Blackthorn Vale, Northumberland, England
October 22nd, 1980
At exactly five o’clock in the morning, Blackthorn Manor was awake.
It was not an unusual occurrence.
The house had been standing for more than four centuries, and by now it had developed its own opinions about when a day ought to begin.
Sometimes it woke because of the weather.
Sometimes because one of the older wards had sensed something moving beyond the estate walls.
Occasionally it woke simply because one of the Blackthorns had forgotten to close a door properly the night before.
This morning, however, the cause was less dramatic.
A door in the library opened by itself.
It remained open for several seconds before closing.
Then it opened again.
The third time, Lady Isolde Blackthorn appeared in the corridor wearing a dark blue dressing gown, her silver hair loosely gathered at the back of her head.
She stared at the door.
The door stared back.
“Don’t start.”
The door closed.
Isolde raised an eyebrow.
“Good.”
From somewhere upstairs came the faint sound of an old clock striking five.
She glanced toward the staircase.
“Octavian?”
No answer.
“Octavian.”
Still nothing.
Isolde sighed.
“If you are pretending to be asleep, I should remind you that I have known you for sixty-two years.”
A voice came from the upper landing.
“I was sleeping.”
“You were listening.”
“That is different.”
Isolde smiled.
“Get dressed.”
“I dislike mornings.”
“So does everyone who has to work.”
“I don’t work.”
“You are eighty-two.”
“Exactly.”
Isolde shook her head and walked toward the kitchen.
Behind her, the library door opened once more.
She stopped without turning.
“Absolutely not.”
The door closed.
For the moment, the manor behaved.
The kitchen was already warm when Isolde entered.
Margaret “Maggie” Pembroke was standing beside the stove with her sleeves rolled to the elbows.
She was sixty-one, had been running Blackthorn Manor’s household for longer than most of the younger family members could remember, and had developed the remarkable ability to remain unimpressed by nearly everything the estate could produce.
A kettle was already boiling.
Maggie looked at it.
Then at Isolde.
Then back at the kettle.
“I didn’t light that.”
“I know.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Maggie sighed.
“The house is helping again.”
“It means well.”
“It means I have to keep checking whether the tea has been made before I make it.”
Isolde poured herself a cup.
“Think of it as efficiency.”
“I think of it as interference.”
The kitchen door opened.
Edwin Hargrave entered carrying a leather folder under one arm.
At sixty-seven, Edwin had mastered the expression of a man who had seen everything and considered almost none of it worth discussing.
“Good morning, Lady Isolde.”
“Good morning, Edwin.”
He glanced toward the kettle.
“I see the house is ahead of schedule.”
“Apparently.”
Edwin placed his folder on the table.
“Mr.
Thomas Wren has completed the eastern perimeter inspection.
Nothing unusual.”
“Nothing?”
“Three foxes, two deer, one hedgehog, and a rather offended badger.”
Maggie smiled.
“And the wards?”
“Quiet.”
“Excellent.”
Edwin opened his folder.
“The west veranda remains the only concern.”
Isolde took another sip of tea.
“Arabella?”
“Yes.”
Maggie closed her eyes.
“Of course.”
Edwin nodded solemnly.
“She appears to have discovered something.”
“She always does,” Isolde said.
“And then?”
“She usually names it.”
“And after that?”
“She usually feeds it.”
Maggie pointed at Isolde.
“Exactly.”
The kitchen filled gradually with the ordinary sounds of morning.
Bread was sliced.
Eggs were prepared.
Fruit was washed.
Coffee was made for those who preferred it and tea for everyone sensible enough to understand the difference.
For all the enchantments in the house, breakfast still required breakfast things.
At half past five, Aunt Arabella Blackthorn appeared in the conservatory.
She was thirty-eight, the younger sister of Lord Alaric Blackthorn, and had inherited the particular Blackthorn talent for making perfectly reasonable activities look suspicious.
She crouched beside a stone planter.
There were footprints in the damp soil.
Tiny ones.
Four toes.
Sharp claws.
Arabella leaned closer.
“Interesting.”
A voice behind her answered.
“You said that yesterday.”
Arabella turned.
Grandmother Isolde stood holding two cups of tea.
“That was a different interesting.”
“How many kinds of interesting are there?”
“Several.”
Isolde handed her the tea.
Arabella accepted it.
“I found these before breakfast.”
