Sohna and Vivian - My Brother's Keeper

"Oh, Virginia!" cried Wolf happily. Carefully he placed his corded, liver-spotted hands on the arm of her chair, trying to pull himself up off the floor where he'd been kneeling, but he succeeded only in toppling into her lap. He came to rest with his weathered face pressed against her left breast.

"Luscious as ever," he murmured.

She looked down onto the perfect head of snow white hair and pushed him away.

"Now, now," she told him, "I think you can wait until after the wedding for that."

He whined.

The dress she'd worn to the awards ceremony all those years before still fit, though it had to be taken in a bit. She tottered into the foyer of Westminster Abbey. Her father was waiting for her on his motorized go-cart. He patted her hand. He had grown quite stoop-shouldered over the years, his face a solid mass of wrinkles like an old prune, the only hair remaining on his head a few wispy white strands which he grew long and combed into a concentric circle over the crown of his head.

"Like a ride?" he wheezed.

She sat down beside him, trying with some success not to throw her hip out of joint, and looked through the door at the huge crowd already jammed into the church.

"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed. "I told Wendell I only wanted our families and a few friends! Who are all those people?"

Her dad shook his finger at her, or tried to. He really should just go with the timing of the palsy instead of trying to fight against it, she thought.

"Don't you remember them, honey?" he asked querulously. "They are our family. Your children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. You and Wolf have five children, you know, three girls and two boys. That makes for a lot of descendants."

Wolf was waiting for her at the end of the aisle wearing the black silk evening suit he'd first worn the same night she'd worn her dress. Stiffly, he managed to negotiate the steps, his balance aided by leaving his tail unconfined - it had been a long while since he'd been able to leave it concealed - and helped her up out of the go-cart.

"Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Wolf looked at her. His face was still quite handsome, she thought, despite the age. His skin was both tanned and translucent, and his hair, including his always-present whiskers and improbably long eyelashes, had entirely gone to white. But the tropical sea color of his eyes seemed to show up all the more by the contrast.

"I ..." he began to reply. Then he vanished.

"Wolf?" she asked. She turned around to look at her father.

"What'd he say?" Tony demanded, an enormous golden ear trumpet jammed into his right ear. On it were painted peacocks intertwined with white lilies. "Heh? What'd he say?"

"DADDY!" she shouted. "DID YOU TAKE YOUR PILLS? HAVE YOU EATEN?"

She ran back down the three steps towards him, but her hip gave out halfway down and she tumbled onto Wolf, who had been rolling from side to side in an effort to sit up.

"Where did you go?" she demanded.

"I fell off the platform," he explained, grabbing ahold of her.

After a brief struggle, they managed to attain a sitting position by holding onto each other for support. As they turned over onto their hands and knees to begin the long process of standing up, they noticed a length of white fur lying on the floor. In a panic, Wolf's hand shot to his behind.

"Oh, NO!" he exclaimed dismally. "It's my TAIL! QUICK! Get a band-aid!"

Virginia sat abruptly up in bed, gasping. She had barely enough time to recover from her momentary disorientation and realize she was still in the dungeon cell before she felt Wolf's arms around her. She hugged him violently back, pressing her face to his chest as she tried to catch her breath. He held her tightly for a few moments, then pulled back to look at her.

"Virginia, are you all right?" he asked.

She was almost afraid to look up at him, and her relief at finding the Wolf she remembered, virtually the same age as when she'd met him, brought tears to her eyes and she hugged him close again.

"Virginia?"

She felt his hand touch her lightly on the stomach and heard the worry in his voice.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, "I just had a bad dream, that's all. I'm fine." She put her hand over his. "The baby is fine, too."

"What happened in the dream?" he asked. But though he no longer sounded so worried, there was still a lot of concern in his voice, she thought. More than would be accounted for by just curiosity or politeness.

"It was stupid," she said. "I can't explain it, it would just sound silly. It's just that there was something about it that really frightened me. I know it was just a dream, though. I'm sorry I'm acting this way."

He tilted her chin up so she looked at his face. She didn't know why, but the idea still frightened her; as if she were half afraid he would have aged sixty years in the last few moments.

"Virginia, if it's still affecting you now, it must be very important," he said. "You can't ignore it, and it wouldn't be wise to try."

