Peter shrugged. “Are you sure? I mean, not to be insulting, but you’re obviously pretty tired. Maybe you’re confused?” He reached out a tentative finger, but pulled it back when she glared at him.
“I may be tired,” Donata said, “but I know the difference between what I saw that first day and what I’m looking at right now.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll take your word for it. But I still don’t understand why you’re worried about me touching it. I’m not a Witch.”
Donata rubbed one hand over her eyes, feeling like someone had poured ashes into them. Actually, considering her alley face-to-face with Dhumavati, someone probably had. She sighed. It was way too late at night to be explaining the obvious.
“I didn’t say the curse only affected Witches,” she said, impatience making her short with him. “Clement Moore said it affected all Paranormals. And since you’re half Dragon, that means you too.”
Peter gaped at her. “I’m half what?”
Oh, crap. Double crap. This is what came of spending two days in far over your head on too little sleep. She’d completely forgotten that he didn’t know about his Dragon heritage. Now what was she going to do?
One look at his scowling face told her it was too late to backtrack. Besides, she rationalized, he was going to have to know more about the whole mess if he was going to work on the painting. Right? Oh, just hell.
Peter reached out and grabbed her chin in one hand so she was forced to gaze directly at him. His eyes were black again, and glowed as if backlit. If she’d needed any more proof about his father’s race, she had it now.
“Tell. Me. What. You’re. Talking. About,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m half what?”
Donata pulled her chin out of his grasp and picked up her empty teacup in self-defense. “Um, Dragon. You’re half Dragon. On your father’s side. More tea, please?”
Peter looked like he didn’t know which question to ask her first, but dutifully poured more tea into her cup. “Dragons? There are Dragons? What other kinds of creatures are there if there are Dragons? And how can I be a Dragon? I feel perfectly normal. And are you saying my father is a Dragon?”
He put the teapot down gently, but she saw it tremble slightly as it came to rest on the countertop. Well, she guessed her hands would shake, too, if someone dropped a bombshell on her like she’d just dropped on him.
“Look, Peter,” she said softly. “I’m really sorry I sprang it on you like this. I’m so tired, I forgot you didn’t know already.”
He shook his head as if trying to clear away the fog that had suddenly obscured all the things he thought he’d known about his life. “You’re serious? I’m some kind of Paranormal creature? Well, half some kind of Paranormal creature?” He gazed at her blankly. “I guess I always knew there was something different about me, but a Dragon? How come I don’t breathe fire?”
Donata took a deep breath. “Let me see if I can answer your questions one at a time. It’s kind of complicated.”
Peter looked bleak. “I’ll bet.”
She felt just awful. “Hey, it isn’t all bad news. Really.” She tried to think of a way to begin what was clearly going to be a long and convoluted explanation. “Um, okay. So obviously, Witches aren’t the only Paranormal race, like most people think.”
He perked up a little, as the ramifications sank in. “Wow. How many Paranormal races are there, then? And why don’t most people know about any of them other than Witches?”
“Partially self-protection,” she answered, “and partially because of the Compact.” He looked confused. “Right. There’s so much you don’t know.” Silently, she cursed both the Council and Peter’s mother for leaving him in ignorance of his true place in the scheme of things. And leaving her to explain it. “The Compact was an agreement that the Paranormal races made with the Catholic Church at the end of the Inquisition, which was really a war between the Church and us. The Paranormal races, that is.” Donata had a feeling she wasn’t explaining things very well.
“Anyway, there are five major Paranormal races, including Witches, and a whole bunch of minor ones.” She stopped for a second. “Well, maybe six, but let’s not get into that now.”
He looked even more confused, for which she couldn’t blame him. “So there are Witches, and Dragons, and what else?”
