Chapter Five

The umbrean

A strange hand shook me awake and the fear of Curtis gripped me. I lashed out and both my feet and my fist hit something solid. I wasn't waiting around to find out what. As soon as I sensed a break, I went for it. I hit the floor on my side and skittered on all fours towards 'outside'.

"Fuck! Stop it, kid!" a rough voice growled as these massive hands reached down and picked me up. I was kicking and squirming for all I was worth and the hands rattled me, not enough to cause injury, but enough to disorient me and still my struggles for a bit.

My captor had to be at least six and a half feet tall just by how far my feet hung off the ground. He was massive. Men's bodies are built along bigger lines in general, but this guy was built big even allowing for that. His head was a little bit wider than my shoulders and he could have touched his thumbs and fingertips together while he held me with just a little squeezing. His upper arms were about as big around as my head and my calves were smaller than his wrists. While he didn't appear to be a body builder, he wasn't fat so much as he was solid. His skin was that shade of tan that could have been genetics or lengthy sun exposure and his hair was the surfer-boy blond-streaked brown that costs a fortune at a beauty salon. His eyes were brown and slightly slanted, his nose and lips a bit fuller than the Nordic look most common to California Anglos (we do have the highest population of Swedish Americans in the country, even if it isn't the highest per capita).

A quick glance told me we were in my room and then I took in what was holding on to me. I took as deep a breath as I could get and yelled, "DAMIEN!!!" at the same time I kicked out one last time. I managed to hit the man's chest and used what leverage I could get to attempt to break free of his hold. It didn't work so well. He did something with his grip and folded me around until I found myself completely immobilized without even the chance to bite, let alone kick or punch anymore. About that time, Damien came through the door.

He took in the scene and said, "Set her down, now, slowly." Menace breathed through the room and made the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.

The man who held me said, "Keep her from kicking me in the nuts again and no problem."

"Rhiannon?"

"I'm sorry? I don't want to fight you!" I answered. The man set me down on my feet and I moved so fast I don't remember seeing anything between where I was released and clinging to my father's shoulders. I buried my face in Damien's neck and just shook. He held me, stroking my head and crooning wordless comfort in my ear. He carried me into the living room and sat down in the throne chair.

After a moment, as my shakes faded, he asked, "What happened?"

I just shook my head and huddled in closer. The man's voice answered from the direction of the kitchen. "I went to wake her up and she went ape-shit. Kid's got good survival instincts." The voice moved closer, into the living room with us. "You wanna tell me where she learned to wake up fighting?"

"Curtis." I whispered into Damien's neck.

"And who is Curtis?" the voice asked.

"Curtis is her step-brother. He abused her for the past five years until her magic went blatant. Now he lives in a group home and I have custody of Rhiannon," Damien answered.

"And she's Draken kailen?"

"That's what my mother called her and she's the mage. I don't presume to know about magic."

"She also called you Draken Guerre, but the kailen you supposedly drank from is alive and sitting in your lap." Silence stretched out after that remark.

Despite the terror of my awakening, I was having a hard time concentrating. The tides of sleep pulled at me. I felt Grandmamma's hand on the back of my neck and then I found myself being bundled into my quilt. I reached for Damien again and he held me, curled up in his lap again.

"What seems to be the problem for the young kailen?" the voice asked.

Grandmamma answered, "She Dreamed unaided and woke in distress. She vomited blood and went Spirit Walking to escape the pain. She was present during Damien's transformation and their combined power healed her from the effects of the Dreaming. She read my daughter's guard because he was not shielding well enough around her and then we think she rode Damien's senses for a bit before she was overcome with the need to sleep. She's only come into her blatancy within the past month. All things considered, I'm surprised she awoke at all before nightfall."

"Spirit Walking does not strip the Soul from the Blood."

"My children had to call her back with warmth, water, salt and Blood. Before they realized that she was Spirit Walking, Damien started CPR, not just the breathing, but the heart pumping, too. She was lost whilst standing by her body."

