Fic: Lost and Found , Heir Series, Rated: PG, Seph McCauley, Leander Hastings, Genevieve LeClerc
Title: Lost and Found (1/?)
Author: in_excelsis_dea
Characters: Genevieve LeClerc, Leander Hastings, Seph McCauley
Fandom: Heir Series by Cinda Williams Chima
Rating: PG
Prompt: 64damn_prompts prompt 9 connection and firstline_fic prompt the scarlet of blood is a stark contrast to the pure white snow.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
AN: A prequel to Need. No real spoilers except for Seph's history. Character death, but not graphic.
The scarlet of blood is a stark contrast to the pure white snow. He slams on his breaks and the car slides a few feet before stopping. It's lucky that the highway is devoid of traffic, he thinks for a split second, before throwing off his seat belt and jumping from the car.
The two vehicles ahead of him are not in good condition. The car has just set on fire and the 18-wheeler truck is on its side, half-way down the ditch, wheels still spinning. It's an absolute bloody miracle that the car, albeit being on fire, is still in one piece. It ought to have been completely crushed by the collision, the way the truck hit it head on.
He stops at the car first, something telling him that it is important. He's had these glimpses before, a stirring in his stone that warns him of impending danger, or conveys a great urgency to get something done before it's too late. The car is, except for the flames underneath the hood, in surprisingly good condition, and it's the first hint that magic might have played a role. The woman in the driver's seat seems to be moving in and out of consciousness, her eyes fluttering as her head rests against the wheel. She does not appear familiar in any way, her hair a golden color, her appearance puts her in her forties, her clothes suggest a decent income, but still practical enough to convey that she works for her income.
It's the boy in the passenger seat that catches his eye, a gangly adolescent with dark curls, shaking the woman in horror. "Genevieve, Genevieve, come on! I'm so sorry, this is all my fault! I didn't mean to have you crash, it was the power, I swear, it was an accident!"
Slipping into the role of command, the man knocks on the window. The boy freezes and then turns towards him, bright green eyes wide. "Are you all right?"
"I-" He coughs, "I'm fine. But my foster mother- she's really hurt. I think. I didn't mean to do it!" He exclaims again, flustered.
"Get out of the car," the man orders. "Leave your foster mother to me." He yanks the door, a charm whispered under his breath to allow the door to come free from the pulling. The door falls off and he uses the same spell to rip the seat belt off of the woman. She moves in his arms as he cradles her, striding a safe distance from the car and whispering another charm to clear the snow from the grass and heat up the area slightly, so that she will not freeze on the cold, snow-covered ground. The boy trots after him, clearly distraught.
"Stay here, I'm going to check on the other driver." But before he can fully stand, a huge explosion causes the rig to blow up, sending metal debris high into the sky. Without a thought of the possible Anaweir, he speaks a charm, throwing a shield up before the chunks of fire and metal rain down upon them. The boy stares at him, wide-eyed, mouth open.
"Are you- are you a wizard?" The man looks up to meet the boy's eyes, his expression taking a peculiar turn. So. The boy and his guardian were Weir. That would explain the explosion, the state of the car, the erratic driving he witnessed just before the car was hit by the truck. An untrained wizard- he recognized the signs. Very interesting...
"Yes." The man answers curtly, turning back to the woman. "I am going to heal your guardian."
"No." The woman groans, bringing both of their attentions back to her. "You're not supposed to be here. Linda promised she wouldn't tell." The woman has a frightened look on her face, as she stares between the two of them. "She promised."
"Linda." The words nearly knock the breath out of him. Linda. What the hell did this woman have to do with Linda of all people? Linda was either dead or in the Trade, wasn't she? He had stopped searching like a maniac for her years ago, but he had never truly stopped searching. He still ran through his contacts every few months, tried to reach her in their old methods, kept an eye out and an ear to the ground for word on the young, spirited enchanter who truly wanted to change the world.
He originally had been searching for some information on a certain recipe for a long-lost potion and had been told that there might be a sorcerer in Canada, probably in the Toronto- or at least Ontario- area that might be able to help him. And so he had taken a flight out, going from the warm summer weather of Australia in December to the frigid Canadian winter, meeting with people and trying to track down this sorcerer.
Apparently the tip he had received after the Game in Australia had paid off.
He might not have found the sorcerer. But information on Linda- well, that was worth more to him.
Much more.
"What do you know about Linda?" He half-whispers, half-shouts, a breathy sound coming from his throat. "Is she alive?"
