Chapter Three

Side track: the healing begins

At this point, I'm going to take us down a slight sidetrack. You see, the meditation sessions that I so looked forward to were the beginning of my magic lessons. The first lesson was learning to be healthy in mind and heart, as well as body, despite Curtis' tender ministrations.

Grandmamma's reputation is well deserved; there are few things in this world that she can't heal. However, she's got what I like to call selective patience. In this instance, I can't blame her for refusing me the years that most therapists would have advised to come to terms with my circumstances. A mage who is not in control of herself is a danger to everyone and everything around her, but most of all to herself. Generally, the first magic that we can tap into is the enforcement of perception. That makes accidental suicide the most common cause of death among adolescent mages.

When a mage chooses to perceive herself as overweight, ugly, or a social misfit her magic works to make it true. Now, anyone can utilize the magic of perception to affect the attitudes of those around them, but when I say the magic works to make a mage's perception true I mean that, for instance, a mage who thinks her self fat can as much as double her weight overnight. A mage who perceives her self as clumsy can knock over shelves three isles over in the store just by stumbling.

A mage who begins to seriously question the rightness of his existence can, and usually at least starts to, release his personal Quickening. If he releases too much, he kills himself. If he releases fast enough, well, let's just say that spontaneous human combustion is not a myth – it's more like every mage-gifted parent's worst nightmare.

While coming into my magic with my menarche wasn't exactly a rare occurrence, generally a mage's magic develops into blatant affects closer to the tail-end of puberty. In very rare cases it can even take a mage into menopause to develop the flashier magics. Achieving blatancy with menarche presaged a wild adolescence and Grandmamma decided that we didn't need my issues to make things even more interesting. So, her first order of business was to ensure that my psyche could stand up to the rigors of my magic.

Now, she tells me that I was amazingly stable despite Curtis. Even then, she made sure I knew that she was impressed with my grit. I thank Poppa for the stability. Mom, well, Damien was right that she never would have survived an abusive situation with her sanity. Her religious fervor is proof enough of that.

I know that she "found Christ" and was "saved" through Poppa, but she approaches religion like an addiction. If you know an addict's obsession, you have the key to playing that addict. Curtis played Mom like a finely tuned harp. Poppa could not be played that way and that, along with his morals and his strength, made him my safe zone. Curtis knew better than to try anything where Poppa might catch him at it; the bloody nose taught him that much. Of course, it would have been much better if Poppa had believed me from the beginning, but something was much better than nothing.

I often wonder what might have been if Poppa hadn't held to the line that Mom was the disciplinarian of the family. Poppa used to say that it was his job to provide for us and support Mom because she was raising us. Up until the "Incident" I know that both of them thought that Mom being a woman made her somehow more capable of deciding what was best for the kids. That's another subject the "Incident" closed, so I don't know if they reevaluated that assumption.

I am not the healer that my grandmother is, so I can't tell you all she did. We started by stepping into the Dream Lands. The first thing to clear up here is that the Dream Lands are not Limbo, Abyssal, or Elysium. Those are all congruent dimensions, fractures and reflections of the Prime. We can guess what the Prime is, but it's somewhat like religion – with the tools currently available to us, the most we can hope to do is take a lot of the esoterica surrounding it on faith. Put three mages in the room and you'll probably have about twenty and three different opinions about it.

But that's a whole n'other side trip and I was telling you about the Dream Lands. Let's lay in some background here. Science caught up to magic a bit more with the discovery of sub-atomic particles and Quantum Theory. Popular magical theory has it that the Quickening is, in fact, Prime energy, what most scientist of the day call "quantum". Here I must admit my ignorance as I am no Quantum Physicist, but, as I understand it, the basic quantum theory would hold with the tenant that the Quickening, this quantum energy, is what allows for the formation of matter from these sub-atomic particles.

The Dream Lands are pure Quickening, pure energy with the memory of matter but without the substance. Some people like to call the Dream Lands the Astral Planes, but the Astral Plane is a subset, a more matter-based entry way into the Dream Lands, like the conscious mind is a very concept-oriented entry to the human psyche. It's like saying that the foyer is the whole of the house, to put it a slightly different way. Grandmamma explained it as somewhat like the Spiritual equivalence of the atmospheres, with our plane of existence taking the place of our Earth and the other planes being the other planets.

There is the world in which we are all aware and living, made of matter but inhabited by Spirit, the spark of life. This is the planar sphere. Beyond that is the Spirit detached from matter and yet still moving through the material world. This is Astral. Some, very powerful and very experienced Astral Walkers can even effect changes within the material world from the Astral Plane, but it is a hazardous and often deadly proposition. To effect changes you must draw enough matter to you to work your change but not enough to find yourself bound to the matter you coalesced. Beyond Astral is Tolhabith, where matter is a distant memory and emotions become much more solid. The Void lies beyond Tolhabith and beyond the Void lies yet another Tolhabith, and yet another Astral, and yet another planar sphere. If you aren't a member of the Hosts, your chances of successfully crossing the Void would be between slim and none.

