Cirque Diabolique: Fourth in the Brothers Series

By Julia Bunch, Clara M. Miller and Pamla Raye

Cirque Diabolique, the fourth volume in the BROTHERS SERIES, continues the story of the inhabitants of the little town of Scajaquada and their war with Lucifer. Lucifer is out to destroy those who have displeased him. He expects this will gain him control of his natural son, Matthew, who is being raised by his mother, Cathie and his real father, Michael Angeli--aka Michael the Archangel. As his weapon, he choses a method he has tried before in ancient Rome--a Circus. The little band of friends must, once again, find a way to defeat him and save Matthew.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 29, 2003
• ISBN: 9781469109671

Julia Bunch

The author was born in Buffalo, New York. Her first published book, Echoes of a Haunting (published in 1999) is her only attempt at non-fiction. In the fiction field, she has written the BROTHERS SERIES which, logically enough begins with BROTHERS, published in 2001. The second book, ONCE A DEMON, came out in 2002 and the third, BIRDS OF A FEATHER also in 2002. In 1975, she moved out West, first to California and then north to Oregon. She currently resides in the coastal town of Florence, Oregon with her mother, their dog, Brandy and a cat named Miss Kitty.

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Copyright © 2003 by Clara M. Miller.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

PROLOGUE

PART I

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

PART II

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

PART III

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

PART IV

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

PART V

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

DEDICATION

THE ENTIRE BROTHERS SERIES IS DEDICATED TO:

My mother, Ann Boland Miller, who never lost faith in me

and who has suffered through countless read-throughs

THIS VOLUME, THE FOURTH IN

THE BROTHERS SERIES IS DEDICATED TO:

My best friend, Ann Shirley Sobczak, who loves clowns

and my Granddaughter, Michelle Dandy, who doesn’t

Other books by Clara M. Miller

Non-Fiction:

Echoes of a Haunting

Fiction:

THE BROTHERS SERIES:

Brothers

Once a Demon

Birds of a Feather

CIRQUE DIABOLIQUE

Fourth in the BROTHERS SERIES

By Clara M. Miller

I think it’s about time for another installment of My story. If you’re like Me, you like to keep track of the people you care about and I hope you have come to care about some of the people in My little tale. I’d like to be able to say that My oldest son has learned his lesson but, alas, that is not the case. The little band in Scajaquada has riled some deep part of him which is not going to be assuaged until he wins. Whether that means when he defeats the group or when he talks Matthew into being the Antagonist, I don’t know. His mind is unfathomable even to Me. Still, I’m amazed and enormously pleased at the way mere human beings are able to adapt to some very strange situations and, indeed, turn them to their advantage. My tales, in case you haven’t already guessed, are My own personal tribute to them as I hold each and every one of them in the highest regard. Read on … .

T.O.M.

PROLOGUE

Scajaquada, New York is a small town whose population at the time of our story has grown to the impressive figure of 5,545 people. Part of the credit for the increase must be given to the high birth rate in the past few years and part to the New York City expatriates. These disenchanted people have discovered in the little seashore community a haven for those condemned and marginalized in more prejudicial societies. Until 1965, the little town had no grammar school but bused the younger children to a nearby community. In September of 1965, the officials, seeing the writing on the wall, opened a combination elementary/middle school in the area known as the Flats.

Scajaquada sits serenely on the southern shore of an isthmus stretching arrogantly out into the Atlantic Ocean. In spite of its provocative position, its weather is temperate. Although subject to winds from the vast expanse of water lapping at its shores, it is blessedly cool in the summer and untouched by the smog that smudges its giant neighbor to the north. The winters, of course, can be fierce. To the consternation of many other Islanders, the prevailing wind blows the worst of the snow inland leaving little Scajaquada shivering but unsnowbound.

The original inhabitants of Scajaquada, fishermen for the most part, were not the friendliest of people. Perhaps it was no coincidence that the name Scajaquada comes from an Indian word meaning beyond the multitudes. The exclusivism of its settlers found an outlet in their willingness to accept outcasts and eccentrics in preference to more commonplace types. As it grew and the fish population shrank, the town turned its efforts toward the dreaded tourism. With an inward shudder, the inhabitants forced themselves to welcome the mundane to share their cozy, if eccentric, little enclave.