"I told her I'd protect him. I promised her. She told me you would never come, you would never know." She winces, and without thinking, he pulls off his parka and lays it over her, whispering another charm for warmth. She relaxes somewhat, and the boy takes the time to kneel down next to her, taking her hand.
"I'm so sorry, Genevieve," he murmurs, tears in his eyes. "I didn't mean to cause the accident, I just wanted to know about my family. I'm so sorry."
He watches the boy, confusion in his eyes. "You're a wizard?" He finally questions, laying a hand upon the woman's- Genevieve's- arm and channeling power into her.
"He's not to get involved! I promised her that!" She tries to sit up, and her own magic pushes against his healing touch. A sorcerer, then, with quite a gift of healing herself. Quite possibly the exact sorcerer he was supposed to track down...
"Involved in what?" He idly asks, using a charm to relax her- or at least attempting to. This woman did not want to submit to him, and while he could force her, something held him back. He truly wanted to learn what he could from her, to figure out what she knew about Linda.
"The Resistance, the fighting, everything." She coughs, "I helped Linda deliver, I raised him, raised him free from all the Weir and the battles. He's just a boy, he doesn't need to be involved. I promised her, promised her I'd keep him away from the Roses, away from you." She pauses, and the boy uses the time to squeeze her hand harder, tears falling down his cheeks. He murmurs something Leander can't make out, and she raises an unsteady hand to brush away locks of hair that have fallen in his eyes. "She- she cried herself to sleep every night when she first came. Nightmares plagued her. The Roses, stealing him away. You walking into a trap, because they had him. She was so worried- about both of you. So she left him with me, away from it all. And I promised her I would keep him safe and not involve him in anything."
I helped Linda deliver. I promised I'd keep him away from you. The Roses stealing him away. Walking into a trap.
The words resonate within him.
He'd never walk into a trap, he wants to protest. Not without being fully prepared. But something stills his outburst, as he thinks things through a bit more.
The facts: Linda left, without a trace. He woke up one morning to find her gone from bed, gone from his life. A note on the table said she went to get coffee. There was no trace of her from that point on. He figured the Roses or the Trade had gotten a hold of her- the Roses, because she had been interfering for the last year, the Trade because she was an enchanter.
But- what if- it couldn't be.
Well, it could, but it was so far-fetched that he barely paid it heed. Because, after all, a baby? Why would she leave? While it wouldn't have exactly been practical, he would have never turned away his child. She knew how much he missed his family, how it drove him. She knew that he would instantly take responsibility for his child, that he would do anything to protect it- and her. They had been working together for over a year by the time she disappeared, had been sleeping together, in a relationship, for over half that time.
In retrospect, it was rather surprising that she didn't conceive until she did. They hadn't exactly been paying attention to protection, but caught up in the whirlwind of fighting the Trade, convening with others in the Resistance, and staying alive.
But then the words came back to him.
Linda was scared. That would- well, he could see that. Hell, he was scared- is still scared, sometimes, when it comes down to it. They're fighting a nearly impossible battle, with very few wizards on their side. They had the help of the Underguilds, but they were frightened and prone to running. In the last twelve years, things really hadn't changed that much. He spent his time hunting down Warriors, saving them from the Trade, breaking in and stealing from the Roses, destroying things and generally being a nuisance. It wasn't- it wasn't exactly a life fit for childbearing.
Except that Linda had bore his child.
His son.
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." The boy is still kneeling on the ground, nearly covering Genevieve's body. "Please, don't leave me. It was an accident."
"I'll never truly leave you," she whispers, and Leander realizes that she's very close to death. Close enough, that he won't be able to heal her. Not when she keeps fighting him and his power. "I love you." She squeezes his hand tightly, brings it shakily to her lips and presses a light kiss to it. "It wasn't your fault, dear one. And I'm not leaving you completely alone. You asked, and he answered. I'll always be with you." The last sentence was spoken in French, half a sigh, and as the final word passed her lips, her eyes closed and her life left her.
The boy collapses over her, sobbing in earnest. In the distance, Leander can hear police sirens and he realizes that someone must have seen the accident and called it in. In his haste- in his confusion over Linda and his apparent fatherhood- he had completely forgotten to make the call himself.
