Death of an Adept

Smiling faintly, Adam let himself be led inside, moving with Jenny to the left of Lockhart's bed. The head of the bed was slightly elevated to give Ximena's father a better vantage point, and a festive garland of holly had been twined around his IV stand. The attached line trailed from the hand he held out to Adam in greeting, and the coils of a pale green oxygen tube snaked from his nostrils to a control panel above his head, but his grip was firm as Adam clasped his hand and bent to embrace him, even though his eyes were fever-bright. Someone had pinned a boutonniere like Adam's to his hospital gown.

"She'll be here very soon, Alan," Adam whispered. "How are you doing?"

"I'm hanging in there," Lockhart replied, though weakly.

"Good man," Adam murmured. "Let's see if we can do a bit better than that. Take a deep breath for me, and let it all the way out, along with any pain," he said, delving into a coat pocket for his Adept ring. He slipped it onto the little finger of Lockhart's right hand and turned the stone inside.

"Alan, I want you to wear this for me," he said, closing the hand to keep the ring in place. "Consider it a kind of good luck charm - or maybe like a security blanket. Any time the pain should start to break through, I want you to rub your thumb on the stone and take another deep breath. As you let that breath out, the pain will recede. Can you do that for me?"

Lockhart did not question the instructions, only nodded acceptance, his eyes now alight with single-minded eagerness - and pain-free. He was one of the best subjects Adam had ever worked with. As Adam released his hand, glancing reassurance at Saloa as he straightened to stand beside Jenny, the older man smiled and, with Adam, turned his gaze to the open doorway in anticipation.

"Daddy, is Auntie Mena coming?" Emma demanded, from Adam's other side, clutching her small bouquet of red carnations and squirming with ill-concealed excitement. "I want to see her dress!"

This announcement, delivered with the stentorian effect of a stage whisper, drew amused chuckles from the other guests, but Austen only bent down indulgently to ruffle his daughter's curls.

"Quiet, pumpkin," he murmured fondly. "That's Mena just coming now."

Instead, one of the women accompanying Ximena slipped into the room with an apologetic smile and set a blue glass votive candle on the altar in front of the icon. A faint smile touched Adam's lips as he watched her light it, for it was the one he had given Ximena.

Meanwhile, out in the corridor, Philippa's blue-clad form blocked much view of the two white-coated figures beyond, but Adam still managed to catch a glimpse of Ximena as she bent down to receive the wreath her mother laid on her dark hair, which was loose on her shoulders. She glanced past Phi-lippa as she straightened, the color high in her cheeks, and caught Adam's eye before stepping deliberately into better view and shrugging off her lab coat.

Underneath, she was wearing a creamy cowl-necked sweater and a matching calf-length skirt that struck a familiar chord. As she handed her coat to her friend and then caught up the bouquet of red and white roses that Philippa pressed into her hands, never taking her eyes from Adam's, he remembered where he had seen the outfit before.

She had worn it on her first visit to Strathmourne, during another Christmas season, two years before. Her initiative that day in making a totally unexpected but welcome "house call" had given him rare pleasure, which only deepened as they came to know one another better. But even more powerful than those memories was the promise in her eyes at this present moment.

"I think we're nearly ready to begin," Jenny said quietly, nodding to Vance as Ximena's second friend came in to join Saloa. And as Philippa quietly entered to stand beside Adam as his witness, the strains of Gregorian chant faded away, to be replaced by a poignant orchestral piece that Adam instantly recognized.