Jet had imagined many things about the party by the time Monday finally rolled around. He imagined being blamed or shunned because of what happened. He half expected Bethany to tick him off for not communicating more than the barest of messages for the past month. He planned to only stay for half an hour, to keep Adela off his back and to see Bethany at least once before becoming a recluse...

  …what he hadn’t imagined happening was Bethany St James leaping into his world, shattering the static mirror reflection of his brittle serenity…and kissing him.

  Jet had become accustomed to loneliness. He hadn’t realised how much he didn’t want to be alone. People scared him because they were unpredictable and emotional. Despite the fact that Bethany could be both of those things, he also knew that when she became either or both, she was still mindful of him and his sensibilities. She didn’t mock his uniqueness.

  Even with his Pops and his mum, Jet had never felt safe like he did with Bethany.

  “Do you want to go on a date with me?” He asked her as they sat on the swing that hung from the fig tree.

  “Yes.”

  “I know this great café…” It perhaps wasn’t the best attempt at humour but Bethany had flung her arms around him and Jet welcomed the embrace. He thought he didn’t like hugs or physical touch but Bethany’s closeness soaked into his rigidity and he felt himself relaxing.

  “I’ve missed you.” She whispered.

  “I didn’t realise how much I’ve been missing you.” He admitted, her warmth mingling with his.

  “Maybe that’s why you stayed away,” he made a confused noise, “so that you didn’t remember what it felt like to have friends and company.”

  “Maybe.” After some more kissing, which was more than Jet ever thought he’d get to experience in his life, they swung gently back and forth on the swing. “Bethany…shouldn’t you be getting back to the party?”

  “Only if you go with me.” She eyed him cheekily and he felt the corner of his mouth pull up. “Come on,” she stood and held out her hand, “I’ll protect you.”

  There was some light teasing at the sight of them holding hands as they rejoined the party. It wasn’t that they hadn’t held hands before but that was Bethany keeping Jet from running away. Somehow it was different now, inexplicably, wonderfully different.

  “I’m working tomorrow,” Bethany said as she walked him to the gate as the party began to wind down and everyone started to return to their books and homes, “but I can come over after work.”

  “Or I could come up here…” Jet caught Bethany’s slightly wry expression. “What?”

  “You got anything left in your pantry?”

  He cringed. “That’s why I should come here.”

  “Man cannot live on long life milk alone.” She quoted with a superior flair. “We can make a list of your favourite meals and what you need to cook them and buy some supplies.”

  Jet swallowed. “It’s not much of a date…”

  She squeezed his hand. “It’ll be romantic, just the two of us…without the pressure of anyone watching or listening.”

  He shuddered, relief nearly flooring him. “I…didn’t want to do this on my own. I’m sure I’m supposed to be able to…no life skills, apparently.”

  “Remember what I was like when I arrived at House of Figs? I couldn’t hold it together emotionally, let alone a business, five fictional characters and their issues…but I got through it with them and with you. Life skills don’t mean you do everything alone. It means, when you know you can’t, you ask someone to help.”

  With Bethany’s help, Jet was able to finally face the overwhelming task of putting a shopping list together and buying food. He’d always lived with someone, either his mum or his Nan when she was still alive and Gary and while he could easily purchase random items, the notion of knowing what to buy to make meals was alarming. They had to get a taxi from the supermarket to the cul de sac, unloading everything onto the footpath and taking the bags inside.

  “What do you mean, not his normal self?” Jet asked as Bethany ducked back to shut the front door before returning to the kitchen.

  “Quiet, didn’t tease Rafael about how slow he is at making coffee these days without his vampire skills,” Bethany opened the fridge, “and no flirting whatsoever!”

  “I would have thought that’d be a relief.” Jet held a bottle of mayonnaise towards her.

  “Unless that’s been opened, it can live in the pantry. Those need to go in the fridge.” Bethany pointed to the milk bottles and the tub of butter. “No flirting with Bastian means something is wrong.”

  “You didn’t ask?”

  “I didn’t get the chance. By the time I realised something was off, we were busy and when he finished, he went straight back to his book.” Bethany opened the pantry and removed the cartons of long life milk.

  “What are you doing with those?” Jet unloaded the bags, still not entirely sure where everything lived in a kitchen.

  “I was going to throw them out,” Bethany saw his frown, “unless you don’t want me to…but I thought you didn’t like them.”