Even the grudgingly-admitted newcomers, however, were expected to abide by the unbiased views of the locals. The two real estate firms in town surreptitiously gleaned out those who couldn’t or wouldn’t adapt. By a few well-chosen questions, the crafty salesmen knew who would learn to fit in the Scajaquada mold. Those bigoted individuals who were unacceptable found the real estate prohibitively high in price. Rupert Bridgeforth had started this practice in the early part of the century when it became apparent that the residents must make some compromise with the outside. His great-grandsons, Herman and Jerry, still lead the fight to keep Scajaquada out of mainstream, straightjacket Long Island. Some people question whether this lack of bigotry had wound up being a bigotry in itself.

The town’s selectivism is also evident in other ways. Even today, people find it hard to locate Scajaquada. No one is sure how it happened but the exit sign on the Expressway indicating Scajaquada leads instead to a labyrinth of back roads. The resultant confusion discourages all but an intrepid few from attempting to find the little town. Those in on the secret, take the Shoreline Highway exit. This main ramp emerges into the central part of town, just south of the Southtown Promenade.

To most New Yorkers, Scajaquada doesn’t exist. To most Long Islanders, Scajaquada is a small town they pass through only on their way to somewhere important. To the townspeople, Scajaquada is a secret they wish to keep. To Michael the Archangel, known locally as Michael Angeli, and his wife, Cathie, it’s the perfect place to live. To former demon, Otis Pritchard and his wife, Nell, it’s a warm womb but one they know is still under threat. To gay couple, Mitch Garfield and Todd Bechtold, it’s a sanctuary from the hatred and intolerance of the outside. To Lucifer, the Prince of Hell, it’s a challenge because Lucifer has many enemies here, enemies he’s itching to destroy.

His Brother, Michael, tops the list. Otis, as one of his former lackeys, is next. Then there are Mitch and Todd who earned his enmity by realizing his identity and refusing to be impressed. The pair had shooed him out of their lives with a disdain that provoked his infernal majesty. Lucifer’s disowned son, Ashmadai, now known as Ash Norton is also high on his hit list along with his wife, Caroline. Though they live with their family in Farrow’s Crossing, Lucifer plans to lure them to Scajaquada so he can deal with the whole group at once. No sense wasting energy, after all.

The only person in Scajaquada Lucifer really cares to preserve is his son. Matthew Nicholas lives with his mother and adoptive father, Cathie and Michael Angeli. This little boy is the son through whom the Prince of Hell hopes to establish the rule of Chaos on Earth. His attempt at marrying Cathie and raising his son himself failed. Nevertheless, if Lucifer has one outstanding trait, it’s his uncompromising, implacable persistence. In the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and sixty-eight, Lucifer has decided to try once more.

PART I

THE BEGINNING

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

from "Jabberwocky"

—Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)—

CHAPTER 1

The Netherworld

As usual, when his boss was in a snit, Beelzebub huddled in a corner of the office … . carefully out of the line of fire. Of course, he had to keep himself available in case his infernal majesty should beckon but, until then, he huddled. The residents of hell had suffered frequently from Lucifer’s temper so the labyrinthine halls outside the office were filled with tiptoeing senior-demons, demons and under-demons. The inner sanctum was virtually sound-proof but no one was willing to take the chance of further enraging the prince. So, they tiptoed.

Lucifer sat at his ebony desk, muttering obscenities under his breath. His strong, supple fingers were busily snapping pencils, one after the other, and flinging them to the thick, red carpet. From time to time, Bub would sneak up and replace the pile of writing instruments as quietly as possible. Then, he retrieved the splintered stubs and carefully discarded them in the wastebasket.

With a sudden gesture, calculated to throw his audience off guard, Lucifer spun his chair around toward his Chief Lieutenant. Beelzebub held his breath, shuddered and waited but not a word emerged from his master’s mouth. Perplexity vying with anger on his handsome face, Lucifer sprang to his feet. He strode fitfully back and forth, his manicured hands gracefully folded behind his back. Behind him was the ludicrous picture window that showed an impressive view of the New York City skyline. Bub huddled. The signs of an impending explosion were becoming more obvious by the minute. Bub didn’t want to be on the receiving end.

Spinning in his tracks, Lucifer turned once more and glared at Bub, I do not enjoy appearing the fool!

Bub nodded his head with what he hoped passed for enthusiastic endorsement.

