Chapter Ten

Dallas York

Dallas was in the seventh grade so second lunch was the only time during the school day that she had a chance to come to me. However, as shy as she was I didn't think she would come up while I was surrounded by my new circle of friends. Lupe and I sat with three other girls – Carla, Monique, and Jennifer – and generally talked for a good deal of the lunch hour. However, thinking of Dallas, I always made it a point to get up and wander around for a bit. The girls thought I was a little bit strange, but they wrote it off with the strangeness of being a mage.

The first few times I got up to wander, Lupe or Monique would wander with me. They stopped after the second week. I wanted to be approachable, but I was more successful than I really wanted to be. All kinds of kids, from geek rejects to the campus stars, came to me as if simply being a mage gave me all the answers. Some badgered me for spells and hexes, others for answers to every question under the sun, and still others just wanted to get in on the latest school fad – which happened to be me. Laura Michaels was one of the only people who joined my strolls with the intent to help me (as she saw it) rather than to get help from me. She was also the one who got Dallas to approach me.

Laura evangelized. She knew God was just waiting to step right into our lives if only we opened up to Him. Filled with the fiery passions of youth, she just could not understand why other people didn't see the Truth she beheld. She was polite and tried very hard not to be condemning, but somehow the way she said, "Jesus Christ is our only hope of salvation!" just rubbed me the wrong way. However, her spirit was in the right place and, so long as she wasn't cut off totally from preaching her faith, she could be persuaded not to push too hard. It quickly became our habit to talk on Tuesdays and Thursdays after I explained why I took my walks. We built a friendship on our love of debate which we've managed to keep at least smoldering throughout the years. While her faith is no less than it was, experience has tempered her approach.

We were well into November before Dallas worked up the nerve to speak to me again. Despite still not having won visitation rights with my sister[1], Mom had started up the "who gets Rhi for Thanksgiving" drama during the second week and I was feeling rather crabby. I don't recall, but I'm told I did a lot of glaring during that time. Mom had volunteered to send Roz to spend her Thanksgiving with Grandma & Grandpa Burquet, which just pissed me off. My sister deserved to be with her parents and not shunted around like an unwanted thing. But we were talking about Dallas.

On the Thursday before Thanksgiving week, Laura joined me by the auditorium. "I've got someone who wants to talk with you, but she's afraid of being seen from the street," she announced.

Interest zinged through me. Laura had acted as a go-between once before. She was convinced that my magic was some type of divine gift and that the more I exercised it helping others the closer I would somehow grow to God. I didn't exactly disagree with her, just her interpretation of growing closer to God as accepting Jesus Christ as my personal savior. The first "intervention" didn't require the use of my magic (not that I felt right using my magic on others until I was farther into my training), but helping an eighth-grader appease the spotted bottle-whips[2] that were tracking him proved to be different. The boy will most likely never run over strangely fertile "faerie rings" again – especially not ones surrounding what appears to be a triad of slender, vase-like gourds.

I followed Laura back toward the cafeteria at the far edge of the commons and then into the walkway between the cafeteria and the auditorium. We ducked into the entry alcove of the auditorium closest to the classrooms. Laura stopped and leaned up against the wall. No one else was present.

I gave her an inquiring look and tipped my head. She put a finger to her lips and motioned me to relax against the other wall. I shrugged and complied. A moment more passed with only one or two students walking by. One looked at us and moved on while the other didn't seem to notice us. Laura kept scanning the walkway and I settled in to wait. After what seemed like five minutes (but was probably only one), Laura's face broke out in a smile. She stepped out of the alcove, nodded her head, and stepped back in. Dallas York followed her.

Dallas was a small thing, like me. She stood a bare inch or so taller than my 4'10", her shoulders rounded forward and her eyes downcast. She hid her face behind a curtain of shoulder-length blonde hair, barely showing thin, compressed lips lined with an unnatural reserve. She wore faded blue jeans and a long-sleeved, shell-necked green shirt with frayed-around-the-edges, generic-brand white sneakers on her feet. Her eyes darted around the alcove as she approached Laura. Her whole body froze for an instant when she saw me then she resumed her forward progress. She mirrored me, leaning against the opposite wall.