"We have to go," he finally says, taking down the shield charm, rising to his feet. He uses the time to watch the boy, frowning in thought. The boy- and he still didn't know his name- was probably somewhere around eleven and thirteen. Seeing it had been just about thirteen years since he had last seen Linda, if the boy were around twelve, it would work. He had no idea how far along Linda was when she ran initially, but she hadn't began showing yet, which meant she probably wasn't more than four or so months pregnant, which would...well. Four months in the beginning of December when she left would make the baby due in May... but she could have been less than four months pregnant. If he remembers correctly, women can't really find out until they were a month or two pregnant. So the baby could have been born anytime from May to early August, which would make his son about twelve and a half.
The age fit.
The looks fit, he realized. Under close scrutiny, the boy could very well have his cheek bones, his brow, his nose. Hell, he even had his eyes, the same startling green. Except- now the boy was looking up at him, his eyes still filled with tears, as they flashed to a golden brown color Leander remembered well, the same color that Linda's eyes took on when she was feeling intense emotion, be it running from Traders, fighting for their lives or when he was poised above her in bed, about to enter her.
And then it hits him suddenly, a wave of rage. Linda hid his son from him. She brought him to who knows where, left him with this strange woman, did not even have the decency to look in on him herself. He remembers the boy's words earlier- he had wanted information on his parents.
His parents.
One of which was standing across from him.
"Go where?" The boy shuffles his feet, sniffs. "What about Genevieve?"
"There's no time for questions." He wants to snap, but forces himself to soften his voice. "Your foster mother is dead. One truck is completely destroyed. It's best not to stick around. We need to talk, but we can't do that here, and the police won't let me see you again if they take you into their care."
"We can't leave her here!" The boy protests, sniffing again. "She needs a proper burial."
"And we can't stay." Leander hisses, trying to convey the urgency of the situation. "No matter what you intended, you used a large burst of power to cause an accident of that magnitude. It's unlikely, but we can't be sure that there aren't other wizards around, investigating. We have to leave quickly."
The boy looks up at him, glaring with an intense heat that Leander recognizes as his own glare, a glare he saves for the Roses and Traders who are foolish enough to get in his way. "No. I'm not leaving."
He's surprised the boy didn't stamp his foot.
This is the last bloody thing he needs. "Do you want to end up a ward of the state? Linda is, for all intents and purposes, dead. Your foster mother is dead. There is no one else except me who knows about you, and we need to discuss a key number of things. But," he pauses, seizing the fleeing thought, "if you come with me, I can tell you everything you want to know about your father, at least."
"You knew my father?" The boy stares at him sceptically. "My father was Jared McCauley and he was a software engineer in California and he and my mother died when I was a baby."
"I highly doubt you believe that story," Leander finally gives in and reaches down to pull Genevieve's body into his arms. "Otherwise you wouldn't have asked your foster mother about it to the point where you lost control and set the car on fire. We must leave now, but I will ensure that she gets a proper burial if you come with me."
The boy wastes a few seconds staring at him, before nodding curtly. "Fine."
Oddly enough, the car is still in okay condition. It will obviously not run anymore, but the fire seems to be confined to the engine, burning on a fuel source that doesn't seem to exist. Wizard's Fire- extremely dangerous, but also containable to a point, depending on intent and the will of the wizard.
"Grab anything out of the car you want to save." Leander orders, as he gently slides the woman's body back into the driver's seat.
"There's- there's nothing, really." The boy shuffles around to him. "What are you going to-"
"Stand back." And with a murmured word, the car explodes in front of them, Leander once more throwing up a shield to spare them from the debris.
"No!" The boy screams. "Why did you do that?"
"Because she'll get her proper burial now," he replies, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "The police will see the car and the truck, and surmise- correctly- that there was a collision and both vehicles exploded. There will be no trace of you. They will most likely assume that you were in the car with her. They will give her a funeral and you needn't worry about it any longer, because she is gone, and you are not, and the living are more important than the dead."
"What-" The boy tries to visibly reign in sobs, "what now?"
"You'll come with me, and I will explain things," Leander replies, showing the boy towards his car, still parked on the road. It's a miracle, he reflects, that the police still haven't gotten there yet, until he sees the telltale shimmer of a barrier and realizes that either the boy or the woman must have subconsciously put it up. He watches the boy climb into the passenger seat of his car and buckle up, rubbing at his eyes, shivering in the cold. Leander climbs in quickly and turns on the heating as far as it can go.
"Where are we going?" The boy asks, as Leander pulls the car out and gets back onto the actual paved road, murmuring a charm to take down the barrier when he gets far enough away.
He spares a glance at the boy, his now blue eyes- the same shade as Linda's normally were- watches him in confusion. "Some place we can get something to eat," he finally replies. "Somewhere we can talk about your parents."