Donata held up one finger. “Okay, so there’s Witches; you know about them already. What you probably don’t know is that Witches are a hereditary matriarchy, with the powers passed down through the female side. In the Compact agreement, Witches were allowed to retain their magical abilities, but they had to go underground and practice in secret, which essentially handed over all their real-world power to the Church. And, of course, they had to allow themselves to be publicly discredited.”
Peter scratched his chin, the sound of stubble rasping through the quiet room. “Sounds like a pretty raw deal. I guess politics are the same no matter the era. So what did they get in return?”
Donata gave a short, bitter laugh. “They got to live. More or less in peace.” She took a sip of tea to try and wash the nasty taste out of her mouth. “The Paranormals were losing the war, you see. So most of the concessions were on our side. Witches were allowed to keep their powers, as long as they didn’t use them in any obvious way, but they’d been given such a bad reputation, people persecuted them so badly that until recently it just wasn’t safe to admit you were one.”
“That must have been hard,” Peter said softly. “Having to hide what you really are.” He sounded like he had some experience in that area.
She lifted one shoulder. “It wasn’t easy. A lot of Witches simply married into Human families and tried to blend in. And since the offspring of a Witch-Human mating have lesser or no powers, much of the magical lineage has been lost. There are hardly any purebred Witches left, and those that remain are pretty elitist and superior.” She made a face.
Peter seemed interested, despite his own issues. “Sounds like you’ve run into that snobby attitude a time or two. I guess your family is one of the mixed-race ones?”
Donata sighed, looking across the counter at his carefully nonjudgmental mien. “Worse. They’re one of the elitist and superior ones.” She gave a little smile at his startled look. “My family line is one of the most powerful, wealthy, and influential in Witch society.”
“Really?” He blinked, taken aback. “And you work as a cop?”
She rolled her eyes. “Now you sound like my mother.”
“Oh, sorry.” He chuckled. “I’ve got one of those mothers too. You have my sympathy.” A sudden thought struck him. “Wait—my mother knows I’m half Dragon, and she never told me?” His hand reached out automatically toward the phone, then stopped. Dismay colored his face.
Ouch. “Um, yes, Moore seemed to think she knew. But there are some extenuating circumstances you need to keep in mind.”
Peter gave her a dubious look. She didn’t blame him one bit.
“You have to understand; Dragons don’t reproduce much, with each other or with any of the races they are cross-fertile with. So they value children highly. Any Dragon who had a child with a Human would feel entitled to the offspring and likely steal it away with no explanation or recourse.” She watched his eyes widen. “I’m sure your mother was protecting you by keeping you ignorant of your Dragon heritage. It probably just became force of habit after a while. Believe me, hiding can get to be second nature when the dangers are truly menacing.”
“Hmmm. I suppose so.” He looked away to pour himself more tea, although there was still some liquid in his cup. “It certainly explains why my mother encouraged my secretive nature, when everyone else in the family was bitching about my not being part of the Casaventi ‘public presence.’” He gave a laugh tinged with bitterness. “Not that I have any of the Casaventi talent.”
Donata reached across the countertop a
nd hesitantly laid her hand on top of his larger one. “Of course you don’t, Peter. You’re not a Casaventi. And while you are certainly your mother’s son, Dragons don’t have the creative essence that Humans do. They tend to love beautiful things, and to collect them. And they’re often drawn to artists—like your mother—for their ability to create. But Dragons rarely have any inventive abilities of their own.” She looked at him with a mixture of pity and sympathy. “I’m afraid your Dragon genetics left you with plenty of technical skill, but no original spark. I’m so sorry.”
Chapter Twelve
Peter stared at her across the countertop in silence for a minute, absorbing the information she’d just given him. She could see the emotions clearly written across the landscape of his face.
He blinked rapidly a few times, staring at nothing. To give him time to pull himself together, she continued babbling about the basic elements of Paranormal existence.
“So, you’ve got Witches, and you’ve got Dragons.” She held up a second finger. “And then there are the Fae.” She held up finger number three. It was just a coincidence it happened to be her middle finger. Donata wasn’t too fond of the Fae.