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling in an overly dramatic gesture, trying to feign a casualness she didn't really feel.

"Oh, yeah, right," she said. "Thank you Dr. Freud. Can't a cigar just be a cigar?" The sarcasm bounced right off of him; he softly pushed the hair away from the right side of her face and continued to regard her with gentle concern. She swallowed. The words ‘Think about where you are' sprang to the front of her mind and echoed there repeatedly.

"Wolf, can I see your tail?" she asked.

He reached under the blanket and drew it out. Though he still wore his trousers - he'd said he might need to get up suddenly because of his cycle, though she thought it might also be because Wendell was sleeping in the corridor just outside the cell in the bed she'd occupied on the previous evening - his tail had not been tucked away as it usually was. Everyone in the palace knew he was a wolf anyway, especially since he was confined to the dungeon for the full moon (albeit a self-imposed confinement), so he'd seen no reason to add to any of the physical discomfort he usually expected to suffer.

"It's not as long as it usually is this time of the month," he commented, sounding vaguely apologetic.

She stroked the black-tipped silvery fur and he twitched it a bit. His tail felt soft and warm to her; alive.

Nevertheless, she ran her hand back around behind him to feel where it joined his body. He jumped and let out a slight gasp.

"Virginia!" he hissed, taking her hand away, though he didn't let it go. After taking a couple of deep breaths, he said, "I think we should wait a little while for that, after what happened last night, don't you?"

She realized then what she was doing to him, and laughed nervously.

"I'm sorry," she said. Nothing she had done so far had really helped, but that hardly surprised her. The dream was too silly. Of course none of it had happened.

"What did happen in that dream?" he asked curiously.

"Nothing," she mumbled. Was that the problem? Nothing had happened? She knew what the dream meant, really. The answer was right there in the corner of her mind. She didn't want to look at it, not at all, but it kept jumping in front of her trying to make her see it.

"Wolf ..." she began. The rest of the words stuck in her throat. It was more difficult than when she'd told him she loved him - even though then a part of her had still feared rejection, at least she'd always believed that love was possible. But what she was about to say now went against her entire philosophy of life, at least up to this point. Even the baby had been easier to accept, although she acknowledged now that it hadn't been very real to her up until yesterday - until it was nearly taken away. She knew now she couldn't make herself change her mind about the baby. Not that she'd wanted to, except she'd always told herself before that it was only because she couldn't stand to disappoint Wolf. Now she knew differently. But the baby's conception hadn't required conscious thought. If it had, she knew she'd probably never have agreed to it - at least not until it was too late. Too late ...

Part of her tried to push the fear back down, labeling it maudlin sentimentality. It's just a piece of paper; it's meaningless! she insisted to herself. But then came the internal reply: If it's so meaningless, why do you object so much?

Wolf was waiting quietly for her to continue. She looked up into his eyes, then away, though she had no idea why looking at him made it harder for her to say what she needed to say; he so obviously loved her. Maybe because he seemed to look right down into her so she couldn't hide for that last little bit of hesitation; those last few moments before she said ...

"I want to marry you," The words tumbled out in a rush. It was a relief to finally say them; a huge weight lifted from her. She looked back up at him. He was regarding her with an expression of amazed wonder. She smiled hesitantly as he touched her face, lightly brushing her hair behind her ear.

"Splendid!" exclaimed another voice behind her. Wendell had sat up on the cot out in the corridor, and was beaming happily at them.

He knew he was intruding. But he'd been awakened by Virginia's cry at the same time as Wolf, and try as he might, he simply couldn't ignore what they were saying and go back to sleep. He felt somewhat guilty for not letting them know he was awake before now, though upon reflection he decided it might have been for the best. Virginia might not have gone on to say what she did, and if what she'd said had been left for another time, she might well never have spoken at all, he thought. And though he felt that what he'd said was awkward, he also felt it wasn't likely to get any easier from there on. Certainly he didn't want to be an unwitting witness to their lovemaking.

They were still staring at him, however.

"Sorry," he said apologetically, "But I was awake, and ..." his voice trailed off into silence: no ‘that's perfectly understandable, Wendell's' rushing in to fill the void. He coughed nervously.