“I can see that.”
“I think something is living beneath the veranda.”
“I thought Edwin checked.”
“He did.”
“And?”
“He found nothing.”
Isolde looked at the footprints.
“Then perhaps there is nothing.”
Arabella gave her a deeply offended expression.
“You wound me, Grandmother.”
“I have known you for thirty-eight years.
I have earned the right.”
Arabella smiled.
She brushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear.
“It’s small.”
“How small?”
“About this big.”
She held her hands apart.
Isolde narrowed her eyes.
“That is not a useful measurement.”
“It has claws.”
“Also not useful.”
“It may have wings.”
Isolde looked at her.
“You haven’t seen wings.”
“No.”
“Then it probably doesn’t have wings.”
Arabella considered this.
“That’s rather pessimistic.”
“It’s rather practical.”
Arabella took a sip of tea.
“I was thinking of leaving something outside for it.”
“No.”
“I hadn’t finished.”
“You didn’t need to.”
“It might be hungry.”
“Arabella.”
“Fine.”
She sighed.
“I won’t feed it.”
“Thank you.”
“For now.”
“That was not what I meant.”
Footsteps sounded behind them.
Lucian Blackthorn entered the conservatory looking as though he had been dragged out of bed against his will.
At twenty, Alaric and Seraphina’s eldest son had inherited his father’s confidence and his mother’s ability to look composed even when irritated.
He also possessed an unfortunate talent for sarcasm.
He glanced at the footprints.
Then at Arabella.
Then at Isolde.
“What did she find?”
“Something with four toes,” Isolde said.
Lucian nodded.
“That narrows it down considerably.”
Arabella gave him a look.
“I believe it may be a duskling.”
Lucian rubbed his eyes.
“You believe everything is a duskling.”
“Not everything.”
“What was the last thing?”
“A moon-tail.”
“And before that?”
“A garden sprite.”
“That was a rat.”
“It had unusual eyes.”
“It was a rat.”
Arabella ignored him.
“There was scratching under the west veranda last night.”
Lucian picked up the teacup she had abandoned on the table and took a sip.
Arabella stared at him.
“That was mine.”
“You left it unattended.”
“For thirty seconds.”
“Tragic.”
“Give it back.”
Lucian handed it to her.
“You need supervision.”
Arabella smiled sweetly.
“Your Grandmother has been telling me that for thirty-eight years.”
“And she was right.”
Isolde watched the two of them argue and shook her head.
There were mornings when the family could not be distinguished from an ordinary household.
This was one of them.
The only difference was that the ordinary household did not have a creature living beneath its veranda that might or might not have wings.
At seven o’clock, the dining room was full.
Grandfather Octavian Blackthorn sat at the head of the table, his ebony cane resting beside his chair.
Grandmother Isolde sat to his right.
Father Alaric Blackthorn entered several minutes late.
Octavian looked at the clock.
“You are late.”
Alaric pulled out his chair.
“I am precisely on time.”
“For tomorrow.”
Alaric smiled.
“Good morning, Father.”
“Do not attempt charm.”
“I inherited it from you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Aunt Arabella sat opposite them.
“You inherited the confidence.”
Lucian looked up from his newspaper.
“And the inability to admit being wrong.”
Alaric pointed at him.
“Careful.”
Lucian folded the newspaper.
“I’ve learned from the best.”
Grandfather Octavian’s mouth twitched.
Seraphina had not yet come down.
Maggie entered carrying a fresh pot of tea.
“Lady Seraphina is still upstairs.”
Alaric’s expression changed slightly.
“How is she?”
“Sleeping.”
“Comfortable?”
“As comfortable as a woman six months pregnant is likely to be.”
Arabella looked toward the ceiling.
“Six months already.”
“Six months,” Isolde corrected.
Arabella smiled.
“I know.
It simply sounds longer when you say it.”
Lucian looked at Maggie.
“Has Mother eaten?”
“She had breakfast in bed yesterday.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Maggie gave him an approving look.
“Grandmother is making certain she eats.”
Lucian nodded.
“Good.”
Alaric reached for the coffee.
“I am perfectly capable of making certain your mother eats.”
Lucian looked at him.
“You nearly burned toast yesterday.”
“It was one piece of toast.”
“It was black.”
“It was dark.”
“It was smoking.”
Octavian calmly poured his tea.
