Chapter 17

Andreas scratches his jaw. "I have a contact, an old battle buddy. He used to be pretty highly ranked inside the Tribunal, but became disillusioned with the way they do things—namely, the same way they"ve been done for millennia, regardless of how much the world and society have changed." He pauses, sighing. "They call us rebels. But we"re not. We don"t want to tear down the system, we don"t want to depose leaders. We just want the system we have, and the leadership of it, to recognize that the world we live in is drastically different than the world that existed when the Immortal Tribunal was established—as evidenced by the fact that it"s still called a Tribunal at all. We want them to recognize that the Treaty was unjust and overly harsh, especially when the root cause of the war, the extremist faction advocating for immortal superiority, was a minority and not just not supported by the immortal population at large but openly and vehemently opposed—precisely because we saw it leading to exactly what happened.

"We want the Tribunal to campaign and appeal to the mortal circle of leaders who know of our existence and seek a renegotiation of the terms. Perhaps, even, a recognition of immortals alongside mortals. As equals. To not have to live in the shadows, unable to propagate. We don"t want to be overlords simply because we have magic and long lives."

I wriggle, testing my body—I"m stiff and sore as if I climbed a mountain and then fell down it. But…it"s manageable. Surprisingly so, considering what Caspian said happened.

You"d think being dead would hurt more.

Although…I do remember the pain. A vague, distant memory. Perhaps that"s a memory better left vague.

I sit up, relieved to discover I"m clad in a large T-shirt—one of Caspian"s, with the letters CBGB OMFUG on it. Whatever that means.

"I"m an outsider," I say. "I didn"t grow up in immortal culture. So I think maybe my perspective is a bit different from yours—both of yours. Caspian, I"m not sure where you are in terms of what Andreas was just saying, but—"

"A couple months ago, I would have been more neutral than anything—I have a grudge against Enforcers and the Tribunal for murdering my mother, but I always felt like there was…I don"t know. An explanation, sort of. The war had just ended. The treaty was…the ink was still wet, so to speak. No one was sure what was going on or what things would look like. And my mother was…an unfortunate victim of the Tribunal being overly aggressive in enforcing the terms of the Treaty. That was what I told myself. But your mother was murdered the same way. It was every bit as unjust—and even more so. She didn't have a child to flaunt the treaty—they forced it on her and then killed her for it. And then ever since, they"ve been hunting us down like animals. I"ve done nothing wrong but they"re still willing to shoot me in the street like a stray dog. For what? For loving you? For being your mate?"

He shakes his head, anger turning his features to marble.

"No," he snarls. "They"ve lost legitimacy—or, whatever. So, I don"t have the answers for what it should look like, I just know that how it works now is wrong. The system is unjust. Immortal kind should be able to live side by side with mortals. The problem of reproduction is way over my pay grade, but…Maeve, your very existence proves there"s an alternative, right? So—fuck, how do I put this? As vile and reprehensible as what your grandfather did to your mother is, it worked. It proved that immortals don"t have to take mortal lives to produce offspring. How do we get immortals to accept that new reality? No clue. How do we get mortals at large to accept the fact that we exist? No clue."

"I just…as a former mortal, I can see immortals benefitting society at large," I say. "A vampire would make an incredible firefighter. They—we—can"t asphyxiate from smoke inhalation because technically we don't need to breathe, especially unblooded. A building can fall on a vampire and he or she wouldn't be harmed. A vampire could run into a burning building and rescue someone in the blink of an eye. Obviously, a vampire would be a poor choice for a paramedic or medical doctor. But a fae? A fae would be able to perform healing glamours, major ones. Any immortal who has lived long enough could teach history—from the perspective of someone who has live through it. Can you imagine a history teacher who can openly talk about what it was like to live through the Black Death or The French Revolution? It would be amazing."

Andreas grins. "I"ve thought about this a lot over the centuries. You"ve never been to a fae enclave, Mae. Fae architecture is incredible. We could help mortals construct buildings to be fire-, earthquake, and flood-proof with some pretty simple glamours—fae architects could sell them at a premium, which would benefit fae as well as mortals. Plus, fae-built buildings are just cool as hell."

I swallow. "Mae, huh?"

He frowns. "No?"