Author: in_excelsis_dea
Characters: Genevieve LeClerc, Leander Hastings, Seph McCauley
Fandom: Heir Series by Cinda Williams Chima
Rating: PG
Prompt: 64damn_prompts prompt 9 connection and firstline_fic prompt the scarlet of blood is a stark contrast to the pure white snow.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
AN: A prequel to Need. No real spoilers except for Seph's history. Character death, but not graphic.
The scarlet of blood is a stark contrast to the pure white snow. He slams on his breaks and the car slides a few feet before stopping. It's lucky that the highway is devoid of traffic, he thinks for a split second, before throwing off his seat belt and jumping from the car.
The two vehicles ahead of him are not in good condition. The car has just set on fire and the 18-wheeler truck is on its side, half-way down the ditch, wheels still spinning. It's an absolute bloody miracle that the car, albeit being on fire, is still in one piece. It ought to have been completely crushed by the collision, the way the truck hit it head on.
He stops at the car first, something telling him that it is important. He's had these glimpses before, a stirring in his stone that warns him of impending danger, or conveys a great urgency to get something done before it's too late. The car is, except for the flames underneath the hood, in surprisingly good condition, and it's the first hint that magic might have played a role. The woman in the driver's seat seems to be moving in and out of consciousness, her eyes fluttering as her head rests against the wheel. She does not appear familiar in any way, her hair a golden color, her appearance puts her in her forties, her clothes suggest a decent income, but still practical enough to convey that she works for her income.
It's the boy in the passenger seat that catches his eye, a gangly adolescent with dark curls, shaking the woman in horror. "Genevieve, Genevieve, come on! I'm so sorry, this is all my fault! I didn't mean to have you crash, it was the power, I swear, it was an accident!"
Slipping into the role of command, the man knocks on the window. The boy freezes and then turns towards him, bright green eyes wide. "Are you all right?"
"I-" He coughs, "I'm fine. But my foster mother- she's really hurt. I think. I didn't mean to do it!" He exclaims again, flustered.
"Get out of the car," the man orders. "Leave your foster mother to me." He yanks the door, a charm whispered under his breath to allow the door to come free from the pulling. The door falls off and he uses the same spell to rip the seat belt off of the woman. She moves in his arms as he cradles her, striding a safe distance from the car and whispering another charm to clear the snow from the grass and heat up the area slightly, so that she will not freeze on the cold, snow-covered ground. The boy trots after him, clearly distraught.
"Stay here, I'm going to check on the other driver." But before he can fully stand, a huge explosion causes the rig to blow up, sending metal debris high into the sky. Without a thought of the possible Anaweir, he speaks a charm, throwing a shield up before the chunks of fire and metal rain down upon them. The boy stares at him, wide-eyed, mouth open.
"Are you- are you a wizard?" The man looks up to meet the boy's eyes, his expression taking a peculiar turn. So. The boy and his guardian were Weir. That would explain the explosion, the state of the car, the erratic driving he witnessed just before the car was hit by the truck. An untrained wizard- he recognized the signs. Very interesting...
"Yes." The man answers curtly, turning back to the woman. "I am going to heal your guardian."
"No." The woman groans, bringing both of their attentions back to her. "You're not supposed to be here. Linda promised she wouldn't tell." The woman has a frightened look on her face, as she stares between the two of them. "She promised."
"Linda." The words nearly knock the breath out of him. Linda. What the hell did this woman have to do with Linda of all people? Linda was either dead or in the Trade, wasn't she? He had stopped searching like a maniac for her years ago, but he had never truly stopped searching. He still ran through his contacts every few months, tried to reach her in their old methods, kept an eye out and an ear to the ground for word on the young, spirited enchanter who truly wanted to change the world.
He originally had been searching for some information on a certain recipe for a long-lost potion and had been told that there might be a sorcerer in Canada, probably in the Toronto- or at least Ontario- area that might be able to help him. And so he had taken a flight out, going from the warm summer weather of Australia in December to the frigid Canadian winter, meeting with people and trying to track down this sorcerer.
Apparently the tip he had received after the Game in Australia had paid off.
He might not have found the sorcerer. But information on Linda- well, that was worth more to him.
Much more.
"What do you know about Linda?" He half-whispers, half-shouts, a breathy sound coming from his throat. "Is she alive?"