The voice asked of me, "Is this true, child? Were you lost beside your body?"

I turned tired eyes to the man who so rudely woke me. "Auntie Annie dumped my body in the bath, dumped in some salt, and cut her and Damien's arms. Damien wouldn't let her bleed me, so he sliced my finger and squeezed out blood into the water. It took seven drops of my blood mixed with my father and my aunt's and the water and the salt for me to see the thread from my spirit to my body and remember how to climb back down it. How that works, I don't know. That's why I'm still learning."

The umbrean stared at me with a focus that might have been scary if I wasn't so bloody tired. Strange how there can come a point where exhaustion outweighs survival. He relaxed back into his seat after a moment and I closed my eyes as the effort of keeping them open became too much for me.

"If I believe you are Draken Guerre, then that presents me with a problem." the umbrean said. "You are not the kin-slayer or the Infernalist that prior Guerre have been. You actually came to power by seeking to restore your kin to life. Such a circumstance is unheard of. The law against kin-slaying arose because when your kind wake the Guerre, the taste of death has become addictive and you're damned hard to stop when you hit your stride. No one is really sure if it is a product of the awakening or a predisposition of the Guerre. Do I chance that the taste for death is tied to the manner of the awakening and let you live or place the kailen's safety above your freedom?"

"Damien is my safety," I murmured, drowsy and half-following the man's voice.

"Really, young one? And how do you know?" he asked me, sounding grimly amused.

"He's my dad," I answered, thinking it was pretty obvious.

"And that means what to the price of tea in China, girl?"

"It means I've been safer with him than with my mom and my poppa. They love me, but they can't see me, not as I am, not like I do. When Mom tries, she freaks. Damien sees me as I am and he loves me all the more for it. He lets me stand on my own, but he watches and he's been there when people I thought were friends freaked out like Mom, staring 'em all down with me. He's my father."

"And if he is Guerre that changes everything."

"It doesn't change nothing!" I groused back. "Guerre is a warrior, right? Like in Spanish and stuff, right? Well, Damien's been a warrior; he's been a fighter since he was only twice as old as I am. He hasn't hurt anybody for the fun of it or because he likes to kill or stuff. What were the other Draken like who woke up their guerre? What were they like before?

"Curtis was always mean, he was always an ass and he likes to watch people in pain. If he ever grew claws, then I'd say the world would be a better place without him, but not Damien. Damien's been doing the same kind of stuff you umbreans are supposed to, being preeter police and all that. Maybe you should look at the soul before you say it's the magic."

The umbrean heaved a heavy sigh. "That's part of the problem, girl – I can't."

"But I can," added the voice I had heard on the other side of the phone during Damien's bathroom conversation. I turned to look at Paul Schultz as he walked in from the kitchen and I swear I was struck dumb at the sight of him.

Greek god, golden boy, Adonis, drop-dead-gorgeous, these are just a few of the descriptions that have been applied to Paul since I've known him. They all fall short in describing him. Paul is 6'3", with blue hazel eyes – the kind that shift from gray to blue to green, as opposed to brown hazel which shift from brown to green to yellow. His hair is long enough to pull back into a Japanese style top knot and it's this truly golden shade, with red undertones and platinum highlights. He hasn't a spare ounce of fat to him and though he lacks the bulk of an Arnold Schwarzenegger, he definitely has the definition. His legs go on for miles and he's got that rounded contour to his body that says all the tone comes from using his muscles, not just polishing his physique at the local gym. He dresses with style, but even when he wears a tux there is still something wholly sensual about him, earthy. His face is a work of art. His cheekbones are high and sharp enough to cut with, his lips are full without being fat, and his nose is straight and pert. His eyes have a slight up-tilted almond shape to them so they always appear to be smiling and he has the kind of eyelashes women weep over (out of sheer jealously because men do not abuse their face with make-up like too many women do).

