Valentine's Resolve (Vampire Earth 6)

"Jumping", Narcisse warned, and the obsidian-toothed mouth formed a regretful "o".

Valentine took Blake up, turned the child's head up and away from his breast - no sense taking chances, and besides, he wanted a good look at the growing face. He was shocked at the weight gain. At two years and three months, Blake was a good deal heavier than a human child his size, perhaps the weight of a five-or six-year-old. "papa bek. papa bek. see bwaykh!"

"Yes, I'm back". Valentine's wary ears picked up a faint thump from beneath the cot and a little terrier mix appeared, wiggling as it scooted out.

"That's Wobble", Narcisse said. "Blake got heem as a puppy".

"wobbow not for eat", Blake informed Valentine, his blue-veined face going serious.

Wobble had a bare patch on his back and a tiny ridge of scar tissue, and a bit of a limp. Valentine wondered how many close calls Wobble had survived before Blake had finally learned.

"Of course he's not for eating", Valentine said, going down cross-legged - with a twinge from his bad left leg - so he could set Blake's formidable weight down and pet the squirmy dog. Of course when he'd run with Southern Command's Wolves he'd learned to dine on dog and had eaten them innumerable times since, but what was civilization but a lengthy set of agreed-upon tribal taboos?

Despite his change in size, Blake's grip on his arm and shoulder was a good deal more gentle than he remembered. What accidental pains Narcisse had suffered to her shattered body as Blake's nursemaid Valentine couldn't imagine.

Blake began to produce his favorite toys.

Which reminded Valentine. "I had a letter from Will and Gail. Ali tracked me down".

"A letter!" Narcisse said. The St. Louis Grogs weren't on any postal network. "What it said?"

Valentine handed her the grease-stained envelope, spiderwebbed with creases. "You can read it". Valentine went back to helping Blake work a spinning top made out of an old office-chair caster.

William Post, the former Quisling Coastal Marine who'd helped

Valentine while crossing the Caribbean in the old Thunderbolt, had been given a sinecure with Southern Command. With some reading between the lines Valentine determined that Post had made himself indispensable with his usual efficient intelligence. He'd been given a minor position cataloging captured documentation from the Gulf Coast area and the Mississippi River valley, and had started making educated guesses based on everything from shipping manifests to maintenance logs.

His evaluations, thanks to his years of experience in the area, won him a position in the staffs Threat Assessment Bureau. TAB was charged with ensuring that Southern Command wouldn't get surprised again by the kind of coordinated attack that had allowed Consul Solon to roll up Missouri and Arkansas.

The news contained in the letter was good. Post knew that someone working the Kurian Zone would just as soon hear nothing but cheer. He and Gail were settled in Fort Scott, a trolley ride from his air-conditioned office. Hank Smalls was getting good marks in school and had a place as top starting pitcher on the academy's baseball team. His fastball was already attracting local fans.

Valentine could almost recite it word for word, especially one tantalizing paragraph:

I'm breaking security with this, Dave, but it's nothing the KZ isn't aware of anyway. Thought you'd like to know there's been a spike of action up and down the Appalachians, mostly in the Virginias and Kentucky. Only info on it is from secondary sources, but it's all the same story: guerrillas on legworms, popping in and out of valleys, and the Karen't having much luck with their whackja-mole mallets. The coal mines are caught up in it, too. Here's the interesting bit: Supposedly some huge Grog's leading the revolt, bat ears and fur described as being either straw-colored or white. If we weren't SO short, we'd send a mission to help and I'd know for sure. It's been ugly.

Valentine had been tempted to tell Styachowski to let Mr. Adler remain mysterious and take the first slow barge up the Ohio.

Post's mention that Southern Command was short on "Special Operations" - Wolves or Cats and Bears in the latest military parlance - put him back on the leash.

Of course, it wouldn't be above Moira Styachowski to ask Post to slip in a mention from someone Valentine trusted as a clincher. Styachowski and Post were both veterans of Big Rock Hill. She might ask a favor.

And so what if she had? They're your friends, man. Been in the Zone too much. They've given you a taxing but not particularly dangerous job to bring you back into the fold. Be grateful. And stop tallying to yourself.

Narcisse waited until Blake was lost in the spinning, clattering, multicolored wheel from the old Life game to speak again.

"If Ali found you, that means they needed you to be found. Are you going off again?"

"Afraid so, Sissy", Valentine said. The wheel spun again and Blake pointed to the new number. Wobble chased his tail, imitating the whirling toy.

"You have so little time. He misses you, you know. He's human enough to pine. Too young to understand".

Valentine wondered how Narcisse had tipped to that. Of course he'd been interested in the challenge of the journey. But what was his absence doing to Blake? Was he cocking this up, along with everything else in his life? Wait, Val, you made a bargain with the past four years ago. Let it be. "Ten days. I'll stay here ten days. I need to fatten up on your cooking".

The wheel came off its mount. Blake picked up the wheel and offered it to Valentine, "papa help bwaykhl"

"You can do it yourself. See? Circle in the circle?"

Blake's bony features screwed up in thought. He put the spinner back in the little green dish of plastic. But he didn't align it and settle it on the pin. Valentine reached, but Blake gave it an experimental spin and sent it skittering across the floor.