Somewhat safely ensconced in the entry alcove, Dallas and I took a moment to look each other over. Laura went farther back into the alcove, as if trying to pretend she wasn't there. Fear and longing fought in Dallas' aura as the silence dragged on, immobilizing her.

To break the ice, I said, "You once asked me if holy items work against vampires. I asked Damien and he said that it depends on the vampire; seems like there are different types. Most of them, no, the holy items don't work against 'cause it's not that they're made into something evil just by getting Bitten, it's that they're survivors of a different type of virus, like most shifters. But there are some vampires that, well, a necromancer who's strong enough can make a person into a vampire without the Bite, but there are some Infernalists who tried to do something like that and holy items definitely work against them – if you have faith. They're more like demons than vampires, though. You can tell if holy items will work if they look like corpses and if they can rot and remake themselves at will."

Dallas' eyes widened and, in her startlement, she met my gaze head-on. Her eyes turned out to be a pale, icy blue. They reminded me of a picture I once saw of a glacial cave refracting the sunlight streaming through the cavern walls.

"You remembered?" she asked, her voice softly trembling and puzzled.

I nodded and said, "I've been waiting for you to come ask me more, Dallas. I can see the need to in your aura, but it's your life and your choices. I can't force them on you."

Some of the fear in her aura danced a little jig, gaining in intensity as her eyes darted to Laura, who nodded encouragingly to her. The fear nearly swamped her before resolution, grim and iron hard, forced it back. After an insignificant pause her voice was firm as she said, "I need to know how to break a vampire's control."

I blinked and asked, "What kind of control?" Thoughts of vampires stripped of their civilized demeanors and strict protocols shuddered through my brain and I sincerely hoped that she did not mean their personal control over their predatory natures.

Fear swelled up from behind her resolution and was quickly suppressed. "What do you mean, 'what kind of control'? Their control over people. There's only one kind, isn't there?"

I breathed a sigh of relief. Smiling, I said, "Actually, there's their self-control, control over their called animals, gaze-induced hypnotic controls, an amerte's control over their móndav, and blood domination. Called animals and móndav's are the only ones who can do anything in a permanent way to break those controls and blood domination is a gray area. Gaze-induced hypnosis can be broken by breaking the gaze and getting spooked, something that shocks the person."

A thoughtful frown scrunched up Dallas' forehead. "What's this blood domination?"

"It's kind of a broad power. First, it's the bond between a sire and his kiss, the vampires he made through the Bite. It's also the bond between a Liege and his vassals. Sometimes a provender will build one with his leech, but it takes more work and it's not really done that often." Seeing the confusion on Dallas' face, I explained, "A provender is a vampire that lets a leech drink his blood, sharing his power with the leech. A leech can be a weaker vampire, a mundane, an animal, or just about any preeter but a shifter. Vampire blood can make shifter's really, really sick. Vamps don't worry about forcing the blood domination with their leeches mainly 'cause the leech gets addicted to the blood."

Dallas nodded her tentative understanding. Just before I started back up I paused, sensing something not quite right. I held up a hand to forestall the questions on Laura and Dallas' tongues.

Mr. Donovan walked passed us, looking the other way. His apparent oblivion didn't fool me, despite the way Dallas and Laura relaxed when he was out of sight. I shook my upheld hand quickly to emphasize that quiet was still needed and some of the tension returned.

I started up an internal conversation with my magic, setting before it the idea that I wanted to have our words be kept from prying ears without drawing unwanted attention and leaving no permanent sign of the magic invoked. My magic struggled to come up with a simple solution, but it was still given to Draken leanings. Complex and grandiose workings appealed more than those that were basic and simply functional. It took some firm talking to get the idea of a wall of silence accepted on both sides and a fierce concentration to keep my magic from ornamenting the idea after I loosened my hold. The rush of release filled me and left me with a pleasant buzz as I turned my attention back to the girls before me.

