen together, Jean walking with her back ramrod straight while Halcyon flitted around her.

"What do you suppose he'll be like?" he asked her. "Will he be stodgy like old Doctor Blake? Oh, but old Doctor Blake said his boy was a troublesome sort, perhaps he'll be too rough. What do you suppose his daemon might be? Oh, I hope she's a bird, and then we could fly together. Perhaps we could all go to Lake Wendouree together, and then-"

"Halcyon," Jean sighed, feeling somewhat anxious as she always did when meeting new people. She loved Halcyon, of course she did, but he could be so bloody eager, and some folks found him...overwhelming, which only made life more difficult for Jean. "Please, try to be calm. We don't know what sort of man this young Doctor Blake is, and I'd quite like for us to make a good impression. Please, try to be still. For me."

Some of the excitement seemed to leave her little kingfisher, and he settled on her shoulder, then, his small claws catching on the dishcloth she'd flung over her shoulder for just that purpose. Many a good blouse had been ruined by his little talons, however unintentionally, but Jean and Halcyon had been together a very long time, now, and she knew how to manage him. While he was rather more chatty than Jean herself - goodness, but he never seemed to stop talking - he was her own soul, and every question he asked was echoed in the vaults of Jean's own mind. What sort of man would this young Doctor Blake be? Would he choose to stay on in his father's house, and continue employing his father's housekeeper, or would he only stay long enough to settle the old man's affairs, to sell the house and send Jean on her way before disappearing again? The only way to find out, she knew, was to open the door, and so as she reached it she took one very deep breath, plastered a welcoming sort of smile on her face, and then pulled it wide.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, retreating a step reflexively, taken aback by the sight that greeted her. Halcyon squawked and flapped his wings, disgruntled by the sudden, unexpected movement, as startled as Jean to see what waited for them on their doorstep.

It was a man, tall and broad shouldered, his face handsome beneath a very neat salt and pepper beard, but Jean hardly got a look at him, for between the man and the open door there stood a huge, hulking golden lioness. Jean had never seen anything like her, not in all her days. Oh, she had seen photographs of them, but a photograph could not convey the size and the strength and the power of the beast that stood before her, regarding her with steely, serious golden eyes. The lioness's muzzle was shot through with grey, just as her person's beard was, and that was to be expected, but what was unexpected, and most shocking to Jean, was the faded scar that ran in a jagged line from beneath her right eye straight across her nose and down over her left cheek. Jean had never seen that before, either, a daemon who bore such a dreadful, and dreadfully visible scar. What sort of man would have a daemon so huge, so terrifying, and what sort of man could have gotten himself into so much trouble that he neglected to care for her, that she could be so terribly injured in the process?

Nothing good can come of this, Jean thought darkly. Her mother had warned her to be wary of men whose daemons were too large, and Jean had never in her life seen one so large as this.

"I do beg your pardon," the man said then, and Jean remembered her manners and jerked her gaze back up to his face, somewhat ashamed to have been caught staring. Halcyon lifted himself once more into the air, but his soft wings kept him airborne near Jean's left shoulder. There was a nervous sort of energy in him; Jean could feel it. He wanted to ask the man questions, she knew, and he wanted to examine that lioness more closely, but she had asked him to restrain himself, and he was trying, very hard, to do just that.

"She can be a bit overprotective," the man continued. "Nemea, please."

He held out his left hand and after a moment's pause - during which she continued to eye Jean unblinking - the lioness prowled out from between them, came to a stop at her human's side, and sat back on her haunches while his hand settled fondly atop her head.

"Doctor Lucien Blake," he said, holding out his other hand for a shake. "I believe I'm expected."

"Oh, yes, of course," Jean said. She shook his hand very quickly, and then stepped back. "I'm Mrs. Beazley. I'm your father's housekeeper. Do come inside."

"I want to thank you for your letters, Mrs. Beazley," the young Doctor Blake told her. Well, perhaps young was a misnomer; the man was fifty if he was a day. There was a battered leather travelling case sitting by his feet, and he gathered it up then, stepping through the door with his lioness close by his side.