  “Can’t stand it.” Jet felt his jaw tighten as he stared at the cartons.

  “Jet?”

  “Pops drank it…” He blurted and put them back in the pantry. “I just…not yet…”

  “It’s fine. There’s plenty of room.”

  “I still don’t think I’m going to use half of this stuff.” Jet stared at the unfamiliar shapes of herb jars and packets of sauces.

  “You can’t live on bags of chips and energy drinks.” Bethany argued.

  “Yeah but I know how to ‘make’ those.” He was surprised when she grabbed his hand and drew him to the lounge room. “What are you doing?” She gently pushed him onto the lounge and sat beside him, her fingers entwined with his, her head on his shoulder.

  “Enjoying the moment.”

  “But what about life skills…” Her finger touched his lips and he stopped talking.

  “Sshhh, class is in session.” She giggled and snuggled close.

  It took him a while to fully relax, sure he was supposed to be doing something more. Bethany rested comfortably against him and he was astounded anew that she was content in his company. No one else had ever felt like this about him.

  “Jet, what’s that white box?”

  He glanced at the mantle, knowing full well to what she was referring. “Gary’s ashes.” He felt her twist and look up at him. “I figured he wouldn’t care about his physical remains and cremation was the cheapest option.”

  “No funeral?” Bethany sat, crossing her legs. “A memorial service?”

  “Why bother? Who really knew him enough to care about him?”

  Her hand was warm over the top of his own. “Your nan did.”

  “She didn’t even know him, not really.” Jet shrugged. “No one did.” He eyed the box blankly. “How can you say goodbye to someone you didn’t know at all?”

  He waited for Bethany to argue but she leaned back against him, her fingers threaded through his.

  All he could hear was the ticking of the clock.

  “What will you do with them?”

  “Leave them there.”

  “Like the milk?” Bethany’s sigh was deep. “I just feel like you’re never going to think of this place as yours and begin to build your life with his ashes in the house.”

  “I’ll stick them in a cupboard with the milk.”

  “You’ll know they’re there. It’d be like a constant nagging thought…”

  Jet frowned. “How the hell do you know me so well?” She didn’t answer except to hold him all the firmer. Jet gazed at the ashes in their heavy white box with the funeral parlour seal on them. “I suppose I could bury them,” he murmured after a long moment, “but then I’d have the same problem. Always knowing they’re there.”

  “What about scattering them? Somewhere important or special to him?”

  “I don’t think you’d want them thrown over House of Figs and his spirit is already winging away in En’Daren.” Jet snorted then jumped as she sat up. “What?”

  “What if we scattered them in his books?” She asked, her blue eyes wide. “Divide the ashes into five and release them into the worlds he created?” Jet’s heart did a strange little leap as though her words had struck a chord in him that he wasn’t expecting. “It’ll be like a piece of him will always be there.”

  In the end, that’s exactly what they did. Bethany rang the funeral parlour and asked about safety procedures handling the ashes then, with gloves and masks, they divided the contents of the box into five equal portions. Bethany found five pretty jars at an op shop and they poured the ash in and sealed the lids.

  Then, with the plan in mind, they asked the five guys who had come through the doors into the Observatory and the real world, if they would choose a place to scatter the ashes.

  “From the mouth of the cave den, scattered from high upon the Wand.” Bastian nodded, having returned from a rather epic and unexpected journey across the breadth of Reseign. Due to the rapid nature of the passage of time in his book compared to the real world, only four days had passed before they had any word while ten days had slipped by in his. Between Rob, Annie and Jo, they had been able to keep the cooked food station of the café running in his absence.

  “While I am not inclined to return to Infinitus,” Rob glanced at Annie, “a brief visit to the loading bay to scatter the ashes would be safe.” She nodded in agreement.

  Rafael looked at Adela. “From the palace?”

  She pulled a face, her eleven year old features scrunching up. “It was the site of oppression and occupation.”

  “The platform where the guillotine…” Rafael shuddered. “No, that’s not right either.” He turned to Bethany and Jet. “We will find somewhere appropriate, I promise.”

  Bethany smiled reassuringly at him. His world, in particular, was bathed in heartache and pain. Finding a place would be difficult but she had no doubt he would be able to find somewhere.