I lick my lips. Swallow hard. Blink against the burning in my tear ducts. "Mom…she used to call me Mae-Mae, when I was little. I made her stop when I was in middle school and thought I was too cool for kiddie nicknames. I"d give anything to hear Mom call me Mae-Mae again."

"I"m sorry, Maeve. I didn"t mean to hit a trigger." Andreas winces. "I know how that feels. I don"t know if I could handle anyone calling me Dre like your mom used to. She had a way of making a nickname feel so special, and loving, you know? Like, it meant something coming from her."

Tears trickle. "Yeah. I know what you mean. The funny thing is, I regretted making her stop literally less than a year later. Because it did feel special." I look out the window and let the sadness roll through me, wave after wave of missing my mother. "You can call me Mae." I glance at Caspian. "You too. It may hurt a little at first, but hopefully, in time, it"ll just make me think of Mom in a good way."

Andreas lets out a long, slow sigh, shaking his head. "You"re braver than me, Mae. No one has called me Dre in twenty years, and I"ve gone out of my way to make sure it stayed that way, because it hurt too much. And yet here you are, barely more than a child—no offense meant—and you"re giving me a lesson in strength and moving on."

"Everyone"s different, Andreas. You were with Mom for literal centuries. The pain is…. different. Deeper."

"Not deeper," he argues. "Just different. She was your mother and my mate. They aren"t the same. There"s no comparing because they're very different things." He swallows hard, and I catch a glimpse of a subtly glowing tear on his cheek before he makes a casual, rough gesture out of dashing it away with his foreknuckle. "So, call me Dre." He glances at Caspian with a wry grin. "You can call me Andreas, still. I"m not there with a vampire just yet. It"s nothing personal."

Caspian chuckles. "No offense taken, Andreas. I wouldn"t be cool with you calling me Cas, either. It"s gonna take a while before I'm that close with you." He looks at me, his expressions softening. "You"re her dad, more or less, so hopefully, in time, we will get there."

Andreas looks thoughtful, nodding slowly. "You"re right, Caspian. And you know, we"re making history ourselves. A vampire bloodmated to history"s first verified, acknowledged hybrid immortal, with a fae parental figure."

"In mortal terms, you"d be my father-in-law," Caspian says.

"Do vampires observe anything like traditional mortal weddings?" I ask. "Do fae, for that matter?"

Caspian answers first. "Sometimes. It depends. There are ceremonies for the clans of the mated pair, but they tend to be small, private affairs rather than the massive monstrosities mortals call a wedding."

"Fae are much the same, but the wedding ceremonies tend to be quite elaborate and lavish. The guest list is limited to the immediate families and close friends of the couple, rather than everyone and anyone as with mortal weddings, but as I said, the ceremonies tend to be long, lavish, and intricate, especially in what mortals would call the aristocratic circles." Andreas gestures at me. "Like your family."

"Did you and mom have a ceremony?" I ask.

His expression shutters. "No. Elias and Philistia didn"t approve of me. I"m not from a good family, and I"m not British. I"m from a poor Greek clan. My family has lived on the same small island for millennia. To the mortal world, our island is one of the thousands of uninhabited islands in the Mediterranean and Aegean, because my ancestors placed a colossally powerful glamour on it. Anyone who approaches, if they"re not from my clan, will find their boat breaking down, and the weather turning inexplicably violent. They"ll be prompted, increasingly so as they get closer, to turn around. Stay away. There's nothing here. Everyone once in a while, a particularly stubborn-minded mortal will reach the shore, but all they"ll see is a rocky, abandoned lump of nothing. In reality, it"s a large, lush island that we"ve spent thousands of years cultivating."

He waves a hand. "Anyway. Her parents didn"t approve of her joining the volunteer medical unit and approved even less so of her working on the front lines. And then when she wrote them about our relationship, they were apoplectic. They"ve always been very closely tied to the royal family—quietly, behind the scenes. So for their daughter to get her hands dirty caring for mere mortals was embarrassing enough, but for her to shack up with a country bumpkin like me, without a name or title, without more than a few coppers to rub together, and a freedom fighter to boot? The shame, the shame. They didn"t speak to her for something like thirty years before they got over it. And they never bothered to meet me."