I dropped my hand and said, "I've made sure no one can hear what we say. Dallas, before I can figure out how to help you more, I need to know what you're going through. It's obvious that you're not under a vampire's control right now."

Dallas licked her lips. "It's my brother. He got turned into a vampire and the guy who did it, he won't let up and he won't give up. He keeps making Bennie go with him at night and sometimes Bennie doesn't come back for days at a time and when he does, he's crying and sick."

I frowned. I was getting out of my depth here fast, which meant, "I have to tell my dad about this, Dallas. He's probably going to have questions to ask you and your brother, too. That doesn't sound right, not like the traditions that Damien's told me about so far. What's your brother's kindred line?"

Dallas gave me puzzled eyes. "What's that?"

"The vampire viruses make for different, different breeds of vampire the same way the shifting viruses make for different breeds of shifters. Wolves have different ways of bringing in new shifters than ratters and both are different from cats. Well, the breed of vampire is what vampires call their kindred line. Therians, shifters, they call their breeds Blood Tribes and their packs just tribes. Vampires sired by the same master are all part of the master's kiss and the master is their demi-liege. The Kindred Sire is the head of the kindred line and most of the time his name is the name of the kindred line. Does that make sense?" At Dallas' tentative nod, I continued.

"I don't know about more than a handful of kindred lines, but Damien's got contacts so if he doesn't know it then he can find it out. When did all this happen?"

Dallas looked at her shoes and started out whispering, "Just after school let out last year. I, I was being a brat and Bennie was watching me while our parents were out on a date and I got upset with him and I, I ran out of the house and to this park near by. Bennie followed me and this weird guy, he stopped Bennie and started going on and on about how he'd heard Bennie playing his guitar and Bennie doesn't have a guitar and he told him so and the weird guy said that Bennie was playing around and Bennie got all strange and said he could hear the guitar, too and the weird guy bite him. I screamed and jumped the weird guy and Bennie started slugging him and the weird guy threw me and Bennie ran and grabbed me and ran back to the house with me over his shoulder. Then a couple days later, Bennie went missing and didn't show up again until the next week and he wasa vampire. Mom and Dad, they threw him out of the house, swore he was going to kill us all, but it's still Bennie! He's still my brother! I snuck him in to sleep in my closet during the day and he says that when he's at the house that's the only time he's really safe from the guy that made him a vampire." Tears gleamed on her eyelashes as she raised guilt stricken eyes to meet my gaze.

I laid a consoling hand on her shoulder and said, "If human law can't protect your brother there are ways to take care of it behind the silver veil."

Dallas frowned again. "I've heard of that, 'the silver veil', but what is it?"

My smile felt sad and somewhat grim as I said, "The silver veil is the line between mundane and preeter. Up until the '60's, it was the strongest defense preeters had from mundane's. You don't go on seek-and-destroy missions against something you don't think exists."

"But, shifters and vampires and trolls and all that, they're stronger than humans and faster and all that! Why do they need to hide?" Dallas asked, her face scrunched up.

"One on one, yeah, you're right, they are faster and stronger and just as cunning – well, not the troll-kin, not as cunning – but the average preeter is more callous and more ruthless than your average mundane. Then again, preeters don't face your average mundane – they face the hunters and now the governments. They face organizations and preeters aren't that good at making nice with other preeters. Even the social groups in the preeter world don't trust each other. Most human-kin survived an attack that would have killed them if it weren't for the therian or vamp viruses. That kind of thing, it leaves you distrustful 'cause you know what it feels like to stare down Death and you know it was a preeter that tried to kill you. Most of 'em just want to be human again, not a freak, not something to be hunted down and destroyed 'for the good of all pious people'."