  “From the tip of the floating island where the door rests.” Eustace stated easily as he sat James on the table and showed him how to tie his laces. “Across, under and pull…then two loops, across, under and pull.” James grasped the laces of the other shoe and made an attempt, his white hair and blue eyes making him a striking child. “Mine’s easy.”

  “As is, I believe, mine,” Faelan added, “for, while Iffah and Elvan are both prominent in the story, it is from the ruins of Xephis that restoration began.”

  “Then I guess we’re just waiting on a place in Atannica,” Bethany turned to Rob, “could you work out an order that would allow us to visit all the places in relative short order…and while the floating island is upright?”

  “If my calculations are correct, the best time for the memorial service to begin would be this Sunday, at ten minutes past twelve and in the order of water, metal, fire, wood and earth.”

  Before Bethany could ask, Rafael spoke, “we’ll have a place ready by Sunday.”

  “And perhaps if you could think about something to say,” Bethany glanced briefly at Jet, “nothing elaborate, just something small and…” Faelan put his hand on her shoulder and smiled warmly.

  “We will.”

  Jet was always amazed at how, with so many handsome and mysterious men around Bethany, she chose him. Faelan’s elven control and delicate nature, Bastian with his strong sensual confidence, Rafael and his dark past and intense gaze, Eustace with his boyish smile and handsome face and Rob with his eternal steadfast nature…and yet it was his hand she was holding, proudly and without reserve.

  They filed out of the café, each done for the day except for Rob and Annie who lived at House of Figs. They busied themselves looking after the house and grounds, keeping an eye on Jo so that she didn’t over exert herself after her three month coma.

  “Jet, is everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” he paused and shook his head, “no, it’s not.” He watched as the last of the guys left through the back door, heading for their books. “Why are they doing this?”

  Bethany drew him to the chairs in the bay window and sat with one leg hooked up, her head tilted, her black ringlets half pinned back so that they stayed out of her face.

  “Why are who doing what?”

  “Why are the guys happy to distribute Gary’s ashes into their worlds?” Jet frowned. “Don’t they realise that he’s the cause of their grief? That each of them have gone through hell of his making?”

  Bethany licked her lips. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”

  “It’s the only way.” Jet argued, sure Bethany had missed the point. “If he hadn’t written the books, they wouldn’t have suffered.”

  “If he hadn’t written the books, they wouldn’t exist.” Jet went to protest but Bethany put her hand on his knee. “I don’t think they’re insensible of what he did…but they also know he didn’t maliciously make them suffer…he was just writing stories that would be published in book form so that they could go on the shelves in the Observatory. They had to be epic and dramatic for the publishing companies to want to invest in them.”

  “He should have known.” Jet insisted. “Of all people, Gar’Dian should have known! How could he have been apprenticed to Ah’Man and not understand the power of the written word? He just didn’t care! He didn’t care what he did to them or to you,” he still couldn’t shake the image of Bethany, trapped in the Observatory as Gar’Dian had forced her body to saturate with the elements that would recreate En’Daren, “he certainly didn’t care about me or my future, the way he screwed with my head…” He stood, pulling out of her reach. “Maybe I could have had a relatively normal life!”

  He stormed towards the door, shaking. He knew he was trying to escape the overwhelming emotion. He knew he was only going to take it with him.

  “Maybe I would never have met you.” Her words hit him over the back of the head and he turned and looked at her, Bethany’s blue eyes sparkling with tears. “I’m not exonerating him, Jet and I don’t expect you to say things about him that aren’t true…but I’m so glad I’m here, with all the guys but especially with you.”

  He swallowed…hard.

  “Will you come?”

  “I’ll…come.”

  With great trepidation, Jet let himself into the grounds of House of Figs at midday on Sunday. He looked up at the grand house and wished he hadn’t promised. He wished he could go back to his RPGs and ignore real life altogether.

  He was about to turn on his heel and do just that when he heard Bethany call his name from the side of the house.

  “Four sets of ears heard the gate open and close.” She told him. “In fact, four sets of ears heard your front door open and close.”

  “So much for sneaking away.” Jet muttered. “You look nice.”

  She wore black jeggings and a deep blue top with bell sleeves and knee high boots.

  “So do you.”

  Jet snorted. He was just wearing the blackest of his clothing but it was still in his preferred style, a short sleeved tee over a long sleeve one, his somewhat baggy cargos and his favourite shoes which were starting to fall apart.

