Chapter Twenty
Morgan
Dinner is served in the living room beneath the twinkling lights of a magnificent tree. Sue planned an elaborate buffet and many of the dishes are uncommon, providing a little insight to the history of my housemates. The meat is a roasted boar and bowls of potatoes, bread, and vegetables line the tabletop. Dylan, with red, satisfied cheeks, stands behind the bar, handing out hot Irish whiskey as we wait to start.
My Guardians are dressed for the occasion, probably on notice from Sue. Jackets, nice pants, and crisp shirts make each look ridiculously attractive. I stand by the fireplace and consider that the pain and suffering of the Morrigan and Darkness may be worth it to be part of this family.
“It’s time,” Davis announces, not in his formal work attire for once. Sue has on a lovely dress. The Guardians assemble near the fireplace and Clinton slips his arm around my waist.
“What’s happening?” I whisper.
“The lighting of the Yule log. Then we can eat.”
Davis nods at Damien and Sam. Together, the Guardians lift a massive, charred block of wood from the edge of the hearth and place it on the grate in the fireplace. While they arrange the log over a pile of paper and kindling, Sue passes out thick white candles to each of us. Davis lights his first and then wick to wick the candles light one another, starting with Sue, then Dylan, Bunny, Damien, Sam, Clinton, and then mine.
“This is the start of a new year,” Davis says. He looks down the row at each of us, eyes landing on mine. “And a new family. We hope for safety, peace, and many blessings.”
He steps forward and touches the flame of his candle to the kindling and the others follow. Clinton touches my back when it’s my turn. By then the papers are raging with heat, the flames licking the edges of the log, desperately trying to spread. I bend over and say a small prayer of thanks, appreciative of the people with me.
I stand and move back to my spot. My glass has been refilled and I clear my throat. “Can I say something before we begin?”
“Of course, dear,” Davis replies. All eyes are on me, each attentive—all adoring. For the first time I feel like maybe I deserve it, not because of anything I’ve done but because I feel the exact same way about them.
“I thought this week was going to be a disaster. I planned on spending it in my room, watching sad movies and eating Sue’s baked goods into oblivion. But you all made it special for me, each of you, and I now truly understand what it means to be part of a family—this family. You each give me something I never knew I was missing.” I look at each of my Guardians, at Sue and Davis. “Thank you for opening your doors to me.”
Sue laughs. “This isn’t our home, Morgan. It’s yours. We’re simply the caretakers.”
“Well, thank you for taking care of me.” I make eye contact with each Guardian. I fall into the sapphire sea of Dylan’s eyes, the copper warmth of Bunny’s. I meet the strange intensity of Damien’s violet eyes and the lush green of Sam’s. Clinton’s are the sharpest gray steel, and each set makes me feel at home. “I have a gift for each of you. Nothing big, but something to add to the traditions of our home.”
I walk across the room and pick up the bag filled with tiny boxes, carrying it back over to the group. I hand one to each member of the family, their names written on the tops. “Go ahead, open them.”
Delight races across the men’s faces, a rare flash of youth. In moments they’re each holding up their gift; it’s nothing much but it’s my contribution to the festivities.
“They’re ornaments, for the tree,” I say, as though it isn’t obvious. One for each member of the family. I have one, too. “Hang them up.”
Clinton, holding his delicate cello by the looped string, leans over and gives me a kiss on the lips. “Merry Christmas, Morgan.”
He walks to the tree and picks a branch, hanging the silver cello. Sam comes next. I shrunk the photo he gave me and placed it in a tiny gold frame. He too kisses me in thanks.
Damien smiles, holding up the intricate motorcycle, knowing that I get his true love; feeling the wind on his face and the speed between his legs. He kisses my cheek while giving my ass a hard squeeze. “Nailed it,” he says. I have no doubt it’s a double entendre.
Bunny engulfs me in a one-armed hug, holding the tiny paintbrushes in his hand. His lips are warm on my neck and I squeeze back, not wanting to let go. But over his shoulder I see Dylan staring at the sleek lines of the ornament I gave him, eyes soft.
“Merry Christmas, Morgan,” Bunny says and I kiss him on the cheek.
Dylan stands before me, holding the tiny crow with spread wings in his hand.
“One day,” I tell him. “When we win this war and I regain all my powers, I’ll give you back the gift of shifting.” I look at the ornament. “That’s my promise.”
He doesn’t say a word, just presses his lips to mine, kissing me so hard that the breath is knocked right out of me. It’s not long, but it’s intense. A deal. An oath.
While I steady my feet, Sue and Davis hang their ornaments and Bunny says, “What’s in yours?”
I hold up my box and pull the ribbon off the top. I’d seen it in a shop days before and it called to me. I carry the box over to the tree and loop the ribbon over a branch in the middle. It’s a crown, of course, nestled in between the others.
“Merry Christmas,” I say, raising my glass in the air while the fire crackles behind us. My Ravens murmur the words in return just as the clock chimes midnight, marking our first Christmas as a family.