Chapter Three
Sometimes, when he shut his eyes, Thomas could recall that weird experience so long ago which had changed the course of his life, and with such vibrant acuity that it was almost as if he had stepped back in time. The little moments with Ahamo, the miraculous things Lavender had done, and even Oliver's lovable quirks brought a warm smile to his face, and often formed the basis for many more such recollections of the man's best friends. Frequently, his mind omitted the more disturbing details, which had brought him closer to death than he had ever been at that point. Other times however, like tonight, the darkness would seep into his soul and taunt his peace of mind.
It had been a long couple of weeks. Kids had been going missing, and although this was nothing new for the seasoned cop – kids went missing all the time – these disappearances felt closer to home. These kinds of cases always seemed to fit a general pattern, he recalled with heavy sigh. Whatever the initial trigger that caused the person's disappearance; it would almost always go a certain way: witnesses would be interviewed, a timeline would be set, and at some point, if they were lucky, they might catch a break. Luck is a tricky thing though, because although the optimistic might hope to find a living, breathing person that just got lost on a walk, they were more frequently found after they'd already expired. This most recent case hadn't been an exception, unfortunately, and he knew that what he'd seen when he walked onto the scene just hours ago would stick with him for a while.
He shut his eyes, hoping to block out the image, but it was no good. So instead, he relived it again, hoping that being a living witness to the boys' deaths would in some way be a vindication for them. He rewound the scene in his head: a late model sedan with a busted taillight had been found on a barely used farm road. It looked like it had been there for at least a few days and would have probably gone unnoticed a lot longer had there not been an accident on the interstate that caused that farmer to take a detour. The split decision to turn onto that road and led the farmer to the vehicle, slammed nose first into a deep ditch. There wasn't a reason for the car to have been like that. It was a wide road, used oftentimes for tractors and combines for the nearby farms, and was straight as an arrow for miles. Walking up on the driver side, though, there could be no doubt what had happened. Inside, two boys sat, looking as if they might just be asleep. The driver, a black man of twenty-three, was well dressed like he'd just come from church. His passenger had been a sweet kid with dirty blonde hair and a liking for vintage t-shirts, or so his mother had said, whose only crime was falling in love with a man, and a black man at that. They were still holding hands, even now, and the coroner had been reluctant to separate them, knowing without a doubt that it had been their only wish in the end, to be together. It shouldn't have been like this; Thomas had thought with boiling anger. If those kids had been somewhere, anywhere else, other than a rural hick-town in Kansas they might still be alive, but here they were, holding hands while the firing squad had surrounded them.
After he'd broken the news to their mothers; kind middle-aged women who held each other in their grief as if they'd been family this whole time, he'd called it a day. It had only been three o'clock in the afternoon when he'd spoken with the boys' next of kin, but he'd taken his time getting home, hoping that the meandering might untangle some of the knots in his head. When he finally pulled up in the drive several hours later, he was no better than he had been before. A heavy sigh filled the air of that dark sedan as he grasped the steering wheel and peered out at the front face of his little white-plank and brick house. A porch light had been left on, and this had become the epicenter of a June bug party, where the little black beetles danced a hoedown in the air until they slapped drunkenly against the screen door. Thomas grimaced at this sight, knowing Lesedi was waiting for him. After all these years, even after they'd been grown and living apart while he'd been in the Outer Zone, his sister still treated him like a snot-nosed little kid, even though it was now frequently her with the ailments needing attention.
Thomas groaned quietly to his steering wheel before he exited the cab, being careful all the while to be as quiet as possible. It wasn't that he didn't love his sister; she was everything to him in this world. It was just that he couldn't bear talking to anyone right now, especially not a retired fortune teller with a liking for prophesies. Lately, she'd been going on about the darkness returning, and Thomas was just about sick of it. It wasn't her fault, and of course, she was right in more ways than one, for although he'd escaped the draft, and the entire war in fact, he hadn't missed out on anything else: the race wars, the sexual abuse scandals, the narrow-minded politicians, and their social causes that set the country back further than when he'd been a kid. It was enough to make him want to hop a travel storm back to the OZ, except there were none to be had, and he wouldn't leave his sister now if he could help it. He just couldn't bear telling her about those boys. Not now.