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  She held out her hand and he took it, allowing her to draw him around the house to the courtyard at the back.

  “When I went to Nan’s funeral, I wore black,” he explained, “but I don’t really know…”

  “You look fine.” She insisted. “Besides, we’re going into five separate worlds. The temperatures and weather could vary a lot. Better to be comfortable.”

  In the courtyard was a small number of familiar people. Jo, Adela and Annie were there and the five guys, each holding their jar of ashes.

  “Hello Jet,” Jo smiled at him, “are you ready?”

  “Not really,” Jet admitted, Bethany’s fingers threaded through his, “but I’d prefer it done than not.”

  “Then let’s get going.” Rafael, wearing a striking black flocked suit with a blue cravat, cleared his throat. “Follow me.”

  He led the way into the Observatory, through the doorway surrounded by books, into a room that looked dusty and old. Jet paused at the threshold, looking at the line between himself and the fictional world. Apart from a few minutes in Eustace’s world, Jet hadn’t gone into any of them. He knew Jo and Adela were waiting for him to cross and forced his feet over it, following Rafael through the room to a corridor.

  “This isn’t the clocktower internals…” Bethany called softly.

  “No, this entrance was artificially made when Rob used the blueprints of the clocktower to find alternative entrances and exits,” Rafael said over his shoulder, “what we’re heading into now is, what I hope to become, my café in Atannica.”

  It wasn’t much of a space, dusty and the windows were boarded up. A few cracks of light peeked through, illuminating the dust that never seemed to settle. Abram was waiting by the open front door which led onto the main street. Their group only consisted of Abram, Jo, Adela, Rafael, Bethany and Jet. It had been decided, rather than a large crowd traipsing through each world, that those pertinent to that particular world, would attend the simple service.

  “Welcome to Atannica, Jet.” He greeted formally. “If you will all follow me, I’ll take you to the palace.” He held his arm out for Jo and she slipped her hand through it. They looked perfectly natural, walking along the cobblestone street, comfortable in each other’s company.

  Jet caught sight of Bethany’s smile. “Trust my aunt to fall in love with a fictional character…” She whispered by way of explanation.

  Jet had nothing to say about that. “I thought the palace was not a good place to scatter the ashes.”

  “Rafael would have chosen somewhere appropriate.”

  It was…and it was surprising. Abram was Lord van Helsing of Atannica and able to grant them access to the palace before he led them through into the secret passages that had been dug into the stone that flanked the grand building. They climbed stairs and made their way through rough tunnels until they emerged at the top of the small cliff that looked down onto the enormous lake where Atannica rested, built on the ruins of an even older castle. The lake was constantly filled by a river that flowed over the cliff, redirected by way of gutters, pipes and channels so that it flowed around the palace and through the city. At the cliff’s pinnacle, there was a stone arch with faded glyphs around its breadth.

  “When the original builders of the ruins beneath Atannica saw the view from this point,” Rafael explained, “they carved this arch out of a single slab of stone so that they’d never forget.” He looked at Jet, as though waiting for his approval.

  Jet nodded vaguely. “Sounds good.” He blurted.

  Rafael glanced at Abram and Adela who both nodded at him. He opened the jar and stood beneath the arch, facing the small crowd.

  “I can’t begin to fathom the mind of the man who created this world with so much pain threaded through its foundations…but if we are truly alive because of his creativity, then I can only imagine that he sowed much of his pain into every word on every page…” Rafael looked at the jar. “One person’s pain is bad enough…but to bear the suffering of all?” He shook his head, his raven hair like shards of black glass, framing his angular face and his bright blue eyes. “I hope you are finally at peace now, Gar’Dian.” He opened the jar and flung the contents from its mouth, the light ashes scattering into the breeze, flinging them over Atannica, into the lake and across Engaland.

  Bethany squeezed Jet’s hand. “Did you want to say anything?” She whispered.

  Jet shook his head.

  They made their way through Atannica to the Observatory door where Rob and Annie were waiting with their jar of ashes. Their world was the least visited out of all of the books accessed through the Observatory. The door opened into a storage unit, similar to a real world shipping container. The door at the far end opened at Annie’s touch.

  “This storage unit has been moved,” she exclaimed as they stepped out of the confined space into a glass observation room, “it is no longer at the loading bay.”

