What he was? Julian was a wilder. But it was true, we didn’t really know why they were born—what confluence of genetic and environmental factors produced children like that. I took a deep, steadying breath. “Julian, please, stop being vague. Let me know what you learned. Is there any reason I shouldn’t know?”
He laughed, but not in mirth. The corners of his mouth twisted, as if he had tasted something bitter. “No, not really. You’ll never look at me the same again … but it won’t do you any lasting damage.”
For the briefest moment, I questioned my determination. The bond between us was still fragile. Could it survive whatever truth he carried? Or would this drive me off—did he want it to drive me off?
I banished that fear and said, “I’d rather deal with the truth than continue to believe in a lie.”
“Fine.” Julian went to a snow-covered rock and brushed it off. He gestured for me to sit, then cleared another one for himself. I settled down, feeling as though I ought to have brought something to take notes with. He seemed to be preparing to talk for quite a while. I folded my hands tightly in my lap, clutching my own fingers to keep from fidgeting.
“Sidhe blood is drawn back to the Otherworld,” Julian said. “It’s the basic principle of contagious magic. The two places were once linked, and so a connection remains. That connection is what gives you your gifts, what allows you to work any magic at all. Without it, you’d have none of that. Magic is a natural ability of the sidhe, not of humans.”
That was a blunt way to put it, but he was right. Reading minds, lighting fires by will alone—that wasn’t natural to our species. To the non-gifted, all bloods carried a slight tinge of the inhumanity that marked wilders so strongly.
So strongly. I bit my lip to keep from voicing the question I’d never had the gall to ask.
I might not have to. Julian said, “It isn’t blood, of course—it’s DNA, and Alexander Krauss figured out how to measure it. We talk about it like it’s the percentage of your genetic makeup that comes from sidhe ancestors, but really it’s the percentage that’s activated, triggering gifts.”
“Out of the junk DNA.” I remembered high school biology.
“We’ve all had the test. You’re, what, four tenths of a percent?” I nodded mutely. Ratings were not public knowledge, so either Julian had hacked some system to learn mine, or else he was capable of simply eyeballing it. “You’re pretty high, then. Almost high enough to be in danger.”
In danger? From what? “The psi-sickness?”
“Yes and no.” Julian smiled, again mirthlessly. “It isn’t a disease.”
My heart thudded in my chest. He knew what caused it? If so—if he could put a stop to it—his name would go down in history with the likes of Welton and Krauss. He’d be remembered as a hero.
“They’ve never found its cause because they’ve been looking in all the wrong places,” Julian said. “Bear with me here—I never learned much biology. Sidhe blood calls back to the Otherworld, right? If you’ve got enough of it, or the right control genes, or whatever, then the call’s strong enough to cause manifestation and psychic gifts. But there’s another, higher threshold—around five-tenths, though that number’s not firm. If someone’s percentage is that high … the call becomes stronger.”
My fingers were cramping from their death-grip on each other.
“Stronger by several orders of magnitude,” Julian said. “Strong enough that it actually pulls the person’s spirit toward the Otherworld. One of two things happens at that point. Either they’re strong enough to master it, and they live. Or they’re not, and they die.”
Like a flash of lightning, I understood. “Wilders. And the psi-sickness.” Julian nodded, but the wheels were still turning in my head, not to be stopped until they reached the end. “But that doesn’t make any sense. You’re a wilder from birth, okay. But psi-sickness doesn’t kill you until adolescence, until manifestation.”
“It kills you before you’re even born. But the damage isn’t seen until adolescence, when your blood tries to manifest, and instead tears you apart.”
I remembered my brother, the few times I’d been allowed to visit him, lying pale and sweating in a hospital room like a concrete bunker. The doctors’ voices, reciting rote words designed to be as gentle as possible—as if there was any good way to tell parents that their child will die, and nothing can be done. My father’s frustrated cursing. My mother’s tears. And then I was hurried away, because Noah was slipping into another fit, laying about him with psychic gifts no one, especially not he, could begin to control.
“So what happens to wilders?” I asked in a dead voice.
“The same thing that happens to those who die, except that we survive it. In either case, our spirit is pulled partway between the mortal world and the Otherworld. And our genes change—a lot.”
An icy chill danced down my spine, but I couldn’t swallow the question any longer. “Julian, what—”
“Twenty-nine.”
The world spun around me. I only dimly felt Julian’s hand on my shoulder, holding me steady as I swayed on my seat. Twenty-nine percent!
Julian, Noah, the wilders and everyone who’d died of psi-sickness—the impression of inhumanity we got from them right. Nearly a third of Julian’s genes were magically active.
Nearly a third of him was sidhe.
More than fifty times my own rating. Dear gods, no wonder he made people’s skin crawl; no wonder he was able to pull off things we considered impossible. I’d thought he was maybe two or three percent, but no. He was practically one of them.
“Kim.”
He’d called my name several times already. Blinking, I pushed my hair out of my face and looked up.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
It took a moment for the question to work its way through my numb mind. “Yeah. I’m fine.” What a lie. He was right; I’d never look at him the same again.