"I told her I'd protect him. I promised her. She told me you would never come, you would never know." She winces, and without thinking, he pulls off his parka and lays it over her, whispering another charm for warmth. She relaxes somewhat, and the boy takes the time to kneel down next to her, taking her hand.
"I'm so sorry, Genevieve," he murmurs, tears in his eyes. "I didn't mean to cause the accident, I just wanted to know about my family. I'm so sorry."
He watches the boy, confusion in his eyes. "You're a wizard?" He finally questions, laying a hand upon the woman's- Genevieve's- arm and channeling power into her.
"He's not to get involved! I promised her that!" She tries to sit up, and her own magic pushes against his healing touch. A sorcerer, then, with quite a gift of healing herself. Quite possibly the exact sorcerer he was supposed to track down...
"Involved in what?" He idly asks, using a charm to relax her- or at least attempting to. This woman did not want to submit to him, and while he could force her, something held him back. He truly wanted to learn what he could from her, to figure out what she knew about Linda.
"The Resistance, the fighting, everything." She coughs, "I helped Linda deliver, I raised him, raised him free from all the Weir and the battles. He's just a boy, he doesn't need to be involved. I promised her, promised her I'd keep him away from the Roses, away from you." She pauses, and the boy uses the time to squeeze her hand harder, tears falling down his cheeks. He murmurs something Leander can't make out, and she raises an unsteady hand to brush away locks of hair that have fallen in his eyes. "She- she cried herself to sleep every night when she first came. Nightmares plagued her. The Roses, stealing him away. You walking into a trap, because they had him. She was so worried- about both of you. So she left him with me, away from it all. And I promised her I would keep him safe and not involve him in anything."
I helped Linda deliver. I promised I'd keep him away from you. The Roses stealing him away. Walking into a trap.
The words resonate within him.
He'd never walk into a trap, he wants to protest. Not without being fully prepared. But something stills his outburst, as he thinks things through a bit more.
The facts: Linda left, without a trace. He woke up one morning to find her gone from bed, gone from his life. A note on the table said she went to get coffee. There was no trace of her from that point on. He figured the Roses or the Trade had gotten a hold of her- the Roses, because she had been interfering for the last year, the Trade because she was an enchanter.
But- what if- it couldn't be.
Well, it could, but it was so far-fetched that he barely paid it heed. Because, after all, a baby? Why would she leave? While it wouldn't have exactly been practical, he would have never turned away his child. She knew how much he missed his family, how it drove him. She knew that he would instantly take responsibility for his child, that he would do anything to protect it- and her. They had been working together for over a year by the time she disappeared, had been sleeping together, in a relationship, for over half that time.
In retrospect, it was rather surprising that she didn't conceive until she did. They hadn't exactly been paying attention to protection, but caught up in the whirlwind of fighting the Trade, convening with others in the Resistance, and staying alive.
But then the words came back to him.
Linda was scared. That would- well, he could see that. Hell, he was scared- is still scared, sometimes, when it comes down to it. They're fighting a nearly impossible battle, with very few wizards on their side. They had the help of the Underguilds, but they were frightened and prone to running. In the last twelve years, things really hadn't changed that much. He spent his time hunting down Warriors, saving them from the Trade, breaking in and stealing from the Roses, destroying things and generally being a nuisance. It wasn't- it wasn't exactly a life fit for childbearing.
Except that Linda had bore his child.
His son.
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." The boy is still kneeling on the ground, nearly covering Genevieve's body. "Please, don't leave me. It was an accident."
"I'll never truly leave you," she whispers, and Leander realizes that she's very close to death. Close enough, that he won't be able to heal her. Not when she keeps fighting him and his power. "I love you." She squeezes his hand tightly, brings it shakily to her lips and presses a light kiss to it. "It wasn't your fault, dear one. And I'm not leaving you completely alone. You asked, and he answered. I'll always be with you." The last sentence was spoken in French, half a sigh, and as the final word passed her lips, her eyes closed and her life left her.
The boy collapses over her, sobbing in earnest. In the distance, Leander can hear police sirens and he realizes that someone must have seen the accident and called it in. In his haste- in his confusion over Linda and his apparent fatherhood- he had completely forgotten to make the call himself.
