Jett was solemn and silent as he stood in front of his mother’s tombstone. He paid no heed to the others. None of them had minded him in life, so he wasn’t going to bother them in death. He bent down, aware of Vince being nearby, but feeling sorrow at the loss of his mother. He’d heard of her death third hand – his brother had sent word to Marcus, who informed Jett.
Máirín Sorcha Allon, née Tierney, had been an amazing woman, in his eyes. She’d loved him as she’d loved all her children, though perhaps had loved her youngest a bit more. She watched forlornly from the Shadowlands, aching to reach out to her son and comfort h im as she had in the past. His eyes seemed sad, like he had been through a lot. She supposed he had been, considering he was still alive and about, a fact that did not escape her, but rather amazed her. She wondered how this was possible, finally supposing that perhaps he was a servant to a vampire, for she had learned about them in the years since her death.
She made an effort to touch her son – but to no avail. She tried to talk to him, but he heard not. She tried to touch his mind – and found herself barred. Something was blocking it. Something was not as it should be. She turned from her son to the man with him, who had offered to make new her marker, and wondered if she could reach him. She watched with interest as his fingers became like talons, and re-etched the epitaph. Perhaps she could reach him.
Cautiously, incase he was one of the kind that could sense, use and thus abuse her kind, she approached, and laid a hand on his shoulder, hoping he could feel a weight there. She leaned in and whispered “In your dreams I see you – and we’ll talk.” It was all she could muster for now, having spent a good amount of energy in trying to reach her son. By this evening, or whenever he slept, she should have strength enough to traverse his dreams and hold palaver with him.
Be safe, my son. she thought, watching as they left her cemetery and continued elsewhere, her son mentioning wanting to make a stop in Philadelphia before heading home. She wondered where home was for him, but knew that Philadelphia held the resting place of his wife and children – but also the brother who had taken his place in their life, and she worried that might hurt or anger him greatly. She had heard only briefly that her son hadn’t been killed in the war after all, but had never seen him again.
My little Jarrett, my changeling child, has grown handsome and strong. It’s all I could hope for, yet I hope he is happy. She looked then to Vince, though did not know his name. You I shall see in your dreams – perhaps you can help me deliver a message.