"So do you have any idea when you'd like the wedding to take place, Virginia?" he asked. Might as well be a cad to the bitter end, he thought.

Virginia shook her head slightly - Wendell hadn't realized how much he'd shocked her until then - glanced at Wolf, then back to him.

"As soon as possible," she replied.

He did a bit of mental arithmetic. It would have to be quick, he agreed with her on that, though probably not for the same reason. Her haste would be the result of whatever message the dream had sent her; he very much doubted she cared how gravid she appeared. The question was, how much time could he get away with for the preparation? Not to mention trying to figure out some way to keep Wolf's family from being recognized? Fortunately it wasn't the time of year for society functions of any consequence. A short notice on a wedding invitation should be no hardship; not in the kingdoms, anyway. He had no idea what the wedding customs might be in Virginia's world. If they have any, he thought sardonically.

"A month from now, then?" he suggested.

He thought he saw her blink.

"That long?" she asked.

Wolf smiled.

"There has to be time enough for the guests to receive the invitations," Wendell explained, "And reply to them, as well as time to travel."

"Oh," she said, sounding quite disappointed.

"I suggest we all get some sleep, then," he said brightly. Too brightly, he knew, but he couldn't seem to help it. "And we can discuss it at length in the morning."

"Well ..."

"If you want to, that is," he added, hoping he hadn't put her off. That was the last thing he wanted to do at this stage.

"Let's go to sleep," he heard Wolf say.

The two of them lay down. Wendell did the same, turning on his side, his back to them, and tried to get comfortable under the quilts. He found himself staring at the stair-stepped crack in the wall, where the foundation had settled and the mortar between the stones had failed, as he had earlier that evening. He closed his eyes.

He'd felt awkward from the beginning, telling them he intended to spend the night with them in the dungeon. They'd already spent the day together, playing Old Maid, Go Fish and Crazy Eights to ease their boredom until he thought they'd probably never want to see another pack of cards again in their lives. Wolf had been no different than he'd ever been, so far as Wendell could see. Virginia, too, seemed quite recovered from her ordeal the night before except that she'd grown fatigued early in the afternoon and had lay down to take a nap. Wendell had taken that opportunity to ask Wolf what he hoped would not be too sensitive a question.

"Is it possible that what happened to Virginia last night could be somehow related to the full moon? What I mean is, might the baby be affected by it?"

He'd expected Wolf to reply with either a confirmation of his worst fears or an outraged denial, so he was surprised when the half-wolf accepted the question as if it were a perfectly natural one.

"No," he'd said. "We don't have a physical reaction to the moon until we're around twelve or thirteen years old. It's a fascination in cubhood, but nothing more."

Wendell might have asked more, especially about the nature of the physical reaction, but he was interrupted by Virginia, who had not been asleep as he'd assumed.

"Really?" she'd asked in a relieved voice. "Oh, I'm so glad."

Wolf's head had snapped up to look at her.

"Were you worried about that, Virginia?" he asked, sounding quite worried himself. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"No, not that," she replied. "It never even occurred to me. I was just worried about the baby having to go through that after it was born."

Wolf had gone to sit with her then, and they talked for quite a long time, murmuring words Wendell couldn't quite catch - not that he'd tried. He knew they'd wanted him to leave, but he'd stubbornly remained where he was, trying to absorb what he'd so far learned.

So it's an element of sexual maturity, he thought. How very interesting.

But the information brought him back to Mellifict. Wendell had to wonder now if the good doctor was among those who advocated genocide. The king knew such a movement existed, although he himself had never approved of it, even before he'd discovered that so much of what was considered ‘common knowledge' about the nature of wolfs was simply untrue. But the doctor had tried his best to convince the king that the baby had to be aborted. Had the man really believed what he'd said about it killing Virginia, or had he known better, wondered Wendell? Mellifict was a doctor, after all ...