“Your father has always had difficulty with fire.”
Alaric stared at him.
“Father.”
“Merely an observation.”
Arabella laughed.
“Perhaps the baby will inherit that.”
Seraphina’s voice came from the doorway.
“I sincerely hope not.”
Everyone turned.
Lady Seraphina Blackthorn entered slowly, one hand resting beneath her stomach.
She was six months pregnant, and although she still carried herself with the same grace as always, there was a slight tiredness around her eyes that even magic could not disguise.
Alaric immediately stood.
Seraphina noticed.
“Sit down.”
“I was going to.”
“You stood before I asked.”
“I was being polite.”
“You were hovering.”
Arabella smiled into her tea.
“He’s been doing that for months.”
Alaric returned to his seat.
“I do not hover.”
Seraphina sat beside him.
“You hover.”
Octavian looked at Isolde.
“Our son is apparently a hovering creature.”
Isolde nodded.
“Very advanced species.”
Lucian laughed.
Alaric pointed around the table.
“I am surrounded by traitors.”
“You married into the problem,” Seraphina said.
“You encouraged them.”
“Perhaps.”
She accepted the cup of tea Maggie placed before her.
Alaric quietly moved the sugar closer.
Seraphina looked at him.
“I can reach it.”
“I know.”
“You still moved it.”
“I like being useful.”
She smiled.
“Then you’re succeeding.”
Breakfast continued.
It was not a grand affair.
That was the point.
There were eggs, toast, fruit, tea, coffee, marmalade, and a plate of sausages that Lucian kept reaching for whenever he thought no one was watching.
Isolde noticed.
She said nothing.
Arabella noticed.
She said everything.
“You’ve had four.”
Lucian reached for another.
“Five.”
“You’re going to make yourself ill.”
“That’s a problem for future Lucian.”
“Future Lucian will hate you.”
“Future Lucian is usually disappointed in me.”
Alaric laughed.
“You sound like your Uncle Cedric.”
As if summoned by name, the dining room door opened.
Uncle Cedric Blackthorn entered wearing a dark waistcoat, carrying a newspaper and looking entirely too pleased with himself for seven in the morning.
He was forty, Alaric’s younger brother, and possessed a particular talent for arriving exactly when the conversation became interesting.
“Someone said my name.”
“No one invited you,” Alaric said.
Cedric pulled out a chair.
“Family never needs an invitation.”
“You usually need several.”
Cedric looked at Lucian.
“What’s he done?”
“Nothing,” Lucian said.
“Then he’s learning.”
Arabella looked at her brother.
“Where were you last night?”
Cedric unfolded his newspaper.
“Out.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s an excellent answer.”
“You came home after midnight.”
“Yes.”
“With flowers.”
Lucian looked up.
“Flowers?”
Cedric continued reading.
“People buy flowers.”
Arabella smiled.
“For whom?”
Cedric lowered the newspaper.
“Why are you interested?”
“Because I am your sister.”
“That has never stopped you before.”
“Who is she?”
Cedric sighed.
“You are all impossible.”
Seraphina leaned slightly toward him.
“Non-magical?”
Cedric smiled.
“Yes.”
Alaric looked amused.
“Again?”
Cedric shrugged.
“Again.”
Arabella rested her chin in her hand.
“What does she do?”
“She works at a bookshop.”
Lucian smiled.
“That explains the flowers.”
“How?”
“You’re trying to impress her.”
Cedric pointed at him.
“You’re becoming unpleasantly observant.”
“I learned from Aunt Arabella.”
Arabella raised her cup.
“Finally, some recognition.”
Isolde looked at Cedric.
“Does she know what you are?”
Cedric’s expression softened.
“She knows enough.”
That quieted the table for a moment.
Cedric folded the newspaper.
“She knows I come from an old family.
She knows some of our relatives are eccentric.
She knows I occasionally disappear for reasons I won’t explain.”
“That’s suspicious,” Lucian said.
“Thank you.”
“But she doesn’t know about magic?”
“Not yet.”
Arabella raised an eyebrow.
“Not yet?”
Cedric leaned back.
“I’m not ashamed of who I am.
But neither am I going to walk into a bookshop and announce that my family owns a manor where the portraits argue with one another.”
From the corridor came the distant sound of a portrait complaining.
Cedric paused.
“Especially when they’re listening.”
Seraphina laughed.