That got Peter’s attention. “Fae? As in Fairies? You mean Tinker Bell is real?”
Donata grimaced. “Gods, no. Fae aren’t cute little fluttery things. They don’t even have wings.” Suddenly she wished she were drinking something stronger than tea. “The Fae are ‘the Beautiful People.’ Literally. They live off the energy of single-minded admiration and adoration. They don’t care about human beings, but they have to live around them to survive; mostly, they tend to view Humans as sustenance or amusement, nothing more.” She sighed. “I suppose the Fae don’t cause any harm, really, but they don’t contribute anything either.”
Peter didn’t seem convinced. “If the Fae live among Humans—” He stopped for a second as he realized he no longer fully fit into that category. “If they live among Humans, why haven’t I even seen one?”
Donata laughed. “You see them all the time. You just don’t realize it. Of all the Paranormal races, the Fae are the best at hiding in plain sight.” She gestured at the remote sitting on the granite and pointed toward the small television that sat at the end of the counter. “May I?”
He looked confused, but pushed the control in her direction. She turned on the TV, then clicked through the channels for a few seconds. Even at four in the morning, it didn’t take long to find what she was looking for.
“There,” she said. “You recognize her, right?” She indicated the popular blonde actress whose beauty radiated from the small screen.
“Of course,” he said. “Everyone knows—” He stopped, dumbfounded. “Wait. You mean—”
Donata tried not to snort tea through her nose at the shocked expression on his face. “Yup. Fae. You’d be amazed how many famous actors and models are actually Fae masquerading as regular folks. Well, not ‘regular’ folks. That wouldn’t do at all.” She gave a rueful chuckle. “They need to be adored to survive, and they are very good at surviving. Underneath, they are cold and shallow, and most of them don’t feel genuine emotion, or grasp why the rules should apply to them. Think about any young actor you keep hearing about, someone who is constantly seeking attention and getting into trouble . . .”
Peter gazed at her in amazement. “Are they all Fae?”
“No, of course not,” she said. “But a lot. In the old days, before the Compact, the Fae used to steal Humans and enchant their willing captives into giving them what they needed. These days, they find other ways to feed.” Donata shook her head. “They’re dying out slowly, according to many sources. They tend to be so self-absorbed, they rarely take mates; and if they mate with Humans, the offspring are always sterile.”
“Can they er . . . mate . . . with Dragons?” Peter asked, obviously curious about this new world of which he found himself a part.
Donata could feel the blood drain out of her face. “It’s forbidden,” she said in a low voice. “For good reason.”
Peter raised one eyebrow in query. “Oh?”
“Dragon-Fae hybrids are insane about fifty percent of the time,” she explained. “But they also tend to be very powerful. If the Alliance Council finds out about a Dragon-Fae child, it is usually hunted down and killed, along with both parents.”
He looked stunned. “That seems . . . a little harsh.”
She shook her head. “Ever heard of Hitler?” she asked.
“Of course,” Peter replied. Then he thought about what she’d said, and hadn’t said. “Are you saying . . . ?”
She nodded vigorously. “Yes. Like I told you, I’m not a big fan of the Council, but sometimes there’s a reason for the things they do.”
Silence reigned for a few minutes as Peter digested what she’d told him so far. Then his natural resilience kicked in. “Okay, so we’ve got Witches, and Dragons, and Fae.”
“Oh my,” Donata said, and snorted. She couldn’t help it. Not her fault.
Peter laughed with her. “Oh my, indeed. Who else?”
She tried to stop laughing, and mostly succeeded. “The Ghouls. Ugh. You know one of them, too, by the way.” She made a face.
He raised that eyebrow again. “I do?”
“Gray guy, never says anything, sits at the end of the bar at the Abyss?” Donata knew he’d seen the Ghoul, since the Ghoul knew him well enough to describe Peter’s habits to her.
