“Portia, it’s still too early for the game show,” I called out.

A cry of childish disappointment answered me, followed by the pitter-patter of little combat-booted feet. I was vaguely surprised to see Tybalt following behind his sister, as he rarely made an effort to travel to the human realm.

“She said it isn’t on,” he reminded her.

“It is too on, there’s an entire channel of the game show, the guide says so!” Portia waved a copy of this week’s TV Guide in Tybalt’s face to punctuate her point.

“There’s more than one kind of game show, hon.” Scooping up a forkful of pancakes, I watched her mull that development over while I chewed. Rolling his eyes, Tybalt walked farther into the kitchen and plunked my sword and dagger down on the counter. A wave of relief washed over me at the sight of them-it would have been a serious pain in the ass to buy new ones. Good swords are hard to find, and run damn expensive.

“Do they all give away new cars?” Portia asked.

“No. Some of them do. Wheel of Fortune does sometimes.” I shrugged, and her eyes widened at the idea.

“There is a game show about the Wheel of Fortune?”

Aside from being associated with Pat and Vanna, the big Wheel is a member of the major arcana of the Tarot deck. Not one of the cards I particularly relate to, but still, something amusing to keep in mind next time you watch someone buy a vowel.

“Is it on now?” she asked, thrusting the TV Guide at me.

“Answers first, game shows second.” Leaning back in my chair, I took a long gulp of tea. Tybalt took the opportunity to hop up and perch on the corner of my stove, which looked very strange considering he has no wings. He had the ability to wear wings, but I once heard him comment that wings got in the way during a fight.

If I didn’t know Tybalt and Portia were related, I wouldn’t have been able to figure it out by looking at them, because there’s little physical resemblance between the two faeries (or at least there isn’t when they’re in the forms I typically see them in). The only common feature is the white hair, but Tybalt’s hung wild and shaggy around his face unlike his sister’s long, glossy waves. While Portia’s eyes are deep blue, her brother’s eyes are pale green, the color of spring leaves. His wardrobe is what one would expect of a faerie, a more traditional combination of a tunic, tough leather leggings and sturdy calf-high boots. And unlike Portia, who doesn’t look like she could swat a fly, Tybalt is never without a weapon, mainly his rapier.

“Okay. First, did I pass the test? Wait, no, first, what the hell was my father doing there? He can’t be Oberon, he’s a damn necromancer,” I spat. “And why weren’t there any other candidates?”

“Cat, there’s no law that says a necromancer can’t do it,” Tybalt explained. “It’s just never happened before.”

“Never? As in never, ever? In the whole history of Faerie?”

“Never. And from what we’ve been able to tell, the other possible candidates were…discouraged from applying.”

“Discouraged, huh?” That couldn’t be good. I also wasn’t comfortable with the fact that this had never happened before. Never was a word with real impact when used by a race that is essentially immortal. I hesitate from saying completely immortal, because they aren’t. Faeries can be killed, it’s just hard to do. They do age, but at a rate that’s so slow that I don’t think one has ever died from old age. They’re immune to all diseases, and their blood is pure magic. One hundred percent Grade A magic, not the watered-down variety we humans have, which is why vamps have no use for faeries. Though vampires need blood containing magic to survive, and the stronger the better, when a vamp feeds from a faerie the results are explosive. Literally. The overload fries the vamp’s brain and poof! Instant death. Real death too, not the corrupted undeath they exist with. I’d pay good money to see that.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but vamps still can’t travel to Faerie, right?” I asked, confused.

“Right.” Tybalt nodded. “They can’t travel to anyplace decent.”

Nodding, I stabbed another forkful of pancakes. The doors were closed to vampires because the Higher Powers (whatever you want to call them) consider vampirism such a terrible crime against nature that they don’t want it to infect any other world. Necromancers can still use the doorways-because they’re technically not vampires yet-but necros really aren’t welcome anywhere. Most faerie clans remove necromancers from their territory with extreme prejudice.

“Hmm. So, essentially the vamps are making a play for political power with a race who won’t talk to them, and that live in a place they can’t get to. That makes zero sense. And why now? Something must have changed… Hey, so did I pass? Fail? The heck kind of test was that anyway? One of those ‘can you think on your feet’ deals?”

I speared some eggs next. Left to her own devices, Portia began poking through my kitchen cabinets, looking for a snack.

“First, tell us what happened to you.” Tybalt raised a curious brow. “There’s been no official report on the results of the first test.”

“Was weird. I got dropped into this room with no lights at all, and I stumbled around for a bit. Tried my glowstone, but it wasn’t strong enough, so I put up my shields and conjured a bit of sunlight. When the room was lit I saw this enormous dragon behind me, just watching me. Why didn’t you tell me dragons could talk, by the way?”

“Sure they can talk, getting them to shut up again is the hard part.” Portia snorted. Fluttering up to reach the top shelf, she pulled down a bag of cookies and shoved her greedy little hand inside. The faerie munched on a chocolate chip cookie, raining crumbs and dust onto my kitchen floor, as usual.

“Good to know. So yeah, it said it wouldn’t eat me, and we talked a bit. I figured out it was stuck too, so I opened a portal to just outside Silverleaf and we popped right through. It thanked me and flew off, and the next thing I know I’m back here again.” I did my best to sound nonchalant about the stunning display of magic I’d pulled off. Sure it was an enormous achievement for me, but faeries can manage that sort of stuff practically from the cradle, and wouldn’t be nearly as impressed with myself as I was. The two faeries digested this information as I polished off my breakfast. Even with the food as fuel I still felt drained from my adventure, and figured it’d take most of the day to recharge my magical batteries at this rate.

“I guess that explains how Dorian ended up burnt,” Tybalt said.

“Burnt?”

He nodded. “Aye, we have some people keeping an eye on him. When he appeared back at home he had some wicked burns-he must’ve decided to fight the dragon instead of helping it.”

“Why would he fight it?” As I pointed out before, dragons aren’t evil, they just…are. I doubted the other dragon would have found Dorian any more palatable than my dragon found me. Tybalt shrugged, and Portia continued to devour cookies as she moved to perch on the edge of my sink. “I guess he went with a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ plan. So what happens next?”

“Don’t know that either,” Portia piped up. “More tests are planned, but so far we have no information of what and when. You did good though, we’re proud of you.”

I couldn’t help but smile at her praise, even if it was spoken through a mouthful of half-chewed chocolate chip cookie. I wasn’t entirely sure what happened, if I passed, failed or avoided whatever intended outcome the Council had. All I knew was that I was alive, and apparently still in the running for Titania. I’d better damn well win, too, ’cause there was no way I’d let my father become Oberon.

“Are you speaking to the guardian again?” Tybalt asked.

I blinked at him, surprised. “Not willingly, no. I wasn’t expecting him to be there. Or to show up at the café last night.”