Lily stared. Could there be two people with that name? “I need my computer. Shit. I need to check … Rule, I know her. I’ve worked with her.” And liked her, dammit. “Arjenie Fox is with the Bureau. Someone in the Bureau tried to kill Ruben.”
Rule’s eyebrows drew down. “It wasn’t her. The timing doesn’t work.”
She brushed that aside. “I know that. But maybe we aren’t talking about a single player here. Ruben’s hit, I’m hit, and Arjenie just happens to show up at both Friar’s place and Clanhome?” She shook her head grimly. “Chosen or not, that’s too damned suspicious. At best, she knows more than she’s telling. At worst, she’s part of it.”
TWENTY-ONE
THE night air had that silken feel Arjenie associated with late spring evenings back home. No fireflies, though. Did they have fireflies in this part of California? She asked Isen, who said no, then told her about some of the bugs they did have.
Isen Turner was an excellent host now that he wasn’t threatening her. He listened as well as he spoke—and he was an entertaining speaker, whether he was talking about wine or bugs—and he had a sly sense of humor. Clearly he wanted his guest to feel special.
Special, and relaxed enough to tell him things. That was okay. It wasn’t as if she’d accidentally start blurting out stuff about Dya.
She was having a wonderful time. She was very conscious of Benedict sitting beside her, though he didn’t say much. Cullen Seabourne did. He’d gotten over his surliness. When Isen took a phone call and left the table to speak with someone privately, Seabourne amused both of them by flirting with her. He was a bit outrageous, but clearly just playing, so she relaxed and enjoyed herself. How often did a woman have an absurdly sexy man say her scent was as fresh and mysterious as a summer night, or that her hair reminded him of calling fire to dance on his fingers?
When Isen returned he still wore his earbud and he placed his phone nearby. Benedict looked at him with raised brows, which made her think this wasn’t Isen’s usual behavior. She hoped not. Aunt Robin didn’t allow phones at the dinner table, and Arjenie agreed with her.
“A developing situation,” Isen said vaguely. “My apologies. I need to stay on top of things, but it’s nothing for you to be concerned about.”
That made her curious, of course, but it wasn’t any of her business, unless they were about to be attacked by another clan or something. But surely he’d be doing more than keeping his earbud in place if that were the case.
By the time the silent Carl took away their empty plates, it was fully dark. Carl replaced the lasagna with cheesecake, and the wine with coffee. “That was excellent,” Arjenie said after she swallowed the last bite of her cheesecake.
“Would you like another piece?” Benedict asked.
She eyed him. His expression didn’t give much away, but she suspected he was amused. “No, thank you.”
“Are you sure?” Cullen Seabourne said. “You only had a pound or so of lasagna, along with a few slices of garlic bread—no more than four or five, surely. Plus the cheesecake, of course.”
No doubt about the expression on that gorgeous face. He was laughing at her. “I suppose you’re wondering where a skinny thing like me puts it all. I have a high metabolism, especially when I’ve been using my Gift. That sucks the calories right out of my body.”
“That’s not how Gifts usually work.”
“No.” The meal was over. It was time for the question-and-answer portion of the evening. “I believe it’s normal for those of the Blood, though admittedly my sample is small—me, a few brownies, a half-blood sidhe, a couple others. Do you need to eat after you’ve been through a Change?”
Seabourne’s eyebrows lifted. “We do, as a matter of fact. You consider yourself of the Blood, then?”
“Genetically, I’m about three-fourths human. Magically, I’m of the Blood, but I may or may not be sidhe in that respect.”
“Ah.” He glanced at Isen, who gave a small nod. “Maybe you could explain.”
“I can. I’m not used to it, but I can do it. Do you want to ask questions, or should I give you a … well, not a summary. I don’t abbreviate well. But I could tell you about my heritage.”
Isen answered this time. “Please do.”
“Okay. I’m asking you to be really careful about what you repeat to anyone else. I’ll explain why in a minute.” She put a hand on her chest. Funny. Her heartbeat had picked up and her mouth was dry. “This is harder than I thought it would be. It’s been such a big secret my whole life. I’ve never spoken of it to anyone outside of family. Well. The short version is that my mother was human. My father is sidhe. Low sidhe,” she added.
“The distinction doesn’t mean anything to me,” Isen said. “Low sidhe?”
“Sidhe divide themselves into three groups or classes: High, Middle, and low. High Sidhe are the immortals. There aren’t many of them. I’m told that most people in the sidhe realms go their whole lives without seeing a High Sidhe. Middle sidhe are the elfin nobility—and the way they determine who’s noble is confusing, but never mind that for now. Low sidhe are everyone else. Well, not humans—”
“There are humans in the sidhe realms?” Isen asked.
“Sure. We seem to be everywhere. What I meant was that low sidhe includes a lot of elves, plus a lot of mixed bloods, plus races other than elves who share in the sidhe magical heritage.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s complicated, but they determine who’s sidhe and who isn’t based on bloodlines and on common magical descent. It’s possible for magic to be passed on in ways that have nothing to do with the physical DNA. Pixies are a good example. They can’t interbreed with elves, so there’s no shared DNA, but their magic is descended from sidhe magic—don’t ask me how—so they’re considered sidhe.”
“Interesting,” Isen murmured. “I suppose that’s why you consider yourself of the Blood? Your magic isn’t human, and I suppose your blood would interfere with lab tests. Yet, if I understand correctly, you aren’t sure if it’s sidhe magic or not.”
“It’s more that I don’t know if the sidhe would consider me sidhe. That’s sort of important. My father is just under half sidhe by bloodlines—fifteen thirty-seconds, to be precise. His mother was a one-woman melting pot. If he were exactly half-sidhe, he’d automatically be considered low sidhe. Since he isn’t, he had to be tested. His magic tests as sidhe, so he’s sidhe.”
Isen nodded thoughtfully. “You haven’t been tested?”
“No.” She sighed. “Like I said, it’s complicated. My father did register my birth, which means I’m entitled to be tested, and he thinks I would test as sidhe. Not because I’m powerful, but my Gift is a sidhe ability. Kind of a rare one, too,” she added. “Or so he said the last time I saw him, but that was years and years ago. He isn’t exactly attentive. But I’d have to go to one of the sidhe realms to be tested, and that isn’t possible, which means I’m sort of at risk.”
Benedict spoke for the first time in quite awhile. “What risk?”
“There are, um, some people in some of the realms who might want to breed me or use my blood.”
He growled.
She blinked. “Wow. That sounds exactly like a wolf. I didn’t know you could do that when you were being a man.”
He took a slow breath and looked at the lovely man sitting across from her. “Seabourne, do you know what she’s talking about?”
Cullen Seabourne took his time answering, his expression abstracted, as if he were thinking hard. Or maybe seeing hard. He was watching Arjenie the way a mongoose watches a cobra. “Some blood is more magically potent than others. I assume that’s what she refers to.”