Midnight's Daughter

Postscript

He didn’t call. He wrote instead. Although I almost didn’t get the letter.

Ever since an unfortunate incident involving a lack of morning coffee and the postal uniform’s unca

I added the letters to the ones I’d collected that morning from the basement. Claire was in Faerie for the moment, but she still sent regular notes through the portal, which her uncle had used as a conduit for bringing in bootleg supplies. Because of the timeline difference, I’d found three letters that morning, each dated several weeks apart. They all said the same thing: she was fine; Heidar was fine; Caedmon was impossible—apparently, no one fusses over an expectant mother like the Fey, especially when the mother in question is carrying the heir to the throne.

As Claire said, she was still pretty freaked-out, both about the pregnancy and, even more, about all the creatures she had killed at Radu’s. A strict vegetarian, she was having a hard time accepting that she had drained most of the experiments dry of magic, and thereby of life, without even realizing it. The only ones who had survived were those, like Stinky, who were at least part Fey. Her gift seemed to have less of an effect on them. I supposed that was just as well—a part-human null was going to have enough trouble being accepted at court without draining the nobility dry.

She also wrote that she’s looking into possible Fey cures for my fits. A word was all it took for Caedmon to have a lab set up where she could explore the new flora to her heart’s content. Pretty soon, she’s going to have him as whipped as Heidar.

Of the other letters, the first was from Mircea. Purely a business proposition, he said, with no family strings attached. I raised a brow at that, but read on. Claire’s disappearance meant the bills were now all coming in my name.

Mircea wanted to know if I would be willing to work with the task force the Senate was forming to deal with problems caused by the war. Specifically, I would help to hunt down more of the dark’s special experiments and see that they were taken to Radu for examination. I might also assist in rounding up illegal immigrants from Faerie before they started snacking on humans. And, of course, ensure that the import of Fey wine was strictly prohibited.

I poured a tiny amount of the contraband stuff into my coffee mug. Luckily, I had about a five-year supply in the basement, courtesy of Claire’s uncle—God bless him. I drank a salute to Pip and resumed reading.

The Senate had been convinced to employ such a disreputable type as myself because of two recommendations. Mircea had somehow persuaded them that our recent adventures, and the fact that I am currently baby-sitting a Duergar, qualify me as a Dark Fey expert. The second came from Caedmon, although perhaps recommendation isn’t quite the right word. It seems that he’d flatly refused to deal with anyone else. That had me narrowing my eyes and wondering what the crafty old bastard was up to. I had a feeling I was going to find out.

The other piece of mail was a brown-paper-wrapped package sealed with the family crest—in bloodred wax, of course. I smiled as I slit it open, and smiled more when I saw the contents. Radu had thoughtfully sent me a little gift along with his letter, which consisted of two paragraphs explaining about the task force, and eight more bitching about the facilities/people/pressure with which he was forced to work. He was back at MAGIC while his place was undergoing massive renovations. I winced at the thought of what he’d build on what was now virtually a blank slate. It boggled the mind. I couldn’t wait to see it.

He also wrote that Mircea was twisting arms trying to get Louis-Cesare back, at least for the duration of the war. He’d gone off chasing some rumor about Christine, much to Mircea’s a

No explanation was given for the enclosed item, but then, I didn’t really need one. Radu had sent me a box of butterscotch candy. My favorite flavor. I stood there for a moment, thinking of schemes and plans, oaths and family. But mostly about a pair of blue, blue eyes.

I hadn’t been surprised to find out when I woke up at Radu’s that Louis-Cesare had done a disappearing act. I might have been hurt, if I hadn’t had his memories. If I hadn’t known to expect it. Somewhere along the line, he got tired of people lying to him, betraying him and leaving him. So he pulled the classic response. He became the one who left.

I should have been furious that someone who could be accepted chose not to be, that he shied away from the closeness I was denied merely to avoid the possibility of hurt. But I had those damn memories, and they weren’t fading with time. If anything, they seemed to be settling in for good, revealing stray glimpses into another life, another world, when I least expected it. And understanding another person, I was discovering, makes judging him a lot harder to do.

I finished my wine-laced coffee, then put through a call to Daddy. The vamp answering the magical mirror hissed at me, showing a lot more fang than he probably would have if I’d been there in person. I smiled back, which made him twitch. Finally, I got my request across and Mircea came into view. I told him that, with certain guarantees, I really thought I could make the time.