Paul walked farther into the room, moving with the grace all dominant shifters have, that unconscious knowledge of their physical prowess. Baby shifters and betas rarely move with that innate ease and I've come to think it is a product of taming the Beast. His scent hit me and my eyes crossed. Fear and exhaustion dropped from me, replaced by the overwhelming desire to rub myself all over this stranger.

Dominant shifters have a stink to them, pheromones, that says they're the big boys and all others beware. For the male shifters, it tends to draw women to them like blood draws sharks while other men find themselves thinking what an amazing leader the shifter is. For the female shifters, men might treat them like they would their mothers, challenge them at every step, or roll over and play the submissive while women tend to either snub them or defer to them. Rather clues you in to the psyche of our society, now doesn't it? Lesser shifters get the clue and do the deferential act, regardless of the gender of the dominant, while other dominants usually start off the challenge-cycle to establish who the bigger bad boy is.

Paul glanced at us and asked, "Isn't she a bit young to have that reaction?"

Grandmamma laughed. "Grand-mère, my mother, and I all started our moon cycles when we were eight, darling; the product of missing out on two thousand years of evolutionary genetics. Thanks to her mother's influence, little Rhiannon was a late bloomer in our family. She's ten and barely due for her second cycle." There was huskiness in Grandmamma's voice, a flirtatiousness that puzzled me.

"Ask a silly question," Paul said and goose bumps went up my spine. My brain started working enough to gasp out that when the scent hit me was when my brain-function went south. I turned my nose into my father's neck and pulled in the scent of cinnamon and scales. It chased most of the Ascender's pheromones out of my system. I brought my quilt up over my nose to breathe through and looked at Paul again. He was still the best male eye candy I ever saw, but the desire to rub into him was no where near as strong.

"Can you turn that off?" I asked.

"Not really, sorry," he answered.

"Paul, this is my daughter, Rhiannon. Rhiannon, this is Paul Schultz, our local Ascender," my father intoned.

"Pleasure to meet you, Rhiannon," Paul drawled.

I looked at him from under my quilt and said, "I think it's mutual, but I'll let you know when your smell wears off if that's real."

The umbrean and Paul barked out a sharp laugh and that pulled my eyes back to the man who my father called in to pronounce his judgment.

"And who are you?" I asked.

"I am the umbrean," he answered.

"That's an evasion, not a name. Who are you?" I asked again.

The umbrean looked at me with his scary look and I gave my demand right back. It was kind of hard to puff up with a quilt over my nose, but I guess I got points for trying. The umbrean said, "When an umbrean is called in to give a Judgment, we are to leave our names, our identities out of the Judgment. We are blood and bone of this earth. Removing the sense of self from the Judgment is a way to ensure impartiality, to let only the blood and bone speak through us and not the transient self."

"So, so long as you're working, you can't give out your name?" I asked.

"Pretty much, yeah, that about sums it up," he answered. Turning to Paul, he said, "So you can see the Soul? Explain."

"It's part of the Ascension. When you've mastered yourself that much, you can see the state that others are in. Damien's soul hasn't changed much since last I saw him. Having his daughter back has strengthened some protective streaks and there's definitely been a boost to the sense of contained power that's always shown in both he and his sister. There is an extra knot or two of anger within him. They have the feeling of an anger brought on by someone trying to hurt his charge. Other than that, he is still the same man with whom I have hunted rogues and enforced the peace of Sacramento. He is still the same man I trust at my back and I trust to know when not to shoot.

"Damien Pierce may not flinch from violence, but he does not enjoy it. It is a means to an end and if there are other means to the same end that do not use violence and do not destroy the one upon whom they are used, then he prefers to use those other means." Paul's voice shifted as he imparted this last bit, heavy with the weight of meaning, "Damien is also the only living non-umbrean I've ever met who is not affected by shifter pheromones."

