Page 6 of Changeling
I huff and roll over, refusing to think of Sebastian. No matter how alluring the man may appear, faeries are wicked beings and not welcome under my roof or in my bed.
* * *
At sunset,I’m in the main parlor in my human form, mingling with a crowd of patrons. A hand taps my shoulder at the same time a throat clears.
“A word?” Ivaz says, and from the hopeful expression on his face, I can guess his intentions.
I frown. “Sebastian can’t stay.”
“But—”
“No, Ivaz. This you cannot ask of me.”
“I haven’t asked anything yet, except to speak with you. Would you deny me even that?” He flutters his thick lashes. “Please?” He thrusts out his bottom lip. He looks ridiculous, and he must know it.
Ivaz isn’t a man who flirts, and that’s not what’s happening now. He’s trying to make me laugh, but I’m in no mood for his bizarre sense of humor.
“Fine,” I groan. “But you’re not going to change my mind about this.” With a nod to Annais to take over, I leave for my study. Ivaz trails behind me.
The little room, which houses a desk, my chair, The Twig’s records, and a safe, isn’t much bigger than a broom closet, but it’s clean and tidy. I gesture to the only other chair, and Ivaz sits as I light extra candles.
One of the many questions that kept me tossing and turning all morning rolls off my tongue. “How is it you’ve been roped into dragging a wayward faerie across the Kingdom of Hungary?”
Ivaz opens his palms in a gesture of innocence. “I’m just the middleman doing a favor for both the southern court of vampires and the northern Dozen at once with this little jaunt. It’s good to be owed a favor, wouldn’t you agree?”
I take a seat. “Yes, but why? What’s he doing in this realm, and why would vampires agree to shelter him anyway?”
“That’s a long story. I’m mildly surprised you don’t know it already.” His eyes glint in the candlelight. He’s always eager to share information. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll tell you what vampires want with faeries, and you tell me why you hate them.”
When Ivaz says “a long story,” I’ve learned to prepare refreshments and settle in, but there’s no time for that now. “Keep it short, and you have a deal.”
“Right, noted.” He crosses one muscular thigh over the other and leans back in his seat. “Where to start?”
“The beginning would do nicely.”
Ivaz graces me with a mock glare. “It’s long been known that when ancient vampires hit the two-millenium mark, an aging sickness overtakes us. We go mad and eventually die from the affliction.”
Long known to Ivaz perhaps, but this is the first I’ve heard of it. Then again, the oldest vampire I know isn’t even one millennium, much less two. “Go on.”
“I’ve never seen a case of the disease myself, but the tales are grisly. Vampires wasting away, too sick to feed, and all the while rambling nonsense.” He shudders.
I would too if such a fate awaited me.
Ivaz continues. “About a hundred and eighty years ago, an expedition sailed north to the arctic where legend circulated of vampires much older than two thousand years who never succumbed to the sickness. And since you’ve asked for brevity, I’ll cut to my point. The blood of a halfling—the progeny of vampire and faerie—is the cure. So you can see why the discovery of a new faerie in our realm would be of an immediate high priority for vampires.”
Of course it has to do with blood. “Does Sebastian know that?” I ask before I can wonder why I care what he knows or doesn’t know. I want him gone either way.
“Sebastian’s been informed to the extent of our limited knowledge. There are other faeries along with several halflings living under The Dozen’s protection already. They can tell him more. He wants to meet them. As soon as rumors of his presence drifted to the ears of those in power, Sebastian was offered shelter in Greece, but he chose this journey. Said there was nothing left for him at home. The kid’s all alone.”
If Ivaz thinks appealing to my sympathetic nature will help his case…he’s right. Damn him. “What happened to his family?”
“Dead. Half perished in the fire, and the other half was killed by the mob Sebastian barely escaped from before landing in our care. He’s an orphan, Dom. And whatever your problem is with faeborn, he’s totally ignorant. He’s a changeling, stripped of his heritage at birth with no knowledge beyond”—Ivaz waves a hand absently—“how to forge a dagger or some such. He’s a blank slate.”
That rings false. One thing Sebastian surely isn’t is a blank slate. A loss as devastating as what he’s suffered leaves scars on the very soul of a being. He’s grieving and in need of a safe harbor.
If only he weren’t a damned faerie. “I can’t keep him here, Ivaz. And not just because I despise faeries. If the other incubi find out, they’ll never forgive me for sheltering one of them in their midst.”
“Never forgive you?” Ivaz’s mobile eyebrows creep up his forehead. “That seems a bit rash. Care to elaborate?”
