“That sounds good. I’ll text you my address.” She hung up before I could ask her how long it had been going on, but that I could find out when I got there. I received her text and entered it into her contact data, then finished making the sauce and fixing the eggplant to go into the oven. Finally, I sliced the berries for the shortcakes, popping one of them into my mouth, and then I joined Raj in the living room.
He glanced up at me as I sat down beside him and draped my arm around his shoulders.
“Raven not mad at Raj anymore?”
I squeezed him, kissing him on the forehead. “Raven not mad at Raj. What’s Raj watching?”
“Nightmare on Zombie Island.”
Frowning, I leaned forward, watching for a few moments. It seemed like a relatively tame show and when I brought it up on my phone to check I saw that it was rated PG-13. Violence but no explicit gore, some kissing. In other words, it wouldn’t give him nightmares.
I pulled out my phone again, flipping over to my email. As I was going through, deleting spam and junk mail, a text came through from my father.
i’ll be there in half an hour.
As I tucked the phone away, I felt a stir of excitement. It had been a decade or so since I had seen him. I wondered how much I had changed, if any, since we had last seen one another. And how much had he changed? I didn’t expect a difference in looks—the Ante-Fae lived longer than the Fae did—but people could change on the inside far more dramatically than their looks reflected, and I spent the next thirty minutes trying not to think about my father and what he might be like now.
“Remember, be polite, Raj. Be good.” One good thing about Raj being a gargoyle and Kipa being a god—my father’s curse couldn’t touch either one of them. Some magic could affect them, but a natural curse like this? Not so much. Not even a Medusa could freeze Kipa or Raj to stone.
I smoothed my skirt and grabbed a quick look in the foyer mirror. My hair was neat, and my clothes were tidy and clean. I sucked in a deep breath and opened the door, and there he was, just like I remembered him.
Curikan stood about five-nine, with shaggy hair that barely skimmed his shoulders. It was the color of night, darker than my own brunette and without the natural purple streaks. His eyes were leaf-green, and he was lean and muscled.
“My little Raven,” he whispered, opening his arms.
I flew into them, slamming my arms around his waist. “Da!” For some reason that I didn’t understand, and hadn’t expected, I started to cry. Thank gods for waterproof mascara.
“Raven, honey, what’s wrong? Are you all right?” He brushed my forehead with his lips—a very different kiss from the ones that Kipa gave me.
“Nothing,” I said, wiping my nose. “I just… It’s been so long. And so much has happened.” For a while, I made regular visits back home when I first moved to the West Coast, but the past ten years had flown by without more than talking on the phone or emailing.
My arm around his waist, I escorted him inside, hoping he would like my house. He’d been the one who paid for it, after all. “Here we are. Welcome to my home.”
Curikan looked around, nodding his approval. “Very nice. You’ve done well for yourself. I’m so proud of you, especially after you lost Ulstair last year.” He paused, then added, “So, you have a new beau?”
I had told him about Kipa, but not in so many details. I had conveniently left out that Kipa was Lord of the Wolves…a god. For some reason, that seemed like news that was better delivered in person rather than over the phone.
“Um, yes. Kipa. But I didn’t tell you something about him that you should probably know before you meet him—” I paused as the door opened behind us. Whirling around, I saw that Kipa was there. I glanced at my father’s face.
He stared at Kipa for a moment, inhaling sharply. Then, as if he were solving an equation, understanding filled his face. “You’re that Kipa.” He held out his hand.
Kipa grinned at him, shaking his hand. “Yes, sir, I am Lord of the Wolves. I take it Raven neglected to mention that little fact?”
“Yes, she did. And frankly, I’m not surprised.” Curikan glanced at me. “You could have trusted me, girl. And why didn’t your mother tell me? The pair of you, honestly.”
“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel if I told you I was dating a god.”
It was the truth. I had been worried that if I told him if I was dating a god, my father would have gone ballistic. Dating mortals? Humans? Not quite so pleased, but Curikan wanted me to be happy. Dating another Ante-Fae, or one of the Fae? Perfectly fine. But dating a god was dabbling in a world a lot more ferocious than either of us belonged to.
“I see,” Curikan said. He gave Kipa the once-over, then shrugged. “Well, as long as you treat my daughter well…I may not be a god, but if you hurt her, I promise you, I’m fully capable of making your life…difficult.”
Kipa nodded, and for once he didn’t look like he was trying to bite back a smile. “Understood. I won’t hurt her, Curikan. I respect Raven and that won’t change, no matter whether our relationship continues to grow or whether it fades.”
I slowly let out my breath. They hadn’t killed each other at first sight. A lot of my reassurances to Kipa had been based on hope rather than realistic expectation. Leading them both into the living room, I gave thanks that I wasn’t in the middle of a hellhound versus wolf fight.
Raj glanced up. He brightened. “Is this Curikan?” We had already discussed whether he was going to talk in front of Curikan and I had assured him it would be a good idea, since Curikan was family.
Curikan hadn’t met Raj yet. I’d found Raj a gargoyle-sitter the few times I left him to visit my father. He hadn’t met the ferrets, either.
Curikan stared at Raj for a moment, then broke out into a wide smile. “Curikan greets Raj. Curikan hopes Raj is feeling well,” my father said. We had discussed Raj’s odd cadence over the phone, and Curikan had informed me that most all gargoyles spoke in the third person. It was an odd trait, but prevalent in the gargoyle communities.
“Raj got scolded for making a mess today, but Raj is happy.” Raj turned back to the TV, more interested in the program than talking.
I tapped Raj on the shoulder. “Why doesn’t Raj watch his show in Raven’s bedroom?”
Raj shrugged, handed me the remote, and meandered off down the hallway after murmuring a vague good-bye. He loved his television and when his favorites were on, he turned into a couch potato who had no intention on doing anything but watching his shows.
After he was out of the room, I turned back to my father, who had sat down in the recliner. He was a good-looking man, actually, when I forced myself to see him in any way other than as my father, and he still looked young. But the Ante-Fae usually did, unless they were born old or had lived a very long, long time. We could die, but we just took our time about it, outliving even the Fae, and probably some of the dragons.
“So, your mother tells me you’ve been mucking about in the war against Typhon?” Curikan eyed me steadily. “She says you have something to tell me that I probably won’t like. Is that it?”
“Not quite.” I didn’t want to bring up Pandora, but my mother had warned me that if I didn’t tell my father, she would. And since she was coming for dinner tonight, I had better tell him before she got here. I bit my lip, trying to figure out where to start.