Lucifer clasped his hands behind his back again and resumed his pacing. Once more he stopped. It was obvious whatever the master was thinking would emerge in dribs and drabs. His voice was low and dangerously controlled, I will not allow my Brother to gain the upper hand again. Imagine, The Old Man interfering. How dare He enter my kingdom! How dare He!

Pacing once more, Lucifer let the anger build until it almost choked him. Beelzebub, watching, could see his Master’s face grow alarmingly red. The little demon hugged his knees tighter, trying to make a smaller target.

Bub, I must have revenge! Lucifer’s hand came down on the desk so hard that its smooth, lacquered top split in two. He didn’t seem to notice. But how? How? What can I do to achieve both goals? I need a plot that will get Michael out of the way so I can avenge myself on those human cretins. And I need a way to reclaim my son. How can I entice my enemies into my web so I can crush them … . annihilate them? I must find an irresistible lure. What? How? Lucifer’s fist clenched and unclenched spasmodically.

Beelzebub frantically searched his mind for some idea, anything to try to appease the furious apparition before him. In a meek voice, he offered, Human beings love circuses, master. Remember Rome?

Lucifer stopped dead, "A circus! Yes, that’ll do it. A brilliant idea! I’m glad I thought of it. Let me consider how we should handle this. Bub!"

Beelzebub jumped a foot in the air. Yes, master!

Lucifer looked at him as though he would turn him into a cinder at the slightest provocation. "See that someone repairs my desk—IMMEDIATELY!"

All Bub could manage, between anxious gulps, was, Yes, sir!

Chuckling to himself, Lucifer left his office to think about circuses.

CHAPTER 2

Scajaquada—Friday—January 5, 1968

Cathie sighed with relief that this morning’s nausea had subsided. On Monday, she had an appointment with her gynecologist to find out if she could possibly be pregnant. She didn’t believe she was, but she could think of no other reason for her continuing illness. A virus should have passed by now. Michael was becoming more concerned by the day. Although she reassured him at every turn, she was a little worried herself. It wasn’t like her to be ill. Warily she thanked her lucky stars that, at least for the moment, the feeling had passed.

Now, she sat at the kitchen table waiting for her husband to come home for lunch. The custom was one they both looked forward to. Their home wasn’t too far from Michael’s place of business. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the presence of Scajaquada Creek running between, he could have strolled the short distance across the park separating them. The meandering stream, edged by willows and maples, ran down the center of a narrow arm of Scooter’s Park, neatly barring any passage between Shorehaven and Shoreview Drives. Michael was all for putting a footbridge across but the Town Council hadn’t deliberated the question as yet.

The Gardenin’ Angels Landscaping firm was thriving. In its six years of existence, it had become the company to hire. From a small one-truck, one-person operation, it had expanded until it now boasted ten trucks and over twenty workers. Otis Pritchard, its capable manager, made out schedules; set up appointments for new customers and kept the whole operation in peak running condition. Chuck Patterson supervised the gardeners; spot-checked their work and worked in the field himself. Gene Gruber, once a part-time helper, now worked full time as a mechanic, servicing their growing fleet of panel trucks. This left Michael the chore of interviewing new clients and giving estimates. In reality, the efficiency of his friends left him little to do but deal with the public. Since tact had never been his forte, he hoped one day to talk Cathie into taking over that job; he was much more adept at actual gardening than at sweet-talking clients. Besides, he missed the feel of rich, black earth running through his fingers.

During the winter months, Michael got to use his hands more often. Since no gardening was necessary, the firm contracted out to clear parking lots, private streets and driveways of snow. Employees built trellises and gazebos to order; and constructed easily put together storage sheds which they sold as do-it-yourself projects. Regular customers had their yards checked periodically for damaged shrubbery and, in heavy snowstorms, Michael’s crew even shoveled their sidewalks. These jobs, originally meant merely to fill in a dead time of the year, had developed into a lucrative sideline.