"Really?" drawled the umbrean. He steepled his fingers together and leaned back into the couch. His gaze was sharp upon Paul and though I had no clue what that last bit meant, it meant something significant to the umbrean. They stayed locked in their staring contest for a while before the umbrean blinked and looked back towards us. His eyes lingered on me as he said, "You have guests coming to dinner tonight, do you not? Perhaps you should prepare your holiday feast."

"And will you be joining us, umbrean?" asked my grandmother.

"I may not partake of your feast until I have spoken the Judgment and there is much at this time yet to be decided. However, I will be observing."

Grandmamma nodded her head and took off into the kitchen. Damien settled me a bit more comfortably in his lap and said, "I think I'm not going to set you down for this nap, sweetie."

I murmured into his shoulder, "That's good," and was out like a light bulb.

Where have all the spirits gone?

I dreamed of rumbling voices and strange magic, savory meals and a cute little puppy dog. In the dream, his name was Tygone. When I woke up, he was sitting at our feet bathed in the early afternoon sunshine streaming in through the living room windows and he wasn't such a little thing. In fact, Tygone was leaning down to use the arms of Damien's throne chair as a chin rest. He looked at me with these wonderfully woeful eyes. I giggled when he twitched his eyebrows and he lifted his head, looking happy and excited while his tail beat up our floor boards.

"Oh, no!" Damien groaned beneath me. I looked up and asked, "Whatsa da matta, Poppy?"

"We are not getting a dog, a cat, a rat or a bird! Is that clear? No snakes, no pets of any kind, whatsoever!" he growled, his eyes narrowed on the dog.

"Why?" I asked, feeling my brow furrow with puzzlement and a bit of childish pique.

"Because dominant shifters can use the animals that their strain of therianthropy relates to and I don't allow spies in my house, thanks all the same," he snapped at the dog.

The dog ducked down, lying on the floor and covering his head with his forepaws and whining.

I looked at the dog and said, "But we couldn't keep him, anyway, Damien. He's a person. Keeping people like pets isn't right."

The dog sprang up on all fours and barked at us.

I gave him a hard look and said, "Small voices inside. Big voices outside where the echo doesn't hurt so much. And, yes, I can tell you're a person wearing doggie fur. You smell something like Paul, only not as much as he does."

Paul snorted a laugh and the dog looked like he didn't know how to take that. He looked over at Paul and whined at him. We both laughed, but Paul answered, "Tygone, she's a kailen. If she can't smell blood magic, she wouldn't be kailen. Like it or lump it, shifting is blood magic. Now, go on back to the back and get changed. No furries at the table."

Tygone ducked his head and padded off to the back of the house.

"That boy is handful, I swear! Be glad you got lucky and had a daughter!" Paul mock-grumbled, pitching his voice to carry. He wore a proud grin as he said it, his eyes twinkling.

"I heard that!" a young tenor voice bellowed from the back. After a moment, a boy of about fifteen years paddle-footed barefoot into the living room. He shared Paul's sharp cheeks and full lips, but his eye sockets were smaller, more Asian looking, giving him the appearance of a perpetual squint. His skin had a more yellow cast, making his tan seem more natural and his eyes were a coffee-colored brown with a mop of brown-black hair pushed out of his face.

Tygone was pulling down a T-shirt as he swaggered back in. He plopped down on the sofa beside Paul, on the side closest to Damien and me, and as I looked at them I had to wonder. "You're related, but you're not in the same line, are you?"

"Tygone is my sister's great-grandchild. My wife died of influenza. I had two sons, but the same attack that left me with the Change killed them. Neither was old enough to marry yet. I hunted down the rogue who murdered them and it took long enough that I found I didn't have the same need to die as when I started the hunt. I looked around for purpose and found my family. Suzanna, my sister, was always the most accepting of my family and she helped me find a reason to live again.

"Our parents wanted her to marry a man she disliked, strongly, so in return for her help and because she was my sister, I helped her run away. We settled for a bit in Minnesota, but our parents tracked us down. We had heard that the therians were massed in California and it seemed like a good idea to see what might be out here. She fell in love with a lumberjack from Eugene and they wed. They had three sons and two daughters. With Suzie safely married, we wrote to our parents and gave a full explanation. Father was less than pleased, but Mother ensured he grew reconciled. I believe he gave up his bitterness when Suzie and Edward took the children back for a visit.

