Chapter 29

Chapter 29

FEY

F ey blinked, stunned, and Callum sighed.

“I guess Alastair never told you that, either, huh?” He drank the last of his wine and set the glass back on the table in front of them. “Okay… well, you ever wonder where my father’s money comes from? Where all of this”—he motioned at the room around them, the mansion around them—“comes from?”

Fey shook her head. She hadn’t, not really. The Vampire Faction having riches beyond imagining was just a universal given. Like how the sky was blue, and the sun rose in the east. It wasn’t something she had ever bothered to question.

“Our family is responsible for almost all the drugs circulating through the city, Fey,” Callum said sadly. “Devil dust, delirium, haste, you name it. Our father is the one who oversees all manufacturing and sale, throughout all eight octants of the realm.”

“Holy shit,” Fey whispered, thinking of all the time she’d spent as a Blade trying to fight that very specter of drug dealings. That all of it, all of that seemingly endless stream into the city, came from one source?

“Yeah,” Callum said, tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear. “After Delilah started using… Alastair blamed our father. Tried to force him to stop, to put an end to the business. ”

“And he wouldn’t?”

“Couldn’t, if you believe Father. Wouldn’t, if you believe Alastair.”

“And who do you believe?” Fey asked.

Callum groaned. “You know how to cut right to the bone, don’t you, love?” he asked, giving her a lopsided smile. Then he grimaced, rubbing his face. “Alastair. I believe Alastair, I suppose. Father could do it if he truly wanted to. He could put a stop to it, as the family patriarch. He has the power to make us all fall in line, so who could stop him, really?”

“So that’s why Alastair hates your father?”

Callum nodded. “They fought about it constantly, but then Delilah died and… that was that. Alastair made one last attempt, demanding he stop all manufacturing and sales of any drugs everywhere in the realm. Father refused, and Alastair left. They didn’t speak for years after that. Tonight is one of the few nights they’ve even agreed to be in the same room together, you know?”

Fey considered this. Considered what Alastair had put himself through to bring her here tonight. “When did Delilah die?” she asked finally, taking a sip of her wine to wash the taste of this new knowledge out of her mouth.

“Oh, fifty or so years ago…”

Fey spat out her drink. “Fifty years ago?”

Callum smirked at her. “I take it you have no idea how old my brother is, then?”

“He told me he was still young, for your Faction, but… How old is he, Callum?” Fey asked. She felt a little dizzy.

“Oh, he is young, for one of us. That’s not a lie,” Callum assured her. “He’s just barely over two hundred.”

“I think I’m going to faint,” Fey whispered, and Callum threw back his head and laughed. “I had no idea… wait—you said I was the first woman he’s brought to meet your family?”

“I did, yes,” Callum said, grinning. “And that’s true, Fey. Two hundred years, and what I can only imagine was countless women from the rumors I’ve heard over the years, and you’re the first one, in all that time, he’s actually seemed to care about.”

It was almost sweet, Fey thought, hiding her face from Callum and taking another deep breath.

“I had no idea your family was so long-lived,” she admitted.

“Understandable,” Callum said. He stood and walked to the bar to grab the bottle of wine, pouring himself another glass and refilling hers without asking. “We do look good for our age, don’t we?”

“I know your father is old,” Fey said. “He was there for the War of the Fallen. That’s not just a myth, is it?”

“It is not a myth,” Callum answered, smirking.

“He’s over three hundred years old, then,” Fey said, breathlessly. “I knew, but it never really… sank in.”

Over two hundred. Alastair was over two hundred years old.

The room was spinning around her. Fey set her wineglass on the table and leaned forward, nestling her head between her knees.

Callum chuckled and rubbed comforting circles over her back and shoulders.

“I think our father is closer to five hundred, at this point,” Callum said. “But I doubt that makes it better, does it?”

Fey just groaned.

“He wasn’t at all surprised by you, you know,” Callum continued. “Our father. It made perfect sense to him that you would be the one to steal his son’s heart. After all, they’ve always been more alike than Alastair ever wanted to admit.”

“What do you mean?” Fey asked.

“A powerful Witch? Capable of tearing down an entire regime almost entirely on her own?” Callum asked. “Cassiel fell in love with a woman just like that over three hundred years ago, Fey.”

“You don’t mean…” Fey sat up, twisting toward Callum, open-mouthed. “Callum, you cannot be telling me that your father was in love with the Witch Queen. The First Queen.”

Callum’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “You Witches really don’t remember a lot of your own history, do you? Yes, Fey.” He smiled. “He was in love with her. And she was in love with him, too. But, sometimes, love isn’t enough. He was furious with her when she crowned herself queen, you know. That’s why he did it, why he made that stupid proclamation declaring himself king. And I can only assume the fact that she loved him was why she didn’t kill him outright for the sheer audacity of it…”

“Goddess,” Fey whispered, putting her head back between her knees. “Callum, this is all a little too much for me.”

He laughed again but continued to pat her back. “I am sorry, Fey. I had no idea you Witches had forgotten that bit of your history. I assumed you knew.”

“We’re not taught a lot about the First Queen,” Fey murmured, her voice muffled by her legs. “We’re not even taught her name…”

“Thea,” a voice said softly from the door. “Her name was Thea.” Fey sat up. Alastair stood there in the doorway, looking in at the two of them. His eyes looked… sad. Hurt.

“Father still talks about her. I think she might have been the only woman he ever really loved,” he continued sadly.

“So, your family has a type?” Fey asked.

“I guess we do,” Callum told her with a wink. “Let me know if any of the males in your Faction ever develop powers. I am single, after all.”

“Come on, Witchling,” Alastair said, approaching the couch where they sat. “It’s time to go.”

The smile slipped from Callum’s face.

“I take it your meeting with Father didn’t go well, then?” he asked, gaze locked on the ground rather than meeting Alastair’s eyes.

“That’s the understatement of the century.” He held out his hand for Fey and she took it, letting him help her to her feet. Callum stood, brushing his hands over the rich fabric of his dress shirt self-consciously.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to spend more time together,” Callum said softly to Fey. He took her other hand, kissing the back of her fingers again. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Fey. I truly mean that.”

Fey smiled. “It was a pleasure to meet you, too. And thanks… for clearing some things up for me.”

He grinned. “Of course. Evil thrives in ignorance. I think truth is the only thing that can drive it away, don’t you?”

She didn’t know, so she kept quiet.

“Please, do come and visit us again,” Callum said. But the pain in his eyes, and the way Alastair’s grip tightened on her hand, made Fey think neither of them believed that would be happening anytime soon.