When Grandmamma decided that I needed to face myself, she decided that Tolhabith was the best place for me to learn emotional health. That meant she had to teach me how to leave my body behind and so our meditation sessions focused on teaching me how to separate from my body without hurting myself. Since this was the first magic she formally taught me, she kept it simple.

We would sit in a darkened room and enter a "breath induced trance state" – which means that we focused our attention on yogic breathing until it was all we were aware of and our minds started to wander. Once the mind wanders far enough, when the sense of physical self is set aside, there is the trance state. Most people can reach this state without needing any magical ability. It is simply stepping back from the material aspect of life without being separated from it. Some very disciplined mundanes are able to take the next step away from their material shell and become aware of the Astral Planes. However it requires magic, whether raw or filtered, to project your Spirit into the Astral and beyond.

One aspect of this particular way of transcending is that the mage maintains a very strong attachment to her body. Learning to block out distractions, like strange sounds, muscle cramps, and full bladders, occupied quite a bit of our lessons at first. It took me a long time to learn how to transcend this way and by the time I did, I had already learned the short cut. However, that's getting ahead of my story.

Going back to Burlingame

Mom called every night for the first fortnight, asking how I was doing, if I was eating well, how I was being treated, and then hanging up before we had a chance to really talk. I got to chat with Poppa on Sundays, when I learned how Roz and Bruce were doing and how things were going with him. We didn't discuss Curtis at all. He wasn't too happy to learn that neither Damien nor Grandmamma were taking me to church. On the second Sunday, he asked to speak with Damien.

Poppa and Damien had a short conversation, with Damien's side going along the lines of, "Hello. … No, we aren't. … We are not Christian. Why should we indoctrinate her in a cult that we don't follow? … Because I have relatives who witnessed your Cristos' speeches and were not impressed. I take their testimony over the writings that formed your holy book. … I don't have too many issues with the ethics Christianity promotes, so, yes, when she's visiting you, going to church is not a problem. … She's a little young to start teaching what we do believe. … We follow Isis. … Yes, that Isis. … Do you really want to debate religion right now? Because this conversation could go on for a while and I don't think either of us will have changed the other's mind. … Ok, here's Rhi back."

The next weekend, Damien drove us back to the Bay Area, into Burlingame to visit with my folks for the weekend. We stayed in a hotel. Damien was trying to avoid conflicts and I think he wanted to make sure that I knew I had a safe place to retreat to if things got out of hand. It was awkward, to say the least. Mom is not very good at hiding her feelings and she was rather … upset. She took it out on Damien and he gave her a perfect blankness back. Poppa spent most of the weekend trying to soothe her without much success.

Roz and I reunited like we were apart for years and not weeks. She had to show me everything and be part of everything I was doing, which suited me just fine. Roslyn is a sparkly person and she shares her brilliance well. Even at the age of eight, she could captivate a room when she wanted to. Without trying, she has this innate ability to make any place she is a brighter, more welcoming space simply by being there. When she's truly ecstatic, it's almost impossible to resist her. I've looked and I've Looked, but hers is not a magic that taps into Quickening, whether by raw or filtered process; it's simply a deep-seated happiness she shares. I made her memorize Damien's number so she could call me when she wanted to.

The folks went to a non-denominational Christian church, so there wasn't as much of the "My God is better than your God" in the sermons. While I was of an age to be in Sunday school, I generally preferred to sit through the adults' lessons over the youths' version. Usually, Pastor Michelson kept the sermons more about general topics, like how Jesus and Company persevered through strife and resisting temptation and such. Today's sermon was a little bit different, with the Pastor speaking in a much more passionate manner. The topic was tolerance, a.k.a. "hate the sin, but love the sinner".

After the sermon, Damien sought an introduction to Pastor Michelson. I ducked away with Roz and we went to say hello to some of our friends among the crowd.

Trina Brown and I had been on friendly terms before the "Incident", at that stage before friendship when you're pretty sure you like someone while still figuring out how much you have in common. She ducked behind her mother when she saw us coming, fear wide in her eyes. I stopped, confused for a moment because she was looking at me with that fear. I looked around and I saw the fear reflected in quite a few of the faces, adult and child alike, looking back at me. The hurt wanted to settle in, but the anger that made me take that stand with Curtis pushed it out.

I gathered as many eyes as I could, threw out my hands, and said, "Boo?!" Several of the folks around us jumped and Roslyn giggled at their startlement. I let exasperation fill my voice as I dared to chastise, "Honestly, you'd swear I grew an extra head or something! I'm still the same person who played jacks with you, Beverly, and lost horribly! I'm still the same kid who washed your car for spending cash, Mr. Henry! I'm not someone all together different!