"Suzie's eldest daughter, Sophia, died in Belgium during the German aggressions. We knew Europe was a powder keg, but no one really expected the Serbian assassinations that sparked the Great War. She was on her Grand Tour, a gift from our parents, and Belgium was supposed to be safe, what with the guarantee of neutrality.

"The oldest boy, Thomas, was a bare sixteen, but he lied and enlisted after that. He did not live to see the peace signed. Jordon and Henry were too young to lie, only twelve and six. Mary Elizabeth was eight. Jordon never did marry. Suzanna used to wonder where she went wrong with him, but even then the idea that men might be lovers of men was not as unheard of as many would like to believe. He and his partner live in Van Nuys, though probably not for much longer. Mary Elizabeth passed away from cancer in the 40's. She and her husband, Peter Marshall, had two babes, Alexander and Sophia Suzanne. Henry married three times. Tygone is the only child of his youngest, Nancy Marie. She was a late-in-life surprise and they spoiled her rotten. I pulled Tygone out of her home when I visited New York and found her in a drugged-out stupor."

I blinked at Paul. "But he's a were-dog and you're a were-wolf?"

"Uncle Paul, he's been teaching me a lot and I just figured out how to look like a friendly wolf, a dog, so I been practicing. I was showing off to Pierce, here. Say, no one wants to tell me why there's an umbrean at dinner tonight. You wanna spill?" Tygone grinned with his uncle's charm.

"No. If Damien wants to 'spill' then you'll know, otherwise, I think I should keep my mouth shut."

Tygone looked a little frustrated, but he moved on, leaning closer to Damien and me. "So, you're really Pierce's daughter? I mean, I know he's like a real ladies man, but no one ever told me he had a kid."

I looked at Tygone sideways and said, "You sure ask a lot of questions. Yes, Damien's my father. My mom and my poppa didn't tell me about Damien. He took me when my brother, Curtis, and I tried to beat each other to pieces. Grandmamma is teaching me how to control my magic and Damien's keeping me safe."

"Safe from what?" Tygone asked. His eyes were focused on me with a regard that reminded me vaguely of the attraction I had felt to Paul upon first scent. That thought made me take a deep inhalation because Paul was here and I wasn't in the middle of a critical melt down. Yep, Paul still had the Ascender stink going on, but for some reason it wasn't affecting me anymore. I decided not to think about it for then.

"Safe from people who don't like witches," I answered, trying to present a grave and gothic façade.

Tygone reached out and brushed a strand of my hair out of my face in an absent-minded gesture as he said, "You don't look like a witch."

"And what should a witch look like?" Damien asked. I could feel a hint of laughter in his growl, but I don't think Tygone did. He pulled back quickly as if just realizing that he had been half off the couch leaning into me.

He recovered enough to say, "Well, witches are supposed to be old hags with warts and stuff and green skin and noses out to here." He was holding his hand a foot away from his face. "They aren't supposed to be little girls, curled up in quilts sitting in their daddy's lap, ya know?"

"And yet another Shakespearean mockery," Grandmamma said. She walked in from the kitchen and laid her hand on the back of my neck. "How are you feeling, child?"

"Paul still stinks, but I don't feel like I need to roll in him anymore. And my neck's a little kinked, but that's worth sitting here."

Tygone looked confused and Paul laughed. Damien was smiling. Grandmamma got her blank face for a moment and then she said, "Well, at least your magic mimics well. However, we're going to have to practice toning it down. I'm surprised Tygone isn't trying to sit in your lap, mageling."

"Huh?" Tygone and I chorused.