Each of the firm’s trucks sported their now famous logo—an Angel pushing a lawn mower with the motto: Gardenin’ Angels—We put a little Heaven in your Garden. The fact that the Angels, with the exception of the one on Chuck’s own truck, strongly resembled Michael was not a coincidence. Uriel, Michael’s Brother, had designed the logo with his tongue firmly planted in his Heavenly cheek. However, the Angel on Chuck’s vehicle looked just like its blonde, freckle-faced operator. After all, Uriel reasoned, Chuck was a supervisor. The cheerful little panel trucks were a common sight in the surrounding townships as well as Scajaquada. If indications were correct, Michael would soon have to expand their territory once more. Sometimes, he thought ruefully, Otis was too good a salesman.

Cathie heard Michael’s steps on the front porch and ran to greet him at the door. Sometimes, she marveled that the thrill of seeing him hadn’t diminished one bit in the six years since their marriage. If anything, it had increased.

Michael’s face lit up at the sight of his red-headed bride. No matter how long they were married, he still considered Cathie his bride. If I had lost her to Lucifer … . Quickly thrusting that horrible thought aside, he linked arms with her and together they entered the kitchen. As he took a seat at the table, he asked, Have the plans arrived yet?

She shook her head, Kim called, though, and asked a few questions about the placement of the family room. He wants to move it. I said he should draw the plans up the way he thinks best and we’ll look at them. And don’t worry. He says he’ll have them to us before the deadline’s up.

Michael looked chagrined. Sorry. I’m just anxious. You know how I get when I’m looking forward to something.

Cathie laughed and shook her head. We’re all looking forward to it, you know. Kim is doing it faster than I would have believed. So, be patient, my love, although I know that doesn’t come easy to you.

Michael shrugged. Honey, I was created for action, not waiting.

Their new home was in the planning stages and, until it was completed, they still lived in the little cottage on Shoreview Drive that had once been Cathie’s. At the recommendation of their friend, Mitch Garfield, they had hired a new architectural firm. Truckner and Son had opened its offices in town just two years ago. The company was headed by Kim Song Po Truckner. The young Korean was the adopted son of Mitch’s friend from the Marine Corps who had been killed in Vietnam. The plans weren’t due for a couple of weeks yet but Michael couldn’t contain his anxiety.

Their little house had only two bedrooms and, since Patricia’s birth, there were four of them. The children were growing rapidly and it wouldn’t be long before they’d be strapped for room. Michael still found it hard to believe how fast they were growing, though the Archangel’s experience with the development of human beings was, admittedly, limited. A rousing family party had celebrated Patricia’s first birthday just two days ago and Matthew would be five on the tenth of April.

Coming out of his preoccupation, Michael saw Cathie’s troubled expression. His smile faded abruptly. What’s wrong, honey? You’re not sick again, are you? His wife’s uncertain health in the past few weeks had Michael worried more than he would admit even to himself.

In spite of her pale face, Cathie denied the obvious. No, of course not. I’m fine. My stomach was a little upset this morning but it’s much better now. In fact, I’m going to have a sandwich with you although I think I’d better stick to toasted cheese rather than grilled.

Abruptly, she rose and began making their lunch. He sat at the table watching her. To his prejudiced eye, she hadn’t changed a bit with the birth of their two children. Her five feet eight inch figure was still slim and erect, her hair as fiery, her step as jaunty and her sense of humor as keen. Today, her pale complexion contrasted sharply with the intense color of her hair. A swelling in his chest made him realize how much he loved her. Strange, once he would have considered it impossible for an Archangel to love a mortal. Now he knew better.

She poured them each a glass of milk; slid the grilled cheese sandwich onto his plate and then joined him at the table. Mike, don’t you think we’ll both feel better after I’ve seen Dr. Pantera?

Swallowing hot cheese gingerly, he answered, What I really think is that you should let me do something to help you. I’m sure Father isn’t going to object to my settling your stomach. After all, He didn’t object when I helped Mitch.

Cathie took a bite of her own sandwich. Look, honey, I know you mean well but I also know that your Father doesn’t want you using any weird powers. With Mitch it was different. A bullet lodged dangerously near your spine is certainly more important than a little nausea. Anyway, it could be just the flu or some strange virus. Haven’t you noticed there are more and more viruses around lately?

Michael grunted, My brother probably invented them!

Cathie laughed, Do you really think so? It sounds like him, doesn’t it? Maybe it was Beelzebub’s idea. After all, he did invent flies, didn’t he?

Michael returned her laugh, feeling the tightness in his chest loosen a bit. He did at that. Maybe so. That little demon sure likes to cause trouble. Inventing viruses would be right up his alley.