I took a deep breath, trying to breathe out my own bitterness at being so different, and admitted, "There have been a few attempts. Humanity crushed all but one or two and those few they didn't the umbreans stepped in to. You don't piss off the umbreans. Give one umbrean one month and he can wipe out every preternatural in North America, from human-kin to fey to the spotted bottle whips eating the bugs in the corner of the softball field.

"Before the umbreans came around there were the god-pretenders, the Olympiads and the Norse, the Jaguar gods of the Aztecs. They were the second Earthen host. The umbreans tore 'em apart and replaced them as the third host. They got really fierce about the whole preeter-imitating-gods thing and there aren't too many stupid preeters who lived long enough to get the power to try it. The last idiot to make a good go for it kicked off the Spanish Inquisition."

Dallas just looked pole-axed. Laura had her own look of skeptical disbelief under control, but not her aura. "But, but – how?" Dallas stuttered. "How could normal people win against, against …" Her words trailed off and her aura flinched, like she couldn't find a substitute for the words she was going to say and didn't feel particularly safe finishing what she started with.

"Everyone has a weakness, Dallas. Mundanes don't have claw and fang so they make up for it with intelligence and society. Society, more than everything else, that's what's kept mundanes safe from preeters. Vampires trust no one and any help they offer up is given with an eye to what they can get for it. Shifters only help the shifters in their local tribe and everyone else is suspicious, especially foreigners in the same Blood Tribe. That's not society, that's survival.

"Society is … really, it's the whole idea of civilization. It's cops and firefighters and bringing food to a funeral and having the funeral in the first place. It's people helping people for no better reason that that they're people.

"The human-kin, most of what makes them preeter is caused by cursings, magic that gave some great benefits but handed out really nasty conditions. The viral curses need some … dissatisfaction, some … wanting, deep in the soul, to latch on to. Most of the folks who get turned into preeters start out as the loners and the fringers, people who never really felt like they belonged. They don't play well with others. Think of it as a great, big dysfunctional family-fest. Would you pit Married with Children against the Brady Bunch and expect them to win?"

Laura's look sharpened on me. "What about mages? Ain't you human-kin?" she asked.

"We are ... We're very different creatures all together. I can't speak for all the lineages, but the Draken born, we're too much a thing of Chaos and Chaos rarely, rarely makes for the mind set that gets you wanting to control everything. The lack of control, the anarchy, is far and away more ... more attractive than the Rules-and-Order hugging that's at the heart of most control-freaking." I shrugged. "Honestly, from what Grandmamma tells me, mages tend to be the most solitary of all the human-kin. Neither fish nor fowl, she calls it, 'cause we're born and not cursed, but we're not always born from magical families. Any human can be born a mage. The magic makes us not-human and growing up different gives us a different way of looking at the world than the human-kin that're cursed that way."

A moment of silence fell between us as they digested that little nugget. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. I let the magic fill me, just a bit, just a small smidgen, and used it to write my phone number on the paper. I felt a small spurt of pride when I pulled it off without ruining the paper or staining my hands[3]. Dallas hesitated to take the scrap from me so I explained, "In case you need me fast."

She nodded and took it from me, slipping the paper in her front pocket as she turned and left. I quickly pulled the magic from the silence ward into a ball and left with a nod and a wave to Laura. I grounded the magic on the commons and started back towards the girls.

The Enclave

Damien heard me out on the drive home that night. He didn't say much; just that he'd check into it. Friday I asked Laura to pass the word along to Dallas. On Saturday Damien took me to the K Street mall in downtown Sac, where we were to meet with Auntie Ann.

Being November, the sun was due to set close to five o'clock. We arrived at noon. Damien gave me six dollars to get lunch and a soda at the food court while he staked out a table. The one he chose was pretty much in the center of a group of tables and, thankfully for my poor appetite, far enough away from the balcony that I didn't get queasy from the height. I can deal with being high up so long as there's a nice, solid barrier between me and any tumble I might take over the edge.