The hot summer air was stifling, even after the sun had long gone down, and Thomas was relived to feel the cold blast of the air conditioner when he crept inside. Looking around the small living room, and listening for the sounds of his sister, he was even more relieved to find himself relatively alone. Although Lesedi sometimes awoke in the middle of the night, when her chronic cough would nearly rattle the walls with its percussive force, she was quiet now, and the crack under her door down the long side hallway was dark.
Thomas let out a relieved sigh to his reflection in the mirror by the door and dropped his keys onto the table before it. He stopped to glance at himself when he'd relinquished his keys to their night-home, and he frowned slightly. Although he still felt like that kid bronco riding a hot air balloon to the OZ, the man in the mirror was far from that eighteen-year-old upstart. The years had admittedly been good to the man, and although he'd certainly aged, he was built like a linebacker, and as healthy as he had been that day so long ago. Age really only showed in his eyes, which were weary and troubled now, and in the way his shoulders slumped with fatigue as he continued to study himself. He smoothed out the crisp, white button-down shirt and flexed his biceps, which could even be seen with the shirt covering them. Women were always flirting with him, even now, but he hadn't really paid them much mind. He'd really only stayed lean for his job, or as Lesedi had described it, his calling, and it was his world apart from his sister. Most days, he was happy with this distinction, but right now, he felt like he carried the weight of the world.
When it got too heavy, Thomas found himself retreating to his study, and since he knew he'd be getting no rest tonight, this was where he went as soon as he'd finished his self-examination. It was just two steps from where he stood by the door, and as he pushed through the French doors, he crossed to the scarred wooden desk directly opposite the door and pulled the chain on his desk lamp. Warm, amber light illuminated the once darkened room, and Thomas quickly shut the door before it might rouse his sister. He let out a relieved puff of air when no sound issued from down the hall and began removing his shoulder holster as he turned once more. His eyes were near closed when he crossed to the rich, scarlet leather desk chair sitting behind his desk. The chair groaned quietly when he eased down into it, and he along with it, until they'd both settled into their nightly routine. Thomas reached down without looking to the lowest drawer on right hand side, where he instinctively withdrew a carved rocks glass and a bottle of bourbon, before closing the drawer once more and depositing his wares in the center of the table next to his pistol still nestled in its holster. He didn't look up from these new additions until he'd poured a dram of the dark fluid and sat back; wanting to get a sip in before he gazed at the wall ahead. When the bourbon had finished sliding down his throat, and the sting had signaled its completion in anesthetizing both his mouth and mind, he sighed yet again and let his eyes come slowly open.
When his eyes first came into focus in that low light, they rested on the painting hanging on the wall directly ahead of him. This was one of Ahamo's; a hot air balloon in flight, where below, a pristine lake glistened in the auburn light of the two suns setting in the distance. If he winced at the hazy image, he could almost make out two figures in the basket, but when he opened his eyes wide again, they were gone. This was a kind of meditation for him that his mentor had recommended to him ages ago. Ezra liked dogs though, so Thomas had been more than happy when Ahamo had made this for him, on an important anniversary of their arriving in the OZ. His eyes roved to the left of this image, where his diploma from the Tin Man Academy hung; it had indeed been a big day, but only one of many while he'd been in that strange and wonderful place where race hardly mattered. On the opposite side of Ahamo's painting hung his law enforcement certificates from this world, which figured just as importantly, and represented almost the same amount of time investment as the former. These were like two sides of the same coin, and both were needed to truly understand the man, for although he'd cut is teeth in the OZ, he'd made as much of a mark on this side of the rainbow because of it.
Then his eyes moved again, this time to relocate the glass he'd placed on the wooden surface before him. When his fingers wrapped around the crystal, he could not help but gaze at the photos, framed and displayed prominently before him on the desktop. The people in these photos represented all that mattered to him in either world: a black and white photo of him and Lesedi when they were just kids, grinning happily at their mother when she'd snapped this photo at one of their many stops along the carnival tour. Then, there was a group photo that Ezra had taken nearly thirty years ago. In it, a glowing and very pregnant Lavender sat in the crook of her husband's arms on a blanket and gathered on either side of them were their best friends, Oliver and Thomas. Before them all, paused mid-giggle, were eight-year-old Ambrose and three-year-old Azkadellia, who had been cutting up and entertaining them all during their final picnic before the arrival of the new princess. A soft smile formed on the severe man's face, and he reached forward to grasp the frame, and get a closer look at the faces within. This had been at Finaqua, he recalled, and it hadn't been much later that he and Ezra had finally caught a big break on a case, which changed the course of his life once again.
