Page 101 of Nocte

“Though you came through the portal, you were born of fae, were you not?”

I nod. “One of three.” It stings to say as much out loud. One of three. A sinful burden. An admission of my abominable nature.

But the vamryre doesn’t hiss and exclaim, “Impossible!” He nods. His eyes gleam. Licking his lips, he waits for more. He may have fed me, but this sates him more than a tray full of food ever could. A tray full of blood, even.

“Three?”

“A girl. A boy. Another girl,” I rasp. “A shame upon house Aurelius. Punishment for my sins. I am a shameful thing. A dirty thing.”

Altaris laughs. “Oh, my dear, I think that shame is reserved for your mother. My, my, what I wouldn’t give to know what she’d gotten up to.”

My mother? I frown and shake my head to clear it. Their mother—the rightful Day and Dawn. To me, she is a stranger. A remnant spoken about only in harsh whispers. I’ve never seen her. Never looked upon her face.

Day has never mentioned her once.

“Night Aurelia gave birth to me,” I say. “But she is not my mother. I am a dirty shameful thing?—”

“Aurelia, you say.” Altaris’ eyes widen with greedy, giddy glee. He rubs his hands together and rushes toward me all at once. His aim is a bookshelf crammed onto the wall behind me. He licks the tip of his finger and traces it along a row of gleaming leather spines. Then he tugs on one and flips it open.

Triumphant, he lets out a roar of a laugh. “Ah, I knew it. House Aurelius, oh dear, have they done it now. Lord of all lords. Paragons of all houses of the fae. Oh yes, this is rich.” He looks over his shoulder at me and chuckles. “Oh, this is soveryrich. What I wouldn’t give to know who your father is.”

The question confuses me. “My father is Night Aurelius.” Not really, but correcting the context now doesn’t feel important. Altaris is not one for decorum, and I am too tired to care. Suddenly, I feel so very tired.

“Oh no,” Altaris replies, slamming his book closed. “The sire of the other two in your litter, maybe. But of you? No. Your father is another creature. A forbidden creature. Oh yes, but who? That is the question.” He flits to another bookshelf, tapping his chin, his eyes blazing with churning, inescapable interest.

I watch him tear through book after book. I watch him murmur to himself and practically squeal with glee. I grow more confused with every passing moment. More confused. More unwanted. More hopelessly lost.

“My father is from house Aurelius,” I say as Altaris turns his back to me, hunched over another book. “I am a dirty shameful thing. A disgrace. I do not reflect upon those who bore me?—”

“Oh, poppycock!” Altaris growls at what he reads in his current book and then tosses it. He snatches another and flies through the pages. It’s as if he isn’t really reading. Just glancing at each page and remembering the wealth of knowledge already stored in his skull. “They may have brainwashed you and fed you their lies, but you, my darling, are not fae. You are a half breed of some kind. A hybrid of some kind. But of what?”

Half breed. Hybrid.

“I am a stain on house Aurelius,” I say, my voice faint and weak. The highest house of all the fae. The only house I have ever known. The only identity I have ever known: broken one, unwanted one, but still fae…

I am still fae.

Yet, I always knew I wasn’t. Something else. Unknown. Corrupted.

“Oh, look at you!” Altaris glares at me in utter contempt. “Carrying on like that you’ll scare the customers.”

Customers. A new one arrives amid the jiggling of a tiny bell affixed to the door. They enter in a hurry, nose buried in an open leather case balanced on a slender hip. “Hey Altaris, I’ve got a job to get to, so I’ll pick it up later… Oh!” The figure looks up, their blue eyes wide. “It’s you! Niamh. What are you doing here?”

“Ah, Colleen, darling,” Altaris drawls, stalking toward her. In comparison with her slight frame, he is a giant, yet undeniably graceful as he extends a hand toward her.

Rather than take it in greeting, Colleen fishes an item from her bag and carefully places it on the vamryre’s palm: a silver comb, far grander than the wooden one the Citadel Mother provided for me to use.

“I’ll be back at six sharp for it,” she says. Then she looks at me and flashes a sheepish grin. “I heard about the mess that happened at Mo’s?—”

“And you won’t tell her a thing about my new guests, I am sure,” Altaris remarks while drifting past me to stand behind the counter.

“Of course not!” Colleen shrugs to sling the strap of her case over one shoulder. “Our relationship is strictly a working one. I don’t get paid, it isn’t my business. I’m glad to see you’re okay, though. Where is the vamp? He get sent back?”

“Why don’t you run along, dear?” Altaris smiles, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll have your item ready. Six sharp.”

Colleen nods and heads for the door. Then she looks back at me. “I’ll come visit you another day, if you’re still here. A lot of my clients live out this way anyway. Bye!”

The door jiggles to mark her departure, and Altaris sighs.