Originally Human

the Blood."
    "Of course you are. You may not have started out that way, but you are now."
    "But those of the Blood
do
start out that way. They're born to it."
    He was amazed. "You don't know, do you? I didn't find anything on the Internet about it, but I thought surely… some things are such common knowledge that no one bothers to write them down."
    "What are you talking about?"
    "Molly, originally you were completely of your world. The curse changed that. Now you're of more than one realm. That's really all it means to be 'of the Blood'—that you're inherently of more than one realm."
    "You are not making any sense."
    He shook his head, as baffled by me as I was by him. "What do you think magic
is
?"
    "I… the Church teaches that it's evil, a contravention of God's laws. Most people don't believe that these days, but… I guess I don't know," I admitted. "It's like sunlight. It just is."
    "Yet people in your world study sunlight and try to discern its nature. They're called physicists."
    "You've absorbed an awful lot from the Internet in one day."
    "I am an excellent researcher."
    "Modest, too."
    "Pardon?"
    "Never mind. I suppose there are people who study the nature of magic?"
    "Yes. They're called sorcerers. Not the most trustworthy beings," he admitted. "Though there are exceptions, sorcerers are known more for obsession than altruism. They can cause great havoc. But so, too, have your physicists caused havoc with their splitting of the atom."
    "True. So what is magic?"
    "One theory holds that it is the stuff between the realms, the current they swim in. Others believe it's the energy created by the realms' interaction. That magic is the friction caused by their, ah, rubbing against each other."
    "But they're pulling away from each other, not rubbing up together!"
    He made a disgusted noise. "I should expect that sort of thinking from a place that outlawed all sorcery. The realms shift, yes. Constantly. There are theories about this movement, but no one truly knows how or why they move. For some reason, your realm seems to connect to very few others. I believe it must be in… call it a backwater. A stagnant place."
    "I think you just called my world a swamp."
    He flashed me a grin. "I wouldn't dream of it."
    That grin startled me. Aroused me, too, but everything about him aroused me. Grins are different than smiles. Smile can mean all sorts of things, but a grin is an offer of friendship.
    A male friend… oh, there was temptation more treacherous than any sexual pull. I jerked my mind back to the subject. "Wicca is based on the magic of
this
world. It doesn't tap into other realms, or the space between the realms, or whatever."
    "Magic continually seeps into all the realms, is absorbed, and can be used. Systems like Wicca use this kind of magic, which is part of the natural processes of each world. It's much weaker than using nodes directly, but safer."
    I nodded. It fit what I knew. "And nodes are places where this world used to connect to others?"
    "More or less. You might think of them as spots where the fabric between realms is weaker, making connection more likely."
    "You mean that connection can happen elsewhere? It's possible to travel between realms without a node?"
    "Theoretically, yes—ley lines carry node energy, after all. But it would be rather like crossing the Alps on foot instead of in one of these automated vehicles of yours." He patted the dash and added, with something of the air of one complimenting a backwards child, "Quite ingenious, really, the way your people have overcome this realm's condition."
    "Wait till you see Houston." Light was fading even as traffic thickened, with all the little road tributaries emptying their currents of cars onto I-45. We'd left Texas City behind, and were passing an undeveloped stretch. I put on my headlights.
    Two things occurred to me. Michael had distracted me quite nicely from my grief at leaving my home and my friend… and he knew an awful lot about magic. Things he must have remembered.
    I planned my next question carefully, hoping to stir more of his memories. "When I was young—and that was a very long time ago—"
    "How long?" he asked, interested. "You mentioned something about three hundred years."
    "I was born in Ireland in 1701."
    He nodded, apparently finding nothing odd about that. "And you were cursed when you were…" He cast an appraising eye over me. "Not quite fifty?"
    A laugh sputtered out. "Michael, never guess a woman's age so