Dark Swan Comic 1-4

I opened my eyes. “Could he do that too?”

  “Possibly.”

  Suddenly my obsession seemed less weird than twisted. Had he used some sort of sexual power to lure me in? Was that why I couldn’t stop thinking about him?

  “I guess half-human isn’t so bad,” I muttered, speaking out loud without meaning to. I hadn’t bedded a full-fledged Otherworldly creature.

  “Not bad at all,” agreed Finn happily. “He’s just like you.”

  “Stop it,” I snapped. “That whole thing…what Aeson said…it’s stupid. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “And like so much, you ignore what you don’t want to hear. Being Storm King’s daughter is no small thing.” Volusian’s red eyes held my gaze.

  “Your bluntness is so endearing.” My stomach turned, but it was now or never. “All right. I’ll bite. Why does Aeson think that?”

  None of them had an answer right away. The impression I got from them was surprise more than ignorance.

  “Because you are, mistress,” said Nandi at last.

  “No, I’m not. I’m human.”

  Volusian crossed his arms over his chest. “You are half-human, mistress. And as I said, your prejudice blinds you from the truth.”

  “One gentry’s accusation isn’t the truth. Where are the facts?”

  “Facts? Very well. Here are facts. Who is your father?”

  “Roland.”

  “You know what I mean, mistress. Who is your blood father?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. My mom always said he was a bastard not worth knowing.”

  Volusian stared at me expectantly.

  “That doesn’t prove anything.”

  “What about your powers? You are rapidly surpassing every other human shaman. You are equal in strength in both worlds. Do you think it’s coincidence that the most powerful shaman in remembered history grew up in Roland Markham’s household? He brought you there, taking you from Storm King.”

  “From where? Are you saying I was born in the Otherworld?”

  Volusian inclined his head. “Storm King abducted your mother and made her his mistress. She bore his child. You.”

  “You seemly awfully sure about this.”

  “I saw your mother when she lived in the Otherworld. I have seen her in this world. She’s the same woman.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “By the power that binds us, you know I am not.”

  He was right. He couldn’t lie to me—not so openly, at least. I knew that, and acknowledging that forced me to put my own world into a new perspective. It might explain why my mother hated the Otherworld so much. Why she and Roland had been adamant about instilling that hate in me, making sure I could never have any empathy with the gentry or anything else from that world.

  I swallowed and realized I was on the verge of tears. God. That would probably blow the show of strength I always tried to hold around these guys. We needed to get through this interview. “So, are you saying that’s why Roland eventually killed him? To protect me?”

  “Among other things. Storm King’s invasion was imminent. He had come to claim you. Roland Markham killed him, both saving you and halting Storm King’s plans.”

  “So Dorian was telling the—wait a minute. He knew! That bastard. He sat there and fed me that stuff about Storm King, knowing who I was!”

  “Everyone knows who you are, mistress,” said Nandi.

  “It’s pretty recent, though,” added Finn, seeing the look on my face. “Came out only a couple of weeks ago. The same time everyone learned your real name.”

  “How?” I glared at Volusian. He had known who I was this whole time. “Did you tell them?”

  “No.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me before this? Why didn’t any of you tell me when this came out?”

  They stared.

  “Because you did not ask us,” replied Nandi.

  “Yes,” agreed Volusian. “Had you asked us, ‘Am I Storm King’s daughter?’ we would have gladly—”

  “Oh, shut up.” I rubbed my eyes. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to sleep forever and forget all this. But I had miles to go before I slept, just like in the Robert Frost poem. “If everyone thought Storm King was so great, then why are they all coming after me? Shouldn’t I be some kind of hero? Instead they want to kill me.”

  “Most aren’t trying to kill you, unfortunately. They’re trying to bed you, mistress.”

  “Why?”

  “Probably because of the prophecy,” said Nandi.

  “Prophecy,” I said dryly. “Wonderful. Now there’s a prophecy.”