Both Damien and Grandmamma had been working on me to eat slowly and it was starting to pay off. I was learning the difference between the feel of my food when it was half ready to swallow and when it was well masticated. Meals actually started to take longer than ten minutes from dish up to wash up. Even so, we were both through with the food we could finish and boxing it up before Damien's incessant clock watching had me asking what was planned.

"Your aunt is almost an hour late. She was supposed to meet us here to find out some more about your friend at school," he answered, frowning as he looked around.

"Oh," I said, sitting back a bit heavily. I'd seen Aunt Annie twice since Grand-mère left town. Both times she seemed scarier than the last time I saw her.

"I'm worried, I have to admit. Tardiness is not Annie's vice. If anything, I expected her to be waiting when we arrived."

We attempted conversation for a bit, but Damien’s increasing tension was creeping up on me. It made small talk seem pointless. After a few moments of silence, Damien focused on something behind me. He laid a cautionary hand on mine when I started to turn to see what he was watching. I looked at his hand covering mine and then into Damien's eyes, a question in mine own. He met my gaze with a quick glance and nodded even as he returned his attention to the person behind me. I closed my eyes, took a steadying breath, and reached out with my mage Sight.

Mage Sight is a kind of misleading name. In all honesty, there really isn't a visual sensation involved, per se. It's more of a dimensional awareness – volumes and densities and distances – whispered through the Quickening. Learning to differentiate between the matter and the flow is one of the most fundamental necessities to using the Sight. At first, everything seems to be the flow – energy, moving and dancing to the Quickening's tune. With practice, a mage can pick up more and more information with mage Sight – and, yes, you do have to have magic to possess the gift of mage Sight. Grandmamma often uses mage Sight to determine just what illnesses are afflicting her patients. She learned how to recognize the "color tones" in mage Sight by the time she was Damien's age. I'm still working on that one.

In any case, mage Sight wasn't particularly helpful then. There were too much nuances to comprehend and that effectively limited my range to two tables away. About the time I realized that, Damien drew his hands under the table, his gun hand settling close to the holstered weapon. My eyes snapped open with an all body shiver. I flattened both palms to the table top, ready to run as soon as Damien said "Go".

"Easy, there, sweetie," Damien crooned, his eyes never leaving what he was tracking. "I doubt things'll get to the point of needing you to bolt right here. No fear. Don't show it, don't think it. Caution, yes, fear, no."

With Damien's reassurance, I settled down and let go of some of the tension filling me. Not all of it, but some.

The object of Damien's attention arrived at our table. He was tall and slender, he was a gorgeous shade of ebony, and he was a shifter. After recognizing those facts, I noticed the pox scars on his face and neck and the strange way he moved. It has been my experience that most black Americans are constantly in motion, dancing to some inner beat. This gentleman, in contrast, radiated a calmly waiting stillness.

A French accent gave his words a lyrical quality when he spoke. "The mistress has been unavoidably delayed by business matters. I have been asked to accompany you to the enclave, where she will speak with you regarding your concern. Whether you bring the young miss is at your discretion, though the mistress does extend the hope that you will."

Damien looked at the sky, his watch, and, finally, rested his eyes on me while he thought. "You will not leave my side or my sight until we get home. Is that understood?" he asked, soft voiced and serious.

I nodded, keeping my mouth shut. We gave the table one final swipe and took off.

The ebony shifter accompanied us to the parking garage. When we stopped at the second level he said, "My transport is at the next landing." He motioned us to follow him with a politely blank expression.

Damien responded, "And mine is here. I know how to get to my sister's home and I'm really not interested in paying through the nose for downtown parking."

Damien is right handed. I knew he was on edge with the shifter by the way he maneuvered me to his left side, with his body partially blocking the shifter's sight of me.

The shifter stilled. With deliberate intonation, he stated, "The mistress was very specific that I must accompany you. If my transportation is not pleasing you, then-"

Damien cut him off. "Then you can lead in your vehicle and I'll follow in mine."

"This will be an acceptable compromise most of the way to the enclave, however, you will not be admitted if we are not in the same vehicle. Security is running, ah, running high this past week. This is why I must accompany you, that you are known as friend and not mistaken for foe."