"Yeah, I lost my temper with Curtis and I found out I can do things I don't want to know I can do. I hurt him and I have to live with that. But just because I stopped being able to take the crap that Curtis was throwing at me doesn't mean that I'm going to turn into some marauding monster out to eat the world or whatever!" I swept my eyes over everyone looking back at me, the fear and suspicion still riding them. I felt their disgust reach into me, and I filled myself with my own to keep from hurting. "A fine example of Christian values you all give." And I walked away, back to the only folks who I knew still accepted me – my fathers and my sister.

Patricia Henry called after me, "Who are you to judge us, child? You're the witch!"

I did the dumb thing and stopped and turned back, "Who better to judge you than the person you're casting stones at?"

"God, child, God alone is without sin. God alone has the right to cast the first stone," Pastor Michelson's voice carried over the milling congregation. Quite a few of the church members reddened, reminded of the ringing sermon their otherwise mild pastor had just delivered.

Damien walked over to me, glaring past me towards the crowd behind. "Burquet, I've changed my mind. Rhiannon will not be attending church with you while I retain custody of her. Say your goodbyes, Rhi, we're leaving."

I swept my eyes over the crowd. These folks had been friends, part of my community and, while their rejection stung like a son, the part of me that knew I was magic had had enough forewarning to save me the shame of crying before them. I know my countenance was hostile as I swept my gaze back over them before I turned my back, both figuratively and literally. I hugged Roslyn and Bruce and Poppa and Mom and then I took up Damien's hand. I stopped before the pastor and said, "Thank you for the kindnesses you have given to me. Thank you for the patience you have shown me and the example you have set. You and Poppa and Rozzie are the only reasons I won't hate Christ for His children."

My words were not meant for the crowd. They were as much an honest expression of my frustration as they were the compliment for his teachings. Pastor Michaelson was part of the history of Poppa's and my logger-heading over Christianity. I know both were sorely disappointed and concerned on my behalf that I never could find a place in my soul for Christ, their Savior. At that point, the most I could offer was to not judge the master of the house by the people He welcomed within. The sad understanding of that was in Pastor Michaelson's eyes as he blessed me and said his goodbyes.

It was a long, quiet ride back to Sacramento.

Meet the new case worker

The next week was Thanksgiving. Mom started the holiday tradition of wrangling over which family I would spend it with the day after we returned. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, she hounded Damien to bring me back to Burlingame for the holiday and Damien simply told her, "No." On Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, we received a surprise visit from the CPS worker that Sacramento County assigned to us.

Vanessa Ramirez was a lot younger than Mrs. Morley. She was a pleasant, slightly plump Hispanic lady closer to twenty-five than thirty. Despite her youth and pleasantries, her eyes were sharp and almost as alert as Damien's. She wore clogs and casual pants with short-sleeved shirts on most of her visits. I rarely saw her hair outside of a bouncy ponytail. She insisted I call her Vanessa, but she was Ms. Ramirez to Damien.

Vanessa arrived just a few minutes after Damien got home from his last university class and was walking through the house, inspecting for unsafe conditions, when the phone rang. Damien and I winced in unison, looked at each other and rolled our eyes. She caught the reaction and looked at me with a cocked eyebrow. I gave her my super-innocent blink-blink face back.

The phone rang again. Damien glanced at it and sighed and shook his head.

The phone rang again. "Well, aren't you going to answer it?" she asked.

"Why? It's Mom and she's not happy that Damien won't bring me over for Thanksgiving. The only reason I want to go at all is to see Roslyn, but Mom's just going to be all upset and stuck on her pain so it's almost not worth going. Maybe in a month or two, she'll calm down and be nice again, but she doesn't deal well with changes so it may take a bit longer for her to settle."

"You still have contact with the Burquets?" Vanessa's eyebrows arched along with her voice. The phone continued to ring in the background. Damien had a pager for the state; he didn’t want a message machine.

He answered, "Yes. They are Rhiannon's family whether they listened to her or not and neither my mother nor I think it would be healthy to completely isolate her from them. I monitor their interactions and Momma's interviewing potential therapists to bring Rhi to. The magic makes finding someone who can comprehend everything that's going on with her a little bit hard."

Vanessa's eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips. "I can see that magically inclined therapists would be a bit hard to find. However, I'm not so sure it's in Rhiannon's best interests to retain contact with that household. I want to meet with the Burquets before she visits them and see for myself."

Damien frowned. "Weell …" he drawled. "Rhiannon was missing her sister quite a bit. I did take her to see her last weekend. We spent Saturday evening and Sunday morning with them, and stayed overnight at the Troubadour Hotel."

Vanessa blinked the long, slow, counting-to-ten kind of blink. She took a deep breath through flared nostrils. "No contact, no phone calls, no visits, nada until I meet with the Burquets for myself. Do I make myself clear?"