Cathie finished the last of her sandwich and turned to her husband. Oh, I forgot. Mom asked if we could drop over and visit tonight. Bren and Naomi will be there with Bonnie. She says it’s just a normal family gathering but I have a sneaking suspicion she wants to check up on my health.

Michael smiled, glad of his mother-in-law’s concern. Sounds good to me. We’ll go right after dinner. I hope Matthew behaves better this time. A sigh forced its way from deep in his chest.

Cathie patted his arm. Little boys are bossy. He’ll get over it.

Michael grasped her hand, trying to communicate the urgency he felt. We’re not talking about just any little boy, honey. We’re talking about Lucifer’s son! I see signs of my brother in Matthew all the time and, frankly, it scares me.

Having had her own doubts, Cathie sighed, I know. But we’ll win yet—you just wait and see!

Gulping the last of his milk, he rose, The kids are napping, aren’t they? At her nod, he went on, I’ll just run up and look in on them. Then, I’ve got to go. The men are working on building trellises and gazebos in the new barn. It’s cold out there and this hasn’t even been a bad winter. We’re going to have to have some other method of heating installed. That wood stove just doesn’t throw out enough warmth.

Cathie looked intently at him, Whose idea was the stove anyway? Not Otis’s.

Michael laughed, No, Gene thought it would do. Said they use them a lot in garages. It obviously isn’t working in the barn. Otis wanted a forced air system he read about in some environmental magazine. You know him, he reads constantly. Actually, I’m not sure what I’d do without him. Don’t tell him that, though, because he wouldn’t believe you. Laughing, he bent over, kissed her and almost decided to take the rest of the day off. With a sigh, he knew that wasn’t practical.

Quickly, but quietly, he mounted the stairs to the second floor. As he entered the children’s room, the smell of talcum powder and baby shampoo reached his nose. Trish was fast asleep, her thumb in her mouth, her tiny body in a comforting fetal position. Matthew, however, was lying on his bed reading one of his books. He had raised his left knee and braced his right leg on it. One hand cradled his head. Michael smiled. The boy looked like a miniature adult. When he heard the door open, Matthew turned and faced his father. Knowing better than to make any noise and wake his sister, he waved his small hand and smiled. Michael tiptoed to the bed and whispered, What are you reading?

Whispering back, he answered, Mother Goose. I don’t know all the words, though.

Michael grinned, You’ll know them all soon enough. I’ll help you with it tonight, okay?

Matthew reached up and grabbed his father’s hair. Gently, he pulled him down and kissed him on the cheek. Michael felt moisture gathering in his eyes. Matthew might not be his biological son but he certainly was his real son. Michael smoothed the boy’s hair as he returned his kiss, I’ll see you tonight, honey.

Matthew nodded and waved goodbye as his father left the room. Michael returned to the kitchen, Our son is reading Mother Goose.

Cathie laughed, You know, he’s really pretty good. He knows most of the words. It surprises me how many hidden meanings there are in the rhymes. Was it always like that? I certainly didn’t notice when I was a kid.

Michael laughed, It was always so, Cathie. Some were written as political statements; some as incantations to repel evil and some as secret messages. Did you know that people used to chant the rhyme about Ring-around-the-Rosie to avoid catching Bubonic Plague? I don’t think it worked. I imagine some nursery rhymes might even have been written to amuse children. He winked at her laughing expression.

As he left, he added one last word. Hon, if you change your mind and want me to go to the doctor’s with you, just let me know. I’d be only too happy to oblige. That’d give me an excuse to take the day off. I’m sure we can think of something to pass the time! His attempt at a leer didn’t quite come off.

Cathie’s delighted laughter followed him all the way to his truck.

Supper, as always, was an adventure. Cathie had prepared Matthew’s favorite macaroni and cheese with chocolate blanc mange for dessert. Trish was busily painting her hair and the highchair with the sticky, yellow sauce topped by the rich brown smoothness of the pudding making an interesting display. Matthew, as usual, was busy talking.

His voice held a strange combination of pleading and command.

Daddy, I still think we should get a dog. Don’t you think a big old German Shepherd would be neat?

This was an old argument. Michael sighed, Misty is enough for right now. When you’re older and able to help care for one I’ll be happy to get you a dog. They’re a lot of work, you know. Besides, when we get our new home we’ll have more room for one. Adopting an animal is a lifetime proposition; it’s up to you to take care of a pet until they die.