Although it had been an idyllic spring and led to many picnic lunches by the lakes of Finaqua, the summer was another matter altogether. The first wave of summer heat had just about melted away the memories of spring, and it quickly became so sweltering and the steamy that many were woozy and slow after just minutes out of doors. Even Lavender, who was normally so congenial about the weather, was downright sour due to her state, that she barely even cracked a smile when Thomas came to visit them from the city. Then boys started going missing again, and she was almost impossible to be in the same room with, unless that person was Thomas or Ahamo. It had taken Thomas and Ahamo nearly a week to calm her down when even a whisper of Ardat Lilith was mentioned and were it not for the fact that she was now Queen, she might have gone looking for him herself.
"Lav, you can't be serious." Ahamo had pleaded with her, following his very pregnant wife around like a mother hen while she packed her usually hidden satchel. "Dorothy will be here any day. You can't go chasing after that thing now. Please, you're the Queen, send someone else!"
Thomas had been sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, his arms folded in front of him, and an unpleasant frown on his face. He himself was mentally planning Lilith's capture, and what he would need to do to make it happen, and none of those plans included a pregnant monarch. Despite that, he knew better than to get between Lavender and Ahamo when they were in the middle of a disagreement. It was like staring down two angry bears. Rather than get involved, as others might have been tempted to do, he knew that all he had to do was wait. Ahamo would eventually find Lavender's logical center, and then she'd cave.
"It is because I am Queen that I have to do something, Ahamo. I will not shirk my responsibilities the way my mother did." Lavender cried out. Her eyes were stricken, and her pale face was suddenly flushed.
Ahamo approached her slowly and placed a hand on either of her forearms. His own eyes were an ocean of pain, all in compassionate understanding for the deep well of anger and disappointment Lavender held for her mother. "Lavender, you are not your mother. The entire country knows that, but you can't let your fear of making her mistakes lead you into one of your own making. You can't go." Lavender let out a burdened sigh, and Ahamo placed a hand on her swollen belly. "She needs you, and so do your people. None of us will have you if you take that demon on alone. He'll kill you."
Lavender's panic had subsided now almost entirely, and in its place, tears began to stream freely. "Well, if not me, then who? The daughters of light are the strongest force in the OZ, and apart from me there is now only Azkadellia. My sister Katherine will not be able to help, not in her state. I do not know of any other being strong enough to stand up to him," Lavender sobbed, almost pleading with Ahamo for the answers that eluded her.
It was time to speak, and Thomas knew it. "I am," he answered, allowing the weight of his words to hang in the air for a moment before he continued. "Lilith knew his powers didn't work on me, and I think if he had had the chance before, he would have tried to figure out why. I'm a threat to him." Lavender's mouth hung open, and there was fear in her eyes when she turned to stare at her friend.
"Thomas, are you sure about this?" She'd asked pointedly, sounding less like a monarch and more one of his best friends.
He knew that she would forgo everything for him, as she would for any member of her family, and if he had expressed any fear, she wouldn't have let him go. So, he'd held her stare with one of his own. The same stare they'd shared all those years before over a campfire in a hidden cave. It was after that moment that she'd completely relented and bade Thomas good luck on the mission that had kept him in the OZ all that time.
It had taken the entire summer to track down the demon. Although his method of feeding was well known to Elijah, and had allowed him to narrow down his search, it was still arduous. Over the years he'd learned that this particular demon was old, probably as old as the OZ itself, and this made him clever and cunning. Like most creatures, however, he still had his weaknesses, and Thomas was one of them. When it had become apparent that Thomas was on the case, Ardat Lilith had finally appeared, and Thomas and Ezra were miraculously successful in snaring the uncatchable.
