He nodded. “And on your mother’s side?”
“Bit more scandal on that side,” I told him. “My maternal grandfather was only with my grandma for a short time. He disappeared soon after she gave birth to Mom.”
“Anything else unusual on that side of the family history?” he prodded.
“A couple of things, yeah.” I sighed. “So... I’ve got photos of Grandpa and Grandma, right? They’re both Caucasian. But Mom had the same kinky hair as me, and her skin was even darker than mine. Mom and Grandma always laughed it off, saying things like, ‘Oh, genetics can be unpredictable sometimes.’ But it seems way more likely to me that Grams had an affair with a black guy, and that’s why my grandfather left her.”
Rans tilted his head, regarding me closely. “Not necessarily. Did you ever talk to her about it?”
“Not really,” I said. “She committed suicide when I was thirteen. She was always a bit unstable, but she got way worse after my mom was killed. One night she took a whole bottle of pain pills, and no one found her until the following day.”
God, when I stopped to think about it, my family was a real clusterfuck. I was glad when Rans didn’t offer any bland expression of sympathy. I’d always hated that kind of insincere shit.
Instead, he rested his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together, looking thoughtful. “It seems likely that your maternal grandfather was the demon. Unless you happen to be a student of the occult, you probably wouldn’t know that demons can’t reproduce. There are a set number of them. They are functionally immortal. But they can’t sire children, or birth them.”
Okay... now I was confused. “Then why do you keep saying I’m part demon?”
“Let me finish. There are different kinds of demons. Incubi and succubi feed off sexual energy. They also have the ability to hijack the human reproductive cycle, though the treaty with the Fae expressly forbids such a thing.”
“Hijack it how?” I asked.
“Incubi and succubi can change sex at will. A succubus—the female form—can seduce a male human and obtain his genetic material when he ejaculates. Then the demon changes sex and seduces a female human as an incubus. If he’s quick enough, he can use the stolen human sperm to impregnate the woman. But the process means that the resulting baby has demon characteristics, thanks to the magical changes to the stolen DNA.”
“Okay. That’s... quite a story,” I said.
“Practical upshot—if your incubus grandfather seduced a black man to get the genetic material he used to impregnate your grandmother, it would explain your mother’s interracial physical characteristics.”
“... oh,” I managed, as the point slid home.
“Of course,” he continued, “that still doesn’t explain how your mother had you, but perhaps that’s a question for another day. If you’re finished, we should probably head back.” He gestured to the remains of my salad with his chin.
“Yeah,” I said absently, new information whirling in my head. “Sure thing.”
EIGHTEEN
WHEN WE RETURNED TO the house at around two p.m., we found Nigellus seated in a chair in the living room, a heavy hardbound book resting in his lap. He looked up as we entered, a furrow forming between his brows as he examined me.
“You look fatigued, Zorah,” he said. “Would you care to rest for a few hours before dinner? We will be dining at seven.”
I froze, not used to people noticing when I was struggling with my physical limitations. It was true—I’d been feeling progressively worse over the last few hours despite the break for a late lunch at the cafe. Yet, compared to how bad things had gotten before, it was nothing. I’d mostly been ignoring the nagging pain and heaviness in my body, though I’d surreptitiously popped a couple of ibuprofen from the bottle I’d picked up at the drugstore.
“You should have said something,” Rans murmured.
Why? the smartass in me wanted to ask. Would you have suggested a quickie under the boardwalk if I had?
“It wasn’t a problem,” I said instead. “I’m used to pulling waitressing shifts while feeling far worse than this.”
“Nonetheless,” Nigellus said smoothly, “you should feel free to relax for the rest of the afternoon. I’m afraid I must pull Rans away from you for a bit. I need to speak privately with him about an unrelated matter.”
Maybe I was more tired than I thought, because I probably should have been more curious about that rather cryptic statement. As it was, I said, “Sure. I’ll just hang out in my room for a while. Maybe take a nap. I’ll... uh... see you both at dinner, I guess.”
“Until then,” Nigellus said.
He rose, ushering Rans toward the archway leading to the kitchen. Rans gave me a lingering, pensive look before exiting the room, and a small shiver prickled its way up my spine.
I shook off the odd moment. The pile of shopping bags was still sitting in the entryway. I felt like a pack mule carrying all of them at once, but I had the distinct impression that if I left them, Edward would end up lugging them upstairs on his eighty-year-old knees without being asked.
The guest bedroom was as cheerful and airy as the rest of the house. I dumped the bags on the green-striped loveseat in the corner and started rummaging. I found a pair of nail scissors in the bathroom and used it to cut the tags off the silky black knee-length nightgown I’d bought.
Finally being able to change out of the clothes I’d been wearing for more than two days felt wonderful. I considered showering, but frankly the bed held more appeal. Light streamed through the gauzy curtains covering the window. I grabbed the copy of The Return of Sherlock Holmes that I’d picked up for ninety-nine cents at a used bookstore and curled up on the emerald comforter to rest and read for a bit.
My fingers had lingered on a dog-eared paperback copy of Bram Stoker’s
