Page 37 of The Iron Flower

I laugh through my tears and brush them away with the palm of one hand. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“It’s been too long, my dear.” His speech is slightly muffled. He pulls back to look at me, his own eyes moist. Worry momentarily threatens to overwhelm me as I notice that half of his face appears to have gone permanently slack.

“You’ve changed, my girl,” he says, concern briefly clouding his features. “I can see it in your face. You look...older. Tougher.” He considers this for a moment, brow furrowed, and his expression grows reflective, then gratified. “I’m glad of it,” he says, winking at me before pushing up his glasses and looking around. “So where are those brothers of yours?”

“Over there,” I say, gesturing toward Diana’s pack.

Uncle Edwin squints in their direction. “Ah, yes.” He smiles at me. “Shall we go over and say hello, then?”

It heartens me to see how casually willing Uncle Edwin is to meet a whole clan of shapeshifters. But that’s Uncle Edwin for you. He’s never been one to make judgments about others based on whether or not they’re Gardnerian.

My uncle’s arm threads through mine, and I slow my gait so he can keep up. Worry for him rises as I take in how much thinner and older he looks—so much frailer than I remember him.

We’ve all changed.

Rafe strides over with a broad, happy grin on his face and leans down to embrace Uncle Edwin. “Ah, Rafe, my boy,” our uncle says, chuckling as he pats Rafe on the back. “Your aunt certainly has given me an earful about you.”

Uncle Edwin pulls back from Rafe and looks around, finding Trystan, who is standing quietly off to the side. “And Trystan,” he says, tottering over to him. “My goodness, you’ve grown tall.”

“Hello, Uncle Edwin.” Anyone who doesn’t know Trystan would completely miss the tumult of emotion hiding behind the aloof expression on his face as our uncle pulls him into a warm hug.

“What’s this?” Uncle Edwin asks, looking down at the wand attached to Trystan’s belt.

“A present from Aunt Vyvian,” Trystan explains, looking a bit abashed.

Uncle Edwin frowns at this, then collects himself, turning to squint up at the most intimidating man in the room. Gunther Ulrich’s eyes are flickering back and forth between Rafe and Uncle Edwin, seeming surprised that my strapping, confident brother is related to my short, mild-mannered uncle.

Rafe gestures loosely toward Diana’s father. “This is Gunther Ulrich, alpha to the Gerwulf Pack.”

“Oh, yes. Well,” my uncle says, squinting up at Gunther through his thick glasses as he takes his hand. “Edwin Gardner. Rafe has written to me about you... A pleasure.”

Kendra bounces over to get a better look at my uncle. “Your beard is awfully fluffy!” she exclaims, giggling.

Uncle Edwin chuckles and pats Kendra on the head. “And you, young lady,” he tells her, “have a very impressive necklace on.”

“It’s my tooth collection!” she enthuses, fingering it proudly. “They’re all different, and I just got two new ones! Wanna see?”

Uncle Edwin adjusts his glasses again and leans over to “ooh” and “ahh” over each tooth as Kendra beams at him, delighted to have such an attentive audience.

“Where’s the rest of your pack?” she asks, looking around curiously.

“Kendra,” Gunther cuts in. “Remember, they have different ways.”

Uncle Edwin laughs and pats her on the head again. “We’re a pack of four, Kendra,” he explains. “Rafe, Elloren, Trystan and me.”

“That’sall?” Kendra exclaims, clearly confounded by the idea.

“That’s all.”

Her face screws up in consternation. “You must beterriblylonely.”

Uncle Edwin pauses for a moment and looks at her thoughtfully. “Yes...well. We get on just fine, the four of us.”

“But it’s toosmall!” Kendra insists. “I have Mother and Father and Diana and Jarod and all my cousins and four best girl friends and three best boy friends and...” After a few minutes of this, Kendra begins running out of counting fingers as she lists her favorite aunts and uncles and friends, painting a picture of a communal life rich in love and friendship.

“Wanna see my drawings?” she asks my uncle, completely changing the subject. “I know all about mushrooms. I made a book of all the different types.” She pulls a stack of papers out of her bag, bound together haphazardly with twine. The pictures are all carefully rendered in ink, painted over with watercolors.

“Why, these are very well done, Kendra,” my uncle praises her. “Very well done indeed.” He turns to Gunther, smiling. “You have quite the young artist here.”

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