Any word, either good or bad, about the demon Lilith had been kept out of the public, and so news about Thomas and Ezra's success had been relegated to the Tin Men, the army, and the Queen herself. It was a major coupe to be sure, but not one that could be broadcast throughout the kingdom. That said the Queen had been so enthralled that she'd gone into early labor, and Thomas barely made it back to Central City to be present for his friends at such a time.
They'd only just secured the demon when the news came about the Queen, and Thomas dashed so quickly to the palace in Central City that he was out of breath when he finally reached the gates. Fortunately, he was well known to the guards, and they'd let him in without a word. He'd then dashed into the palace, up the grand staircase and another half dozen flights of stairs to the living quarters, where he found Ahamo pacing in the corridor outside the birthing suite.
Ahamo's face was full of excitement when Thomas appeared around the corner, trotting to meet him. "Elijah!" He'd cried out with a brilliant smile, "Is it true? Did you really get him?" Thomas was out of breath, so he'd only just nodded, and was about to grasp hold of his knees to catch his breath when Ahamo pulled him into a tight hug. "That's the best present you could give us today, old friend!"
If Thomas had told him that he hadn't done it for him; that he'd done it because he felt like it was some kind of sacred duty, Ahamo might have laughed at him. After all, hadn't he said years ago, that he didn't want to have his first name spoken because someone might think he was some kind of prophet on a mission from God? It hardly mattered anyway, since the demon had been caught, and there was no chance he'd escape. Not when his prison was an iron suit lined with the purest of silver. Thomas couldn't get a word out anyway, for at that moment, a piercing cry sounded from the next room, and Ahamo darted away.
It wasn't until later, when the new princess had been soundly introduced to her parents, and Lavender was resting comfortably on a mountain of pillows that Thomas finally saw his friends again. Given the spritely nature of both Lavender and Ahamo, it was a stark contrast to find them both markedly passive when Thomas was finally allowed to creep in and visit. Lavender was understandably fatigued and barely spoke beyond issuing a faint thank you when Thomas kissed her hand, and Ahamo was glowing with such pride for his new daughter that he lit up the room and could hardly be expected to release his small bundle to greet him. He did, in fact, release the small girl, and into Thomas' arms no less. Thomas worried that the massive size of his arms might crush something so small, except his usual careful attention was so focused on her little person that she couldn't have been safer anywhere else.
"Her name is Dorothy," Ahamo had murmured at his friend's side, and he placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and squeezed it before he added, "we'd like you to be her godfather. Thomas, if you'll say yes, that is."
The concept of a godfather wasn't something that was common in the OZ, and Thomas knew that the idea had been Ahamo's. He'd said on more than one occasion that since Azkadellia was so serious, his second daughter was bound to be a horse of another color. That being the case, she would need someone like Elijah to keep her out of trouble. This apparently had pleased Lavender, because when Thomas glanced at her, she'd only grinned at him in her own impish way.
Looking down on the small princess, he found he could hardly say no. The cherubic babe was truly beautiful, and her pale skin was starkly juxtaposed by the deep chestnut tufts that curled around the top her delicate head. Apart from this, she slept with her hands balled up in little fists like she was ready to fight, and when Thomas made the mistake of shifting her, she frowned and winced at him with her startling blue eyes, unhappy for being awoken. Her little fists swung for a moment before Thomas began bouncing her gently, and this in conjunction with his soft, rumbling voice seemed to calm her. "Hey little fighter," he whispered to the girl, "we got time for you to learn how to swing, but not today, okay? Uncle Thomas has got to teach you how to walk first, okay?"
The little princess gurgled as she wiggled deeper into the crook of his arm, and Thomas looked up briefly to grin at his friend. "This kid's a spitfire, Ahamo. I think you'd better give her a fighter's name if you want her to listen to you. How bout we call her DG, just between us?"
DG gurgled again in apparent approval, and her parents both smiled. DG it was.
Remembering that day usually did so much to lighten Thomas' mood, and soon, his smile had widened by a degree. The trip into that photo had done a lot more for him this time than either the bourbon or the passive meditation on Ahamo's painting. It had reminded him of why he kept doing the things he did. Then, a cough, deep and painful, rang through the air, and Thomas pulled himself away from the photo. Lesedi's fits were chronic and were often not as bad as they sounded. A time or two, her condition had forced him to take her to the hospital, but that was before she'd begun having oxygen supplied to her on a regular basis. More frequently these days, she'd simply need to change positions or readjust her sleeping mask, and he'd be allowed to return to his thoughts. So, he waited, listening for the telltale sounds of her needing his assistance. When silence returned a moment later, Thomas's eyes moved from their study of the photo to the bookcase near the door.