“What does she think you do?”
“Consulting.”
Lucian nearly choked on his tea.
“Consulting what?”
“Various things.”
“That’s suspicious too.”
“You’re twenty.
Everything sounds suspicious to you.”
“You’re forty.”
“Exactly.
I’ve had twenty extra years to become convincing.”
Arabella smiled.
“And do you like her?”
Cedric gave his sister a look.
“That is none of your business.”
“You brought flowers home.”
“I am allowed to buy flowers.”
“At midnight?”
“Florists have unusual hours.”
“There are no florists open at midnight.”
“There are if you know where to look.”
Alaric shook his head.
“You are terrible at lying.”
Cedric looked offended.
“I am excellent at lying.”
Octavian finally spoke.
“That is not a virtue.”
Cedric looked toward his father.
“I didn’t say it was.”
The conversation moved on.
But Lucian noticed that Cedric’s expression remained faintly amused.
It was the first time he had seen his uncle speak about someone outside the family without turning it into a joke.
That interested him more than he expected.
By eight o’clock, the household separated into its daily routines.
Grandfather Octavian retired to his study.
Grandmother Isolde remained with Seraphina for a while.
Father Alaric left for Blackthorn Holdings.
Edwin went to inspect the west veranda.
Maggie took command of the kitchen.
Thomas Wren began another perimeter inspection.
Aunt Arabella returned to the conservatory with a notebook.
Uncle Cedric disappeared into town.
And Lucian changed into his university clothes before leaving for Blackthorn Holdings.
He was twenty years old, a university student nearing the end of his studies, and technically employed by his own family.
Technically.
In practice, nobody at the office knew it.
Lucian preferred it that way.
At Blackthorn Holdings, he was simply Mr.
Blackthorn’s young clerk.
He answered correspondence.
He sorted invoices.
He filed documents.
He carried paperwork between departments.
He had been offered easier work more than once.
He always declined.
His father owned the company.
That was precisely why Lucian refused to take advantage of it.
When his supervisor placed a stack of documents on his desk, Lucian looked at it.
“All of these?”
“Before lunch.”
Lucian stared at him.
“Do you dislike me?”
His supervisor smiled.
“I think you’re capable.”
“That’s much worse.”
He sat down.
For the next several hours, he worked.
His shadow occasionally moved across the floor without permission.
Once, a stack of papers began sliding toward him.
Lucian stopped it with a glance.
“Don’t.”
The shadow withdrew.
He continued working.
He could have finished everything in minutes.
He could have used magic.
Instead, he used a pen.
It was slower.
It was also honest.
By three o’clock, his supervisor looked at the completed paperwork.
“Excellent work.”
Lucian stood.
“Thank you.”
“University tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“How are the exams?”
“Trying to kill me.”
“Doing well?”
“Unfortunately.”
His supervisor laughed.
Lucian left the office without mentioning that the building belonged to his family.
That was how he wanted it.
At Blackthorn Manor, Aunt Arabella was having considerably less success with her own responsibilities.
She had found the creature again.
Or believed she had.
She came rushing into the kitchen carrying a notebook.
“I found it.”
Maggie did not look up.
“Good.”
“It has wings.”
Maggie stopped cutting vegetables.
“Does it?”
“Yes.”
“Are you certain?”
“Almost.”
“Then you’re not.”
Arabella ignored this.
“It was beneath the window.”
“Did you touch it?”
“No.”
“Feed it?”
“No.”
Maggie looked at her.
Arabella hesitated.
“Not yet.”
“Arabella.”
“It looked hungry.”
“You said you wouldn’t feed it.”
“I said I wouldn’t feed it earlier.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“It isn’t.”
“It absolutely is.”
Edwin entered.
“Lady Arabella.”
“I found it.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“You told everyone.”
Edwin placed a small broken flowerpot on the table.
Arabella stared at it.
“What’s that?”
“It was found beneath the west veranda.”
She looked innocent.
“I know nothing about that.”
Maggie looked at her.
Edwin looked at her.
Arabella smiled.
“Perhaps the creature did it.”
Thomas entered from the back corridor.
“There’s mud under the veranda.”
Arabella nodded seriously.
“Creature.”
“And a torn gardening glove.”
“Creature.”
“A missing saucer.”
Arabella paused.
“That could be the creature.”
Maggie folded her arms.
“Arabella.”