  “Where is it?” Bethany darted forward to the glass and gasped. “We’re so high!”

  Jet took in the view, the city floating atop a spaceship, drifting in space, carrying what was thought to be the remnants of humanity on it. Instead of a horizon or fading suburbs out to the countryside, the city, which was as large as CBD and its outlying suburbs, there was nothing but space and stars flickering in the darkness.

  Annie put her fingers on the glass, lines of light and machine code rippling across its perfectly smooth surface. “The storage container has been classified as a breach of reality,” Annie studied the readout, “it was moved to this tower to keep it out of public knowledge…yet not destroyed because…”

  “What is it?” Bethany asked.

  Annie turned and looked at Rob. “They are waiting for the return of Rob.”

  Rob did not look like he was pleased with that thought.

  “How can he return when we’re a lethal drop from the ground?” Jet’s knees quivered at the height.

  “This room is also a transporter which can descend to ground level,” Annie explained, “however, it is only accessible by Rob. This has all been decreed by an elected governing body.”

  “No more triune directorate?”

  “No.”

  “That’s great,” Jet shivered, “but how are you going to scatter the ashes from here?”

  Rob put his hand against the clear glass and it melted away. Jet held his breath, expecting a strong breeze to buffet him because of the height of the tower but there was no wind, only a light breeze.

  “The environmental controls make sure the climate is perfect.” Annie said, picking up on Jet’s confusion.

  “Okay.”

  Rob looked at the jar of ashes. “I have postulated the query many times, what is love? This query has been part of my core programming from the first moment I stepped off the production line. It has always been in my mind, ever present and ever querying, seeking the truth of the question.” He blinked his brown eyes, his brow lightly furrowed. “Query, Gar’Dian…did this query also torment you? Query, when you wrote this book, were you searching for truth? Query, is that why I have sought it also?” He shook his head. “You are gone…and though I do not know and will never know for certain, I can hope that, when you were shown love in this world, from your wife, your grandson and even from those of us at House of Figs, you found the answer to your own query.”

  He unscrewed the lid and gently showered the ash from the tower. The climate controls allowed for a light breeze to keep Infinitus from being as still as a tomb and the ash was caught on the unseen tendrils of air, scattered over the artificial city and its artificial inhabitants.

  Jet felt his hand squeezed again as Annie put the glass back around the tower and they returned to the storage container, seconds later back in the Observatory.

  “How are you doing?” Bethany asked softly.

  “Fine.” Jet looked around. “Where to next?”

  “This way, my friends.” Eustace opened the door to his world, his son James grasping his hand as he walked confidently across the short expanse of island to stand at the lip. A beautiful white dragon flew towards them, alighting on the island and, a haze of water mist, transforming into Luna, the female form of the water dragon that had been imprisoned inside the controlling mother for hundreds, possibly thousands of years. Eustace picked James up, planted a kiss on his forehead and handed him to Luna to sit on her hip.

  “Come,” he urged Jet and Bethany, “behold my world.” From where they stood, they could see a large portion of the world of the dragons, floating islands drifting in the sky, large landmasses below with volcanoes thundering mightily and so much ocean it looked like it went on forever. Earth dragons yawned and rolled about on the ground while fire dragons played around the violent volcanoes. Wind dragons tore through the clouds around the floating islands, small and helpless individually but together, able to bring a force like a hurricane.

  Eustace breathed in deeply, his heart swelling with pride. “This is my world for I am Lord of the Dragons. I am responsible for it, for all dragons within the realm…” He paused and bowed his head. “Gar’Dian…the weight of responsibility is on me always as it must have been with you. I know, full well, the grief and guilt of culpability…of the consequences of mistakes made,” tears rolled from his eyes, along the line of his jaw and dripped from his chin, “and the desperation to make it right.”

  Eustace closed his eyes and gave a deep growl. Jet felt a wash of panic as a flock of wind dragons descended on their location. Though their little eyes looked at the humans with mischievous curiosity, they held position as Eustace opened the jar and flung it into the air. The wind dragons scampered after it, knocking it about like a happy sac, the ash sprinkling about, distributed in the playful manner of dragons.

  Eustace turned to Jet and Bethany and nodded then leapt from the edge of the island, transforming into his water dragon form. Luna and James quickly followed, their lithe, scaled bodies whipping through the air and then down to the waves, to carve through the water, enjoying their world.