There were many objects on that tall oaken case that had kept Thomas busy on many a late night. Books ranging from fictional to metaphysical littered the shelves, as well as other bits of paraphernalia that he'd picked up over the many long years in both worlds. Of particular interest of late was the weathervane standing guard on the highest shelf. The brass ornament, a bygone of something resembling the Victorian age, was an odd thing for such a man to have sitting in his library. It was something more suited for a farm, or perhaps a farming museum, and its brass arrows gleamed in the light of the lamp like they were new. Thomas watched these arrows closely, as if a gust of wind might suddenly blow them sideways, but nothing came, and Thomas sat back with a sigh as another recollection hit him.
It had been nearly ten years since the morning he'd met his goddaughter for the first time. In that time, he'd traveled back and forth between the OZ and the otherside a handful of times. At first, his trips back to this side were like little holidays, meant to catch up with relatives the way one would when they lived in separate cities. Lesedi started getting sick, however, and even her assurances that she was fine were not enough to convince him otherwise. His sister was a stubborn woman, cut from a similar cloth has him, and although she was never certain of where her brother went, she knew that he was better for it. It had been a painful request for the woman, who had been so independent for so long, to ask for her brother's help, and of course, he'd said yes without ever batting an eye.
DG had been a little more difficult to convince, and the nine-year-old flew into interrogation mode the day she'd discovered he was leaving and didn't relent until he was just about gone. She knew that Thomas was the one person besides Cain who could not be swayed by her tactics, so she'd moved on to more traditional forms of coercion in the end.
"But Thomas, what will happen to me when you leave?" Young DG had asked, her voice sounding oddly sweet and concerned.
They'd been strolling through one of Finaqua's mazes when she'd started up this latest last-ditch effort to keep him there, and Thomas had grown so accustomed to them in the past month that it had turned into a kind of what-if game for them. Approaching his coming departure in this way had been the only method of coping with being away from his favorite little princess, in any case, and he hid his sadness with a bittersweet smile.
Thomas glanced down on the small girl, who was still staring up at him with those expansive blue eyes, and somehow managing not to trip on a single root while they walked. His eyes glittered, and his smile widened a degree when he considered the capabilities of this powerhouse packed into a tiny body. "You'll probably get into about a thousand kinds of trouble." Thomas chuckled warmly.
DG stopped midstride and huffed in exasperation. "But Thomas, that's just it. It's not trouble when you're here, and Cain can't watch me, he's too busy with Uncle Matthew. The Mystic Man needs guards too, Dad said." She'd said that last part in imitation of her father, and her face had been screwed into a nearly comical frown that only deepened when she'd finished, looking crestfallen and hopeless.
Thomas stopped and turned to look down on his niece. Her eyes had become watery, and there was a real look of concern written on her face. Knowing now that this was no act this time, Thomas knelt before her and took her small hands in his. "Since when do you go lookin' for protection? You want to tell me what's really got your goat, Little Fighter, or am I gonna have to beg?"
DG smiled through a sniffle, and she barreled into the great man's arms, squeezing hard while she cried. "I'll miss you Uncle Thomas," was all she could say, and she held on a little longer still, almost afraid he'd disappear right then and there.
When they parted, Thomas eyed his niece with a serious expression, and he held her shoulders firmly when he issued a gentle reminder. "I'll miss you too DG, but you don't gotta worry. All you gotta do is remember what I taught you, and always listen to this." He poked DG square in the center of her chest with his large finger for emphasis, asking finally, "You got that?"
DG took a deep breath, and he could feel her body straighten a little before that tight nod was issued, her face suddenly serious while she held his gaze all the while. Thomas himself took a steadying breath at this, feeling a little scared and somewhat relieved all at once. It was a hard thing, in all honesty, to leave her. She'd been the closest thing to a daughter he'd ever had, and probably ever would, and so setting her free was more than a little scary. He'd have to go, in any case, and he finally arose once more with a heavy sigh.