Wendell sighed and fished under his pillow for his watch. He flipped it open and squinted at the face. It was no use. The light was far too dim for him to see the hands. Wearily he closed it and put it away, recalling uneasily the warning Wolf had issued to him the night before about taking a light with him to fight a half-wolf during full moon. The way his eyes had changed had been quite bestial in nature. And that was what wolfs were reputed to do during the full moon: transform into beasts; beasts so vile and vicious they killed every living thing in their paths. Wolf's own expectations had seemed to support this: he'd been beside himself when Virginia had insisted on sleeping inside the cell with him (not to mention feeling the cell was somehow necessary in the first place). But it was from Virginia that Wendell got his only scrap of what the ‘physical reaction' was actually like. She'd informed Wolf quite casually that he'd undergone the ‘change,' as she put it, the night before, when he'd let himself out of the cell to come to her side. And all he'd done, she'd said, was kiss her hand and hold her. Not exactly vile and vicious behavior, thought Wendell, however what had been even more interesting to him was the fact that Wolf obviously had no memory of his actions at that time whatsoever, and, that when questioned, Wolf admitted to never remembering most of his actions during the full moon.

"No wolf does," he'd said.

It seemed to Wendell that that fact had a lot of implications attached to it, but he was far too tired by now to sort them out. Surely they'll wait until the morning, he thought.

He fell asleep staring at the crooked crack in the wall.

Tony stuffed a pillow under him in an attempt to cushion the ride, then remembered why he hadn't done it before: It made him sit up so high he had to bend his neck sideways to clear the ceiling. Heaving a disgusted sigh, he yanked it from beneath him, coming down hard on the springs of the seat with his already sore posterior. He winced. How much farther is it? he wondered. He wished there was some convenient way he could ask instead of having to stick his head out the tiny side window, twist his neck in an unnatural direction, and shout at the coachman hoping to be heard. He decided, though, that it was probably just as well. Otherwise he'd probably ask every five minutes like a little kid on a long ride in the car. He just wished his butt didn't hurt so much. In his mind's eye, an image of Murray or one of his multitude of relatives trying to kiss it to make it better suddenly formed. He blanched. Now there's a mental image I don't need, he thought.

The memory served to remind him, however, that present sore ass or not, he was a whole lot better off in the kingdoms than he had been in New York. And though he'd been violently cursing the seats in the carriage, he knew it really wasn't their fault. The coach was brand new and quite plush, with an excellent set of leaf springs; a gift from the king along with the promised titles and land (which he had yet to inspect). Though slightly smaller than the royal coach (which was only to be expected) it was a beautiful glossy black with a team of four horses to match. The interior was done entirely in a pale aquamarine, the doors and headliner in a small monochromatic sateen print and the seat cushions in a solid velour, well-stuffed, with many tufts and buttons. To Tony's amusement, the hardware for the door - the latch and window handle - was identical to that in an automobile. But there was no carpet; the road conditions made having that impractical. And it was the damned road conditions that were giving him an aching butt.

He leaned over to one side, trying to give his tailbone a rest at the same time he stared out the window at the rutted dirt road below. Why can't they pave them? he wondered. Maybe I should work on that next. Wendell wanted a damned industrial revolution anyway. Except he knew that was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid. The entire trip to Kissingtown had been made with that in mind - avoiding the introduction of plastic into the kingdoms with all its attendant pollution problems. As it turned out, the balloons he'd seen there were made of latex, which he wasn't absolutely sure he could use. It would be costly, he knew that, to import the stuff from whatever tropic locale it came from, but not as expensive as mounting an entire industrial revolution from scratch, he surmised. He did think he'd be able to at least get away with experimenting with it for awhile - he just hoped his experiments wouldn't be in vain. It was all very well to make your living in plastics in a world where they'd exist no matter what some peon like him did anyway. It was another to single-handedly ruin a beautiful unspoiled world through sheer greed. Maybe that's what he's counting on, he thought. My greed. He remembered the introduction Wendell had given him at the award ceremony and just hoped that if it ever came to it he'd have the strength to resist that kind of temptation.

He sighed heavily and gazed absently out across what, until recently, had been a cornfield. In the distance, the road bent around it, apparently following someone's property line. Just at the bend walked a figure with an odd gait, going the same direction as Tony. As he drew closer, he saw it was an old woman limping.

He pulled the cord to signal the coach to stop. It came to a halt only a few feet ahead of the woman, who stopped at the same time. He took her in: thin and gaunt, her thick white hair confined in a bun at the nape of her neck, skin tanned from the outdoors. On her feet were sensible black shoes like Tony's grandmother used to wear, covered now with the dust of the road, and which somehow belonged with the brown calico dress and white crocheted shawl that she hugged to her shoulders. He opened the door and stepped out.