“Fine.”
She sighed.
“I may have left some things out there.”
Edwin’s expression remained calm.
“Food?”
“Possibly.”
Thomas shook his head.
“You’re encouraging it.”
“Perhaps it needs encouragement.”
“It needs to leave.”
Arabella smiled.
“You don’t understand wildlife.”
“I understand property damage.”
By late afternoon, the manor had become quieter.
Seraphina rested upstairs.
Isolde sat nearby with a book.
Alaric returned earlier than usual from Blackthorn Holdings.
Cedric returned from town carrying nothing but his coat.
Arabella was still investigating her creature.
Lucian arrived home just before six.
He entered through the front hall and immediately heard his father’s voice upstairs.
“Are you sure you’re comfortable?”
Seraphina answered.
“Yes.”
“Do you need anything?”
“No.”
“Tea?”
“No.”
“Water?”
“I have water.”
“Something to eat?”
“Alaric.”
“What?”
“You’re hovering again.”
Lucian smiled.
He had barely removed his coat when Alaric appeared at the top of the staircase.
“Your Grandmother wants you.”
“Why?”
“University.”
“That’s ominous.”
“She wants to see your paper.”
Lucian sighed.
“Of course she does.”
“And wipe your boots.”
Lucian looked down.
There was mud on them.
“That’s unfair.”
“That’s a fact.”
Lucian followed his father toward the sitting room.
Grandmother Isolde was waiting.
She held out her hand.
“Your work.”
Lucian gave her the paper.
She read it carefully.
“Good.”
Lucian blinked.
“That’s it?”
“What did you want?”
“A dramatic speech.”
“I am your grandmother, not a university examiner.”
He smiled.
“You think it’s good?”
“I know it is.”
Lucian looked away.
“Thank you.”
Seraphina entered a moment later.
She looked tired but amused.
Alaric immediately moved a chair for her.
She sat.
Lucian glanced at his father.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Hovering.”
Seraphina laughed.
“See?”
Alaric looked between them.
“I am surrounded by conspirators.”
Isolde smiled.
“At least you have company.”
Seraphina rested her hands over her stomach.
For a moment, the room was quiet.
Then she smiled.
The baby had moved.
Lucian noticed.
“Again?”
Seraphina nodded.
“Apparently.”
Alaric’s expression softened.
“Strong?”
“Very.”
Arabella appeared at the doorway.
“Can I—”
“No.”
“I didn’t even ask.”
“You were going to.”
Arabella sighed.
“I only wanted to feel the baby move.”
Seraphina laughed.
“Later.”
“Promise?”
“Perhaps.”
Arabella smiled.
“That’s better than no.”
Octavian’s voice came from the corridor.
“Do not let her near the child unsupervised.”
Arabella turned.
“Grandfather.”
“You once attempted to teach a kneazle to play cards.”
“It was intelligent.”
“It cheated.”
“That was because it understood the rules.”
Lucian laughed.
Cedric appeared behind Octavian.
“I still think the kneazle was better at cards than Arabella.”
She turned toward him.
“You cheated.”
“I adapted.”
“You stole my ace.”
“It was on the table.”
“You had no right.”
Cedric smiled.
“I have excellent rights.”
Alaric looked at him.
“How is your bookshop girl?”
Cedric groaned.
“Not this again.”
Arabella immediately brightened.
“Bookshop girl?”
Lucian looked interested.
“You didn’t tell me her name.”
“Because I don’t need to.”
“What’s her name?”
Cedric hesitated.
“Margaret.”
Maggie, who had just entered carrying tea, stopped.
“Margaret?”
Cedric pointed at her.
“Not you.”
Maggie smiled.
“I wasn’t concerned.”
Arabella laughed.
“What is she like?”
Cedric leaned against the doorway.
“Quiet.
Clever.
Doesn’t care about titles.”
“Good,” Octavian said.
Cedric looked toward him.
“She thinks the family is strange.”
Octavian nodded.
“Also good.”
“She once asked why my brother’s company has a portrait of our great-grandfather in the lobby.”
Alaric frowned.
“I thought that portrait was removed.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Who approved that?”
“Apparently Father.”
Everyone looked at Octavian.
The old patriarch lifted his tea.
“I liked the portrait.”
Seraphina smiled.
Cedric continued.
“She also thinks I’m avoiding a normal career.”