"When I talked to Grandfather in The Dreaming, he spoke of you with what sounded like respect." I find the exact words percolating in my brain. ""Eliza loved him very much. I remember him being a warrior of no little renown, and rather outspoken regarding certain tribunal decisions and practices,"" I quote. "He also said he kept tabs on you for decades but hasn"t had time lately." I frown, sighing. "He also claimed the Enforcers who captured and interrogated you did not do so on his orders. He said he"s not my enemy."

Andreas lifts a shoulder and bobs his head to the side. "Perhaps he feels that way now, centuries later. Then, however, he very much looked down on me as unworthy of his daughter." Andreas laughs. "The irony is that I always agreed with him. I never felt like I deserved the precious, incredible gift that was your mother. She was just so much more than me. Smarter. More powerful. A world-class glamourist. Well-bred, well-educated. She could play the piano, sing, sew, hold court with the most erudite of conversationalists, ride a horse, shoot a bow, and wield a sword. She could fight with her fists. There was nothing Eliza couldn"t do, Mae. And then there was me. A roughneck farmer who grew up on a remote island. A soldier. I had no money, no manners, and no skills beyond fighting, farming, and fu—ummm. Yeah. Anyway." He trails off with a self-conscious laugh. "So, no. We never had any official wedding."

I shake my head. "I feel like we"ve gotten a little off-track, here."

Caspian laughs. "Just a little. I don"t even remember what we were supposed to be talking about."

"We"re supposed to be figuring out next steps, now that Maeve is awake and, you know, not permanently dead." Andreas eyes me. "Not to sidetrack things again, but…being dead—what was it like?"

"Well, it was…weird. I guess the only way I can really describe it is to say that it felt more like a place than, like, a state of being. I didn"t feel dead." I blow out a breath. "Ever since I moved to Michigan and met Caspian, I"ve had these weird, intense dreams. Darkness, nothingness, just…a void. Like being in outer space, but no stars, no planets, nothing. And I"d see you, Andreas, but in your fae form. Or Mom, or Caspian. I can"t quite pinpoint it or remember exactly—it"s a lot like dreaming in that it sort of fades from memory upon waking, but not totally. And I think…I feel like death and dreaming are sort of like another dimension, like a gradient. When we—well, gah, let me try again. Dreaming is the upper level. When people dream—mortals and immortals, and I'm talking regular, normal dreams—we enter the surface, if we"re assuming dreaming and death are like an ocean. A regular dream is like swimming across the surface. Lucid dreaming could be likened to free diving. Immortals who can enter what I think of as the Dreamscape, or The Dreaming, with capital letters, that"s like scuba diving down into the depths as far as you can. But there are levels beneath it. And down there, it"s Death. Except this is where the analogy breaks down, for me. Because you can"t take a submarine down there like you can down to the bottom of the ocean. Most people can"t enter Death and return. Fae because they"re living creatures, and Death is, for most living beings, a one-way trip. For vampires, it"s the reverse. They can enter Death, but because they are—when unblooded, at least—already dead, they can"t leave because they rightfully belong there. Blooded is a different story and one I don"t know enough to conjecture about. But for me, because I'm both, I think I have a weird ability to enter Death and return. Because I"m a vampire, some part of me is…well, dead, I suppose, and because I"m fae, I have magic that allows me to do things vampires can"t, like traverse from Dreaming into Death and back. I don"t understand it, at all. I mean, as I"ve said a lot lately, I"m still mortal in my mind, in some ways, and the physics and biology of it don"t work, because I'm thinking like a mortal, and this stuff doesn't obey the rules of nature as I, mortally speaking, understand them."

Caspian chuckles. "That sounds like a lot of extra words for "I can"t really explain it.""

I snicker. "Yeah, basically. Mainly because I don"t exactly understand it myself."

Andreas looks thoughtful. "No, I think you explained it quite well, as a matter of fact. There"s a whole world of immortal academia out there, Maeve. Vampires who study death from an immortal perspective. Fae who study biology and anatomy in conjunction with magic. I've heard rumors of a secret research university where fae and vampires share notes, but I"ve never seen proof. I only mention it now because I think, in time, you could add significant advances to those subjects of research."

I stare off into the middle distance. "Really? That would be…fascinating, honestly. It was scary at first, but once I was able to accept it, and understand that I could somewhat guide and control myself, it was…interesting, to say the least."