"Well, you're very welcome," she told him. "Your father has been eager to see you."

For years he had been eager to see his son, but all his letters had gone unanswered. So, too, had all of Jean's, up until the last one, proclaiming that Thomas Blake's days were numbered. Even then, Lucien's only response had been a telegram informing her of the anticipated date of his arrival, no more, no less. Great men have big souls, but great men make lousy fathers, that's what Jean's mother had told her. Perhaps they made lousy sons, as well.

"Why don't you just put your bag in that room there," she said, closing the front door and gesturing towards old Doctor Blake's bedroom, "and then I can make you something to eat if you're hungry."

Jean was already starting to move towards the kitchen, but her path brought her rather too close to the lioness, and as she passed by Nemea bared her teeth, and Jean's heart stuttered in her chest. Halcyon cried out, alarmed, and swooped in front of his mistress, tiny and yet determined, as if he thought he might somehow protect her despite the unfairness of the fight before him.

"Halcyon!"

"Nemea!"

They cried out their daemons' names together, each of them alarmed and perhaps a bit embarrassed, but then the strangest thing happened, for Halcyon did not relent, and neither did Nemea step back. Instead the little kingfisher fluttered down until he could look the lioness in the eye, and something seemed to settle in both of them; Nemea's broad shoulders relaxed, and Halcyon's wings found a steadier beat, and they regarded one another for a moment while Jean and Lucien looked on, perplexed.

"Oh, I like her, Jean," Halcyon said. "She's beautiful."

"And so are you, little one," Nemea answered, and her voice was low and rich and lovely.

"How about that, eh?" Lucien said, and Jean's gaze snapped back up to his face. His blue eyes were twinkling at her, a soft smile tugging up the corners of his beard. It made for a strange sight, Jean and Lucien facing one another across the narrow corridor, their two mismatched daemons between them, Halcyon fluttering back and forth in front of the great lioness as he sought to keep himself aloft. Jean wasn't entirely sure how she felt about all this. It had not been the most auspicious of introductions, but she supposed at the very least she ought to be grateful that there was no one about to witness the impropriety of it all. It was bad enough that Lucien's daemon had bared her teeth - such things simply did not happen in polite society - but Halcyon, oh, he had been reckless and brash as well. What must this Lucien Blake think of her now? Perhaps he didn't think anything at all, or perhaps he, like Jean, had yet to make up his mind.

"How did you get that scar?"

"Halcyon!" Jean chided him, holding out her hand. "Please, don't pester her. I do apologize, Doctor Blake." Halcyon returned to her, chastised, and perched on the heel of her palm, though he was still watching Nemea in avid fascination. "Now, about breakfast?"

"Breakfast would be lovely, thank you, Mrs. Beazley."

Their strange little group left the corridor behind then, and Jean made sure to walk a few steps ahead, wanting to give that lioness a wide berth. Most daemons chose to walk beside their person, or perhaps a step or two behind - or to be carried by them, if such a thing were reasonable - but Nemea walked ahead of Lucien, staunchly keeping herself between him and the rest of the world. Most unusual.

"Why don't you have a seat there, and I'll make you up something," Jean said as they stepped into the kitchen, gesturing towards the table. "There's a bit of toast, and I could whip up some bacon and eggs, if you like."

"Please, don't go to too much trouble on my account," Lucien said, though he did settle himself heavily into a chair at the table. Nemea stretched herself out on the floor at his feet, her tail flicking absently as she watched Jean and Halcyon bustling around.

"It's my job, Doctor Blake," Jean told him, and tried not to sound irritated about it. In that house everyone had a role to play, and it was best if those roles were made clear from the outset. A man who tried to be overly conciliatory would only get in the way, and make Jean's work more difficult. "Please, let me look after you."

The words came out a bit warmer, a bit softer than she intended, and Jean's cheeks immediately flushed pink. She chanced a glance at him over her shoulder, and found Lucien and Nemea both watching her thoughtfully. It was going to be, she thought, a most unusual morning.