Damien stiffened. His face was hard as he returned Vanessa's glare. "No contact, fine. But if you think I would have taken her back into a situation that I thought would endanger her health – physical, emotional or otherwise – you're just plain crazy. Pick up the phone and make your appointment with them. Then come back and tell me how dangerous it is for Rhiannon to be around her mother's family."

While the adults started having their pissing contest, I walked over and answered the phone. "Hi, Mom."

"Hi, baby. What took so long to answer?" Mom's voice came over the line sounding slightly strained.

"Vanessa's over and she's ripping into Damien for taking me to see y'all this weekend."

The adults finally reacted, both swinging their heads in my direction. I had figured out that Damien was rather like Poppa in that he was more bark than bite. That made Vanessa the more intimidating of the two, but I had decided that I was never going to be anybody's door mat ever again. I let challenge fill my face as I returned her glare.

"Who's this Vanessa to be coming all over like that?" heat crept into Mom's voice.

"She's our social worker, like Mrs. Morley. She makes Damien call her Ms. Ramirez. She wants to meet you before I can see you again. Just a sec, here she is." I offered the phone to Vanessa and let my lack of patience with the piss-anteing show.

Vanessa kept eye contact with me while she talked to my mother. The hostility gave way to serious consideration, so I think I gave her something to think about. They set up an appointment for two weeks later, where all of us would be present, including Mrs. Morley if she could make it.

The scare before Thanksgiving

After Damien tucked me in that night and went back out to talk with Grandmamma, I climbed out of bed and took out my special quilt. I curled back under the covers, wrapped in my quilt, and started tracing the patterns sewn into it. I used to trace the patterns all the time, but that was before I had to hide the quilt. There was something almost hypnotically soothing in following the swirls through spiral after spiral that made it a guaranteed cure for insomnia. Since my brain was running in circles again, curing the insomnia seemed like a good idea.

Sleep was just about to claim me when the door exploded inward. I screamed a short scream, more of an extended "yip". Damien was at my side in an instant, looking down right menacing. He scanned the room and, not seeing whatever he was looking for, turned to me.

"Are you all right, baby doll?" he asked as he started pulling the covers back, still scanning the room. I could tell he was trying to be calm, but there was a fierceness to him that just made me more scared. He paused when he saw my quilt and the tension seemed to run right out of him. He grabbed me up, quilt and all, sat down on the floor and started laughing, holding me close. It penetrated my fear and I looked at him funny, wondering if maybe Damien wasn't quite right in the head.

Grandmamma stood in the doorway, looking especially bland. "Well, at least I now know for sure just where the magic went with you, boy: straight into your muscles. The only other folks I've seen move that fast are shifters." Her eyes narrowed. Looking at the quilt, she asked, "Is that what I think it is?"

I shrank into Damien, clutching my quilt tighter to me, and felt Damien nod over the top of my head. He tried to speak, choked on the laughter, and started controlling his breathing. After a moment, he said, "Yep! It's the quilt you made for my wedding! I can't believe Evelyn let her keep it! I can't believe it! Oh, gods! Thank the gods! Damn but I almost had a heart attack! Damn!" He squeezed me tighter with those soft "damns" and then started stroking my hair.

Grandmamma came over to us and hunkered down in front of me. She reached out and stroked the edge of the quilt, her face going all blank, pleasantly empty. After a moment, she gave a deep sigh and her personality rushed back into her features, curling her lips with a satisfied smile. Her eyes met mine and she beamed at me.

"I made this quilt when Damien turned thirty-five for his first born child. I had to wait almost that long again until he settled down with your mother and had you." She leaned in, in a confiding manner, to impart, "I should've known he'd take after me in that way. Your eldest uncle didn't come around till I was close to my first century, too."

Not only were they not taking my quilt away, they even liked knowing I had it! I giggled at Grandmamma and relaxed into Damien. The whole scenario was still strange, but my quilt was safe in my possession so I could deal with it. I rolled my eyes for emphasis and giggled out, "Grandmamma, you 'n Damien aren't that old!"

Instead of laughing with me, she arched her eyebrow and patted my knee. "Stay right here, sweetie. Your father needs to know you're safe after the scare he just got." Then she stood up and walked out.

I twisted around in Damien's arms and looked up at him. I meant to ask him what scare Grandmamma was talking about, but I blurted out, "Are you crying?" The shock of seeing tears on his face ran every other thought out of my head.

He wiped a hand across each cheek and went right back to holding me. "Yeah, baby doll, I was crying. Gods!" Deep breath. "Gods above, baby! Yeah … I felt this strange magic in your room and it's after dark. I was scared that something had made it past the wards and was trying to lure you out. I mean, damn, baby! I flashed back to seeing your mother after Langston got through with her and I never want that to be you, baby! Never you, baby doll!"