“Creepy fellow? Kind of blends in with the furniture?”
Donata nodded. “That’s him, all right. Ghouls look Human, but they live off of negative emotions—sort of the opposite of the Fae, I guess.”
Peter grimaced. “Sounds unpleasant. Please tell me they don’t mate with Dragons.”
She made a gagging noise. “As far as I know, Ghouls only mate with Ghouls. And I don’t even want to think about that.”
Peter counted on his fingers. “That’s four. You said there were five Paranormal races, right?”
“Five major races,” Donata corrected. “The Ulfhednar are the other ones. They’re called Shapechangers, although they’re not, really. Well, technically.” She gave a little smile, remembering something pleasant, and Peter smiled back.
“You mean there are really werewolves?” Peter made claws out of his hands and lunged at her in pretend menace.
“Actually, the original Ulfhednar were bears, according to Norse legend,” Donata said. “Supposedly, the god Odin created them as his own special warriors. In modern times, there are a number of different clans, including the bear, wolf, boar, wildcat, elk, and badger.” She smiled again. “I was, um, friends with an Ulfhednar from the bear clan years ago. It’s an interesting culture.”
“There are were-badgers?” Peter sounded dubious.
Donata laughed. “Unlike the legends, Ulfhednar don’t actually change into animals. It’s more like they channel the animal’s spirit in a very intense way; when they do, they’re nearly unstoppable in battle. Of course, most Ulfhednar are just stronger, more aggressive, and more pack oriented than most Humans.”
Peter looked disappointed. “Then where do the legends come from?”
“Oh, they’re based in truth to some extent,” Donata said. “One out of every hundred Ulfhednar is born with the potential to become a true Ulf, a Shapechanger, who channels the animal spirit of his, or rarely her, clan. Those with the Ulf gene undergo strenuous training and rituals. If they survive the process—and many of them don’t—it is considered a great feat and brings honor to their entire family. Historically, the Ulfhednar used to reproduce in great numbers, in hopes of producing a child who could become Ulf.”
She shook her head. “The Compact limited them to two children per couple and mandated that they would serve society. Now the Ulf are usually in the high-risk professions: Navy SEALs, firefighters, SWAT teams, stuff like that. So even the ones who make it
through the training usually die young.”
“Wow.” He looked an equal measure of impressed and dismayed. “If so many of them die trying to become Ulf, why don’t they just stop doing the training?”
Donata sighed. “It’s not that simple. As a species, the Ulfhednar tend to see things in black and white, with no middle ground. And this is part of their culture. They still worship Odin and their animal totem gods, and anyone who turns his back on the possibility of achieving Ulf status is branded the worst kind of coward and banned from the community. For a clan-oriented person, that’s about the cruelest punishment you can imagine.”
Peter looked at her with keen interest. “Is that what happened to your friend? Was he too scared to finish the process?”
She glared at him. “It wasn’t a matter of fear. Magnus was no coward!” Then she caught herself. “Sorry. It was hard for him, because he couldn’t even speak to his family. His mother used to call him secretly and beg him to return and finish the training. But he’s a pacifist, and he was terrified of becoming a berserker and losing control. It was really sad.”
“A pacifist bear Shapechanger,” Peter said, a little bemused. “You do hang out with the most interesting people.”
Donata smirked in his direction. “Case in point,” she said. “A few years ago, a pacifist bear Shapechanger. Today, a half-Dragon forger.”
A slight hint of panic slid into his eyes and they darkened for a moment. Peter got up from the counter and walked over to the huge picture window that looked out over the city. It was still night, but the faintest tinge of pink could be seen to the east, heralding the new day to come.
“I can’t believe there’s this whole world I didn’t even know about,” he said quietly, his back to Donata. “That hardly anyone knows about.”
“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?” she said sympathetically. “I’m sorry to dump all this on you so suddenly. But to tell you the truth, it is going to make it a lot easier to try and explain the painting to you.”
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