Woodlawn Cemetery, New York
One Month Ago...
The first snow of the season fell lightly, like tiny specs of white confetti that melted as soon as they touched the ground. The young man's breath condensed in the cold air, turning to vapor, his cheeks tinged pink from the cold, but he didn't seem to notice or care. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his wool overcoat, his back hunched against the chill, collar turned up. It wasn't even December yet, and it was already snowing, a biting wind cutting like tiny daggers at his face. His expression was stoic, as still as the stone angels that stood in silent vigil over the graves in the cemetery, where his mother hand been buried.
"Des," a woman's voice broke the heavy silence " a voice he knew well. "She's in a better place now," the woman told him gently. "She's at peace."
Her hand touched his shoulder in an attempt to offer comfort, and he tensed at the touch, as well meaning as it was. He'd heard it all before. It was all he'd been hearing for days, and while part of him wanted to believe it, he couldn't get past the fact that he was never going to see her again. "She didn't deserve this," he said, unable to hide the grief and anger from his voice.
"Sometimes bad things happen to good people. That's just the way life is," she continued, pulling her hand away with a soft sigh. She knew as much about loss as he did, though his grief was fresh and hers was old.
"You're telling me?" he asked, turning his face toward hers, blue eyes that were strikingly like his father's flashing with anger " a father who'd never showed him any kindness and had only provided for him out of a sense of obligation that had been forced on him by those who had deemed he had a responsibility to bear.
"I'm telling you as someone who cares about you, Desmond," she continued. "You may not have any family left here, but there's a whole flock of us waiting to meet you on the other side of the portal."
Talk of a door to another world came as no big surprise to him. He'd known about the Nexus portals most of his adult life, but he'd never had any reason to use one, until now.
"A flock," he echoed, eying her doubtfully. "And what makes you think they want anything to do with me" You know what they're going to think. They're going to think I'm only interested in their money."
"Then you prove them wrong," she continued, with a warm smile. She knew her family would welcome him with open arms, if only he'd let them. At least, most of them would, and those who wouldn't didn't matter. "Besides, there's only one Granger you really need to impress, and that's Humphrey. Once you have the Old Man's approval, you're in."
"I can't go right now, Miranda," he said, looking back at the freshly-covered grave. "I have to wait for the Will, and I've got a case pending in court." There were a million other reasons, but he didn't want to go into them right now.
"Des, for God's sake! Your mother just died. Take some time off. Let someone else handle the case. You're not the only prosecuting attorney in New York who can handle it, you know."
"Thanks for the reminder," he remarked, sarcastically. "I'm not gonna become D.A. by taking a vacation every time my personal life falls apart."
"Got your sights set on the mark and won't budge, eh' Well, do an old friend a favor. Come home with me for Christmas. The courts close for a few days. It'll do you good to get away."
He frowned uncertainly at her suggestion. "I don't know. I thought maybe I'd drown my sorrows in a bottle of booze and a pretty girl for a few days."
"Desmond," Miranda started, taking a tone of voice that painfully reminded him of the mother he'd just buried. "You know that's not healthy." She stepped closer, planting herself in front of him and turning his face toward hers and away from the grave, as if she was turning him away from the dead to face the living. "Your father was a bastard, but that's no reason why you shouldn't know the rest of your family."
"I'm the one who's the bastard, Miranda," he said, reminding her bluntly and honestly of his illegitimacy. "I promised her I'd stay away from Rhy"Din," he continued with a frown, torn between the promise he'd made to his mother and the desire to meet the family he'd never known. It was only a quirk of fate that he'd managed to run into Miranda, who happened to be a successful fashion designer in New York and one of the few women in his circle who he hadn't slept with, mostly because she was family.
"I know what you promised her, Des," Miranda continued, as gently as she could, "but you've got a half brother and sister you've never met, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and a bevy of cousins. You shouldn't be alone for the holidays, especially not now."
"You talk like someone who knows," Desmond remarked, eying her sharply. He'd known her long enough to know she carried her own cross, hidden deep inside that carefully groomed exterior.
She smiled, an easy-going smile, despite the implication that she was no happier being alone than he was. She'd taken a liking to him right off. What wasn't to like" He'd somehow managed to get the best of his family's genes in both appearance and intelligence. His mother had once been a ballet dancer with the New York City Ballet, and though his father had been a bastard, he'd been a good-looking man just the same, who'd had a sharp mind for business before he'd succumbed to the ravages of alcohol abuse.
"Maybe I do," she replied coyly. "You know the old saying" Nothing ventured, nothing gained. What have you got to lose?" She elbowed him playfully, hoping to lighten his mood just a little.
"Besides my pride?" he countered. "Not a damned thing." He glanced back at the grave of the one person who'd meant the world to him. She was gone now, and there was no bringing her back. Life went on, even if there were times when you wished it didn't. "All right," he relented finally. "But I need a few weeks to tie some things up."