"Come on, kid. Why don't you see me off?" Thomas had said as he grasped DG's hand in his.
DG squeezed his hand as hard as she could, and she nodded in silent acceptance, before the pair continued their walk. When they exited the maze, they were met by the Mystic Man himself, who had been standing at the head of the maze, most likely expecting their exit, judging by his rather anxious expression. The man's blue eyes were dark today, and his mustache twitched as if he was having trouble keeping a secret. When DG trudged forward to greet him, the pocket watch in his hand was snapped shut with a resounding click, and he pocketed it quickly before he crouched down to receive his niece's half-hearted hug.
"Hi Uncle Matthew," DG muttered into the man's suit coat. When she huffed unhappily, the Mystic Man grasped her by the shoulders and pushed her back to examine her expression, his own compassionate and kind.
"My dearest girl, there is no need for sad faces. After all, don't forget, home is where your heart is, and since Elijah will always be here," he paused to point at DG's heart before he continued, "he can never truly be gone."
DG glanced up at Thomas, who smiled kindly on the pair and nodded in quiet agreement. DG offered Thomas and the Mystic Man a grateful smile then, and she nodded as a sniffle escaped her.
"Now," the Mystic Man continued with more gusto, "why don't you go join those other glum gusses over there while my friend and I say our own goodbyes, yes?"
DG nodded again before slowly moving away from the men so she could join the others, still standing within the protective shade of the gazebo a few yards away. With DG out of earshot, Thomas and Matthew moved closer to each other. They were still watching the young princess walk away when Thomas asked the Mystic Man quietly, "You sure Cain will look out for her Matthew?"
There was a look of unmistakable pain in the Mystic Man's eyes as he nodded, and he sighed before replying cryptically, "he will be there when it is time, Elijah. I cannot say any more than that."
Thomas huffed unhappily. It wasn't enough, but it would have to do. "And you're sure we can't warn Ahamo and Lavender?"
Matthew turned to face Thomas fully now, and his blue eyes were sharp when he responded darkly, "I have probably said too much as it is, Elijah, but since your mother was a seer as well, I should not have to explain how these things work to you. Things will go the way they are supposed to go. Meddling will only complicate a very delicate tapestry."
Thomas huffed again and held the Mystic Man's stern gaze, quietly gaging his sincerity, but the Mystic Man never flinched. This was the heart of why he was leaving, even more than Lesedi's requests. He was leaving because DG needed him to. More to the point, her uncle – who never minced words when it mattered – had said she'd need him to. Matthew could appear fickle and flakey to the casual observer, but when it mattered, he was a sober as funeral, and he'd never looked as grave as the day he'd told him about what he'd seen. If anyone else had told Thomas what Matthew had, he never would have believed them, and he certainly wouldn't have ever left DG or her sister alone ever again. That was the point though, Matthew had reminded him. If he stayed, neither of the girls could fulfill their intended duties. So as much as it stung, he knew that he'd have to go. He knew that the job of protecting the princesses was meant for another, and his intended job was long over since he'd captured the demon annuals back. He just hated lying to his friends.
With a sigh, Thomas finally broke his hard stare with the Mystic Man and replied, "I've never kept anything from Ahamo, you know, we're like brothers."
Matthew followed the line of Thomas's gaze, and his eyes moved from the tall, blonde-haired man, to the woman standing next to him. A pang of guilt and sadness washed over him, and he replied regretfully, "Well, she is my sister, and my best friend besides, so I do understand, but the last time I interfered in my sisters' lives, it caused more harm than good. I am just sorry that I placed the same burden on you, my friend."
"Nah," Thomas shook his head, "you and I both know I never would have left the OZ if you didn't tell me the truth. Besides, my sister told me the last time I was on the Otherside that a mystic man would tell me something in confidence, and that I'd have to trust him. Seems you were supposed to tell me, but then, you already knew that, didn't you?"
There was a momentary twinkle in the shorter man's eyes, which was soon covered over with sobriety. The two men then ended their somber meeting as friends, clutching each other tightly with the knowledge that they would probably never see each other again. There was finality in their parting, like two soldiers going to war, and the heaviness of their shared burden would have been unmistakable to any that had been close enough to witness it. Knowing this, the men released each other hastily, not wanting the others to catch on to the subtext of their parting. Their expressions were grim but brave, and when they turned to join the others, they both slid on a mask of compassion to hide the truth of Thomas' departure.