"Hello," he began cheerfully. He really was cheerful at that moment, it felt so wonderful just to stand up, though he hoped the stiffness he felt as he unbent himself didn't show. "Would you like a ride?"

She regarded him warily and didn't reply. It was only then that it occurred to him that his offer might be perceived as threatening.

"I really mean it," he tried to assure her. "I'm on my way to the royal palace, so I can drop you off anywhere along the way."

She did an odd thing then: she cocked her head and lifted her chin. Tony felt he should recognize the gesture, but his mind stubbornly refused to identify it. Her eyes narrowed as she continued to stare at him silently. After a moment, she walked up to him. At close range he could see that she was quite a bit younger than he'd at first thought; possibly no older than he was himself. Her skin, though tan, was not leathery, but smooth and nearly unlined, with a few freckles scattered across the fragile bridge of her nose. Her eyes, however, a clear light gray, were ancient. She studied him for a moment, trying to decide, he supposed, if he could be trusted.

"Thank you," she said, apparently deciding that he could.

He held his arm out gallantly for her to take to help herself up into the coach, but she ignored it and began climbing in by herself. Whatever it was that caused her to limp when she walked made the climbing a slow, awkward process. Tony reached over to support her by the elbow and waist so he could lift her in. Her reaction startled him: She recoiled so violently from his touch that she struck her head and shoulders on the side of the carriage and nearly fell sideways down onto the rutted road. He jerked his hands away, feeling embarrassed and guilty for no good reason. Christine at her strangest had never reacted to him like this.

Slowly, the white-haired woman caught her breath, her arms folded tensely in front of her, her eyes fastened on his shoes.

"I was only going to help you into the coach," he explained.

She nodded and licked her lips.

"I ... I need to climb in by myself," she stuttered.

He let her.

She took a little while arranging her skirts just so behind her, then sat primly, her knees together, hands folded in her lap, staring out the window.

"I'm Tony Lewis ..." he introduced himself.

She glanced once at him, nodded politely in acknowledgment, and returned her attention to the countryside.

"How far are you going?" he asked.

She looked back at him. He could almost see her deciding that yes, that was something he would need to know.

"To the palace," she said. Her thumbs began agitatedly describing circles into her palms. She looked away, then back.

"I'm sorry," she told him. "It's not the custom of my ... my people to give out our names."

"Oh," he replied, vaguely recalling to mind some lore about true names and using them to gain power over a person.

She took a deep breath.

"Millie," she said. "I'm Millie."

"You didn't have to tell me."

"No, it's all right."

She returned her attention to the window.

"It may be none of my business," he began, thinking even as he spoke the words that it was certain to be the case, "but what are you planning to do at the palace?" He had some idea that she might be a new servant to replace one of the several the queen - Christine - had killed. The thought gave him a cold chill; suddenly he wished he hadn't brought it up.

Instead of telling him to shut up or ignoring him completely, however, she did that little head-cocking thing again. At close range he could see her chest rise as she inhaled deeply. Where have I seen that before? he wondered. But her eyes didn't squint at him this time. Their expression was almost one of complete understanding, as if she was somehow able to read his mind. He swallowed uneasily. No, that can't be true, he decided. If she could do that, she'd never have jerked away from me when I was helping her into the coach.

"You may wish to put me out if I tell you," she ventured.

"Oh, no," he assured her. "I won't do that. No matter what it is." He thought a moment, then grinned. "Unless you're planning to kill someone."

She smiled briefly, though it didn't reach her eyes.

"No, not that," she replied as if his little joke had been completely serious. "I'm going to beg a ... a pardon for my son. He's in prison."

Tony raised his eyebrows.

"The Snow White Memorial Prison?" he asked.

She nodded. He considered telling her that he'd been there himself, but thought better of it. He hadn't really gotten to know anyone and so was unlikely to recall who her son was, if he'd ever even met him. And he realized uncomfortably that if he pressed a friendship with her, he might end up in the unenviable position of feeling obligated to argue in her son's favor before Wendell - and who knew what the kid had done? She seemed quite content to stare out the window. He should let her.