I felt the magic creep through Damien, just a tiny taste of it, changing his eyes to the flat black orbs of the Draken Pater. Whatever his enhanced sight saw decided him and he said, "Ok, we'll follow you."

The shifter nodded and smiled a big grin, his aura revealing his relief.

We followed our guide's "transportation", an Audi 5000 CS Quattro sedan belonging to Andre's coterie, to a convenience store, where we left Damien's suburban. Being the trusting soul that my father is, he insisted on driving. I sat in the back while our guide rode shotgun.

The enclave was out in West Sacramento in the industrial district along where business 80 and interstate 80 connected. The grounds were enclosed by a tall chain link fence capped with barbed wire. The driveway had the one-way spikes common to down town parking lots facing the street and a bullet proofed guard station with stop sign. There were two shifters on duty and they both hit my radar as cougars. I still wasn't sure about our guide.

Damien stopped at the guard station, making sure the front windows were rolled down and the back ones up.

The guards wore a uniform of tan slacks and short-sleeved, button-up shirts with highly polished black combat boots. One stepped out of the station. A flash of mage sight told me the other one still in the station had his off hand hovering over a panic button and the other resting on the butt of his side arm. The shifter who approached us asked Damien, "May I see some ID, sir?"

Our guide spoke up, saying, "The mistress is waiting for them, John."

Other than a quick glance, John didn't acknowledge the statement. Damien reached one finger under his collar, hooked the chain he wore under his shirt, and pulled it out. From the chain dangled many pairs of eye teeth.

Before vampires were legalized and subject to human law, they had their own "justice" system (and still do). There would be times when a liege would decide to hire out the capture or disciplining of an errant vampire and the hunter was given the eye teeth of the vampire or vampires that he returned to the liege. There are more than a few names for such hired guns. In Sacramento, smart preeters just call then hunters. The old birds have a hard time remembering not to call them thugees. The not-so-smart call them fang-frockers.

Regardless, it was enough ID for the gate guards. They called ahead, got the okay, and retracted the tire claws. Damien drove into the parking lot and parked where our guide directed us to.

The main building looked at first glance like so many other office buildings. Two layers of mirrored windows wrapped around the box-like edifice. Double mirrored glass doors led into a decently large lobby, complete with two therian guards and a half-fey receptionist. The guards flanking either side of the door also wore the same uniform as the guards at the gate. The receptionist, with her dully pointed ears and naturally aqua-blue hair, sat behind a counter at the end of the lobby, facing the doors as she typed away at an industrial sized typewriter. Two grand stairways led to the second floor landing, curving off from either side of the reception counter. Thereceptionist straightened when she saw us and laid her hand over the massive switchboard to her side.

"Hi, Michel, Madam wants you to take the guests straight up," the receptionist said, her aura sparkling with trepidation. She whet her lips and glanced nervously at Damien, a quick look and then away. A flash of unwelcome Sight told me she thought my dad was hot. I resisted the urge to cross my eyes at the woman and trotted along beside Damien as we walked up the right-side stairway.

Our guide, Michel, led the way down a long hallway to a large corner office, where he knocked at the closed door.

Aunt Annie's voice called out, "C'min" and Michel opened the door.

My first thought on entering Antoinette's domain was, where's the light? My second thought was that the windows along the front of the building had to be false fronts as they certainly weren't showing in Annie's office. Damien made a rolling motion with his hand and conjured a ball of mage light which he set to floating into the center of the room. The light shone green, casting the room in shades of spring. Antoinette prowled out of the darkness toward the mage light, her stride predatory.

Aunt Annie was dressed in black go-go boots, white tights, a white leather mini skirt and a poofy panda-spotted sweater. Her hair was wrapped up in a series of braids that gave the effect of a crown through which a shortened tail was pulled, looping down to the small of her back and back up. Her eyes flashed like faceted emeralds in Damien's mage light. She clapped her hands and the office lights turned on.