Azkadellia had been nearly as sullen as DG at the loss of her beloved uncle, but reluctantly gave Thomas a hug after Ambrose had pushed her forward. "Her adventures are going to get me in trouble without you, Uncle Thomas," she'd muttered to his shoulder, huffing unhappily when she finally stepped back. Thomas had only winked at her, his eyes smiling at her all the while until her frown finally took flight to reveal the pretty smirk underneath.
Next was young Ambrose. The seventeen-year-old was ordinarily such jovial kid, but in the past annual, much had happened, and he now rarely smiled, even for Thomas. "Lord Sewel," Thomas greeted the somber boy with an edge of humor.
Ambrose was staring at his shoes, and when Thomas had poked at him, he glanced up and let the corner of his mouth curl upward. "Don't call me that," he muttered just before going in for a hug, and he pulled away quickly as if it were something he thought men weren't supposed to do.
"Ambrose," Thomas sighed, "your daddy would be real proud of you, so you should stand tall when someone calls you that, and never forget who you are. Got it?" Ambrose flushed, and he nodded quickly so he could turn away, undoubtedly, to swipe at his eyes without an audience.
Finally, Thomas stepped before Lavender and Ahamo, who stood apart from the rest, but looked just as sullen as if they had led the charge. Lavender had been cradling a metal contraption in her arms while Thomas had been saying goodbye to the children, and as soon as he came near, she stepped forward and presented it to him.
She sniffled unhappily when she held out what Thomas now recognized as a weathervane, and her voice cracked as she explained. "I cannot say that I am happy that you're going, Thomas, but if you must, please be sure to keep this with you."
Thomas took the brass ornament from her hands and nodded in appreciation, although a small amount of confusion read in his expression. "This belongs to your family, your highness. I can't take it."
Lavender shook her head resolutely, and instead of speaking, she reached forward with both hands and clutched him tightly. "You are family, Elijah." She'd whispered in his ear, and when she stepped back, she swiped a tear from her eyes. "It once belonged to the aunt of my greatest ancestor, the first slipper. It is said that when it spins, it tells the beholder of the arrival of a travel storm. When you see it spinning, I hope you'll come find us. We'll wait as long as we can for you, if you should ever want to come back."
"I'd like that, Lavender, but you know why I'm going to the Otherside. I don't expect that I'll be coming back any time soon, even if I wanted to."
Lavender nodded with a heavy sigh, and stepped back, making room for Ahamo, who shuffled forward slowly. "It's not like you won't see me, you know. Your mom always told me to look after you, so you know I'll come and check on you from time to time, right?"
"You know where to find me, white boy." Thomas laughed, grinning wide when his best friend accepted his bear hug.
After that, Lavender had summoned a travel storm. Thomas remembered how it had twisted and spun in a tight circle on that grassy hill overlooking Finaqua, and how its winds barely even moved a hair on Ahamo's head as they stood shoulder to shoulder. It was a testament to Lavender's skill that she could create such a focused little vortex of air, which would deposit him exactly where she'd intended him to go. She'd told him once that conjuring the storm wasn't so much an issue as setting its course was. Most mages would need some kind of reference to pinpoint their storms, like a picture of a place or person for whom they wished to reach. Lavender needed only her light and the genetic memory of the home her greatest ancestor had left behind. Since neither Ahamo nor Lavender knew where he'd be going once he reached the Otherside, this would have to do. Thomas sighed as he trudged forward towards that twisting beast, knowing that he'd have a long walk to the nearest town when he got to Kansas, for the Gale farm was remote, and none had lived there in ages that could give him a ride.