"Perfect," she said, as she went up on her tiptoes to plant an affectionate kiss against his cheek, before linking her arm with his to draw him away from the cemetery and the source of his sadness. "We'll discuss the details over breakfast."
"Now?" he asked, blue eyes slanting a glance down at her from his height of just over six feet, the scruff of a beard covering a chiseled jaw, sandy brown hair stirring in the cold breeze.
"No time like the present," she replied with an effervescent smile, tugging on his arm to pull him away from the grave. "Come on, handsome. You promised me a ride in that fancy car of yours, remember?"
"Christ, do you know how much that thing cost' It should be in a showroom, not on the road," Desmond remarked, rolling his eyes. He'd only had the Porsche a few months, a gift that he'd been promising himself for a long time. At the age of twenty-eight, he was the most brilliant lawyer in the D.A.'s office to serve the City of New York in years. He had a promising career ahead of him, or so he'd been told. He'd worked hard to get where he was, and he thought it was high time he reward himself for his efforts, but for some reason, he couldn't stop feeling guilty about it.
Miranda laughed at his feigned annoyance. "You're not hurting for money, so stop complaining," she teased, with a twinkle in her honey brown eyes as she led him away from the cemetery, back to where he'd parked his car.
"You can never have too much money, Miranda," he remarked with a slight frown, as he followed her toward the car. Money didn't buy happiness, but it sure as hell made life a little easier.
"It's love, Des," she corrected. "You can never have too much love."
"Yeah, well, that's a fine sentiment, but you can't live on love. Love doesn't pay the rent, put food in your mouth, or clothes on your back."
"Said like a true cynic," she remarked with a smile, her arm linked with his.
"Said like a realist," he countered, smiling back at her. "You're not going to argue with a lawyer, are you? You'll lose every time."
"Maybe, but I don't give up that easily. I'm going to make an optimist of you yet," she promised, as they reached the car. She turned to touch his cheek, smiling warmly and fondly. "You're not alone, Des. You've got me and a whole family of Grangers just waiting to meet you."
"Meeting isn't liking, Miranda," he pointed out uncertainly.
"Trust me. They're going to love you," she patted his cheek and smiled up at him before stepping back to get in the car.
He wasn't nearly as sure as she was, but it looked like he wasn't going to have any choice. If he wanted to untangle the mystery that was his father's family, there was only one way to do it, and that was to go to Rhy?Din and meet them in person. What happened when he got there would remain to be seen.
The first snow of the season fell lightly, like tiny specs of white confetti that melted as soon as they touched the ground. The young man's breath condensed in the cold air, turning to vapor, his cheeks tinged pink from the cold, but he didn't seem to notice or care. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his wool overcoat, his back hunched against the chill, collar turned up. It wasn't even December yet, and it was already snowing, a biting wind cutting like tiny daggers at his face. His expression was stoic, as still as the stone angels that stood in silent vigil over the graves in the cemetery, where his mother hand been buried.
"Des," a woman's voice broke the heavy silence " a voice he knew well. "She's in a better place now," the woman told him gently. "She's at peace."
Her hand touched his shoulder in an attempt to offer comfort, and he tensed at the touch, as well meaning as it was. He'd heard it all before. It was all he'd been hearing for days, and while part of him wanted to believe it, he couldn't get past the fact that he was never going to see her again. "She didn't deserve this," he said, unable to hide the grief and anger from his voice.
"Sometimes bad things happen to good people. That's just the way life is," she continued, pulling her hand away with a soft sigh. She knew as much about loss as he did, though his grief was fresh and hers was old.
"You're telling me?" he asked, turning his face toward hers, blue eyes that were strikingly like his father's flashing with anger " a father who'd never showed him any kindness and had only provided for him out of a sense of obligation that had been forced on him by those who had deemed he had a responsibility to bear.
"I'm telling you as someone who cares about you, Desmond," she continued. "You may not have any family left here, but there's a whole flock of us waiting to meet you on the other side of the portal."
Talk of a door to another world came as no big surprise to him. He'd known about the Nexus portals most of his adult life, but he'd never had any reason to use one, until now.
"A flock," he echoed, eying her doubtfully. "And what makes you think they want anything to do with me" You know what they're going to think. They're going to think I'm only interested in their money."
"Then you prove them wrong," she continued, with a warm smile. She knew her family would welcome him with open arms, if only he'd let them. At least, most of them would, and those who wouldn't didn't matter. "Besides, there's only one Granger you really need to impress, and that's Humphrey. Once you have the Old Man's approval, you're in."
"I can't go right now, Miranda," he said, looking back at the freshly-covered grave. "I have to wait for the Will, and I've got a case pending in court." There were a million other reasons, but he didn't want to go into them right now.
"Des, for God's sake! Your mother just died. Take some time off. Let someone else handle the case. You're not the only prosecuting attorney in New York who can handle it, you know."