“You are,” Arabella said.
“I’m doing perfectly respectable work.”
“What work?”
Cedric smiled.
“Consulting.”
Lucian laughed.
“You still won’t tell us.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because then you will all interfere.”
Arabella looked innocent.
“I would never.”
Everyone at the table stared at her.
She sighed.
“Fine.
I would.”
Dinner began at seven fifteen.
It was one of those evenings when no one seemed particularly interested in behaving like nobility.
Grandfather Octavian sat at the head.
Grandmother Isolde beside him.
Father Alaric and Mother Seraphina sat together.
Lucian sat opposite them.
Aunt Arabella sat beside Uncle Cedric.
Maggie had prepared roast beef, potatoes, vegetables, bread, and a pudding that disappeared faster than anyone admitted.
The conversation wandered.
University.
Business.
The weather.
Arabella’s creature.
Cedric’s mysterious bookshop woman.
Lucian’s paper.
At one point Arabella asked Cedric whether he intended to marry Margaret.
Cedric nearly swallowed his wine.
“Can we not?”
Arabella grinned.
“Why?”
“Because you are my sister.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“It answers several.”
Alaric laughed.
Seraphina shook her head.
“Leave him alone.”
Cedric pointed at her.
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t curious.”
“Seraphina.”
She smiled.
“I am your sister-in-law.
Curiosity is permitted.”
Octavian looked amused.
“Your family has become remarkably interested in your private affairs.”
Cedric looked at him.
“Because nobody has any private affairs in this house.”
Lucian raised his hand.
“I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I could.”
“You live here.”
“That is unfortunate.”
Arabella laughed.
Lucian looked toward her.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Your love life.”
Arabella nearly dropped her fork.
“My love life?”
“Yes.”
Cedric grinned.
“Excellent question.”
Arabella glared at him.
“You have no right to encourage this.”
“I absolutely do.”
Isolde smiled.
“Arabella?”
Arabella sighed.
“Fine.”
She placed her fork down.
“There is someone.”
Lucian immediately looked interested.
Alaric leaned back.
Octavian raised an eyebrow.
Seraphina smiled.
Cedric looked delighted.
Arabella pointed at him.
“Do not.”
He raised both hands.
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was going to ask if he’s human.”
“He is.”
Cedric laughed.
“What does he do?”
“Restoration.”
“Of what?”
“Old buildings.”
Octavian nodded.
“That sounds respectable.”
Arabella smiled.
“He works mostly on churches and old houses.”
“Does he know about the family?” Isolde asked.
“Not all of it.”
“But some?”
“He knows I come from an old family.
He knows we live in Northumberland.
He knows I disappear for days because of family matters.”
Lucian smiled.
“That’s still suspicious.”
“Apparently he likes suspicious.”
Cedric leaned closer.
“What’s his name?”
Arabella narrowed her eyes.
“Why?”
“Because I’m your brother.”
“That has never stopped you from being annoying.”
“It has never stopped me from being curious.”
She smiled.
“Thomas.”
Cedric considered.
“Ordinary.”
“That’s the point.”
Arabella’s voice had softened.
“He doesn’t care about magic.
He doesn’t know enough about it to care.
He likes old buildings, bad coffee, and arguing about books.”
Lucian smiled.
“Sounds compatible.”
Arabella gave him a look.
“You’ve known him for thirty seconds.”
“So have I.”
“You’re both impossible.”
Alaric smiled.
“Does he make you happy?”
Arabella looked down at her plate for a moment.
Then she shrugged.
“Usually.”
Isolde smiled.
“That’s enough.”
No grand declaration followed.
No one needed one.
The conversation simply moved on.
That was how the Blackthorns treated affection.
They teased it.
They questioned it.
They occasionally interfered with it.
But they rarely made a spectacle of it.
Later, Seraphina shifted in her chair.
Alaric noticed immediately.
“You need to rest.”
She looked at him.
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been sitting for two hours.”
“So have you.”
“I’m not carrying a child.”
“True.”
He smiled.
Isolde silently reached beneath the table and passed Seraphina an enchanted cushion.
Seraphina accepted it.
“Thank you.”
Alaric watched her settle.
“Better?”
“Much.”
“Good.”
Lucian noticed the exchange and smiled to himself.
He did not comment.
Arabella, however, did.
“You two are unbearable.”
Seraphina smiled.