"You're putting out your own 'stink', dear. That's why you're not reacting as strongly to Paul as you did at first scent; however Tygone is not yet an alpha. Paul will hold his own in the battle of the pheromones, but the poor lad is likely to fall at your feet if you don't tone it down. Now, dinner is served. Go and wash up."

I blinked at Grandmamma for a moment, trying to figure out what she meant by "tone it down". It didn't come to me right away, so I slipped off Damien's lap and went toward the bathroom, folding my quilt. I detoured to put it away before I peeked my head into the bathroom.

All the glass had been swept up and the floor still boasted two holes. I don't know why I expected to see all the damage undone, but a part of me felt that there was something off about the whole scene. That strange itch between the shoulder blades that people get when they think someone is watching them crept down my spine while I washed up and I ran from the room, feeling my heart pound. I ran into Grandmamma and the umbrean.

"Where's the fire, child?" she asked.

"My shoulders itched in there," I whispered, feeling ashamed of my fear, but certain there was cause. Grandmamma patted my back and left her arm around me as she turned toward the bathroom. I did not want to go back, but Grandmamma's hand wasn't letting me leave.

"Let's go see what the problem is, now shall we?" she asked.

She stepped in first, the umbrean watching us with an interested blank face. She searched and I Saw her aura examine every nook and cranny in the room. She turned to me as her aura folded back into her. "Step inside, dear," she ordered.

I locked eyes with her and took a timid step forward. As I entered the room my vision faded, going white, then black, and I was standing outside my body again. This time, something else stood beside me.

It looked like Damien's new form, but different in a twisted way. Its arms bent at a strange angle, almost as if the shoulders were hinged differently, and it stood with a forward-leaning tilt. The muzzle was thicker and with its lips curled back I could see that all its teeth were sharpened fangs. It growled and stepped toward me, raising its arm with finger-talons extended. Whether it meant to strike or to gouge was unclear.

A second creature sprang between us. It had no distinct outline, just the solid haze of red and gold, but it might have been feline in origin … might have been. The Spirit form was just too hard to clearly see. I didn't know how I knew it, but this protective Spirit was Grandmamma.

A third Spirit form stepped up behind me more felt than seen because it was vast. The words "huge" and "enormous" just don't cover it. If the Spirit form behind me were physical, each time it stepped down the world would tremble. Fortunately, the weight of Spirit mass doesn't observe the Law of Gravity. As I knew the red and gold cat before me was Grandmamma, so too I knew the vastness behind me was the umbrean.

The umbrean reached around me and picked up the Guerre. An echo of the Guerre's death song reached us moments later. Grandmamma shook off the protective form of the cat and held out a Spirit hand to me.

"I think the matter is settled," she said, glancing up the span of the umbrean. I peeked behind me while reaching out to Grandmamma. Whatever form the umbrean had taken, it was not something I could identify and the scale just made it all the more alien. Grandmamma turned me back around quickly. "You're still too young in your powers to comprehend, dear. Let's just teach you how to get back to your body from here."

She looked around and then pointed me slightly to the left of where I had been. "Relax, just like when we're meditating. However, instead of trying to step away from your body, try to hear it, feel it. The rise and fall of your chest as you breathe, the beating of your heart, the colors on the back of your eyelids – remember these and fall back into yourself." She gave me calm eyes, filled with the certainty that I could do this. I twitched my nose, smelling the lie of her pretence. She was scared of something.

Impulse overtook me and I sketched a symbol in the air before me, somewhat surprised that it glowed and somewhat expecting it to. Before the cross of my Poppy's faith faded, I reached my hand, palm down, into the glow of the intercepting lines and the symbol flared, morphing into the Greater Seal of Solomon, more commonly called the Star of David. I turned my palm up and the Star of David became two outward-facing crescents touching an orb in the center. I thought I saw a pair of feminine eyes open on either side of the crescents and then I felt something take up my outstretched hand. I grabbed back.