He leaned back in the seat and thought about his own child. Virginia was why he really wanted to hurry and get back - why he'd pressed the coachman on despite the man's irrational fear of traveling when the moon was full. He hadn't been away from her for this long since the day she was born, even in the early days when he still traveled a bit on business. She was a grown woman now, though, he realized, and entitled to her own life, but it was still difficult getting used to being without her company. She'd been all he'd had for so long. But at least he had something useful to do with his life here to keep himself occupied instead of being stuck in a job of pure survival now that she'd finally found someone to make her happy.

That thought brought Wolf instantly to mind, and he found himself dwelling on the half-wolf's parting words to him: See you soon ... Grandpa! He hadn't been able to think of very much else whenever he thought of them in the whole time they'd been gone, and he had absolutely no idea what to make of the comment. The literal truth? he wondered. That's not possible - well, yes, of course it's possible, but how would they know? The abnormally long time they'd spent looking for wood that day - and come back without any! - hadn't been lost on him; he remembered a similar situation with Christine, just before they'd gotten married. And he knew they'd unofficially shared the same room at the palace. Only there hadn't been enough time gone by - at least at the time they'd returned to New York - to find out she was ... pregnant. It had to be wishful thinking on Wolf's part, he thought. No, he decided, he wasn't really worried at all that she was actually pregnant. What worried him was that he knew she didn't want children - and he didn't want Wolf forcing one on her as he'd done with Christine. But he wasn't really sure what he could do to stop it, aside from sounding like a meddling in-law. Besides, he knew deep down that he really ought to let Virginia handle her own problems. He just hated to see her get hurt.

Wendell greeted him at the postern that gave onto the carriage-yard. Millie had remained silent for the remainder of the journey, until she’d stiffly thanked him for the ride when he dropped her off at the front drawbridge, near the petitioners’ entrance. Tony had waved goodbye and promptly forgotten about her. Now, he smiled distractedly at Wendell’s reception, looking around and beyond the king for his daughter. She was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, yeah, mmm,” Tony replied to whatever it was Wendell had just said. “Look, I know this is probably going to sound rude, and I don’t want to seem ungrateful for your hospitality, but where is Virginia?”

“Oh,” Wendell answered, sounding as if he understood perfectly, “She and Wolf are still in the dungeon, I believe.”

Tony stared. He wasn’t sure he’d heard that last part right. “The dungeon?”

Wendell smiled, apparently just realizing how what he’d said might sound.

“Oh, they’re not prisoners,” he clarified. “Wolf just wanted to stay there during the full moon.”

Now Tony was even more mystified. “What is it with this full moon crap?” he asked. “Why is everyone suddenly so terrified of it? I feel like I’m in the middle of a haunted forest in Transylvania on my way to Dracula’s castle at midnight!”

Wendell, though looking a bit confused himself at Tony’s comment, started to answer. But before he could utter a single word, a piercing scream ripped through the air. Their heads snapped towards the sound in unison. More, though slightly lesser, screams followed. Wendell was the first to start running towards them. Tony caught up to him at a massive door set in a high stone wall.

“I think it came from the kitchen garden,” offered the king as he waited impatiently for a lackey to unlock the door-gate.

Inside the garden, several female members of the kitchen staff huddled together near the scullery door, glancing furtively now and then towards the rear of the walled enclosure.

“What’s happened?” Wendell demanded.

His question seemed to cue the red-faced, sobbing woman in the midst of the gathering, a rather heavy-set matron wearing a soil-smudged white apron, to a renewed outburst of hysterics. "A wolf!" she cried, "It was a wolf! A wolf! A wolf! That's what it was!" She broke down into a frenzied series of gasps, but after a moment, managed to continue, moaning, "Oh, I knew it! I knew it! I knew it would happen! Ohhhhhhh!" before collapsing at last into the arms of her co-workers.

"WHERE?" demanded the king, obviously irritated. The youngest, a thin girl who might have been no more that twelve, answered him.

"Back there, your Grace," she said, pointing to the rear of the garden while trying awkwardly to curtsy, "I reckon he must have got her last night."

Wendell stormed back to where she had pointed. Tony followed him. In what looked to the New Yorker like a patch of weeds but must not have been since they had so obviously been cultivated, face up, eyes wide and staring, her throat torn savagely out, lay his daughter's maid, Emma.