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When Kit arrived at Holzhausen’s house, she found a note on the front door asking her to wait on the back porch. She’d been to his house before, but the screened in back porch was always just a room she passed through to get to the kitchen.
Kit walked around to the back of the house, enjoying the warm summer evening. While not technically a forest, his property had enough trees that it felt as though Yseulta claimed it, which felt comforting to Kit. It had taken her longer to get used to being a familiar of Yseulta than it had to get used to having Kaa as her own familiar. Now it was just one more part of her, like the way you could close your eyes and know that you had ten toes even without moving them or looking at them. She could feel the trees in his yard, the bacteria in the soil, the fungus and moss taking root on the slate roof. She even felt the dead trees, like the stump of that oak that had been cut to the ground a few years earlier and the standing dead Douglas Fir near the kitchen window. Which reminded her, she needed to follow up with her boss and see if he agreed to the quote the landscaper submitted. While Kit, the familiar of the forest goddess, was perfectly fine with never cutting trees at all, Kit the Dayrunner to the Guild Leader knew it was irresponsible to have dead trees that close to the house.
Kit climbed the creaking back steps and opened the screen door to the porch. Kit took a seat on the chintz cushion, hearing the wicker chair creak. Was she supposed to wait until he showed up before seating herself? The trouble with dealing with old people is that they could be extremely old fashioned. It was dark on the back porch, the only light coming from the street light on the road in front of the yard, perhaps seventy or eighty feet away and blocked by an enormous oak. The oak didn’t like the streetlight. She knew that without knowing how she knew it, and wondered if she could use her teek to make the streetlight break, not that she’d ever been able to control her telekinetic abilities. Doors sometimes locked and unlocked, but never in a way that was convenient to her. Things fell off shelves, but only to break. It had happened more when she got back from the Realm. Were they right, that her fey qualities were from exposure to faeries? And if so, what about Fain? Was he more fey for having drunk her blood?
Kit looked at the back door, but she didn’t hear anything from inside the house. It was a warm night, and she heard the insects calling and the breeze blowing the leaves of the trees. She saw Campbell’s truck out in the back-gravel lot though, and if Campbell was here, Holzhausen was here as well. Kit had been in the house before, in the kitchen to discuss serious topics, in the parlor when they wanted some privacy, and upstairs once when she foiled an assassination attempt. She’d even stayed in his guest room for two days, under house arrest as protection from Fain, when he was addicted to her blood and tried to kill her.
It was definitely the strangest employer-employee relationship she’d ever had, the most intimate and also the least intimate. She had made bargains with faeries at his behest. If he (and he often had) asked her to meet him in a dark abandoned field at an hour after midnight, bringing a dead goat or a beeswax candle and a calf heart, or to wear hip waders and not tell anyone she was going, she did so without question. She had killed people for him. And yet, she had never called him by his first name and could not imagine doing so.
He had staked his reputation to protect her. He had coveted her heirloom, and instead of forcing her to sell or give it to him, he had defied all tradition and allowed a human to join the Guild. When she was hungry and unemployed, he had given her the most interesting job she’d ever had with exceptionally generous benefits. He had even used his political clout to send Fenwick to spend two weeks with her on a business trip, giving her the chance to win back the heart of the man she loved. He had taught her magic and used his name to get others to teach her, and he had taught her himself much of what she knew, a far more patient and exacting teacher than most of the college professors she had—an education he had also paid for. He had killed for her. He had never called her by her first name and she could not imagine him doing so.
She had no idea why he’d asked her to meet him just before midnight at his house, but she was pretty sure it would be interesting. The kitchen door opened, and Kit stood up as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Campbell came out of the house first, recognizable even in the dim streetlight by his bulk and his bushy beard. Holzhausen followed, smaller of stature and with ramrod posture.
“Please be seated, Melbourne.”
