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Morio followed me in his Subaru. As we headed home, I couldn't help but wonder how things were going to shake out.
Cryptos were everywhere now, far fewer than the human population of course, but they seemed brighter, shinier, louder. They stood out. It looked like the Freedom's Angels had already decided to start their own private war. Now, all we needed was for Shadow Wing's armies to begin their invasion.
Chapter Eleven
By the time we got home, Feddrah-Dahns was munching his way through a patch of tall grass that Iris had set him on. It would save her the trouble of weeding and give him a nice spot of lunch. He told us she'd left for the shop, along with Maggie, so it was just Delilah, Morio, Mistletoe, and me. And the unicorn. Feddrah-Dahns's eyes lit up when he caught sight of the pixie, and Mistletoe flittered over to land on the horned beast's shoulder.
I motioned toward them. "Inside, guys. We have matters to discuss that are better off kept secret." I closed my eyes, feeling for the wards that I kept tight around our land and house. Sure enough, they were still holding. Thanks to Morio, that is. He'd reinforced my work, strengthening my magic where it was weak, shoring it up where it lagged.
Once we were in the living room, I introduced Morio to Feddrah-Dahns. Feddrah-Dahns looked him over carefully, his nostrils flaring. "Demon child, but not unsavory," the unicorn finally said. "You would like the plains of the Windwillow Valley. It's vast and wide, and there are many of your kind there, fox-child."
Morio blinked. "Youkai, in Otherworld?"
"You truly don't believe your kind is limited to this world, do you?" Feddrah-Dahns blinked. "Think—you walk between worlds. Isn't it possible Earth isn't your only domain?"
As he sank into the recliner, Morio leaned back, a pensive expression on his face. "I hadn't really thought of the possibility. My parents won't speak of their history much. My mother learned to be secretive when her mother was killed by warriors who considered her fair game. Mother and Grandfather—who was wounded trying to save my grandmother—escaped. Grandfather took her to live with his sister."
I stared at him. He'd never told me about this. "Your mother must have a great fear of humans then."
He shook his head. "No, she blames only the men who killed her mother. But to this day my grandfather hates FBHs. Now, my father has good reason to hate humans, but he and my mother are much alike."
"What happened?" I asked, eager to know more. Morio seldom spoke of his childhood or relatives, and any time he was willing to open up, I was willing to listen.
"Father watched his entire family put to death by a feudal land owner during the middle of the Ashikaga shogunate. Even though two centuries passed before he grew to manhood and married mother, the fear's still there. My parents taught me to keep my bloodline secret unless I'm called upon by Grandmother Coyote to reveal who I am. They don't blame humans as a whole… but…"
Hell, what a memory to carry. I reached out and took his hand. "Why Grandmother Coyote? Just what is your connection to her? You've never explained it before."
He glanced at the unicorn and pixie, then at me. "Grandmother Coyote rescued Yoshiro, my father. He was hiding in the woods, and he watched as his parents and siblings were slaughtered. Grandmother Coyote happened to come wandering by. She took my father home with her—she has a portal over in Japan as well as one here—and raised him as her son."
"Your father grew up with Grandmother Coyote?" The thought sent shivers down my back. Delilah was staring at him, mouth open, hand poised over the Fritos package.
"Good gods," she blurted out. "Your father had one of the Hags of Fate for a stepmother? I'm amazed he made it to adulthood alive."
Morio grinned. "It taught him resilience. After a few years, Grandmother Coyote decided to return to North America, and she entrusted his care to Kimiko, the woman who became his godmother. Kimiko's a local nature spirit over in Japan. She rules over the area's devas and flower Spirits. She taught Father how to use his powers, and she's the guardian spirit to whom our family pays respect and tribute. But my father owes Grandmother Coyote his life. He would have surely died without her intervention. We honor her requests. Always."
He gave me a little smile, and I suddenly understood a lot more about my demon lover and his sense of loyalty.
I thought about our own grandparents, who had paid scant attention to us because we were half-human. We seldom saw them, and last I heard, they'd died in a freak drowning accident or something. Father didn't exactly cozy up about them, since they'd rejected the love of his life.
"Grandmother Coyote really is like a grandmother to you. I imagine she doesn't bake chocolate chip cookies, though."
Morio snorted. "Not likely. And I'd never call her Grandma. Trust me on that one."
I made sure Feddrah-Dahns was comfortable, then sat down on the ottoman in front of Morio. He rested his arms around my shoulders, and I leaned back to look into his face as he lightly pressed his lips against mine. Though we were barely touching, the heat between us inflamed me from head to toe.
Trillian's passion was a powder keg, exploding when we came into contact. Morio's was molten lava, running slowly through my veins. His dark eyes were tinged with flecks of golden topaz that took over when he was in full demon form. As always happened when we linked energy, I fell into the deep abyss of magic that beckoned, and the energy between us began to swirl.
"Ahem," Delilah said as she cleared her throat. "When you two decide to join us, maybe we can get on with this talk?"
I grinned. "Sorry, I was just…"
"Never mind," she said with a wry grin. "I know what you were thinking. Can we just get on with it?"
I straightened my shoulders. "I suppose so. First things first. Mistletoe, are you okay? Were you hurt when those thieves chased you?"
The pixie shook his head. "No. As I told your sister in the car, I'm fine, M'Lady."
He certainly had better manners than most pixies I'd met. In fact, the majority were rough, crude, loutish types. "Do you still have the horn?" I asked, not wanting to appear too eager. But I couldn't deny it—I desperately wanted to see the thing.