"Back to the salient topic," Andreas says. "What to do next."

I shrug. "We find my grandfather." I look to Andreas. "You started out saying you had a contact?"

He nods. "I do. I"ll have to do some legwork to find him, and then work with him to figure out how to get you in contact with Elias. Fortunately, the last time I spoke to my friend he was based here in New York. I should be able to track him down and get in touch pretty easily. You guys hang tight here while I do that."

"Just be careful out there, okay?" I reach out and take his hand. "I don"t want to have to heal you again."

He squeezes my hand and offers a reassuring smile. "Won"t be necessary." He squeezes my hand again and stands up. "I placed wards around the building, keyed to the three of us. Anyone else, and I mean anyone who tries to get in will suffer a very, very messy death, vampires included, so make sure the others in your coven understand this."

"Got it," Caspian says, and I see his eyes go unfocused as he conveys the message to the others via bloodlink.

Andreas gathers a few things—cash, a change of clothing—apparently, he and Fin are close enough in size that he can borrow Fin"s clothing—and some protein bars and bottles of water, all carried in an expensive-looking black leather rucksack lent to him by Caspian.

He pauses at the door, and I realize he"s been in his full fae form this whole while.

I watch as he prepares to cast a glamour—I watch with my normal gaze first, but quickly realize that won"t do me any good. Instead, I focus on the unseen—which requires a shift in perspective, as well as a tiny dose of vitality. I imagine smearing the energy of magic on my eyes in a magical film or filter.

There"s a golden-white blur of light, and my eyes strain, sort of like going cross-eyed, and then the whole world is dimmed in a thin cloak of shadows, except for Andreas.

He shines.

His hands glow, and his eyes, and his hair. I can almost see his well of vitality—low, and dull; he needs more.

I watch as he dips into his well and pulls up a small palmful, like dipping a cupped hand into a pool of water. Using slow, calculated movements, he cups the energy between both palms, then flattens his palms together—slowly, precisely, he rotates his palms so his fingertips touch the undersides of each opposing wrist. After a brief pause, he pinches his thumb and middle finger of each hand together at the base of his wrists and pulls them away, as if drawing the energy out into a thin spindle. Indeed, visually, that is exactly what he is doing—although only he and I can see it. To Caspian, it probably appears as if he"s just doing weird shit with his hands.

Andreas pulls the spindle of golden-white energy out, longer and longer, twisting and spinning it into a glowing rod about two feet long, held between each middle finger and thumb. Once it has reached what he deems the correct length, he brings the spindle toward his face. The very center point he places beneath his chin and wraps each half upward toward his forehead, outlining his face. Once there, he presses his middle fingers into his forehead, side by side, where the so-called third eye is traditionally located.

He covers his face with his palms—holds them there for ten or fifteen seconds, and then draws his hands away, slowly, dragging his middle fingers along his eyes from tear ducts to outer corners; the glow of fae vitality fades, and the almond shape of them becomes less pronounced. He carves his touch over his ears, rounding them off. Once more, he covers his face with both hands, and I see a brief flare of golden-white light, and then he lowers his hands, and he is Andreas Burke once more, a mortal American of Greek ancestry, a cop with a five-o"clock shadow and a world-weary expression.

He grins at me. "You catch all that?"

I nod. "I think so. How do you determine what the mask makes you look like, though?"

He shrugs. "You don"t. The magic does."

"But…you were always fae, putting on a mask to look mortal. Will the mask make me look like I used to? Or different?"

He shrugs again. "No way to know. Magic is…capricious. There"s always at least some element of the unknown to glamourworking. The nice thing about learning to apply a mask glamour is that the worst-case scenario is you look funny til you either remove it or it fades. You"ll know right away if you got it wrong, and you"ll know right away if you got it right. You only need it to hide your face, eyes, and ears—somehow, the magic does the rest. For fae, at least. I have no way of knowing how it"ll affect your vampire side, though." I notice that now he"s back in mortal cop guise, he uses more contractions and informal mortal speech patterns, rather than the more formal and archaic manner fae and vampires both tend to use.