Kit sat down on the wicker chair again, with better posture this time. Holzhausen leaned forward and struck a match. In the flare she saw the faint glimmer of a glass pitcher, along with a plate of some shortbread. He lit an old-fashioned kerosene lamp and replaced the hurricane glass. It wasn’t until she had accepted a glass of the unbelievably tart lemonade and a plate of stale shortbread that he began the small talk which was an inevitable prelude to whatever he had actually wanted to talk to her about. He had a superstition that the fey weren’t safe until they had eaten or drunk under your roof.
“I have come to talk about a matter of some importance. To be frank, I want to offer you a gift.”
Kit set the cookie down. She tried to make out his features in the wan candlelight. He looked serious, but then, he always looked serious.
“Perhaps it is time for you to become an initiate.”
For a second, she wasn’t sure what he was talking about, and imagined a Pagan cult or Masonic lodge that he belonged to, to learn more magic. But then it hit her. “I should apply for permission to court a sire?”
He leaned forward. “You need not court anyone. I will be your sire.”
She heard and felt the cookie slide off the plate onto the floor. She barely swallowed the bite in her mouth.
She sat in stunned silence, a thousand thoughts whirling. She had never even considered that she would become a vampire. She’d seen initiates come and go, disappointed, waiting forever until they outgrew their desire or retired, disgruntled. Jessi Mitchell was the exception; most had vast sums of wealth and power. Mr. Hall had waited decades, and even then, had to beg for a sire with promises of betraying his former employer, a price he’d paid with his life. She’d considered becoming a vampire as often as she’d considered becoming America’s Next Top Model or winning the Publisher’s Clearing House Sweepstakes. It happened to other people, more patient people, people who wanted it more.
She’d be a great vampire. She already knew everyone, knew more about vampires even than some initiates. And they’d finally accept her. She’d be a Guild member for real, and not Holzhausen’s embarrassing peccadillo. She’d rejected Fain’s offer out of hand; they were pretty close to rogues down there as it was. But Holzhausen was the leader of a real Guild. Having him as her sire would be like being born into a noble family.
“Sir, I can think of no one else I’d rather have as my sire. This is a huge honor.”
And how would Fenwick take it? How would her children take it? What was she thinking? That wasn’t her life, wasn’t her fate. It wasn’t like a tattoo that you could remove with lasers. Vampirism was permanent. And vampires could not bear children. She touched her abdomen, where baby number three was the size of a walnut. She couldn’t. It would be a betrayal of her family.
“Melbourne? Do you accept?”
“I’m so sorry, sir. Please don’t think me ungrateful. What you’re offering—it’s a princely offer. I know I’m an idiot to turn you down. But I’m not ready. My family isn’t complete.” Kit picked the cookie up off the porch. She felt like kicking herself, and yet, she knew there was no way she could accept. “If it were just me ... I’m sorry. I have my baby to think of, my family. I can’t.”
“Don’t look so distraught, Melbourne. Perhaps we can revisit this offer when your childbearing years have ended. You have time. I am confident you could still hunt quite successfully as une femme d’une certain âge.”
Kit felt relief that he wasn’t angry, and that the door had not completely closed, and also, perversely, relief that she would remain as she was. Just because she hated blood? Because she loved her job? Because she loved camping and the feel of sunlight on her leaves? How could she look her friends in the face if they knew she had the opportunity to become one of them and had turned it down? What kind of idiot would turn down eternal life? But then, what if she already had supernatural longevity? Familiars lived longer than their wild counterparts, and she was the familiar of a goddess.
“What changed, sir? Is this about Fain?”
“No, Melbourne. I regret my reaction to your news. I allowed him to bait me, when I should have known he is not a worthy competitor. It is something else. I have heard word from my old master.”
Kit set the plate on the table and folded her hands in her lap. “Your sire, sir?”
