Fair Game

for.
    “In the height of the Victorian era,” Beauclaire said finally, in a quiet, calm voice that belied what her nose told her, “when iron horses crossed and crisscrossed Europe, several things became obvious. There was no longer a place for the fae in the old world—and we were too few. From 1908 until just a few years ago, it was the policy of the Gray Lords, those who rule the fae, to find fae of scarce but useful types and force them to marry and interbreed with humans since humans breed so much more rapidly than we do.”
    Anna knew about that, but she hadn’t realized how long it had gone on. From Leslie’s face, Anna was pretty sure that the FBI agent hadn’t known about the crossbreeding policy. That was interesting, because her face hadn’t changed at all when Beauclaire had mentioned the Gray Lords, who were also a deep secret.
    Goldstein might have been listening to the weather report for all the change in his face. There was no telling what he knew or didn’t know about the fae.
    “It was believed,” continued Beauclaire, “that humans were of weaker bloodlines and the fae blood would prevail—and humans breed so very easily, even with the fae for a partner.” He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. “The wisdom of these forced interbreedings is now being reexamined. Half-blood fae face many challenges. They, for the most part, are not accepted by the other fae. And too many of them exhibit…odd properties—birth defects are very high. Once fathered ormothered, a high percentage of the halflings were abandoned by their fae parent altogether, which left them to discover who and what they were on their own—to sometimes disastrous results. And a large number of the children have turned out to be entirely human.”
    Charles sat back. “Like your daughter?” he said in a soft voice.
    “Like my daughter. The only thing she gets from me is my mother’s love of dance—and she has to train hours every day to do what my mother did effortlessly.” Beauclaire looked down, then back at Charles. “You are old, but not so old as your father. Maybe you can understand why I fought this dictate as hard as anything I’ve ever fought against. To deceive a human woman for the purpose of fathering a child upon her…it is dishonorable. Yes. And yet it gave me someone I care deeply about.”
    He drew in a breath and then looked Charles in the eye. It was not a challenge, more a way of showing how serious he was. “It is not wise,” Beauclaire said, his voice clipped, and somewhere in the vowels Anna heard an accent not too far from Bran’s when he was angered. “It is not wise to give something old and powerful something they care about. And I am very old.” He looked at the FBI agents. “Even, possibly, older than your father. We haven’t compared notes.”
    Leslie reacted to the idea that a werewolf could be older than an old fae—an immortal old fae. Goldstein just looked more tired, and maybe that was a reaction, too.
    “Don’t get the wrong idea,” Anna told them. “The average life expectancy for someone from the time they are Changed and become a werewolf is about ten years.”
    “Eight,” said Charles, sounding as weary as Goldstein looked. Anna knew her data had been correct last year. She reached out and touched his thigh, but he didn’t look at her. Charles wasn’t, she thought, totally involved with the proceedings. He kept glancing over the couch to the wall of windows beyond. She frowned, noting how, with the sky stilldark outside, the window reflected the room back at them. He was seeing something in the reflection.
    “Four out of ten of our halfling children survive to adulthood,” Beauclaire was saying. “They are a favorite prey of other fae if they are not protected. My daughter is twenty-three in two weeks.”
    Anna glanced at Charles. He didn’t appear to be listening, and whatever he was seeing in the window-mirrors was making him more and more remote.
    “What kind of dancer is your daughter?” Anna asked suddenly. “I saw ballet shoes, but also ballroom costumes.” She hadn’t, not really, but Brother Wolf had and had kept her informed.
    “Ballet,” Lizzie’s father said. “Ballet and modern. One of her friends is into ballroom dancing and she partnered with him for a while a couple of years back. Ballroom is for fun and ballet for serious, she told me.” Beauclaire smiled at Anna. “When she was six, she dressed for Halloween as a fairy