Matthew threw down his spoon and stuck out his lower lip. His hands cradled his stubborn chin. Misty’s a cat! Who wants an old cat?

Cathie’s eyes blazed, That’s enough of that, young man! You know we don’t allow you to throw things around. Your sister will imitate you and she has quite enough tricks already. Pick your spoon up and start eating. Misty is a wonderful pet and you know it. She sleeps with you half the time. Since when do you dislike her?

Matthew picked up his spoon but the lip stayed in its forward position. "I don’t dislike her, but she’s a cat! Cats are sissies! A dog is a man’s pet."

Michael laughed, Where did you get that idea? Don’t you know that in olden days some cultures worshiped cats as gods?

Matthew’s lip did an abrupt withdrawal and his eyes opened wide, You’re kidding! They didn’t! Did they? Really?

His head swiveled from his mother to his father and back again. Cathie nodded solemnly, Sure. The next time we go to the museum, we’ll show you. The Egyptians embalmed their cats the same way they did people. Cats were sacred. In fact, one of their gods, named Bastet, was represented by the figure of a cat. In Egyptian homes if the pet ‘miu’, the house cat, died, its owners shaved their eyebrows in mourning. Just don’t tell Misty or she might expect a throne!

Michael mumbled under his breath, And I refuse to shave my eyebrows when Misty goes to her eternal reward.

Matthew laughed, his good humor quite restored. I’m gonna tell Pudgy about it tomorrow! He says cats are sissies.

Michael’s eyes narrowed. Who’s Pudgy?

Cathie answered, I wish he wouldn’t call him that but everyone does, I’m afraid. Pudgy’s real name is Elbert. You know the Dickerson’s down the street? Well, he’s their nephew and he’s visiting for a few months while his parents are in Europe. His pronouncements have caused no end of trouble in the neighborhood. No matter what the kids say, he proves them wrong. No matter what toys any of the kids have, he has better. You know the sort.

Michael nodded, Still, I don’t like the name if the children mean it to be insulting.

Matthew watched his mother and father, puzzlement written all over his face. What’s that mean? I’m not insulting him. He told me—Pudgy’s his name.

Cathie laughed as she fetched a face cloth to wipe her sticky daughter. "I guess you can’t argue with that. Elbert isn’t too easy a name to live with for a young boy either. Maybe he prefers Pudgy. Nevertheless, you aren’t to get into a fight with him over the relative merits of different pets. For one thing, he’s older and bigger than you. If he doesn’t like cats, he doesn’t know what he’s missing. He’s entitled to his own opinion, even if he’s wrong. So are you. Just be sure the opinion is you own. Now, if you’re finished, go and wash your face and hands and get ready to go to grandma’s."

Matthew made a face, "Do I have to go?"

Michael’s eyes widened, "I thought you loved going to your grandma’s."

Matthew wriggled in his chair. Yeah, but I’ll bet Bonnie will be there.

Cathie lifted Trish from her chair and balanced her easily on one hip. And just what’s wrong with Bonnie, my fine young man? She’s your cousin and you’ve been playing together since you were both younger than Trish.

Matthew looked astonished at his mother’s ignorance, But, mommy, she’s a girl!

Michael groaned, I believe this is where I came in! Come on, son, let’s go get washed up.

As always, Michael felt comfortable and welcome in the home of Cathie’s parents. John and Maggie had become real family to him. Automatically jiggling his knee, he now held his beloved Trish on his lap while Cathie lectured Matthew. Their son’s unfortunate habit of bossing other children and inflicting subtle cruelties on them had once again emerged. Tonight, he was picking on Bonnie, who was three months younger. Brendan’s daughter took the bossing in good enough humor, but Cathie and Michael were trying mightily to suppress their son’s inclination. None of the family with the possible exception of Brendan was aware that Dr. Lucius Farrell was Matthew’s biological father. Lately, they spent an inordinate amount of energy forcefully discouraging any tendency toward their son’s dictatorial inclinations while placating outraged relatives.

Brendan protested, I’m sure Matthew didn’t mean any harm. Bonnie doesn’t mind.

Naomi added, He’s right. Little boys have a tendency to be bossy anyway.

