“You said ‘human parents’? From the little I’ve been told, you don’t think you come from humans?” Griffen asked.
“Not really. The current belief is that we are left behind by the fey for reasons known only to them. Mostly it’s believed we are half-human half-fey, products of seduction or worse. Since no one’s reported seeing a fey in ages, it’s kinda hard to confirm, but changelings keep popping up. Usually to parents with next to no magical background,” Tink said.
“Hence shunning the birth name and taking on new names?” Griffen said.
“Not quite,” Drake put in. “See, that fits in this day with the current trend of rebellious angsty teenagers. Most of us are from a generation that still respects parents. Parents who could never understand, or deal with, a magical child. Think of it as adopted children who found out the parents who raised them aren’t really theirs. All sorts of mixed reactions depending on the child. Still doesn’t change all the history and love that takes place in the sixteen or so years it takes a parent to change a baby into an adult.”
“And then there are a few, very few, who are found by other changelings and taught what they are from early on,” Tink said. “Myself included, which is why I feel responsibility to do the same for others and took on my current role.”
“The rest of us had to find our way, to find others like us.”
That was from Hobb. The young man squeezed the girl’s, Robin’s, hand and smiled affectionately. Griffen had to smile, too.
“Okay, so what about actual full-blown fairies, then?” he said.
“What about full-blown dragons?” Tink said. Then he shrugged and went on. “Depends who you ask. Historians tend to put it all down to a few tribes in Ireland who disappeared when the Romans were smashing the crap out of the Celts. But the way they tell it, they were just primitive nature-worshipping humans who hid in the woods real well. Which is about as satisfying and truthful as saying all dragons are big ravening lizards hungry for virgin flesh.”
“So a kernel of truth hiding something a whole lot deeper?” Griffen said.
“That’s what we figure; otherwise, where did we come from? But a lot of that is faith. We don’t know. There never have been lines of changelings. No history passed down from father to son. And no big, winged sprite popping up and saying ‘Hey kids, where the hell have you been?’ It’s one of the reasons we get so clingy, with ourselves and each other.”
Tink looked up from his drink.
“Sorry, Mr. McCandles, we shouldn’t be bending your ear,” he said.
“No, no, I’m fascinated. I want to know as much as possible about every group attending,” Griffen assured him. “And remember, ‘Mr. McCandles’ isn’t necessary. Just Griffen.”
“Sure thing. Anyway, we should be going. See you at the opening ceremonies.”
Tink stood and gathered up the others. Drake was the last to follow, finishing his drink and stopping just briefly for a parting comment to Griffen.
“Interesting choice at the bookstore by the way,” Drake said.
As soon as the changelings had left, the bartender noticed that Griffen’s drink was empty. Of course it had been empty for some time, but Griffen made no comment as he got it refilled. He did reach down to his bags and pull out the book he had hastily purchased earlier. He laughed softly to himself.
“Figures,” he said.
A copy of
Twenty-six
Forget the one about the rabbi and a priest. If there wasn’t a joke that starts, “Two fairies walk into a bar,” there should have been.
That was the thought that went through Griffen’s head when the doors to the Irish pub swung open and two of the changelings came in. So he was failing to suppress a smile when they approached him, which was probably not the best of facial expressions. The younger of the two practically bounced up and down, a foolish grin spreading over her face. Again, he was reminded of a pack of puppies, and was glad that this time there were only the two.
The younger-appearing one, who was all smiles and giddy energy at being greeted with a smile, was called Robin. She was probably the most attractive of the bunch, though she looked young for her seeming age. Almost too young for Griffen’s tastes, but she did have a certain allure about her. Another bad joke popped into his head, something about making the puppy’s tail wag.
Sometimes Griffen just couldn’t help himself.
The other one had introduced himself as Hobb. He was one of the more sedate and inward-directed in the group. He still smiled broadly at Griffen, but where Robin threw her arms around Griffen and hugged him before he could react, Hobb seemed hesitant even to shake his hand. Nervous, like he was afraid of being burned.
Robin and Hobb very much had that couple feeling. Though from the way Robin was squeezing Griffen and pressing her slender curves against him, he had to assume it was an open couple. Especially since Hobb showed no sign of jealousy at all. Actually, except for the smiles, Griffen found himself having a hard time reading the changelings. As if their emotions and thoughts were different from his experience, subtly… alien.
“Pull up a couple of chairs,” Griffen said, prying Robin off him.
He half suspected she’d jump in his lap if a chair wasn’t available.
“It’s good to see you here again, Mr. McCandles,” Hobb said.
The young man pulled up a couple of spare chairs and held one out for Robin. She hopped into it and leaned back to give him a kiss on the cheek. He smiled, and the smile wasn’t puppyish at all, before taking his own seat. Definitely the couple vibe, Griffen thought again.
“How many times do I have to tell people? You can call me Griffen,” Griffen said.
“I knew a gryphon once,” Robin said.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, but he was just a chick. Wings had barely grown in at all,” she said.
Griffen stared at the fairly spacey young woman. It didn’t help that her voice was soft and childlike, too. It was a Marilyn Monroe-esque voice. For the life of him Griffen didn’t know how to respond to such a comment.
Hobb noticed and chuckled to himself. He put a hand on Robin’s shoulder.
“I told you, a baby gryphon is called a cub, not a chick,” he said.
“But they hatch from eggs!” she protested.
“Then how come no one has ever heard of a gryphon omelet?” Griffen asked.
Forget sanity. He could banter with the best of them. The two changelings grinned at him sunnily.
“ ’Cause a mama gryphon is a real menace, of course,” Hobb said.
“But you should open a restaurant and cook up some. Griffen’s omelets,” Robin said.
“Oh, please. I’m busy enough.” Griffen rolled his eyes, and the girl exploded into giggles.
A couple of drunk tourists sitting a few seats away looked up. One of them, a large man with too much belly, pulled himself out of his seat and began to stagger over their way. Griffen was tracking him carefully, and also noticed that the fat guy had caught Hobb’s attention. Robin seemed oblivious.
“Shure have a pretty laugsh there,” the drunk slurred.
Robin looked up and sighed, rolling her eyes.
“Not now!” she said sharply.
“Oh, come on, babycakesh. How ’bout a kish?”
“You really hit that one hard, that’s the hammiest line I’ve heard in a long time,” Hobb said.
Griffen half expected the drunk to turn to Hobb and try to start a fight. That seemed to be the usual pattern with such incidents. Instead, he seemed totally fixated on Robin.
“Oh, fine!” she said.
Griffen was curious now. He watched as the young changeling pressed two fingers to her lips, then pressed