“No. Not my sire, though he lives still. The one who taught me the craft of magic. He is an old and powerful vampire who goes by the name of Sorrow. I was his apprentice. Through him I learned the magics which protect our Guild House. I learned how to scry the future, how to see things as they truly are, how to ensorcell the weak minded. I learned black arts I have never had cause to practice, and unearthly enchantments I never mastered.
“I have heard from Sorrow that he is seeking a new apprentice. To be chosen by him is a great honor. He only chooses those he deems worthy, those who both hunger for knowledge and have the grit to achieve it. I admit, I was boasting of you. You have many gifts.”
“Thank you, sir.” Kit felt her face blush.
“But he will not waste his time on a mortal.”
Kit pressed her lips flat. “How mortal am I? Everyone tells me I don’t smell human.”
“Yes, I have mentioned your fey taint. It is possible that he would make an exception. Or perhaps he will choose Fain as his apprentice.”
“Fain?”
“He drank your blood. He carries some of your taint. It cost him dearly enough. Perhaps it will give him abilities, or an aptitude that could be nurtured. Fain also craves power, and he is not a mere human mortal.”
Kit tried to imagine Fain learning how to set a ward. Tried to imagine Fain staring into a scrying bowl or wrapping a spell bundle to summon a familiar. She had to admit, she felt envy. Was there anyone who hungered to learn magic more than she did? It had been so hard to leave the Realm. All the gowns in the Realm of the Faerie could not entice her to stay there, but to leave her sorcery tutor was harder than refusing Holzhausen’s offer of vampirism; it hurt like tearing away her roots. And to learn from Holzhausen’s own teacher!
“I do not like the idea of Fain becoming Sorrow’s apprentice,” Holzhausen said. “I trust him even less than his sire.”
“About that, sir. There’s something I need to tell you,” Kit said. “I’ve spoken to Albers recently. I asked her to help me choose a dress for the wake.”
Holzhausen tapped his lips. “You know I do not approve.”
“Yes, sir. I made sure to tell her that. I implied I was angry with you and doing it out of defiance,” Kit said. “I was so grateful and vulnerable. It won’t take much more for us to become friends.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Melbourne.”
“I know. I’ve been polite and cordial and distant with everyone, but that only goes so far. To refuse to play is to forfeit. It’s time to make my own alliances, my own connections. I’m approachable. People will tell me things they wouldn’t tell you. I just wanted to tell you about my plan, so you didn’t hear from someone else that I was friendly with her and get the wrong idea.”
There was a long pause. Kit heard a rhythmic squeaking sound and realized she was sitting on a gliding chair. She made herself stop moving.
“Your idea has merit.” Holzhausen tapped his lips again. “And I appreciate your candor.”
“Boss, why do you distrust her so much?” Kit asked. “You have warned me she’s dangerous. Everyone says she’s a master, and I have a reputation as being easy to read. I have an expressive face. I want to know what I’m getting into.”
Holzhausen paused a long time before speaking. “She manipulated me into distrusting someone who had never betrayed me. One named Greene. I heard terrible, plausible rumors of illegal fledglings, alliances with vampires outside the city to overthrow me. I was new in my tenure and unstable. Greene had never seemed untrustworthy before, but I didn’t know who to believe. Of course, Greene denied it, but the stories seemed to come from everywhere and everyone. I could not let someone betray me like that and live; it would have cost me everything. I did not discover how I had been deceived until years later, when I unraveled the story and learned all the lies and insinuations seemed to spring from people who were close to Albers. She used me as her catspaw to rid herself of someone she found inconvenient. I swore I would not be deceived like that again.”
“I’ll be careful, Boss.”
“You are correct on your first account. It is time for you to learn the game. And I know you will do well. I trust you, Melbourne. You are of my house,” Holzhausen said, and he had an expression like Kishimoto-sensei used to when she started to learn a new kata, as if she was floundering and clumsy now but that he knew she would master this in time, as she had mastered all the others before it. “Re-enroll in acting lessons. This game can be as dangerous as any mission I have sent you on, and your skills must be kept sharp.”