  “Mistress,” she said hastily, “had you asked us if there was a prophecy—”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. What’s this one say? That I’m a good lay?”

  Finn hesitated. “Well…it says Storm King’s vision will be carried out through his daughter’s first son. That the human world will be reconquered.”

  “You’re kidding.” Oh, God, I wanted to sleep.

  “When they found out you didn’t have kids yet, everyone—well, every guy—wanted to get in on the action. Being the one to father Storm King’s heir would be a pretty big deal.”

  “Likewise,” added Volusian, “the prophecy says Storm King’s daughter will clear the way for her son. Being your consort would carry great prestige.”

  “Hey, I’m not clearing the way for any invasion. Not that I believe in prophecies. Not that I believe in any of this! In fact, that prophecy proves how stupid this all is. I wouldn’t turn against my own kind.”

  I swear Volusian smiled. “Yes, but which people truly are your own kind? Your loyalties are now divided.”

  My anger flared. “No. Even if this is true and I am the daughter of the biggest gentry badass ever, I know where my loyalties are. I’m human. I act human. I have no gentry powers.”

  “As you say, mistress.”

  “Get out of here. All of you. None of this is true. I’ll talk to my parents and clear this up.”

  Volusian bowed. “A wise idea, mistress.”

  I said the words to send them away and then lay on my bed. The storm had quieted outside, but one of my own raged inside me. I wanted to shut down my feelings. I wanted to forget all of this, because it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. I wanted to take one of the prescription sleeping pills, but I didn’t need Roland’s warnings to know how stupid that would be. If every gentry was suddenly hot to get me pregnant, I couldn’t let my guard down.

  I shouldn’t have been able to sleep. Not after fighting gentry and seeing a girl run back to them. Not after learning my one-night stand was a kitsune. Not after discovering that I could very well be something I hated. Something that made me question everything I’d ever believed in.

  No, I shouldn’t have been able to sleep at all, but my body knew better as tiredness flowed over me. My body knew I’d been up all night, that I’d fought and been injured. And most important, it knew my fight wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

  Chapter Twelve

  I finally worked up the courage to see my mom and Roland a few days later. Tim had left for the day, but he’d apparently baked this morning. A plate of almond poppy seed muffins sat on the kitchen table, and I grabbed two for the road.

  My ability to think clearly had improved with some rest, but my anger and pain hadn’t really faded. I still felt betrayed and not just by Wil. If anything, I could forgive him more easily than anyone else. He had not fostered a years-long secret. His actions had been open and desperate. They had not been so insidious as Kiyo’s, my mom’s, and Roland’s.

  When I arrived at the house, I didn’t bother knocking. The front door was open, and I pushed inside, slamming it loudly behind me.

  “Genie?” I heard my mom call. “Is that you?”

  I walked across the wood floor, my shoes echoing in the foyer. Mom and Roland sat at the kitchen table, eating lunch. Bread and cold cuts were laid out, along with assorted condiments. It looked so normal. So peaceful and
innocent. My mom half-rose when she saw me.

  “Thank God you’re back safe. I’ve been so—what’s the matter?”

  I loved these people so much, but seeing them increased my fury, maybe because I did love them so much. For a moment, I couldn’t get the words out. I just stared at them, looking from face to face.

  “Eugenie?” she asked tentatively.

  “Who’s my father?” I demanded of her. “Was I born in the Otherworld?”

  I saw her go pale, her dark eyes widening in fear. In an instant, Roland was up beside her.

  “Eugenie, listen—” The look on his face spoke legions.

  “Jesus. It really is true.”

  I saw him open his mouth to protest, but then he thought better of it. “How did you find out?”

  Honesty, at least. “It’s all over the Otherworld. Everyone knows. I’m apparently next in line for world domination.”

  “That’s not true,” he said. “Forget about it. You aren’t like them.”

  “But I am one of them, right? At least half?”

  “By blood only. Everything else…well, for all intents and purposes, you’re human. You have nothing to do with them.”

