“Yes, that’s where the dark fae connection starts. Our curse… We’ve been searching for a way to break it all along.”
“No luck?”
“Every promising lead has turned into a dead end… until now.”
“Seems the Archmage and his wife have made quite a hobby of tracking down and buying ancient fae objects and texts,” Auggie says, handing her a copy of the list I put together of all their traceable public auction and museum purchases. “They’ve recently acquired something that could very well hold the key to breaking our curse.”
West looks over the list. “I take it that’s where the stealing part comes in?”
“Yes, but there’s more to it,” I say. “What do you know of your ancestry?”
“Well, my father’s a pureblood mage, and Mom was supposedly a pretty badass witch in her day, but I don’t actually know much about her. She died giving birth to me. Dad never liked to talk about her.” She fills us in on the family tree, confirming what I found in my preliminary search last night.
“Based on your reaction to the demon’s blood,” I say, “we think you may have some dark fae in you.”
Her eyes widen. “But… wouldn’t that mean one of my parents was fae?”
“Not necessarily. Could be further back in the line. In fact, that seems the most likely scenario.”
“Too bad there’s not a 23andMe supernatural edition,” she says. “Congrats! You’re eight percent dark fae, thirteen percent vampire, and ooh! Apparently, one of your parents had an affair with Bigfoot!”
I laugh. “I’m actually working on a kit like that, but haven’t perfected the testing yet.”
Auggie drains the last of his latte and says to West, “Have you ever felt anything… I don’t know. Different? Unexplainable?”
“Dark fae-like?” She smiles, but it passes quickly. “I don’t know that I’d recognize it if I did, but I’ve never felt much of anything beyond what I’m guessing a normal human feels. I don’t even have witch magic. Just an occasional tingle or impression with certain objects—but again, that’s random and not something I can control, and I’ve read about regular humans experiencing the same thing.”
West falls silent, and after a beat, her raven companions return from their explorations, as if they sense her distress. They land on the table in front of her and she strokes their wings, giving each bird equal attention as she ruminates on everything we’ve shared.
I give her a few more moments to take it all in, then say, “Our first step here is simply trying to find the connections between the types of fae artifacts in the Forsythes’ collection and the demon prince. From there, we might be able to isolate possible reasons for the marriage, then consider what it may or may not have to do with our curse and why the Forsythes wanted you so badly in the first place.”
“You think our situations are related?” she asks.
“I think you were brought into our lives for a reason, and we owe it to ourselves to try and figure it out.”
“I don’t… I’m… Thank you,” she finally manages, her eyes glazing. “Both of you. I know we’ve got this weird, mutually beneficial arrangement going on, but still. Most people in my life haven’t exactly lined up to lend a hand, so thanks for trying to help me sort this all out.”
She says it matter-of-factly, but the words strike a chord of sympathy. What was her life like before all this mage and demon business? A witch born without powers is extremely rare. In our day, their parents used to sacrifice them to the gods and goddesses.
West may not have been offered up on the sacrificial altar, but it doesn’t sound like her life was all roses-and-sunshine either. Far from it.
“Hey,” Auggie says, “don’t get all sentimental on us, witchling. I’m just here to make sure you don’t smash any more windows or befriend any more woodland creatures.”
West laughs again, the sound of it bringing us some much-needed levity.
“Besides,” he continues. “Rook needed a new assignment. If not for all this demon and curse business, he’d be locked away in his lair jerking off to the busty avatars in his video games.”
“They’re called NPCs,” I say. “Non-player characters, not avatars. And I have no control over their looks. That’s up to the game designers, and unfortunately, they know their target market a little too well.”
“Lonely nerds who live in their mom’s basement?” West asks.
“Or lonely nerds who live on a sprawling estate in the Catskills.” Auggie shrugs, his dimple flashing. “Either way.”
“Isn’t it a little hard to play the game and play with yourself at the same time?” she asks.
“Not when you’ve got the right equipment.” Auggie swishes his tail, his brows jumping suggestively. “Perhaps Rook will give you a live demo if you ask nicely.”
Her eyes widen as she takes in the sight of that powerful tail—dark gray like his skin, slightly curved and ringed with stiff ridges at the tip. Her cheeks darken, and—as much as I wish I didn’t notice it—the scent of her desire intensifies, too.