And he knew it. Julian looked down. “I’m sorry. I warned you it wouldn’t be easy.”
His hand dropped from my shoulder. Layers of clothing protected me from that touch, concealing the truth of his nature. But I’d learned to live with it once already, before I knew what it meant. Did anything really change, just because I knew the number?
Well, yes. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t get over it a second time.
My breath wavered, but I reached out and laid my own gloved hand on his shoulder. He spooked beneath the touch. “No, it wasn’t easy,” I said. “But I’m glad you told me. And Julian—it’ll be okay.”
He nodded, but the stiffness didn’t go away, the wariness. As if he were ready to pull away at any instant. Maybe he was even preparing to do so. I spoke without stopping to consider my words, before he could draw back. “I swear by all the gods, if you use this as an excuse to run away from me again, I’m going to—”
It sounded good, up to the point where I had to figure out a threat. Then I floundered, unable to think of anything appropriate. But a faint tremor shook Julian’s shoulder, and I realized it was a laugh. “Thank you,” he whispered, and looked up to meet my eyes.
And this time I was ready for it. His gaze didn’t paralyze my mind, didn’t drop the bottom out of my stomach and chill my blood to ice. His eyes were filled with fading worry—and gratefulness words could never express. I’d tried before to imagine what it would be like, going through life with everyone constantly flinching back from you. Now, for the first time, I saw its effect.
Not for all the world would I betray the trust between us. He needed me—not just my gifts or my mind, but this, the hand on his shoulder that did not draw back. Despite the cold, I pulled my glove off. I couldn’t hide the conscious effort it took to reach out and take his hand, but as I wrapped my fingers around his, I saw Julian smile, and for a moment, the cold went away.
~
“What a charming scene.”
Julian whirled to his feet, Kim a half-instant behind him. Falcon was standing about twen
ty feet away, his usual smooth expression cast in sardonic lines. Better him than one of the Unseelie, Julian supposed—but so much for his calculation that the sidhe would take longer to return.
“My apologies for the interruption,” Falcon said.
He said it like a rote phrase. Julian wasn’t sure the sidhe knew how to apologize sincerely. “I was just telling Kim some of what I learned from your people,” he said. How much had Falcon overheard?
“I see,” the sidhe murmured. Julian didn’t relax. The Seelie as a whole might be friends, but Falcon was not. Neither was he an enemy, of course; he hated the Unseelie as much as any of his Court. But he also disdained Julian. And so Julian kept all his gifts awake, projecting their readiness. He hated to do it to Kim, so hard on the heels of telling her his Krauss rating, but he wanted to remind Falcon that he had some power of his own.
Behind him, he felt Kim tense again. She had to be wondering what was going on, but now was not the time to explain.
Infuriatingly, the sidhe merely let it pass. “I am glad to see you looking better,” he said, and that at least sounded true.
Julian had no interest in small talk. Now that he had his mind back, there were things he needed to confirm. “They were trying to make me like them. Weren’t they.”
The sidhe nodded, accepting the change of topic. “It’s what I would do, were I trying to control you.”
“Why did they fail?”
“I can only guess.” Falcon inclined his head at Kim, who had come out from behind Julian’s shoulder to stand at his side. “If they tried it on her, it would not work, because she is too human to be swayed. You, on the other hand … when you became a changeling, your spirit was pulled toward our world, but not to one faction or another. You are, quite simply, part sidhe—neither Seelie nor Unseelie. They cannot change that now, any more than they could subvert me.”
Julian had to believe him. If it had been possible for them to turn him Unseelie, they would have found a way. Gods knew they’d tried hard enough. It was a relief—but only a minor one. The Unseelie would find other tactics.
“What would that have done to him?” Kim asked, her voice quiet.
Falcon’s gaze flicked to her again. “As it’s never been done, I cannot say for certain. It would not, I think, have made him fully sidhe. His goals would simply have become theirs. He would have thought as they do, in every way.”
“So he would’ve wanted to help them control humanity.”
“Yes. This is why they tried it. If they could bring the changelings under their rule, they would be in an excellent position to extend their reach to everyone else.”
“And then what?”
Falcon shrugged carelessly. “You would be one more tool for them to use.”
“One more pawn in your chess game,” Kim said sharply.
The sidhe didn’t answer that. Julian couldn’t send her a calming touch, not without Falcon noticing. Instead he asked, “What now?”
“For my people?” Falcon shrugged. “We wait. There is little we can do at the moment.”
“Wait for what?” Kim asked.
“The solstice, or the next move of the Unseelie.” They all knew which would come first. “Their goal is to make humanity their tool, as I have said. When next they try, we shall oppose them, as before.”
Kim’s raised eyebrow suggested that she didn’t think much of the Seelie approach, if that was all they had in mind. “Do you have any idea what that will be, or when?”
“No. They do not tell us their plans.” Falcon’s tone carried the faintest hint of condescension.
But Kim was more than equipped to stand up to condescension. “Really?” she said, the word dripping with insincere sweetness. “I thought you were their equals. Surely they haven’t outsmarted you so thoroughly?”