  “Except killing and banishing them. How could you set me up for that…if I’m…?” One of them, I wanted to finish. But I couldn’t get the words out.

  “Because you have a talent for it. One we need. You know what they can do.”

  “Yes. And you’ve made sure I do, telling me all the horror stories growing up. But there’s a hell of a lot more than that. They’re weird, yes, but not all evil.”

  My mother suddenly joined the conversation, eyes wild and frantic. “Yes! They are! You don’t know what you’re talking about. When did you have this revelation? A day ago? A week ago? I lived with them for three years, Eugenie. Three years.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Three years, and I never once encountered a decent one. No one who would help me. No one who would keep me from Tirigan.”

  “Who?”

  “Storm King,” said Roland. “That’s his name. Was his name.”

  “They say you saved her from him.”

  He nodded. “I was there chasing down a kelpie when I heard rumors of a captured human woman. I went to investigate and found her and you. You were a baby. I slipped you both out of there and hid you.”

  “But Dorian…someone I met…said Storm King came looking for us.”

  “He did. And he found you.”

  I frowned. From what Dorian had said, I should have been a young teenager then. “I don’t remember that.”

  Roland nodded again. “Once close enough, he could reach out and call to you. He summoned you to him. By the time I tracked you down, you were out in the desert, very near a crossroads. You’d walked miles to get to him.”

  “I don’t remember that,” I repeated. In some ways, what Roland told me now was crazier than what I’d learned at Aeson’s.

  “His magic spoke to yours. He wanted to take you back with him, and you fought against him. You were struck by lightning in the process.”

  “Wait, I know I’d remember that.”

  “No. I hypnotized you and repressed it. I killed him, but your magic had still been awakened. After seeing what I’d seen, I was afraid you couldn’t control it—that it would control you instead.”

  “I don’t have any magic. Not gentry magic anyway.”

  “Not that you know of. It’s hidden away. I made you forget. After that, I started teaching you the craft in the hope of protecting you. I didn’t know if others would follow him or if someone else could reawaken you or summon you. I needed to give you the tools you’d need for defense.” He suddenly looked tired. “I never realized how well you’d take to them.”

  I felt as tired as he looked, despite all the sleep. I pulled up one of the chairs and sat; they continued to stand. So I had met Storm King. I had answered his summons. And I had been struck by lightning? That was interesting, because in a lot of cultures, shamans are called to their art through some traumatic event. Lightning strikes are actually common ones. Many of the local Indian shamans—already skeptical of the plethora of New Age white shamans—did not consider me authentic since I’d had no such profound initiation. Turns out I had. Score one for me.

  “You made me forget. You got inside my head, and you made me forget. All this time…both of you have known and never told me.”

  “We wanted to protect you,” he said.

  “And what then? Did you think I’d never find out?” The heat rose in my voice again. “I had to hear it from gentry. I would have rather heard it from you.”

  My mother closed her eyes, and one tear trailed down her cheek. Roland regarded me calmly.

  “In hindsight, yes, that would have been better. But we never thought it would actually come out.”

  “It’s out,” I said bitterly. “Everyone knows it. And now everyone wants a piece of this prophecy—and of me.”

  “What prophecy?”

  I told them. When I finished, my mother sat down and buried her face in her hands, crying softly. I could hear her murmuring, “It’ll happen to her. It’ll happen to her too.”

  Roland rested a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t put much stock in gentry prophecies. They come out with a new one every day.”

  “Doesn’t matter, if they believe it. They’re still going to come after me.”

  “You should stay with us. I’ll help protect you.”

  I stood up, glancing at my mother. No way would I expose her to more gentry. “No. This is my problem. Besides, don’t take this too badly”—I felt myself start to choke up—“but I don’t really want to see you guys for a while. I guess you meant well, but…I need to…I don’t know. I need to think.”

  “Eugenie—” I saw raw pain on his face. My mom’s sobs grew louder.

