“I don’t know what Aunt Noémi added to her plum brandy, but this tastes very special,” I said, walking from one person to the next and filling each delicate glass two-thirds full.
As I finished speaking of my aunt, I finished with, “A toast, then, to Noémi Virginie du Sang.” I spoke my aunt’s complete name for the first time in memory and every syllable resonated within my bones, from my bare feet up to the crown of my skull.
Du Sang. Of the blood.
I refrained from smacking my forehead.
Noemi Virginie du Sang.
Genevieve Valentina du Sang.
Calliope Viridis du Sang. Where the hell did I get the name Jones?
“Jones is such a common surname, at least along the Eastern seaboard, Calliope, we thought it would protect you and your mother’s identities when you moved west.” Christoph’s voice, booming in my ear, sent my head spinning. Literally, spinning, as I looked left and right and left again at the concerned faces around me. I tossed back the sweetly delicious alcoholic drink, and plunked my butt on the quilt.
“When were you going to tell me you knew my real name?” I asked.
“Now?”
“Mom, Mom,” said Thatcher, “wait a sec.” He sipped at his serving of liqueur, threaded the fingers of his free hand through his hair, squeezed, then patted at the air. “If your last name is really du Sang, and Dad’s last name is Flechette, then technically Harp and I could be called ‘Blades of Blood’. Dude, that is so cool.”
“Mm, technically flechettes du sang is more like ‘blood darts’,” said Malvyn. “I make them, and if you’re interested I could show you what they look like and how they are used.” My face must have registered more than shock, because Mal quickly amended his offer with, “But first you need training.”
“Mal!” James smacked his husband’s forearm. “These are children were talking about.”
“Some of these children have seen a lot of bad things,” said Sallie, rocking forward onto her knees and coming to stand. She stepped toward where Mal and James were sitting. The two men tensed. “I have a favor to ask you.”
“What is it, Sallie?”
“Could you make one of those for me?” she asked, touching a fingertip to Malvyn’s collar. “Make me something beautiful and unique that will help me find my magic, my good magic?”
Mal took Sallie’s hand in both of his and stared at her. I think we all could feel his power rising; we could certainly see his eyes changing color, from brown to a fiery orange. “I will do this for you. But first, I would like for you to do something for yourself. Go away this weekend with Harper, Leilani, and Thatcher. They are your friends. Go and see what you can discover about your magic and we will meet when you return.”
“Thank you,” Sallie said, her voice a whisper. She glanced at Shamaha, then at Rowan, and Wes. “Can Azzura come, too? And Jasper?”
The trio leaned in and came to a quick and unanimous decision. “Yes,” said Shamaha. “Jasper knows he’s your helper and guide and buddy for as long as you need.”
Wes directed his comment to Azzura. “Would you share your magic with us?”
She stood, dusted off her hands, and tucked her hair behind her ears. Closing her eyes, she hummed. The tops of her ears elongated into the characteristic Fae shape. Her facial features changed slightly; I wasn’t well-versed enough yet to know if there were cues that distinguished one kind of Fae from the other. To me, she looked a lot like Sallie, though I had only seen Sallie’s Fae features when she was distressed; even then, they shifted non-symmetrically.
Azzura bent her arms at the elbows and cupped one hand over the other, slowly lifting the top hand about four inches. She made counterclockwise circles with that hand, clockwise circles with the other, and produced a snowball. Opening her eyes, she spotted Thatcher, grinned, and beaned him in the forehead.
“Ice meets Fire, baby,” she said, and laughed. “And that is the full extent of my magic. I can make snow.” She shrugged and tucked her hands under her armpits. “It would help if someone could show me how to do that without freezing my fingers.”
Once dinner was cleaned up, and those not sleeping at the house had left, Christoph and I stood at the kitchen island. Leilani had gone home with her fathers; Harper was in his room, talking with Thatch; Sallie and Azzura were at the far end of the backyard, checking out the cabin under construction.
“Can they sleep out there?” I asked.
My grandfather nodded. “We got the plywood up today, and there’s tarp over the roof. No windows or doors yet, but the nights are mild. They’ll be fine.”
I figured the gals could haul whatever sleeping bags and bedding they wanted and have some privacy. They’d have two nights here, then all four of them—plus Leilani, Wes, and Kaz—would leave for the mainland Friday morning for the first weekend of the mentorship program.
“I’m sad Tanner’s missing this weekend,” I said.
“Don’t you have some studying to do?”
“You have no idea.” I planted my elbows on the countertop and held my head. “There’s so much to learn.” Every Sunday since the beginning of August had been dedicated to a four- or five-hour long video tutorial, followed by one or two hours of lab work. Because the course’s format, we watched the week’s instructor working in their home, or garden, or wherever it was they stored their herbs and other ingredients used for potions.
The four Sundays in August had been dedicated to Bloodwork. We were given Labor Day off, which coincided with Aunt Noemi’s passing, and now my calendar told me the autumn equinox was close. September twenty-first,