Damien's reaction suddenly made sense. I shivered and huddled a bit closer.

Some family history

By the time Grandmamma came back a few minutes later, Damien was tucking me back into bed. She carried in a box and a couple of photo albums. With a wry snort, she flipped on the light switch.

"I think she needs a bit of light to see the truth of things, Daimie. In fact, nice as being in bed might seem, let's take this into the living room." She turned around and left us to follow her.

Damien and I exchanged a puzzled glance and shrugged at each other. He got up and I climbed out of bed, still wrapped in my quilt, and off to the living room we went. Damien brought up the rear, I think because he was still feeling a bit hyped up from the magic scare.

At that time, the living room was done up in shades of brown and teal, even though Damien called it blue. The furniture looked to be mostly made of wood and leather with the leather burnished to a high sheen by ages of use and care. The couch was a deep mahogany with a coarse-woven teal and cream throw along the back. There was also a "throne" chair, a low-seated affair that was the only cloth-covered piece in the room. The arms were on a height with the back, and ended with the stained wood-grain of a four by four revealed. The upholstery was plush velvet in a rich shade of royal blue. It was big enough for Damien to sit in it with me in his lap. He favored it before I moved in and he says that the memories of us reading together in it just reinforced his preference for it.

Grandmamma sat on one side of the couch, the box in her lap and the albums on the dark-stained coffee table. She patted the seat next to her as she looked at me and said, "Come on and don't drag the hem. Bad habit to keep up, even if the wards I sewed into it should keep it dirt-proof." So to Grandmamma I went, hitching up my quilt so it fell around my ankles and bunched up around my neck like a cowl.

Damien prowled around the living room for a moment before taking his seat in the throne chair. Grandmamma looked at him like she was thinking about something, and then turned her attention to me.

"Child, there is a very important thing you need to understand about our side of the family. Your mother was pure human. Everything she taught you is from a completely human point of view. While most mages are pure human, there are times that the magic can change us. Things get even more complicated when non-human and human magics mingle.

"My grandmother was the first of our line to live past forty. She was born, oh, some time close to the First Council of Nicaea. My grandfather decided she was … unique enough to be worthy of immortality and, when she refused his bite, he bound her to him as his móndav, his soul-bound … companion? The word is so old I don't even know what language it comes from, but companion will do," she said, waiving away the translation.

"Grand-mère eventually grew reconciled to it. I'm amazed that it only took her close to fifty years, give or take, to stop trying to kill him. You see, Grand-père is a vampire. My mother and uncle are so far their only children and it looks like that's how things will stay. My mother went into an arranged alliance. She did not survive her master's downfall, but fortunately for me, she suspected that things would be … less than pleasant and sent me to visit Grand-mère Noncy.

"That was roughly three hundred years ago. I was little more than your age now. My father was their master's summoned animal, his were-panther. My mother and my uncle Louis were similar to Damien in that their magic was never under conscious control. It's too soon to say for certain, but if your own children are magic, as opposed to mages, then it may be something that skips generations." A pause to caress the box in her lap, and then Grandmamma continued.

"I gave birth to four children: Marcus, Timon, Antoinette, and your father, Damien. When it comes to Marcus and Timon's father, Byron Pierce, the least said the better. Suffice it to say that he was very much like your Curtis, but political considerations delayed his death until after the First World War.

"Your Uncle Marcus took the bite and he's still living with Grand-père Anastase and Uncle Louis. Timon disappeared in the West around 1830. I had to give up on searching for him in the '40s when Antoinette and Damien's father captured me. I was close to giving up anyway. From what I discovered, it looked like Timon got on the wrong side of a Miwok mage. There was no sign that either of them survived it." Tears shimmered, unshed in Grandmamma's eyes at that simple statement, but she didn't let it color her voice. Impulsively, I reached out and hugged her. She smiled down at me and cuddled me into her side. She thanked me with that smile, but the tale wasn't over yet and I thought it best not to interrupt with the question of what, exactly, was a Miwok.

"Kyle Macpherson was the self-styled Liege of California. Sutter had recently established his New Helvetia with the Mexican government, I think only two or three years before Kyle decided there weren't enough people in Yerba Buena, San Francisco now, for an aspiring vampire to dominate. He made New Helvetia his base of operations.

"Byron … Marcus and Timon were the only reason I survived Byron. Timon was my baby, perhaps because he was the more outgoing and adventurous of the two. Before I learned how to shelter them from Bryon's fits, Grand-père and Louis were their only refuge. Marcus imprinted on them so much that, despite being my son, he grew up more as if he were theirs. Timon was less dependent upon them, partly because I had learned ways to deflect Byron's tantrums and partly because he almost seemed to defy the idea of being safe. These days, he would be called an adrenaline junkie." The quiet look of wry pride that shone on Grandmamma's face was every mother's loving reflection. She paused in that glow before she grew somber and the tale began again.