Cathie looked from her brother to his wife and frowned. Look, you guys, I appreciate your concern but Matthew is our responsibility. We don’t want him bullying anyone. This is the age to stop it, not when he’s too big to spank. At the last phrase, she turned her narrowed eyes on her offending son. Do you hear me, young man?

Matthew’s eyes dropped, Yes, mommy. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. His little lip trembled pathetically and, to the onlookers, he was a contrite, humbled child. However, Cathie, with her better viewpoint, could see the taunting, calculating look on his face and her temper rose. Matthew tended to play to his audience and, seeing the reaction of his aunt and uncle, he knew he had one.

Cathie took his face in her hands, Matthew, look at me! Don’t do it again. I mean it! His dark blue eyes flashed with a hint of malevolence and Cathie firmly repressed a shudder. He looked just like his diabolical father when he was angry. I will not be afraid of my own son! Inadvertently, she flinched and he noticed. Rebellion was written all over his face; he wouldn’t back down. Inwardly, she trembled. She found herself suddenly speechless. Neither she nor Michael knew what their son was capable of and she wasn’t anxious to find out.

His mouth tightening in annoyance, Michael handed the baby to Naomi and, squatting in front of him, faced Matthew. As always when talking to the boy, he kept his voice low and calm, I don’t like your attitude. We talked about this before, you and I. I hereby give Bonnie the right to kick you right in the shins if you try your ‘Napoleon’ act again. Do you understand what I’m saying?

A flair of rebellion sparked in his eyes but, abruptly, it subsided. Matthew sighed, I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget.

Michael put his arm around his son, I know you do but you’ve got to learn to be gentle with anyone younger and weaker than you. Because you’re strong doesn’t mean you can be the boss. It just gives you greater responsibility. Remember? He hugged Matthew hard and Matthew returned the pressure with tears in his eyes.

He whispered to Michael, I don’t know why I do that! I really don’t!

Pity for the little boy filled Michael. How much of his brother’s venomous blood would it take to corrupt their son and overcome the environment of love he and Cathie were surrounding him with? He kissed Matthew gently, It’s okay, son. I know you don’t. If you feel like that again you come and tell me or your mother, okay? Matthew sniffed and nodded. His dark blue eyes raised pleadingly to his father. Michael took out his handkerchief and gently wiped the boy’s nose.

The tension flowed from the boy like air going out of a balloon. Sometimes, he acts as though he’s two different people which isn’t too far from the truth, Michael thought ruefully. With the swift turnaround of emotion that was his trademark, Matthew stood placidly then. He leaned against Michael’s leg and looked adoringly up into his father’s face.

Cathie breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude. There was a close bond between the two even if Michael weren’t his biological father. When Michael leaned over and kissed the boy, his dark wavy hair mingling with Matthew’s golden blonde curls. The facial features of the two were very similar; their coloring was the only noticeable difference. But in temperament, they were vastly dissimilar. If only they could impart some of Michael’s gentleness and caring to the boy everything would be fine. This was a fight for their son’s soul and would last until the day Matthew finally made his own choice. Cathie shivered at the thought.

John and Maggie walked in the room at that point carrying beer for the adults and soda for the children; bags of chips and pretzels dangled under John’s arm. After making sure they had given everyone refreshments, Maggie settled into an armchair and John into his recliner. John sighed. It had been a hard day. This weekend he planned on broaching the subject of his retirement to Maggie. John was sixty-three years old and had worked for the New York City Police Department since he was twenty. Lately, he felt every one of those years.

Now, he turned on his brightest smile and faced his daughter. Well, I’m glad to see you’re looking better. When we saw you at Trish’s party, you looked like the last rose of summer.

Cathie grinned. I’m feeling fine right now, dad. I have an appointment with Dr. Pantera on Monday so maybe I’ll get some answers then. I know I’m not pregnant but I want to get a doctor’s opinion. If he can’t find anything wrong, I’ll probably go to Dr. Cronin.

Brendan looked concernedly at his sister. I know Dr. Cronin is your family physician but why don’t you stop by my office after you see Pantera? I’d kind of like to make sure myself there’s nothing seriously wrong.

Bren, I’m a fairly competent nurse. I’m sure I’d be aware if I had any symptoms of a serious disease. Anyway, I really don’t want to suffer through an upper GI.

Bren