"It"s an effort in subtlety, Mae," Andreas says. "So far, most of what I've seen you do has been instinctual, and a result of brute force. Applying a glamour mask requires subtlety and intent, as well as a lot of practice. It"s a great place for you to start learning some kind of control over that volcano of power you"re carrying around. You"re nuclear-powered, honey. So far, you"ve been letting it explode. Now, you need to learn how to light a lightbulb rather than level an entire city, if you follow my metaphor."

I nod. "I follow. I doubt it will be easy, though."

Andreas grins. "Oh, I don"t know. You cast the magic-sight glamour pretty easily, and that"s about the same as mask-casting, in terms of power level and delicacy. You"ll do fine. Now, I've got to get going. You two…try to stay out of trouble, will you?"

I wince. "Trouble seems to find me, unfortunately, but I'll do my best."

Andreas slings one arm around me, tugs me against him in a casual one-arm hug, and then kisses the top of my head. "See you soon. This should take a few hours at least, a day or two at most."

He tosses off a snappy salute, does an about-face, and then he"s through the door and gone.

For a moment, I can follow his energy signature, the feel of his vitality, and then it fades as he passes out of whatever range the sense has. I could probably extend it magically, but I see no point.

It"s then I notice a different energy in the room.

This one is less magical and far more prosaic—it"s Caspian.

I turn to face him—he"s standing in the middle of thecroom, stone-still, partially unblooded, and brooding. Tense.

Now that I think about it, there has been an underlying tension radiating from him ever since I woke up, but I've been too preoccupied with the conversation to pay much attention.

His arms are folded; his face is expressionless.

I approach slowly, cautiously. Stop inches from him, gaze up at him. Reach up a hand and touch his jaw—cool, hard. "Cas?"

No answer.

I realize, only now, belatedly, that he"s been acting casual for Andreas, and hiding his true feelings.

Now that Andreas has left, he"s letting them out.

And he is not happy.

I cup his jaw. "Cas, talk to me. What"s wrong? What did I do?"

His eyes, nearly swallowed by the vampiric black, regard me with that uniquely expressionless steadiness.

Silence.

I cradle his face in both hands, touch his lips with mine. "Talk to me, my mate."

"You died."

"I"m a vampire. I"m already dead."

He shakes his head. "No. You"re half-vampire, and only half-dead. or whatever the fuck you are. You died. You were fucking dead, Mae." His voice shakes with emotion. "You were dead. Gone. I couldn"t reach you with our bloodlink, and neither could the others. I couldn"t feel you, Maeve. I…I thought I"d…" he shakes his head again, this time less in denial and more as an expression of being helpless to express the totality of his feelings. "I thought I"d lost you."

"But you didn"t."

"I know that…now. I didn"t then, Maeve. Andreas, he…He didn't think you were truly dead, like permanently, but he wasn"t sure." He softens from marble to flesh, unfolding to slide his arms around my waist, hands resting on my hips. "It was the scariest three days of my entire life, Maeve. I can"t lose you. I won"t survive it."

"You won"t lose me, Cas. I"m here. I'm alive."

He shakes his head yet again. "I don"t have a good feeling, Maeve. About what"s coming. I"m no fae, with the gift of foretelling, but—"

"That"s a thing?"

He shrugs, nods. "Sure. They"ve been called various things by mortals throughout history—prophets, seers, witches, clairvoyants. Not the point, my love. The point is, I just…I have a bad feeling about all this. Your grandfather, you, your place in what"s happening. Things are changing, and it feels like you"re the nexus of it all. And it scares me. Because I…I fucking need you, Mae."

"Cas—"

A smear of red beads in the corners of his eyes. "I need you, and you were dead."

"I wasn"t thinking about what that must have been like for you, and I'm sorry. I should have. I"m just so caught up in trying to figure myself out, trying to figure out what"s going on and what to do next. But I lost sight of you, of us, for a moment, and I"m sorry."

The black subsumes his eyes, and he is fully vampire, now. His grip claws into my backside, pulling me against him.

He"s blooded enough to have an erection—I feel it pressing against my belly.

"I don"t need your apology," he snarls. "I just need you."

"You have me, Caspian. Always."

"Not what I mean," he growls, a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

"Oh?" I ask, playing coy. "Then whatever do you mean?"

He steps backward and peels the oversized T-shirt off of me, leaving me standing naked before him.

"Allow me to show you," he says, sinking to his knees.