"Leaving Virginia to find Timon was … an adventure. I never realized how sheltered Grand-père had kept me, even with the marriage to Byron, not until I stole away to find my baby. Some other time I may tell you what that was like, but the end of my journey left me in Sutter's Fort just before the outbreak of the Mexican War.

"Kyle had been in New Helvetia for a few years and, when he received word that I arrived there, he decided to look me over. The West then had a disproportionately large therianthropic population and, at first, that's what he thought I was. I'm stronger than most humans and I heal faster, and the magic in me can set off similar … similar reactions in sensitive folk. It's not surprising considering therianthropy is the result of a series of blood-bound curses. The curses that perpetuate the disease 'tap into' Quickening in almost the same way that you and I do when we use our magic.

"By the time I reached Sutter's Fort, I was pretty sure Timon was dead and I was grieving. The rude awakenings I received on my travels just added to my sense of hopelessness and I didn't even try to fight when Kyle decided to take over my life. Doing what he wanted me to do was just a little bit better than sitting in a funk, wondering what I could have done, what mistakes I could have fixed, how I could have kept my baby alive." Her voice trailed off with that thought, her eyes filled with memories that made her so terribly sad. I snuggled in closer to Grandmamma and, with a determined effort, she moved on.

"The only reason I can think that Kyle decided to keep me is that I was an exotic. Compared to the treatment I received from Byron, Kyle was a saint. He came to care for me and it was almost impossible to resist that. He was a very charismatic person. He breathed life into me again.

"Kyle was a bare century old, but he was sired by a very powerful master and some of that power transferred. He was always careful not to speak of his sire, but the only other way he could have attained such strength would have been to drink of the Original Fount or those close to it and that is Not Bloody Likely. He held Sutter's Fort from its infancy into the Second World War, even with every Liege sending 'colonists' West. The Gold Rush and then young Sutter's city becoming the capital made Sacramento a very plum target for takeover aspirations.

"For all his power, Kyle was … He was different. Most vampires are intensely attracted to politics and games of subterfuge. Kyle was sly and he was cunning, but he allowed no pretense among his coterie or his camarilla and he was not afraid to admit that he had a camarilla, either. That trait misled some of the invaders into thinking him weak. It was not a mistake they lived to make again.

"The Mexican War delayed Byron's hunt for me and confused the trail. He did not track me down until ... I think it was 1857 or so. It was after Sacramento was made the state capital and I think after the Bee started publishing. I know the Union was up and running, churning out news sheets like bread from a bakery, but the Civil War had yet to begin. Don't mention that war to Grand-père. He's still thoroughly enraged about the destruction of his favorite hell, ah … gambling hall.

"However. Byron and Kyle. That was a beeeautiful meeting for me!" she giggled, wicked delight filling her face. "Byron was the scion of Grand-père's closest rival, the Liege of D.C. He was used to being, if not deferred to, at least shown respect." Grandmamma's expression filled with the savored delight most women reserve for fine chocolates and particularly favored carnal thoughts as she exhaled, "Kyle all but drove him out of town with a bullwhip! The sight of the shock and the fear on his face as he scrambled out of Kyle's way warms me to this day!" More giggles and then she sobered, her eyes still twinkling.

"Uncle Louis accompanied Byron in his search, which may have added to their travel time. He's hinted that much, at least. Kyle was excruciatingly polite and terribly firm in refusing to relinquish me to my Uncle's care. I was just beginning to get a sense of who I would be after Timon as the grief ebbed in to a bearable hurt. We talked and visited, Uncle Louis and I, for quite a bit and whatever he heard in our conversations or saw in me decided him to not press Kyle.

"War came and went. The Civil War largely left us untouched here in Alta California. World War I, though, that war left its scars. The sheer reach of the mobilization was …

"The Second World War had its share of horrors, but the first one will always be the worse of the two in my mind. The scale of destruction was unprecedented. We had no … no measure to compare it to. It became the measure for the second." She paused, her eyes distant with memories. With a slight shake of her head, she continued.

"Antoinette and Damien are twins, born in the 20's. Kyle was the proudest papa I ever saw and with absolute good reason." She beamed at Damien, and her love for her children was there in her eyes. When she turned back to me, that light still shone, directed, I felt, towards me, too.

"The Liege of D.C. grew … overconfident during Prohibition. A Van Helsingr caught him and his entire coterie during the day. Byron did not survive his Liege for very long; Marcus saw to that. My only regret over Byron's demise is that Marcus had to play a part in it. I did not know until afterward that Byron was leeched to his father. When a leech's provender dies, the leech suffers a period of insanity. It is not uncommon for the leech to act like a revenant, the mindless undead. Marcus was with him when it happened. He had not yet taken the bite. Sometimes I wonder if maybe the bite looked better than the daylight after that.