“You’ll understand eventually.”
Arabella looked at Cedric.
“Perhaps.”
Cedric lifted his glass.
“Not if I can help it.”
By ten o’clock, the manor began its gradual descent into silence.
Maggie supervised the kitchen.
Edwin checked the doors.
Thomas made his final security round.
The old wards settled over the estate like a second roof.
Grandfather Octavian remained in his study, reading beneath a green-shaded lamp.
Grandmother Isolde visited Seraphina one last time.
Alaric followed her upstairs.
Lucian went to his room with his university papers.
Aunt Arabella sat at her desk.
She opened her notebook.
Possible winged moon-tail.
She paused.
Then added:
Investigate tomorrow.
She stared at the final line.
After a moment, she wrote:
Do not feed it.
She considered crossing the sentence out.
Instead, she underlined it twice.
Across the corridor, Uncle Cedric stood by his bedroom window.
There was a telephone on the table.
He picked it up.
He dialled a number.
It rang twice.
A woman’s voice answered.
“Hello?”
Cedric smiled.
“Hello.”
“You got home?”
“Yes.”
“Did your family interrogate you?”
He glanced toward the door.
“Thoroughly.”
She laughed.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.
They’re predictable.”
“Do they like me?”
Cedric smiled.
“They haven’t met you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He leaned against the windowsill.
“They’ll like you.”
There was a pause.
“You sound sure.”
“I am.”
“Goodnight, Cedric.”
“Goodnight, Margaret.”
He hung up.
For once, he did not make a joke afterward.
In the next room, Arabella heard the telephone click.
She smiled.
She knew her brother better than he thought.
Lucian sat at his desk.
His university papers were spread before him.
His shadow moved across the wall.
He looked at it.
“Not tonight.”
The shadow settled.
Lucian leaned back.
For all the strange things he could do, for all the magic that came naturally to him, the ordinary parts of his life were becoming more important.
University.
Work.
Family.
Arguments over breakfast.
His mother’s pregnancy.
His father’s ridiculous hovering.
His grandmother’s approval.
His grandfather’s dry remarks.
His aunt’s mysterious creature.
His uncle’s bookshop romance.
It was not a grand life.
It was simply his.
He closed his eyes.
“Tomorrow.”
The shadow disappeared.
Upstairs, Seraphina was finally resting.
She lay beneath the blankets, one hand resting over the gentle curve of her stomach.
Alaric sat beside her.
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
“I will.”
“You always say that.”
“I mean it.”
She smiled.
“The baby moved again.”
Alaric looked toward her.
“When?”
“Just now.”
He placed his hand carefully against her stomach.
He waited.
Nothing.
He waited longer.
Still nothing.
Seraphina smiled.
“Apparently the baby has already learned how to ignore you.”
Alaric sighed.
“Wonderful.”
She laughed quietly.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
He turned off the lamp.
The manor continued settling.
Edwin completed his final inspection.
Maggie locked the kitchen.
Thomas checked the gates.
Octavian closed his study.
Arabella put away her books.
Cedric finally went to bed.
Lucian slept with university papers beside him.
Seraphina slept with one hand resting over her unborn child.
Alaric eventually stopped pretending he was not checking on her every few minutes.
Isolde was the last to close her eyes.
For a moment, she lay awake listening to the house.
The old pipes.
The ticking clocks.
The distant wind.
The faint settling of timber.
And, somewhere beneath the conservatory window, a tiny rustle.
Isolde opened one eye.
She smiled.
“Arabella.”
Silence.
A second rustle.
Isolde closed her eyes again.
“Tomorrow.”
Outside, beneath the moonlight, something small moved through the grass.
Two tiny eyes glimmered beneath the conservatory window.
Then the creature vanished into the trees.
Blackthorn Manor slept.
Not peacefully.
It never truly did.
But it slept together, as it always had.
And somewhere within its ancient walls, a family carried on with the ordinary business of being a family—arguing over breakfast, worrying over pregnancies, hiding romances, going to work, attending university, investigating mysterious creatures, and finding ways to live between two worlds without belonging entirely to either.
The child Seraphina carried had not yet been born.
He had not taken his first breath, opened his eyes, or taken a single step into the world.
Yet already, without knowing it, he was quietly changing the shape of the household around him.
And Blackthorn Manor, old enough to remember generations of secrets, was waiting.