"We have to go," he finally says, taking down the shield charm, rising to his feet. He uses the time to watch the boy, frowning in thought. The boy- and he still didn't know his name- was probably somewhere around eleven and thirteen. Seeing it had been just about thirteen years since he had last seen Linda, if the boy were around twelve, it would work. He had no idea how far along Linda was when she ran initially, but she hadn't began showing yet, which meant she probably wasn't more than four or so months pregnant, which would...well. Four months in the beginning of December when she left would make the baby due in May... but she could have been less than four months pregnant. If he remembers correctly, women can't really find out until they were a month or two pregnant. So the baby could have been born anytime from May to early August, which would make his son about twelve and a half.
The age fit.
The looks fit, he realized. Under close scrutiny, the boy could very well have his cheek bones, his brow, his nose. Hell, he even had his eyes, the same startling green. Except- now the boy was looking up at him, his eyes still filled with tears, as they flashed to a golden brown color Leander remembered well, the same color that Linda's eyes took on when she was feeling intense emotion, be it running from Traders, fighting for their lives or when he was poised above her in bed, about to enter her.
And then it hits him suddenly, a wave of rage. Linda hid his son from him. She brought him to who knows where, left him with this strange woman, did not even have the decency to look in on him herself. He remembers the boy's words earlier- he had wanted information on his parents.
His parents.
One of which was standing across from him.
"Go where?" The boy shuffles his feet, sniffs. "What about Genevieve?"
"There's no time for questions." He wants to snap, but forces himself to soften his voice. "Your foster mother is dead. One truck is completely destroyed. It's best not to stick around. We need to talk, but we can't do that here, and the police won't let me see you again if they take you into their care."
"We can't leave her here!" The boy protests, sniffing again. "She needs a proper burial."
"And we can't stay." Leander hisses, trying to convey the urgency of the situation. "No matter what you intended, you used a large burst of power to cause an accident of that magnitude. It's unlikely, but we can't be sure that there aren't other wizards around, investigating. We have to leave quickly."
The boy looks up at him, glaring with an intense heat that Leander recognizes as his own glare, a glare he saves for the Roses and Traders who are foolish enough to get in his way. "No. I'm not leaving."
He's surprised the boy didn't stamp his foot.
This is the last bloody thing he needs. "Do you want to end up a ward of the state? Linda is, for all intents and purposes, dead. Your foster mother is dead. There is no one else except me who knows about you, and we need to discuss a key number of things. But," he pauses, seizing the fleeing thought, "if you come with me, I can tell you everything you want to know about your father, at least."
"You knew my father?" The boy stares at him sceptically. "My father was Jared McCauley and he was a software engineer in California and he and my mother died when I was a baby."
"I highly doubt you believe that story," Leander finally gives in and reaches down to pull Genevieve's body into his arms. "Otherwise you wouldn't have asked your foster mother about it to the point where you lost control and set the car on fire. We must leave now, but I will ensure that she gets a proper burial if you come with me."
The boy wastes a few seconds staring at him, before nodding curtly. "Fine."
Oddly enough, the car is still in okay condition. It will obviously not run anymore, but the fire seems to be confined to the engine, burning on a fuel source that doesn't seem to exist. Wizard's Fire- extremely dangerous, but also containable to a point, depending on intent and the will of the wizard.
"Grab anything out of the car you want to save." Leander orders, as he gently slides the woman's body back into the driver's seat.
"There's- there's nothing, really." The boy shuffles around to him. "What are you going to-"
"Stand back." And with a murmured word, the car explodes in front of them, Leander once more throwing up a shield to spare them from the debris.
"No!" The boy screams. "Why did you do that?"
"Because she'll get her proper burial now," he replies, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "The police will see the car and the truck, and surmise- correctly- that there was a collision and both vehicles exploded. There will be no trace of you. They will most likely assume that you were in the car with her. They will give her a funeral and you needn't worry about it any longer, because she is gone, and you are not, and the living are more important than the dead."
"What-" The boy tries to visibly reign in sobs, "what now?"
"You'll come with me, and I will explain things," Leander replies, showing the boy towards his car, still parked on the road. It's a miracle, he reflects, that the police still haven't gotten there yet, until he sees the telltale shimmer of a barrier and realizes that either the boy or the woman must have subconsciously put it up. He watches the boy climb into the passenger seat of his car and buckle up, rubbing at his eyes, shivering in the cold. Leander climbs in quickly and turns on the heating as far as it can go.
"Where are we going?" The boy asks, as Leander pulls the car out and gets back onto the actual paved road, murmuring a charm to take down the barrier when he gets far enough away.
He spares a glance at the boy, his now blue eyes- the same shade as Linda's normally were- watches him in confusion. "Some place we can get something to eat," he finally replies. "Somewhere we can talk about your parents."