  “Do you want to stay for a bit?” Bethany asked gently.

  “Doesn’t this island tip itself over?” Jet looked around, half expecting the small floating mountain to upend itself.

  “Rob made sure we had plenty of time.”

  “It’s fine,” Jet shook his head, “I just want to get this done.”

  When they returned to the Observatory, Faelan had the door to his world open and bowed, allowing them to enter first. Broken slate crunched underfoot as they stepped into the exterior ruins of Xephis, a race of elves that had died out because of their inflexibility and xenophobic nature. Behind the ruins was a mountain, inside of which the elves had once lived. Beyond the plateau they stood upon, was a vast forest, covering many smaller mountains and hills. And somewhere deep inside the heart of the dark green verge, lived the elves of Iffah, Faelan’s people. It was all bathed in night, a rich tapestry of stars scattered overhead, almost rolling like waves in the inky blue expanse.

  “I have prepared an elven funeral rite,” Faelan showed them a lantern he had made, “for just as the scattering of ashes is a human custom, so the lighting of a lantern is an elvish one.” He held the dark lantern to Jet. “Would you hold it aloft that I might light it?”

  Jet nodded, watching as Faelan lit the small ball inside the lantern.

  “I did not know his genealogy, so I wrote both his names upon the lantern,” Faelan explained, gesturing to the elegant elvish writing on the parchment which was flickering from the dancing flame inside, “Gar’Dian and Gary.” He gazed at Jet. “Would you release it as I do the same with his ashes?”

  “I guess…” Jet tentatively let go of the lantern, seeing it sink for a brief moment then, as the air inside it warmed, the lantern began to drift upwards, immediately carried upon the mountain breeze.

  Faelan emptied the jar of ashes onto a pedestal and bowed to the grey grains which were already starting to scatter in the same breeze that was carrying the lantern away. He began to sing in a low tone, a wordless melody that made Jet’s arms prickle. Somehow Bethany knew he was unnerved by the lonely song, or perhaps she was equally touched by Faelan’s singing but her arm wrapped around his waist and he drew her close, her body fitting against his side.

  By the time Faelan finished singing, the lantern was far beyond the edge of the forest and their human eyes and the ash had washed across the tree tops, sprinkled upon his world.

  “I understand, in part, the restlessness of your soul, Gar’Dian,” Faelan said softly, “for it was in me also. The passion for creation and for it to be expressed…thank you for giving me this gift.”

  Jet swallowed, taking half a step back towards the door. Faelan turned to him, his eyes glowing with a green inner fire and Jet nearly spun and ran, the emotion that had been building inside of him growing with every passing moment.

  “Bethany,” he whispered, “I need to go…”

  “Just one more world,” Bethany urged, “please?”

  She drew Jet back to the Observatory where Bastian was waiting to lead them into his world. It was dark beyond the door. Jet knew it opened into a cave inside a mountain range called the Wand. He shuddered as he imagined the countless tonnes of rock that lay above him. Bethany was unafraid, having been to all the worlds several times by now. She followed Bastian through some short tunnels until they reached a shallow cave which might have been a typical wolf den. Its mouth was mostly covered with bracken, hidden from all but the keenest eyes, keeping the main entrance to the valley beyond and the Wolfgang werewolf sanctuary, secret.

  They had to push past the bracken, Jet thankful his long sleeves kept his arms from becoming scratched and emerged in the cool, bright air of Alte Fehde, the outer rim of the country known as Reseign where the mountains were jagged, the hills rolled in endless waves and grass and wild flowers grew abundantly. The sight was breathtakingly beautiful in an untamed way, Jet suddenly longing for his civilised home, his computer chair and his temperature controlled environment.

  “Can you feel it?” Bastian looked at the jar. “Can you smell it? The freedom of Alte Fehde? The wildness…the urge to run? To shed all trappings and be set free?” He stood tall, his shoulders broad and his werewolf features displayed, his lower half covered in tawny fur and his feet, nimble, powerful paws. His tail draped from his lower back and from his mane, ears twitched in the highland breeze. “You could not have written this desire for me and for all werewolves if you had not felt the burn in your veins to do the same. And now you can, having left your mortal body behind, able to scatter yourself in the air in the world you were able to save…” He unscrewed the lid of the jar and, when a strong wind surged past where they stood, he flung the contents into the invisible force, the ashes swept away, some falling but many caught on the breeze to far corners of the world. “Run with the werewolves, Gar’Dian…run…and know freedom.”