I pulled and was pulled, like climbing a rope that was being hauled in. There was a moment when it felt like I would continue climbing the rope of my Spirit for the rest of eternity, but that moment passed and I was within my body, being cradled in Damien's arms. His eyes were all black and his face was distorted, but the scales, fangs and claws hadn't come out.

Paul had a good grip on Damien's shoulders and Tygone stood just behind him, eyes wide and sparkling with a puppy's scared excitement. The umbrean was nowhere to be seen, but Grandmamma sat on the floor, leaning against the far wall. I felt a wave of energy roll over us from her direction and she straightened.

As soon as her eyes focused on me, she snapped, "What in the world did you do, child?"

"I dunno. It felt right. Start from the beginning and go back, ya know?" I mumbled.

"What did she do?" Damien asked, his forehead scrunching up.

"What did she do? She invoked a primal trey is what she did! And with a cross to start!"

"Not the ankh? But-"

"Oh, she did more than that! She went from cross to hectogram to Hathor's horns!" Grandmamma sounded shocked and a bit outraged.

"Was that a bad thing?" I asked, my voice going very soft and I sank a bit farther into my father's arms.

"That's just really … strange," he said, rocking me a little.

"Why?"

"Because mixing diametrically opposed symbols usually doesn't work so well. You pulled it off, but there's the very good chance of pissing off the Hosts when you do stuff like that. You don't want any of the Host, Elysian or Abyssal, pissed at you," Grandmamma explained. "You got our patron's notice, in case you didn't realize it, but don't be that sloppy again, dear. She gives a bit of leeway to the young, but not much."

"What?" I asked, thoroughly confused.

A wind of magic poured into the bathroom and the umbrean stepped out of thin air behind Tygone. He jumped, gave an excited yip and scurried out of the way. The umbrean spared him a glance before turning his attention to Damien. He blinked, a calm, relaxed gesture, and said, "You live."

Damien looked up at him, holding me close. "I haven't stopped breathing yet." I felt a shimmer of magic curl and twitch through Damien's body only to be ruthlessly suppressed.

The umbrean leaned down over us and took a long, loud inhalation in through his nose. He blew the air out just as loudly the same way, keeping his eyes on Damien's. I could feel a challenge hanging between them, but who issued it and who met it, I don't know. They kept the staring contest up for an infinite moment before the umbrean straightened. "You don't back down for anyone, do you?"

"I've been known to admit my mistakes when I'm shown the error of my ways, but I don't bully well," Damien answered.

Silence fell again as the two men exchanged stares. The umbrean looked down at his hand, put a finger to his mouth and tore off a strip of spare nail with his teeth to fiddle with in his mouth. He worked it around like a kid with bubble gum and went back to sizing Damien up.

I looked around and saw the busted flooring. I reached out a hand to poke at it, but Damien snatched my hand back without taking his eyes off the umbrean. "Don't touch it. It's sharp and you might cut yourself. We'll fix it tomorrow, when the stores are open to buy supplies."

"Why not fix it with magic?" I asked.

Grandmamma laughed. "You've already done enough to charge this bathroom, child! There's no need to create a permanent node here by imbuing the floor with your magic and I for one am not going to try combing out these tangled threads of your father's and your's! Let the magic disperse, dear. It'll keep the mold and mildew down."

"Huh?" Tygone asked, beating me to a display of ignorance.

"If there wasn't the spill over from earlier, when Rhiannon went Spirit Walking and Damien Awakened, especially the Awakening, then fixing the floor with magic wouldn't be a big deal. As it is, there's enough excess potential centered on this room that if a mage were to attempt to bind something inanimate, such as the broken planks back to each other, the excess potential would most likely end up attaching itself to the object as well. If you imbue enough potential into a fixed object, it begins to draw more potential to itself, creating a node. There's already a node on the property. Given time, it'll most likely absorb the excess potential in here, but I would say it will take about a week before 'fixing' objects together would be do-able and that's way too long to have a hole in the floor."

"But, money-wise, it's cheaper to fix the floor with magic, isn't it?" Tygone asked.