"Damien and Antoinette were barely into their twenties when the Second World War began. Damien enlisted and Antoinette was all set to go off to war, as well. Kyle and I managed to convince her that someone had to stay here and keep the, ah, the 'home fires burning'.

"Shortly after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, Kyle brought in some vampires he called 'new bloods'. I believe they were his kindred, vampires sired within the same lineage, and some might even have been of his kiss, sired by his sire." Grandmamma stopped and turned her face towards Damien. There was a quiet-angry defiance in Damien's gaze, implacable. I couldn't see Grandmamma's face and she had her voice under her control.

"André was at least two hundred and fifty years old then and he had been beside Kyle from the start. He was magnitudes stronger than Kyle, but he loved him like family and he respected Kyle. He would never have bucked Kyle's rule. Nigel was an upstart brought in with the 'new bloods' and who thought he was more than Kyle and so resented him. He prodded and tested Kyle from the first. Only André's support kept Nigel in check.

"One day, André wasn't there. I did not discover this until after his return, but Kyle had received a missive that Damien was captured by the Axis. He sent André and Gregor, his third, to investigate and, if necessary, to rescue Damien."

"That's what he says. I never saw either of them." Damien's voice was hard as steel. Grandmamma met his challenge with her calm face and continued as if there was no interruption.

"Nigel gave formal challenge. Kyle destroyed him. As Nigel's ashes were scattering, the Liege of San Francisco attempted a coup. We defeated the invaders, but Kyle was already weakened from the succession challenge and he did not survive the battle. Kyle's camarilla managed to keep things together until André's return.

"André was … what is the phrase? Wicked pissed. André was wicked pissed and sore grieved by the time he returned. The camarilla thought they could keep the rule of the city, but André was looking for blood. He demanded to know why no one had stood for his liege. They did not provide satisfactory answers and he … chastised them. Severely." Grandmamma's voice was very neutral, her eyes a calm mirror locked with Damien's.

He took up the narrative from there. "What Momma isn't telling you is that the next thing André did was bind your aunt to him. As his móndav, if he dies, she dies. I don't believe that Father ever sent him after me. Whatever 'missive' he supposedly received was never found. I also find it strange that the number of despised in Sacramento County has risen significantly since André began his reign. And, how convenient is it that it was the Liege of San Francisco who tried an invasion? It gave André just the excuse to 'return the favor' and claim the Bay Area as part of his domain, where, again, a larger number of despised are flourishing."

"And how convenient is it that you forget that your sister was petitioning your father for his blessing to commit to André? She has loved him for as long as she has lived, Damien! No one will ever be good enough for your approval, I swear!"

"It might be love on her part, but I can't see it on his!"

Grandmamma threw up her hands in frustration. "We are not going to agree here! We haven't agreed over the last forty-odd years! That's fine, let's drop it!"

They had a moment of intense staring and then Damien snorted, sighed, and said, "Fine. Anyhow. We hardly ever see Annie anymore. When I got back from the War, I was done with it. I came close to losing my leg in the trenches and got sent home. When it warms up a bit, you'll see the scar. It was a lot worse than it looks. Momma's magic and forty plus years have done a lot to fade the original damage, but I came home in a wheelchair and damned lucky to have kept the sawbones from making me a stumpy.

"When I got home, I found out about Papa and Annie. I have to admit I wanted to wash my hands of the whole mess and run for the hills, but family's family. So I did the next best thing. After Momma made me whole again, I started cleaning up. The war made folks a little less than sane and then the Cold War, well, it was a strain. Wasn't any less of a strain for the preternaturals, either.

"The furry population started seeing an increase and the wolves got aggressive again. Sacramento is a very American city when it comes to the preeter mix: it's a melting pot. San Francisco is less so, but the cats are dominant there and they don't play nice with the other predatory strains. What that all boils down to is that there are a large number of strains, tribes, of therianthropy floating around the capital.

"Getting infected with a therianthropic disease will change a person. It strengthens the more primitive parts of the human soul. A lot of animals are territorial, including humans. It's our more civilized selves, our rational, consequential outlook that allows so many people to live so close together while maintaining separate groupings, all these cliques within a larger community. When you have almost equal numbers of the different strains within a diverse therian population, it's easier for the rational soul to overcome the primitive. When one group grows significantly larger than the others, problems tend to crop up. You're a little bit young, but have you ever heard of the Beltway Brawl?"

I shook my head, and said "No." I kept it short and simple because I was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed. As a bedtime story, it was wonderful, but believing it was true? Well, this definitely wasn't Kansas anymore and who knew where Toto ran off to. Maybe he joined these wolves? I was listening, but the significance of it all wasn't hitting home.