  Jet’s heart felt like it was being wrung out like a well used dish cloth, ready to tear at any moment. He yanked himself from Bethany’s side, running into the den, stumbling in the darkness, searching blindly for the room with the door.

  “Jet, wait!”

  But he didn’t.

  And he didn’t know the way.

  Within seconds he was hopelessly lost but that only made his panicked flight all the faster. He could barely breathe as he tried to escape the emotion, the overwhelming ache that was trying to break him. He didn’t know where he was. He could have been in the bowels of the mountain for all he knew.

  Finally he paused, his arm against the wall of the tunnel he was in, his forehead pressed his forearm, his breathing as ragged as his emotions.

  “Jet,” Bastian’s voice was gentle but firm, “are you injured?”

  Jet shook his head. “You don’t get it. You don’t understand…he wasn’t a saint!”

  Bastian’s hand grasped his arm. “Come with me.”

  He led Jet through the mountain, along winding passages until they reached a larger tunnel that sloped downwards. Bethany was waiting for them, darting towards Jet, her arms around his neck.

  “You scared me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Further in,” Bastian urged, “before you leave, you need to see it.”

  Jet wasn’t sure he could handle seeing anything but he knew he wouldn’t be able to find his way back to the door through the darkness. Bethany stayed by his side as they walked down the slope, the darkness dispelled by light coming from natural windows formed in the rock. When one of them was at eye level, Bastian gestured to it.

  “See here, Befest, home of the Wolfgang clan.”

  Jet had heard Bethany describe it and in his mind, he’d conjured a picture of the stronghold of the werewolves under Bastian’s authority but it was small and paled in comparison to the real thing. It was like a giant den, a cave that faced an isolated valley with a fortress built at its mouth, the floor of the cave a kind of rustic courtyard. Befest was larger, warmer and more richly coloured than Jet could ever have imagined.

  “Come.”

  Jet followed, his tumultuous emotions taking a step back as he was distracted by the sight of Bastian’s home. They walked down the slope to where the walls of the tunnel fell away and they reached the floor of the inner court. Children, werewolf children no doubt, played ball and pretend battle with their hands and teeth. Their parents were engaged in brewing mead, tanning leathers or cutting meat. Some mothers, particularly those who were heavily pregnant, watched the children as they played.

  Bastian winked at Bethany and Jet then launched himself into their games, roaring mightily. The children squealed and scattered, laughing when they realised it was their alpha who had surprised them.

  “They look like human children.” Jet said softly.

  “They won’t develop their werewolf features until later in life.” Bethany explained. “See, he has ears and she’s got a tail but it’s only during puberty that they begin to control the transformation from human to wolf until they settle on a form somewhere in between.”

  Jet frowned, the clothing the children wore to cover their vulnerable human skin was not like what the adult werewolves wore and he commented as much.

  “Werewolves make clothing out of the leather of animals they kill. They do their best for children but they grow so fast. Many of them were in rags…so I ordered a heap of cheap clothing to keep them warm. Hello gorgeous!” Bethany picked up a little girl, maybe three years old with pale amber eyes and dark hair, dressed in khaki green trackpants and a lighter green jumper. “Where’s your mum?”

  The little girl pointed and Bethany crossed the courtyard as Bastian rolled on the ground, under attack from the eager boys and girls.

  Jet was a bit bemused when something hit his leg. It was a ball, probably made from a pig bladder, treated until it was sturdy and stuffed with padding. He picked it up and saw a group of children, no more than nine or ten years of age, eyeing him cautiously. They nudged one of their own, the boy breaking away from the crowd, approaching Jet.

  “This yours?” Jet asked, feeling stupid at the question. Of course it was theirs.

  The boy nodded and opened his arms. Jet sighed and threw it as best he could. The boy caught it and smiled, fangs appearing at the corners of his mouth. He then turned and ran back to his friends, clapped on the shoulder and congratulated.

  “Well done,” Bastian chuckled, brushing dust from himself, “he’ll be the hero of the day now.”

  The children began to play with their ball, kicking it around.

  “You could join in?” Jet shook his head frantically and Bastian laughed. “Perhaps not.”

