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“But she didn’t tell you this?” I didn’t need to guess on that one. I couldn’t see Pritkin having much in common with someone who had loved the world he hated.
“She told someone, but it wasn’t me.”
“Rosier.” I don’t know how I knew. Maybe because Pritkin only got that particular look on his face when he discussed his father.
A curt nod. “She went to see him, gained admission by mentioning my name. He later told me that she said she’d lived her life like a child in a candy store—one without any money to purchase anything. Able to see the beauty of her other world, but unable to gain access to it.”
“Because of her mixed heritage?”
“No. Demons aren’t like some of the Fey, jealously guarding their bloodlines, afraid of any impurity. They regularly mix races, among themselves, other types of demons, humans, Weres, Fey—anyone who has an attribute they think might be useful. Anyone who might give them an edge over a rival.”
“Then why couldn’t she just change worlds if she wanted? If she didn’t like it here—”
He shook his head. “It shouldn’t be difficult for you to understand. In that regard, as in others, your vampires are very similar to demonkind. What is the only thing that really matters to a vampire?”
I hesitated, not sure where he was going with this. “There are a lot of things—”
“Are there? In that case, why is your friend Raphael not the head of his own family? He is arguably one of the greatest artistic talents the West has ever produced, and yet he serves a sniveling, wretched nobody like that Antonio.”
“He doesn’t anymore. Mircea broke Tony’s hold.”
“But he did until recently.”
“Not by choice. Rafe is a master, but he isn’t that powerful—”
“And there you have it. Power. The one thing, perhaps the only thing, your vampires respect. It is the same with demons. And Ruth had almost none.”
“But she was part demon—you said so.”
“Yes, but demons are like any other species. Mix the genetics and you never know what will come up. Even full blooded Ahhazu aren’t that strong, and in her case . . . she may as well have been the human she pretended to be.”
“But you’re part demon and part human. And you told me yourself that the incubi aren’t considered one of the more powerful species, either. But you—”
“Yes, but my other half was magical human; hers was not. And that, or the small amount of Fey blood I inherited from my mother, or the way the genes combined—something worked to boost my abilities. I ended up stronger magically than I should have been, instead of weaker. If I had not, I doubt I would have ever known who my father was. He would have rejected me as another failed experiment and moved on. And the same was true for Ruth. Without power, she was of interest to no one.”
“No one except you.”
Pritkin was silent for a long moment. And when he spoke his voice was different from usual, softer, almost tentative. As if he had to find the words because he never spoke about this and didn’t have them ready.
“She saw me, I think, as an entrée into a world she could only imagine. She knew I was part demon from the moment she met me. It is difficult to hide that from another of our kind, but it is also difficult to tell which species one belongs to if the human side is dominant. I think—I would like to think—that she didn’t know until I told her. That her affection for me had some basis other than the fact that my father was the prince of one of the most magnificent of the courts. It is far from the most powerful, but in opulence, in decadence, in wealth . . . it would be difficult to name another more entrancing. Certainly, it entranced her.”
“I’m sorry.” I couldn’t think what else to say. No one liked to feel they were wanted only because of what they had, or, in his case, who they were.
“As am I.”
He was quiet for a while, the whoosh of the air conditioner and the faint buzzing of the overhead light the only sound. It was peaceful, and the small office was oddly cozy. It felt like an island away from the craziness of our usual lives, another moment stolen out of time. Maybe that’s what did it, or maybe, like me, he just wanted to tell someone. Have somebody understand.
“Demons do not . . . have relations . . . the same way humans do,” he finally said. “Or, rather, they can—the more humanoid of the species, in any case—but it isn’t considered a real joining. That comes only from merging with another, gaining power by feeding off their energy, having them feed off yours.... If done between two full demons, it can result in an exchange of power, enabling both to grow stronger. Some matings are done specifically for that purpose, to allow beings with complementary abilities to enhance them, possibly even mutate them into something neither had experienced before.”
I frowned, trying to grasp what he was telling me. “So instead of making a new life, you . . . remake yours?”
“In a way. Of course, a joining can result in both outcomes, although that’s exceedingly rare. But demon lives are long and experimentation is . . . almost a universal hobby. It is like the human fascination with genetics, the attempt to make oneself better through whatever means are available.”
“And Ruth wanted to do that with you?”
He nodded curtly once, and then went still. When he finally spoke it was harsh, clipped. “She didn’t tell me. She told my father, asked for his advice—why I don’t know. He would be the last person to give anyone selfless advice, but perhaps she assumed he would want the best for his son.” His lips twisted in savage mockery.
“And he told her to go ahead?” I asked.
