She stiffens, and stays silent.
Crap. Too close to the bone.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I quickly add. “I agree it’s crazy that these items are frowned upon. I just meant, as the First, Maribel must have made it clear where she stood on trading. Surely.”
“Publicly yes, but… and I can tell you this because you are Solina’s daughter…. Maribel loves my collection. I gave her a Fae stone for her fiftieth birthday a few years ago.” She throws a contemptuous side glance at the Fae delegation at the back of the room. “And you know how touchy the Fair Folk are about their relics.”
She rolls her eyes, as if someone being touchy about their cultural artifacts is ludicrous. I wait, but there are no pings. This horrid woman is telling the truth about Maribel — about everything.
“Do you think Maribel is coming back?” I ask.
“I hope so,” she replies. “But as we all know, once you disappear in our world, you are unlikely to return.”
Because of people like you, I want to say.
“Like my sister, you mean?’
My question startles her. “Oh no, darling. I’m sure Mikayla will return someday. Don’t you fret.”
Ping. A filthy dirty lie.
“Though I heard through the grapevine she left of her own accord,” she adds.
I nod absently, hoping I was wrong about Mikayla being pregnant when she went missing. “You wouldn’t have happened to hear where she went. You know, along the grapevine?”
“Goodness, no. If I knew anything, I would have told Solina.”
This time it’s the truth. She doesn’t know where Mikayla is, or Maribel. My mother sent me on a wild goose chase. A rare poached wild fucking goose.
“And do you know anything about bears and wolves? Living side by side? Or something about bears meeting wolves.” I’m aware my tone has turned desperate, but I need a clue. Anything.
“I knew someone who had a bear Shifter pelt,” she says distractedly. She wants to get away from me now, I can tell. She waves to someone across the room, her smile forced. “I must be going, darling. I can see the Italian MA ambassador, and he’s promised me a bewitched gargoyle.”
I stare at her scaly form as it recedes into the crowd, wishing my anger would scorch a huge hole in the ass of her murder outfit.
Well, that was fucking pointless. Although, if I ever meet a nasty Vamp looking for Witch skin, I’ll know exactly which fabric source to suggest.
I’m hate-eating Serrano ham and triangles of dry manchego when Salvador finds me. He looks over at my leaning tower of Pisa of discarded canapé napkins and smiles at me indulgently.
“You’ve always had a hearty appetite,” he says, but not in the critical way my mother would say it. What is it about Spaniards and their running commentary on what you eat? But he’s trying to be endearing, so I let it slide.
“I’m stress-eating because my mother is making me mingle with all these peacocks.”
He tips his head back and laughs. What’s so funny?
As if summoned by FOMO magic, Solina joins us, trailed by a High Fae woman she’s clearly brought over to introduce me to.
“Saskia, meet Commander General Galeia. She’s part of the Prince’s convoy.”
I shake her hand, surreptitiously looking around for the charming prince, but he doesn’t seem to be here.
“Pleased to meet you, Saskia,” she says.
“Likewise.”
“General Galeia has been named ambassador between the Fae courts and the MA.” My mother interjects. What is it with her? Why is she introducing me to everyone left, right, and center?
“I’m sure I will be seeing a lot of you in the future,” the General says, looking at me.
“Doubtful.” My eyes glaze as I stare at the crowd. “I’m not staying long.”
A look I can't decipher passes between Salvador and my mother.
“Either way,” the General says. “I’m pleased diplomatic relations between Paras are on their way to being restored.”
The three of them clink glasses, but I’m busy looking at the crowd. Thinking.
“Is it only the Fae that the MA have treaties with?” They both look at me, confused. “I mean, I don’t expect the MA to get along with Vamps, but what about Shifters or Werewolves?”
My mother makes an apologetic face at the Fae ambassador.
“You’ll have to excuse my daughter; she’s somewhat of a liberal radical. Thinks all Paranormals were created equal.”
The woman laughs, a light tinkle that sounds like a thousand diamonds trickling to the ground.
“My darling,” Galeia says to me. “Of course we were not all created equally because Witches and Fae were not created— we were born into our powers. The others, as you know, are the result of a dual curse placed upon them during the Enchantment War of 1666.”
I have no idea what she’s ranting on about.
“You’re familiar with the war, surely?”
“Of course,” I lie. “I just thought, if the Fae were invited to the equinox celebration, it wouldn’t hurt to invite a few representatives of different…”
“Nonsense. We can’t have their type here,” my mother says. She’s smiling a slick-red lipstick smile, but her grip on my arm is sharp. “When the Fae and the Witches fought the Shamans, we ensured their animal magic would become their downfall.”
I think of Jackson and Xavi.
“Shifters were once a type of Witch?” I say, catching on.
My mother sneers. “In a way, but they were never part of our community, and now they live among humans, where they belong.”
Galeia gives me a sly smile. “Have you never wondered why you young Witches always fall for Shifters? I’ve heard all about your sordid dating apps and fraternizing. I suppose you Witches can’t help yourselves. It’s the magic. You can sense your own kind.”
My mother’s face stiffens. “They are not our kind, Galeia. Werewolves, Mermaids, and Vampires are cursed human abominations and Shifters, well, they may have once been a type of Mage, but they were stupid enough to cross their own.”
Why is all this news to me? Did Mikayla know this was why the MA are so anti-Shifter?