"The Beltway Brawl happened back in '71 when a group of shifters decided to march on Washington. It was the first time that preeters made national news. Before then, it was considered … déclassé to discuss preeters. Most of the movers and the shakers in the Industrial Revolution and the Age of Reason were skeptics and they imprinted their skepticism on those eras. The vamps loved it, and so did most of the shifters. The fey seem to think it's a great joke, but they fought humanity to the treaty table. Even the Industrialist couldn't deny the reality of the fey, not when they were trying to pry the secrets of more advanced metallurgy from them.

"The success of the Civil Rights movement changed the shifters' minds. The discovery of viruses in the 1890's got their scientists barking up the right tree, so to speak, and they partnered with a group of mages to identify just how the infection works. The vamps found out and did their own off shoot research, but they were looking for how to strengthen themselves and shifters were looking for a cure. They're both still looking, by the by.

"Well, the shifters marched on in and forgot to warn the locals that they were coming. A number of rather prominent people were revealed as shifters when the territorial hymnal sounded. D.C. used to be a dog town. A lot of the preeters marching were dogs. You put two large, unrelated cliques within the same tribe together and, well, it was … bloody. Nasty. And preeters were outted with a blood bath."

Grandmamma got up during Damien's lecture and went into the kitchen. As she returned, holding two dark brown, unlabeled bottles, she said, "Daimie, dear, I think you're getting off topic. This isn't one of your classrooms." She handed him one of the bottles and came back to sit with me, taking a pull from the bottle she kept.

Damien looked at her for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "Ah. You're right. I came back from the war and started cleaning up after the preeters. I'm no umbrean, so I caught a lot of flack for assuming the responsibilities. Even the umbreans are looked at askance, but the fact that they're usually Ascenders makes it really hard to take up your grievances there."

I couldn't help it. There were too many things that I wasn't catching and I'm terribly curious by nature. I asked, "Huh? What's an 'umberan'? And 'despised'? And what's a 'Mewok'?"

"The Miwok were a tribe of Indians (Native Americans is the political term), a tribe of Indians that settled in the Sacramento area back around, I think it was the 1600s. Johann Sutter enlisted quite a few into his private army when New Helvetia was still a Mexican land grant," Grandmamma supplied. "Despised are sire-less vampires. Some lineages are more … casual about embracing new vampires, fledglings, than others, but it is generally frowned upon in vampire society to embrace a fledgling and leave him without direction. Without his sire to guide him, fledglings often make fatal mistakes, ones that can draw unwanted attention to the preternatural communities at large."

"Umbreans are kinda like preeter cops." Damien added. "They have some mission of their own, but most preeters tend to agree, in the abstract at least, that when an umbrean makes a Judgment, the Judgment tends to turn out fair. It may take a century or two to see the fairness, but, well, preeters tend to have that much time to figure things out. Most of them, the umbreans, are ascended shifters.

"Shifter ascension is very rare. It means that the shifter mastered their Beast and is no longer moon-tied. That opens up a limited range of Red magery to the shifter. They're still mainly brawlers, the magic turned inward, but they still can work some blatant magics. All therians have some immunity to magic, much like mages, but Ascenders generally have to make an effort to be affected by anything directed at them.

"We have an Ascender living in town now, Paul Schultz. He moved here after the War. In fact, he's the reason the peace is holding in the shifter community.

"Well, like I was saying, the werewolves were getting pretty puffed up around the time I got back and they started making waves. Up until the Beltway Brawl, the name of the game for preeters was 'Silence is Golden'. Sometimes a mage or two could make it when they were outted, but humans are the most vicious creatures on the face of this planet, with maybe the exception of Unseelie Sidhe, and too many preeters have found that out the hard way. It took a lot of effort to keep them in check, a lot of running around and going toe to toe. I hate to say it, but nine times out of ten, it's better that the vamps run territorial politics than shifters.

"I may despise my brother-in-law, but I'm not going to put my little sister's kiester in a sling over it. So, I played the big bad day time muscle until Paul moved in. He came as a political consultant for one of the senators, I can't remember which one off the top of my head, but when he saw the mix, he stepped up.

"I said before that Ascenders are pretty bad assed. At the time, there were over three hundred dogs and around a hundred cats, rats, and reptiles each, plus another fifty or so of the rather exotic strains. Paul was the only Ascender and he forced each and every one of the strains to agree and to abide by a peace treaty. It's still in force today. There were a couple of the tribes that were rootless so they didn't know what an Ascender was. Paul only had to demonstrate it twice before they got the message.

"Every now and again, he comes with me on a hunt, especially if the rogue is a shifter." Damien looked down at his bottle. He frowned at the empty container and said, "I think maybe that's enough for one night. You're gonna have questions, I can see 'em forming now, but take the night to sleep on 'em. And pay attention to your dreams."

And off to bed I was sent. Again.