The Cursed Blood, стр. 27
“No.” I remember the look on White Owl’s face just as I remember the confusion and shock on Gramps’. “There’s been enough killing.”
“But…” Gramps started.
“We hunt them down, miss a few again then they hunt us some more, on and on. I don’t see an end to it. Just because something lives doesn’t mean it should die because of what others of its kind did.” I remember looking at him pleadingly as again I thought of the mother with her baby and the little girl with her sippy cup. “If you find who did it, catch them, and bring them to justice. Leave the others alone.”
“Ben… It’s more complicated than that,” he started as he ladled some fluffy steaming scrambled eggs onto my plate from the bowl on the table.
“Your magic books say it’s as simple as that, and they can’t lie,” I answered in the uncomfortably insightful way kids do that usually renders an adult effectively speechless.
White Owl barked out a laugh.
In fact, it was one of the only times I’ve ever heard him laugh. I’m not just talking about a mirthful chuckle. Nope. A full on, body rocking, eyes closed belly laugh accompanied by a few bumps of his fist on the kitchen table that rattled the tableware as Gramps stood there with his mouth hanging open.
“Oh, I like this one,” White Owl stated after regaining his composure after a painful sounding racking coughing fit ended his laughing that he pounded at his chest to clear.
“You don’t like anyone,” Gramps snapped grumpily to which the old Master snorted. “At times I think you don’t even like me.”
“At times I don’t. You are why I’m going prematurely grey and eat too much… But here we are,” White Owl replied honestly as another fit of hacking coughs doubled him over the table.
He took a cloth napkin from his green flannel’s pocket and dabbed it at the corner of his clean-shaven lips. He tried to hide that the white cloth came away darkly stained by trying to shove it into the pocket of his worn Levi’s blue jeans. But we both noticed it and just like that the conversation changed.
“That sounds bad.” Gramps tried to put his hand on the big man’s shoulder but was brushed away as he took a long gulp of orange juice and sighed.
“I’ve been worse… Though I can’t remember exactly when,” White Owl admitted as he eyed the plate of sausages and stabbed a particularly fat one with his fork and took a bite.
“What were those things?” I asked.
“Infernem,” Gramps answered unhappily as he eyed his old friend uneasily and sipped at his steaming cup. “Demons,” he added at my confused look. “And when I find out who summoned them and sent them after us…” He shook his head as a dark shadow passed over him. “Such black, dangerous magic is supposed to be forbidden; things of the Infernal plains have no place in the mortal world.”
“Haven’t seen their ilk in about nine hundred and twenty years,” White Owl added, his fork full of sausage pausing as he considered that rather round sum. “Give or take a few decades. I must say, I didn’t enjoy the reunion. Though I must thank you, young Ben, for your help.” He nodded to me with a serious and solemn look that was amusingly compromised by his stuffed squirrel like cheeks as he chewed on an impressive mouthful.
Gramps gave him a dark and meaningful look at this that was pointedly ignored as White Owl stabbed another sausage and took a bite that halved the tiny link as he indicated I should eat up with a full mouth and a wave of his fork at my untouched plate.
“What did I do?” I asked, fearing the answer. White Owl and Gramps shared an uneasy but bewildered look, and Gramps sighed in defeat and took a long gulp of coffee.
“We’re not sure. Not yet,” The Master answered finally as he chewed on a mouthful of sausage. “We have our suspicions, but we need to be sure.”
“Was it a “Darkling thing” or something?” White Owl almost choked on his overstuffed mouthful and Gramps slowly sat down his cup at this. Giving me the “stop asking so many blasted questions” look, but I wasn’t ready to surrender just yet.
“Will you tell me when you know?” I asked.
“We will tell you, when you’re ready,” Gramps snapped as he added about three heaping spoonful’s of sugar to his refilled mug and sipped at it all the while glaring at me in the hopes to end the line of questions so he could get back to enjoying breakfast.
“Was it the Clampetts that sent them?” I asked, causing Gramps to chuckle dryly and shake his head.
“No, those inbred fools can barely brew moonshine that won’t blind you, never mind manage summoning such powerful Infernum,” he assured as he started to tuck into his own plate.
“How do you know?” I asked with a full mouth of scrambled egg that earned me a bit of a hypocritical look of disapproval from White Owl, who had just almost choked on the two plump, drippy sausages he’d just stuffed into his own mouth.
“According to the records the Clampetts haven’t had anything over a Level Two Witch born to their clan in over three decades. Nothing lower than a Three could ever manage what attacked the lodge, the power to summon just one would be enough to kill them. It would be foolish to even try.”
To expand on this, every Fey babe is legally required to be registered at birth with the Council’s House of Lines. Which is pretty much the department of records for power and bloodlines with the Dark Fey, Were-beast, Vampires, and Vraad being the obvious exceptions to the rule (seriously, who is going to waltz into a Were-beast packs territory and try to take a power census?)
As to powers there are