  I stood up, averting my eyes from both of them. Suddenly, I couldn’t stay here anymore. “I’ve got to go.”

  Roland was still calling after me when I practically ran out of the house. But I needed to get away, or I’d say something stupid. I didn’t want to hurt them, even though I probably had. But they’d hurt me too, and we all needed to deal with that.

  While opening my car door, I looked up and saw a red fox watching me from the same spot as last time.

  I strode toward him, close but not too close.

  “Go away!” I shouted.

  He stared at me, unmoving.

  “I mean it. I’m not speaking to you. You’re as bad as the rest of them.”

  He lay down, resting his chin on crossed paws while he continued to regard me solemnly.

  “I don’t care how cute you are, okay? I’m through with you.”

  A woman working in her yard next door gave me an uneasy look. I turned my back on the fox, got in the car, and drove home. Yet, as I did, I couldn’t help but feel relieved Kiyo had survived. I honestly hadn’t known if he would. Strong and vicious he might be, but Aeson had been slinging fire at him. The question was, had Kiyo merely escaped? Or had he managed to kill the king? What had happened to Jasmine?

  Tim still wasn’t back when I got home. I decided then I didn’t want to leave my house that day or make any pretense of productivity. I wanted to hit the sauna, put on pajamas, and then watch bad TV while eating Milky Ways. It seemed like a pretty solid plan, and I set out to make it happen.

  Twenty minutes later, I sat immersed in hot steam, draped in humidity. Heat was great for loosening muscles, although that only made me realize how much I’d hurt them. At least I’d made it out alive. That was the real miracle, considering what a disaster last night had turned into.

  I didn’t want to think much about it or about Mom and Roland, but it was hard not to. Part of me still believed—still hoped—that all of this was a mistake. After all, wasn’t it just everyone’s say-so? Of course, somehow I doubted my parents would make all that up. But really. Where was the DNA test? The photographic evidence? I had nothing tangible. Nothing I could see and believ
e.

  Except my own memories. The memories Roland had covered up for me. Hypnotism wasn’t uncommon in our line of work. It was just another state of unconsciousness. Shamans who served as religious leaders and healers used similar techniques on their followers and patients to heal the body and mind. Roland and I, as “freelance shamans,” didn’t really have much need for it. Our contact with the spirit world often became more physical and direct. But I had done some healings and soul retrievals, so I knew the basics.

  Leaning my head against the wall, I closed my eyes and thought about the tattoo of Selene on my back. She was my earthly connection, the grounding of my body and soul and mind in this world. I focused on her image and what she represented and then slowly altered my state of mind. Rather than slipping out to another plane, I crossed inward, back into the far reaches of myself and the parts of me buried in my unconscious.

  It probably didn’t take long, but in that state, it was painstakingly slow. I browsed through pieces of me, both memories and hidden truths alike. All the things that made me Eugenie Markham. I concentrated on lightning, hoping it would snag my attention. Surely a lightning strike couldn’t be buried forever.

  There. A faint tug. I dove in after it, trying to grasp it and the memory it linked to. It was difficult. The image was slippery, like trying to hold on to a fish. Each time I thought I had it, it wriggled away. Roland had done a good job. Steeling myself, I fought against the layers, clawing and fighting until—

  I woke up in bed.

  But it wasn’t the bed in my house. It was a different bed, a smaller bed covered in a pink comforter. The bed of my childhood. I lay in it, staring up at a ceiling covered in plastic stars just like the one I had as an adult. It was the middle of the night, and I couldn’t sleep. I’d been an insomniac then, just as now. This time, however, it was different. Something other than my churning mind was keeping me awake. Somewhere, outside, I could hear a voice calling me. No, not a voice exactly, but it was a pull. A pull I couldn’t shut out.

  Climbing out of bed, I slipped my feet into dirty sneakers and put a light jacket on over my pajamas. In the hallway, the door to Mom and Roland’s room was closed. I moved past as quietly as possible, down the stairs and then out the door.