Sawyer smiled at him, then winked at Beau. “See? A big softie.”
Ciaran rolled his eyes and walked toward the pulpit, if it could be called that. It was more of a lectern, no more than a tall rudimentary wooden stand, built with good intentions, worn with age. “I’m surprised the folk that lived here didn’t use this for firewood,” he said. “Or the pews.”
“Wouldn’t that be a sacrilege?” Sawyer asked. “To a religious person, that is.”
“Probably.” Beau nodded slowly, looking at the pulpit. “The wood still looks sound. We could make it into a teacher’s desk, or something.”
As Beau and Sawyer discussed plans and possibilities, Ciaran couldn’t help but smile. It was such a great idea, now he could see their vision. No matter how long the hatchlings were school-aged for, or if Pania and Otis one day decided to have their own family, making the old church into a school, was making Tenebrae their community.
This was their future. For the next generation. And that made Ciaran as proud as proud could be.
Then a sudden drip echoed from somewhere overhead. All three men looked upward. Another drip followed, and another.
Sawyer pointed toward where the far wall met the ceiling, where a stream of water ran down to the windowsill. “Oh no.”
But Ciaran was smiling now—not because the church was perfect, but because he could already see beyond what it was.
Fresh paint on the walls. Desks arranged across the refinished floor and pictures on the walls. Warm firelight in winter. Children’s voices and laughter where silence had lived too long.
Ciaran could see it now.
“We’ll need new tin on that end of the roof,” he said. “And that window should be replaced.”
“I can handle the windows,” Sawyer offered.
Beau smiled. “I can do the roof.”
Then Ciaran clapped his hands together. “Then let’s do it.”
Sawyer gave him an excited hug. “I can’t wait to tell Aurin and Salem!”
“How about we keep it a surprise for now,” Ciaran suggested gently. “We don’t want to overwhelm them.”
“They will love it.” Sawyer said, grinning excitedly. Then he stopped. “Tell me, when do cephamorph hatchlings first morph into human form? Like, how much time do we have?”
Ciaran made a face. “Not for a little while yet. Kellan might have a better understanding, though he did say they’d grown even overnight. One day old, and they’re ahead of the usual milestone markers. And there’s no saying if they’ll take after Aurin or Salem. We might end up with four kittens for a while.”
Beau looked kinda horrified, but Sawyer burst out laughing. “Either way, we need to get cracking. I’m gonna go tell Hendrix and Dylan and Fray and Tobin they’re on cleanup duty. Floors, walls, windows, mopping, scrubbing.”
“They’re gonna love that,” Ciaran deadpanned.
Sawyer didn’t seem to care. He all but skipped out the front door on a mission to get the others.
Ciaran smiled, his hearts warm. “You’ve created a monster,” he said to Beau.
Beau grimaced. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be,” Ciaran said. “I should thank you.”
SAWYER
It was the perfect distraction. A project Sawyer could sink his teeth into. He’d started immediately, corralling the others into helping, and they were happy to do so. Admittedly, they weren’t as enthused as he and Beau were, or even Ciaran for that matter, but they did help.
Beau checked over the beams and walls for rot or damp, and then he did the same with the foundations while Sawyer concentrated on the cosmetic fixes. He was no builder or even a handyman, really. And the cast on his arm didn’t help a great deal, but what he lacked in skill or ability, he made up for with enthusiasm.
Ciaran almost had a conniption when he came inside to see Sawyer up a ladder. Okay, so he might have been standing on the top rung, and it wasn’t particularly stable, but he was making progress.
He had the walkie-talkie clipped onto the back of his long pants in case Aurin or Salem needed anything, and he was on a mission.