  “There are a lot more werewolves here than I thought there were.” Jet admitted.

  “And many of them are out on the hunt,” Bastian sat on a barrel and folded his arms across his chest, “Gavan, who is captain of the militia, will have all able bodied werewolves helping bring down something sizeable for dinner. By the time the sun goes down, there will be nearly a hundred and fifty werewolves in Befest, including even the smallest babe of course.” He glanced at Jet. “We have three mothers expecting at present so we might hit a hundred and fifty.” He grinned. “Love, mating and life, could there be anything more glorious?”

  “How about fresh milk and warm bread straight from the oven?” Bethany asked, returning with her arms empty, the little girl back with her mother.

  “I confess, those are highly desired for my clan to experience,” Bastian opened his arms, encompassing all of Befest, “but see how my people flourish, even beyond the end of the book?” Two mothers were comparing their corpulent bellies. “The little lives within those women will be born in the next week or two and then they will learn to feed, to walk…to run…to transform…to fall in love and mate…” Bastian breathed in deeply. “This is why I wanted you to come further in, Jet. To see that, for all his faults and I know he had many, Gar’Dian also created something extraordinary that goes on beyond his intent.”

  “How can you say extraordinary when it was built on grief and shame and treachery?” Jet asked, his tone brittle.

  “Jo said once that an author sows his or her soul into their work…grief, shame and treachery were a part of Gar’Dian’s life. We are his experiences personified.”

  Jet turned to Bastian, still confounded. “Doesn’t that outrage you? That your life is written out? That your choices are already made? That free will is an illusion?”

  Bastian shrugged. “If that were true, when I entered the real world, I would have been rendered a lifeless shadow, ink on paper. But I think and I choose…and fall in love…and mate…and now my own life story will have a sequel.”

  Jet was bemused by this statement but Bethany grasped his arm. “Bastian?”

  “Elke is with child.” She squealed and hugged him.

  “That’s so wonderful! Congratulations!”

  He chuckled, nodding. “Thank you. I thought I should keep it for a less sombre occasion…but it seemed right to say it now.”

  Jet followed Bastian back up the mountain, winding through the tunnels until they reached the cave where the door was at the back. He went through it then looked at the cave behind him, his heart unsettled and his emotions, displaced.

  “Query, would you care for some refreshments?”

  Rafael had made coffee, a pot of tea and Faelan had made a jug of lemonade and plenty of small cakes and tarts to eat. House of Figs was closed to the public so it was the familiar few who knew just how special the café and the Observatory was. It also meant Bastian didn’t have to hide his true form and Faelan could show his ears.

  Bethany told everyone about Bastian’s baby news and they talked happily about it, taking attention away from Jet for which he was very grateful as he sat in the bay window with his lemonade. Bethany joined him after a while.

  “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine.” Jet paused. “No, I’m not.”

  She nodded. “Go on.” She urged gently.

  “I can’t work out what to feel.” He shook his head. “Gary was my Pops. He and Nan were my sanctuary and when Nan died, I still felt at home. I was safe there…but as it turns out, I wasn’t safe there. I was prepared to be a vessel, tested to make sure I would have the capacity…by the same man who loved my Nan and who wrote all that life,” he looked at Bethany, “who bound you…and forced the elements into your body…I don’t know what to feel.”

  “I don’t know that you can give your experience with Gary just one emotion.”

  “But I need to,” Jet insisted, “to understand it…to deal with it…”

  “To put it in a box and ignore it, you mean?” Bethany asked dryly.

  “If I have to.” Jet retorted. “I’m so…angry,” he looked at his clenched hands, frightened by the intensity of the emotion, “by what he did to others and to me…but then I hear how they think of him and how lost and lonely he must have been…even when my mum was saying he didn’t deserve the house after Nan left, all I could think of was how much she loved him and didn’t want him to be homeless again…” Jet shook his head. “Was he a villain or was he a saint?”

  “I think he was a man…and a little bit of both.” Jet sighed and Bethany leaned forward, her fingers wrapping around his hand. “I know you want absolution…but I don’t think you’re going to get it, not in the way that you want. But I will always remember that, rather than keep your healthy body for himself and live a long life in En’Daren, he let you go.” He lifted his chin, swallowing as her blue eyes rested on him, intense and sincere.