Irritation flickered in the back of Falcon’s eyes. Julian wondered if Kim recognized that for the victory it was. “It could be anything. They could destroy all of your people with psychic gifts, leaving your race vulnerable to such methods of control.”
Kim snorted. “Half the planet has gifts. That would take one hell of a war to pull off. Not that I don’t believe they’d start a war, but I doubt even sidhe are terribly resistant to bullets—particularly if they’ve got iron in them.”
“Such considerations may or may not stop the Unseelie. They do not wish to be destroyed, but they are ruthless in accomplishing their goals.”
“Acceptable casualties?” Kim said, and Falcon nodded. It quieted her for the moment. She hadn’t experienced that ruthlessness first-hand, not the way Julian had, but she had some idea what they were capable of.
“I assure you, I will let you know the moment my people decide anything,” Falcon said.
“Kind of you,” Julian replied, putting a bit of acid into his own voice.
The sidhe turned his attention back to Julian, dismissing Kim once more. “But what of you, changeling? You look improved. Their healing circle was beneficial?”
As if it was a surprise that humans could do useful magic. “It was,” Julian replied levelly. “It seems there are things we can do more effectively here.”
He hoped to annoy the sidhe, but failed. Falcon simply nodded. “Good. I have no doubt the interest of the Unseelie in you has not ended.”
“We’ll find ways to defend ourselves.”
“Of course.” Falcon made a half-bow to them both. “Then I shall leave you, and return to my people with this news.”
Julian was almost glad to see him go. It was odd enough finding himself reacting to someone as ordinary people reacted to wilders, without the someone in question being a sidhe he personally disliked. But Kim said, “Not so fast.”
Falcon’s back was stiff as he glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”
“How can we contact you?”
He fluttered one hand in dismissal. “I will contact you.”
“Like hell you will,” she shot back. Julian felt her body tense with determination, and her voice echoed it. “You don’t get to play the puppeteer, Falcon. We won’t be led around by the nose, not any more. Tell me how to reach you.”
The sidhe went very still then. He turned slowly to face her, and when he spoke, for the first time, Julian thought he heard a faint echo of something that might be respect. No—that was too strong a word for it—but he no longer dismissed her as inconsequential. One wrist flicked, and she caught what he threw to her. “That shall be your link. You have the skill to reach me.”
Then he vanished, and even Julian couldn’t follow where he’d gone.
~
They walked to Kinfield in silence. The object Falcon had tossed to Kim proved to be a small carving of a bird, fashioned from some stone neither of them recognized. Kim tucked it away in her pocket. They could figure out what to do with it after lunch.
If she even wanted lunch. Julian wasn’t sure he did, though he knew he needed to eat. Projecting his gifts like that, the inhumanity of his sidhe blood—it might help him hold his own against Falcon, but what had it done to Kim?
He had to test it. The habit of avoiding touch with non-wilders was deeply ingrained, but Julian reached out and took Kim’s ungloved hand, giving her every opportunity to pull back.
She didn’t, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her blush.
A surprising desire to laugh welled up in him. The possible end of the world, and he was conducting experiments in interpersonal contact. Hardly a good use of his time—and yet the warmth it brought gave him strength.
At the door of Kinfield, he heard someone call his name. Turning, he saw Grayson approaching through the snow. She made a tall, sinister figure in her dark coat, and her expression when she came closer wasn’t very encouraging.
“We need to talk,” she said to Julian as she came within range.
The conversation he’d promised her had only begun to satisfy Grayson’s curiosity. She could open his skull and scoop his brain out, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
Grayson didn’t answer her question. “When I released you from the hospital, Julian, I seem to recall suggesting that it should be temporary.”
He shrugged. “You did.”
“You have yourself well under control, I’m sure, but I’m concerned about problems of security.”
She meant another attack by the Unseelie, of course. “You’ve made my instructions clear. If they show themselves, you’ll know.”
“And what then? Do you think you can take them on alone?”
“No. But I don’t intend to try. I’ve learned that lesson.” Painfully. “They won’t try anything for a while. This last attempt exhausted them; that’s why the Seelie were able to free me. And it failed anyway. The Unseelie will have to come up with a new plan.”
“How do you know they don’t have one already?”
He closed his eyes, not trusting himself to keep them clear. “I picked it up.” And if she asked how, she was going to regret it.
But Grayson had the decency not to press. “Very well. But that wasn’t all I wanted to ask you. I have instructions for when this Falcon returns to contact you.”
“Too late,” Kim said. “He’s been and gone.”
The professor’s head whipped around, and for the first time, Julian heard her swear.
“I got contact information out of him, though,” Kim added, her tone casual, as if they’d already figured out how to make it work. “So he’s not completely running the show any more. What do you want us to do?”
“How are you keeping in touch with him?”
“He won’t talk to you, not yet,” Julian said before Kim could answer that. “He doesn’t know you. Leave it to us for now.” Grayson and Falcon would be a disaster. He wasn’t about to let that meeting happen out of his sight.
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