Page 45 of Purrfectly Peculiar Pixie

“Vampires,” Vander grumbled but it lacked heat.

Sedrick agreed. “If it were my bar, I would have kicked their asses out a long time ago.”

“Thankfully, Dusk is not werewolf owned.” Lucroy’s tone remained pleasantly cool. “As long as they do not cause trouble, Dusk is open to all.”

“As you said, it’s your bar. You can do whatever the hell you want with it.” Sedrick drank down the rest of his beer.

“How magnanimous of you, Alpha Voss.” Lucroy sounded more amused than annoyed. Truly, they had an interesting relationship. In fact, it was an odd conglomeration of species. And yet, somehow, it worked. The affection was clear. The Magical Usage Council would find this interesting.

Moving past Lucroy’s choice of patronage, the vampire got us all back on track by asking, “Are you capable of explaining further?”

Vander took another drink before nodding his head. “Yeah, I’m capable. It’s not really that bad, just not something warlocks like talking about. Mostly because we hate thinking about it.”

Setting his glass back on the table, Vander started with a history lesson. “Long ago, before the rift between warlocks and witches, we often mated each other. Female children were witches and male children were warlocks.” Vander shrugged. “I’m not certain what gender had to do with it, but it influenced the way we bend magic. From what I understand, the witches and warlocks of those times were more powerful than your current garden variety.”

“Is that what allowed witches of that time to create djinn?” Sedrick asked.

“Most likely. It’s what also caused the rift between the species. Witches and warlocks hated each other. They couldn’t move past their mistrust to even talk, let alone procreate. That began easing in the past century or so, but we’re still a long way from producing offspring.” Vander took another drink before continuing. “Anyway, obviously, there are still little witches and warlocks running amuck. So, who do you procreate with?”

“Humans,” I answered. It was a known fact that most warlocks and witches produced children with humans.

“Exactly,” Vander agreed. “Our genetics are closest. The magical bloodlines were diluted, but the species survived. Sometimes, a witch child will be born with lesser magical abilities. Rarely none at all. But warlock children are a different matter.”

I leaned forward, completely enthralled by what I heard. While much was known about individual species, there was a hell of a lot that wasn’t. All of us had secrets we’d rather not share.

“It’s a small percentage, but some children born of warlock blood don’t have the same capabilities as their fathers. Those children are necromancers.”

Sedrick drew in a deep breath while Lucroy remained statue still. Peaches’s mouth opened in a surprised O while Phil’s light green eyes were filled with a well of sympathy. As for me, I was simply curious.

“And warlocks are ashamed of this?” I asked. I didn’t want to be uncouth, but I couldn’t deny my curiosity.

“No. Not in the way you think. It isn’t shame in what they are, but heartache. Warlock life spans are centuries long. Necromancers’…aren’t.”

“Oh, Vander,” Phil whispered.

“Nearly all of them are human short. I’m ashamed to say that many warlocks abandon those children when they’re born and realized what they are. It is not due to shame, but emotional self-preservation. Children are precious and warlocks aren’t a fertile species. The joy of a successful pregnancy is tempered with the fear that that child might be born a necromancer, that they will die while the warlock has many years left. It is a pain many turn from.”

“And the children are abandoned?” Peaches asked.

“By the warlock, not their human mother. Warlocks will financially provide, but most refuse to emotionally engage. I do not defend the action. I merely say I understand it. Unfortunately, what this often creates are resentful children who do not fully understand their capabilities. They feel shunned by not only their fathers but the world. Necromancers find it difficult to integrate into society and so many go to ground, fading into difficult-to-find nooks and crannies. An unfortunate few are so mentally traumatized that their sanity fades and they become dangerous not only to themselves, but to society at large. Those unfortunates are what give necromancers a very poor reputation.”

I swallowed, throat parched. My mouth opened, only to close on words I couldn’t find, let alone articulate. It was a tragedy all around.

Inhaling, Vander pulled Parsnip close, laying a kiss on the top of his head and breathing his scent in. When he’d gotten his emotions under control, Vander said, “I know of a few necromancers, but most of those are in the wind. I do, however, know of a warlock who refused to follow tradition and did not abandon his necromancer son.” Vander’s lips contorted and I couldn’t figure out if he found the situation humorous or endlessly irritating.

“Nikodemus Holland is a pompous asshat,” Parsnip supplied. “I only heard Vander’s side of the conversation and it was enough for me to figure out.”

“He’s got reason to be pompous. Nick’s the most powerful warlock west of the Mississippi. He’s got the juice to back up the pomp.” Vander sort of, kind of defended the other warlock.

Parsnip rolled his eyes. “Whatever. That’s west of the Mississippi. You’re the best one east of the Mississippi. As far as I’m concerned, you’re on equal footing.”

Vander’s eyebrows shot high upon his forehead while his lips twitched, finally forming an oddly fond smile. “That’s sweet, if not one hundred percent accurate.”

Parsnip waved him off. “Says you. I happen to know it’s a fact and no one, not even you, is going to convince me I’m wrong, so don’t waste your breath trying.”

Chuckling, Vander leaned in and planted a kiss on Parsnip’s temple. “Have I told you recently how much I love your sass?”

Cheeks flushed, Parsnip answered, “Not in the past couple of hours.”

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