It had been twenty years since he'd last seen any of them. There had been a time when that weathervane was always close at hand, just on the off chance that someone would come for a visit. Over time, however, he'd gotten tired of watching for movement, and hoping that someone would come check on him. Once or twice, Lesedi would call him while he was working, claiming that the thing was haunted, but by the time he'd made it to the farm (if he could go at all), there was no sign that a travel storm had ever been there at all. He'd all but given it up until Cain had showed up in Hilltop a few years back, but caution had reigned in any hope of seeing DG, whom he was sure hadn't forgiven him for never returning to see her. Finding out that Ezra Gultch had been on this side all along had been a small glimmer of light, though, and so they'd resumed their friendship shortly after he'd returned from the OZ to deal with his unruly son. It had been Ezra that had filled him in on everything that had happened after Thomas had left the OZ, confirming once and for all everything that Matthew had foretold, and also why no one had ever contacted him. Remorse had been his constant companion since then, and although he might have liked an opportunity to apologize to Ahamo for all he'd missed, the weathervane remained motionless still.
Elijah sighed loudly, feeling very lonely for the choices he had made. Once upon a time, he might have sat down with Ahamo, and let his surrogate brother tease him until he finally relented in his self-flagellations. Now, there was only his old partner, Ezra Gultch. Although it was certainly late, a glance at the watch ticking away on his wrist told him that the man was most certainly awake, and knowing Ezra, probably doing almost the same exact thing he was doing. Without any hesitation then, he lifted the receiver of the ancient looking rotary phone at his elbow and spun out his friend's number. The phone only told him that Ezra was unavailable; when one ring turned into another, and yet another, Thomas sighed in disappointment, and moved the receiver away from his ear with the intent to return it to its cradle.
"Yeah," a rough voice hollered out just in time, making Thomas suddenly glad he'd moved the receiver a safe distance away from his ear drum.
Thomas could hear road noise in the background behind Ezra's voice, and he smirked before he answered back. "Another late night, hey old man?"
The drone of tires on asphalt and wind from an open window died down suddenly, and Thomas surmised that Ezra must have rolled his window up. "Who you callin' old, Elijah?" Ezra rumbled back.
Thomas laughed. He didn't need to say it, he knew by now that the two of them could trade scars and ailments, having been side by side for some of the more gnarly trophies they wore on their bodies. Instead, he only sighed in agreement. "So, whatcha doin' out this late?"
"Workin'" Ezra growled back, adding with a grumble, "still short-staffed, so I volunteered to do highway patrol this week. Gotta keep the young'uns with families happy. Why didn't you ever settle down, anyway? I'm sure there's still plenty of ladies lined up to date ya?"
Thomas shook his head in disbelief. This sucka's been trying to set me up for years now. You think he'd have figured it out already, he thought in mild irritation.
"I don't have time for no kids, Ezra, you know that. Besides, you and I both know that kids aren't a guarantee for peace of mind. Matter of fact, I'm pretty sure they're just the opposite."
He could hear Ezra sighing now. It was an unfortunate fact that his own son had been anything but easy to deal with, and it had been Cain and Thomas throwing him in jail when he'd finally crossed the line. The truth was, though, that the young man seemed to have finally worked it out, although getting himself straight had cost him his career and freedom for a time.
Thomas felt moderately guilty for bringing up a touchy subject, so he offered kindly, "I hear your boy got early parole, Ezra. That's real good. When does he come home?"
"Came home a few weeks ago," Ezra replied in an easy manner, sounding almost pleased for the slight change in the tone of their conversation. "He took a job over at the hardware store, and he's been helpin' Ruby at the farm on the weekends. Can't take no credit though, for how things turned out, that was between him, Cain, and the gods, but I'm mighty glad he's turned a new leaf."
Thomas opened his mouth to issue his congratulations to his old friend, when a sound, both clattering and whining drew his attention away, and his eyes climbed to the top shelf of his bookcase. His eyes widened, and his mouth hung open while he struggled to put into words what he was seeing.
"Ah shit," Ezra grumbled on the other end of the line.
Thomas was already standing up and he countered with barely masked excitement in his voice, "Let me guess, you just had a touchdown?"
"Yup," Ezra replied shortly, "Not too far from town either by the looks of it. You'd better get here tonight if you can, looks like we've got a visitor, and I don't think it's the Queen judging on where it came out."
The line went dead, which was par for the course for the older man, who was more of a "shoot first, and ask questions later" kind of cop. He'd said what he needed to say, and had, in a manner of speaking, called for backup. Now Elijah just had to do what he'd asked and hope to hell that it was a Gale that had summoned the storm, and not someone else.