"Thanks for the reminder," he remarked, sarcastically. "I'm not gonna become D.A. by taking a vacation every time my personal life falls apart."
"Got your sights set on the mark and won't budge, eh' Well, do an old friend a favor. Come home with me for Christmas. The courts close for a few days. It'll do you good to get away."
He frowned uncertainly at her suggestion. "I don't know. I thought maybe I'd drown my sorrows in a bottle of booze and a pretty girl for a few days."
"Desmond," Miranda started, taking a tone of voice that painfully reminded him of the mother he'd just buried. "You know that's not healthy." She stepped closer, planting herself in front of him and turning his face toward hers and away from the grave, as if she was turning him away from the dead to face the living. "Your father was a bastard, but that's no reason why you shouldn't know the rest of your family."
"I'm the one who's the bastard, Miranda," he said, reminding her bluntly and honestly of his illegitimacy. "I promised her I'd stay away from Rhy"Din," he continued with a frown, torn between the promise he'd made to his mother and the desire to meet the family he'd never known. It was only a quirk of fate that he'd managed to run into Miranda, who happened to be a successful fashion designer in New York and one of the few women in his circle who he hadn't slept with, mostly because she was family.
"I know what you promised her, Des," Miranda continued, as gently as she could, "but you've got a half brother and sister you've never met, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and a bevy of cousins. You shouldn't be alone for the holidays, especially not now."
"You talk like someone who knows," Desmond remarked, eying her sharply. He'd known her long enough to know she carried her own cross, hidden deep inside that carefully groomed exterior.
She smiled, an easy-going smile, despite the implication that she was no happier being alone than he was. She'd taken a liking to him right off. What wasn't to like" He'd somehow managed to get the best of his family's genes in both appearance and intelligence. His mother had once been a ballet dancer with the New York City Ballet, and though his father had been a bastard, he'd been a good-looking man just the same, who'd had a sharp mind for business before he'd succumbed to the ravages of alcohol abuse.
"Maybe I do," she replied coyly. "You know the old saying" Nothing ventured, nothing gained. What have you got to lose?" She elbowed him playfully, hoping to lighten his mood just a little.
"Besides my pride?" he countered. "Not a damned thing." He glanced back at the grave of the one person who'd meant the world to him. She was gone now, and there was no bringing her back. Life went on, even if there were times when you wished it didn't. "All right," he relented finally. "But I need a few weeks to tie some things up."
"Perfect," she said, as she went up on her tiptoes to plant an affectionate kiss against his cheek, before linking her arm with his to draw him away from the cemetery and the source of his sadness. "We'll discuss the details over breakfast."
"Now?" he asked, blue eyes slanting a glance down at her from his height of just over six feet, the scruff of a beard covering a chiseled jaw, sandy brown hair stirring in the cold breeze.
"No time like the present," she replied with an effervescent smile, tugging on his arm to pull him away from the grave. "Come on, handsome. You promised me a ride in that fancy car of yours, remember?"
"Christ, do you know how much that thing cost' It should be in a showroom, not on the road," Desmond remarked, rolling his eyes. He'd only had the Porsche a few months, a gift that he'd been promising himself for a long time. At the age of twenty-eight, he was the most brilliant lawyer in the D.A.'s office to serve the City of New York in years. He had a promising career ahead of him, or so he'd been told. He'd worked hard to get where he was, and he thought it was high time he reward himself for his efforts, but for some reason, he couldn't stop feeling guilty about it.
Miranda laughed at his feigned annoyance. "You're not hurting for money, so stop complaining," she teased, with a twinkle in her honey brown eyes as she led him away from the cemetery, back to where he'd parked his car.
"You can never have too much money, Miranda," he remarked with a slight frown, as he followed her toward the car. Money didn't buy happiness, but it sure as hell made life a little easier.
"It's love, Des," she corrected. "You can never have too much love."
"Yeah, well, that's a fine sentiment, but you can't live on love. Love doesn't pay the rent, put food in your mouth, or clothes on your back."
"Said like a true cynic," she remarked with a smile, her arm linked with his.
"Said like a realist," he countered, smiling back at her. "You're not going to argue with a lawyer, are you? You'll lose every time."
"Maybe, but I don't give up that easily. I'm going to make an optimist of you yet," she promised, as they reached the car. She turned to touch his cheek, smiling warmly and fondly. "You're not alone, Des. You've got me and a whole family of Grangers just waiting to meet you."
"Meeting isn't liking, Miranda," he pointed out uncertainly.
"Trust me. They're going to love you," she patted his cheek and smiled up at him before stepping back to get in the car.
He wasn't nearly as sure as she was, but it looked like he wasn't going to have any choice. If he wanted to untangle the mystery that was his father's family, there was only one way to do it, and that was to go to Rhy?Din and meet them in person. What happened when he got there would remain to be seen.