The office was large, spacious, with highly polished dark wood furnishings. The desk was dainty in the details, but large enough to hold two 21 inch CRT monitorswith plenty of writing surfaceto spare.

"Seems like you're getting stronger, big bubba," she commented with a nod to the mage light. Damien made a sideways cutting motion with his hand and extinguished the mage light.

"What's with the dark?" he asked, ignoring the calculating look in her eyes.

"The European Leiges Council is courting us again," she answered, pursing her lips in distaste and waving the subject off with a fluttering motion. She drew a sharp breath in and clapped her hands, her gaze zeroing in on me. "Now, you, young miss,I hear tell you have an issue to bring to Andre's attention."

I fought the urge to hide behind Damien and wet my suddenly dry lips. I did look up at my father, with the question of should I speak in my face. He said, "Go on, you're the closest we are to the source."

I looked back to Aunt Annie and told her what Dallas told me. At the end of the meager tale, Annie was leaning up against her desk, looking thoughtful.

"Benjamin York, Benjamin York ... He was embraced withina week's time? How ... interesting."I swear I could almost hear Aunt Annie thinkinguseful. Her eyesdeepened, the irises expanding and the pupilscontracting until all that was left wereemerald orbs. "Benjamin York, Benjamin York," she chanted,reminding me of how people will say what they're looking for as they flip through the yellow pages. " ... Benjamin ... York! I see, yes, he was embraced quite quickly! And by one of ours, without Andre's consent. Tell your school friend that her brother will be as safe as his leige may allow, but he will not be returning to their household for quite some time. We are summoning Sire and fledgling to face the liege’s judgment tonight for the Sire has broken several of our laws."

"And Bennie, is he going to be okay?" I asked.

Antoinette looked at me with her strange eyes and weighed her words carefully before stating, "I promise to inform you tonight after the judgment is rendered what state the young Mr. York is in. I warn you though, your schoolmate's brother has survived what most do not, but that does not mean he survived whole. That he has been able to stay in the home of his family without tragedy befalling them all is either cause for grave concern or a testament to the lad's strength of will. The newly embraced find it most difficult to refrain from sharing the embrace with their loved ones, though they lack the control to adequately prepare the danzupyr for the final kiss, often leading to fatal consequences."

I swallowed past a sudden clenching in my throat as realization struck me. "You mean if it's safer for him to be dead, then that's it for him, isn't it?" I asked.

Damien placed a comforting grip on my shoulder as Antoinette slowly nodded her head.

[1] Mrs. Morley was still convinced that I was a dangerous individual. I wasn't letting Damien push all that hard to overturn her judgment and Grandmamma was leaving that choice up to me. She kept repeating, "You'll know when you're safe for your mundane family." I thought I was, but I wasn't sure, so I figured that meant I didn't know it yet. Bruce turned eighteen two months before I turned eleven so he wasn't subject to her restrictions any more. He made a special trip to see me, ostensibly to show off the beat up Ford Galaxy Poppa bought him for a graduation/birthday present. I had finished my first quilt by then and gave that to him as one of his birthday presents. It wasn't magical, but the smile on my older brother's face sure seemed that way to me.

[2] Bottle whips constantly leak a small amount of magic, which creates the "faerie ring" affect of lush vegetation around their favorite hunting grounds. Spotted bottle whips prey on insects, unlike their much rarer cousins the striped bottle whips. The striped variety has been known to devour anything that burrows up to the size of large mastiffs. The common theory is that they two strains originated as the constructs of a rather frustrated Hedge Mage known as Silas the Wroth who, it would seem, had a great deal of trouble with one of his neighbors' dogs and another's escargot farm.

[3] I had been practicing that small magic for months now, thinking if I could get it right I wouldn't have to write my notes in class anymore. Grandmamma had looked at me funny the first time I brought it up and said she didn't see where the harm in trying would be. The next week she had it mastered, beaming at me for the "excellent idea". I was still staring at the paper trying to get the letters to form.