"No. The mildew is going to be horrible as it is. Areas where you have a lot of the higher magics being done tend to get overgrown rather quickly since the extra magic has to go somewhere. Living organisms are preferred, because we are meant to transmute energies. Have you any idea what it costs to repair mold damage? I'll give you a hint – it's not a pretty picture. The more magic you throw around means the more the smaller organisms flourish. I found that lesson out the hard way. It's why there's only the kitchen left from the original structure."

"Oh," he said, sounding confused and confident that he would stay that way.

The umbrean pulled out his bit of nail, looked at it and then at Grandmamma, and ate it. She gave an involuntary shudder and tried to ignore him. He turned his gaze back to Damien.

"Judgment." The umbrean's voice filled with a depth to rival the oceans. The reverberations shook through my body, leaving me feeling slightly disoriented. "Damien Pierce, Draken Guerre you have been named. Guerre have been recorded as creatures completely beyond purpose, kin slayers and infernalists by Wakening, and yet I Judge you as neither kin slayer nor infernalist. Draken you are. Guerre, however, is another matter."

The umbrean squatted down in front of us. He traced the edge of my face with the tip of his left middle finger, brushing back the hair that I wanted to hide behind. When his fingertip reached my chin, he lifted my face, gazing into my eyes as if he was looking for an answer in them.

"This kailen is Draken, too, and definitely not Guerre. Rarely have I heard a Caller of such potency that even a member of the Host heeds her. It is not completely surprising then that in her magic's infancy she called the form of the Draken Guerre from within her Guardian and striped the malignancy from the form." The umbrean released my chin and turned to face Damien, still squatting before us.

"Damien Pierce, I Judge you are not Draken Guerre, but a new form of Draken Awakened by the kailen Draken Narri. I name you Draken Pater and charge you with the care of this Caller until the day she Calls her móndav."

I felt a twitch run through Damien. He hugged me to him and his manner reminded me of Roslyn with her Bare-Bear.

I looked up at the umbrean. "So no one's in any trouble?"

He smiled down at me, reached out and ruffled my hair, "No, short stuff, no one's in any trouble. Not even little girls with sharp feet."

I decided not to touch that last bit and plowed on, "And Damien just has to keep on doing the same stuff he's been doing because he's my father?"

"Yep, up until you call a móndav he is to provide for your physical and spiritual protection."

"But, I'm not a vampire. How am I supposed to call a móndav?" I asked, confused.

The umbrean looked at me and his smile grew a slight bit. "When preternaturals are wakened to a similar association they often have access to the same abilities. Vampire society is just old enough to remember the original names. Most human-born preeters are wakened by blood. It's one of several reasons that they tend to dominate the veiled world. Red magic has more variations than any other, save Prime and only the Hosts can wield the Prime."

Grandmamma's eyes narrowed on the umbrean. "Really?" she asked, her voice holding a note of skepticism.

He returned her look with an inscrutable expression. "Abyssal and Elysium have their Hosts. Why should Midgard not?"

"Midgard? So now we're all Norse?" she snorted.

"No, but just because we know the Elysium as one whole does not make the Elysians know themselves as one whole, nor are all Abyssalites born of the same blood. Factions are always dancing within factions. Not even all umbreans think of our plane the same way. Do I truly need to lecture a kailen on so basic a principle?"

"Your Judgment is made, what is your name?" she challenged.

"Brett Stark."

"You, Mr. Stark, are going to enjoy our hospitality at this holiday feast and then we are going to continue this conversation in more appropriate surroundings."

Stark looked at Grandmamma with a quizzical expression.

"She means," I chimed in, "that she doesn't want me to get any ideas before she's given me more of the 'how stuff works' lessons. Grandmamma likes to pre-screen the stuff I get to see and hear since the screensaver last week."

"Don't ask," Damien said to the umbrean's inquiring look. "Don't ask because you don't want to know."

On that cheery note, we all finished cleaning up and went into the dining room for dinner.