GWEN ARRIVED FOR TRAINING after breakfast, and Margaret was supposed to show up at any moment. Simon and I were in the hall when Gwen popped in, cell phone in hand.
“Is Tori with you guys?” she asked.
“I think she’s still in bed,” I said. “She didn’t want breakfast. I’ll go get—”
“That’s okay. I just got a call from work. Someone called in sick and they need me to mind the gallery. Tell Tori I’ll be back around four.” She started to leave, then stopped and turned to Simon. “Yesterday, when Andrew said I was a witch, you looked surprised. You couldn’t tell?”
“Uh, no.”
“Cool. Guess that part of the modification worked.”
“Huh?”
She smiled and waved us into the parlor, then she plunked into an oversized armchair, kicked off her shoes, and tucked her stockinged feet under her, obviously in no hurry to get to work.
“I can tell you’re a sorcerer just by looking at you. It’s a hereditary trait. Sorcerers can recognize witches and vice versa. Andrew said they wanted to get rid of that when they tweaked your genes.”
“Why?”
“Political correctness run amok. They say witches and sorcerers developed the trait as a defense mechanism.” She grinned. “Know thy enemy.”
“Enemy?” I said.
She looked at Simon. “What have you heard about witches?”
“Um, not much.”
“Oh, don’t be polite. You’ve heard we’re inferior spell-casters, right? We hear the same about sorcerers. It’s a silly rivalry, rooted back in the Inquisition. Both races are good spell-casters, with their own specialties. Anyway, Andrew says the Edison Group got the idea that if they could do away with that internal radar, we’d all just get along.”
She rolled her blue eyes. “Personally, I think they made a big mistake. That recognition serves a perfectly good evolutionary purpose—to prevent accidentally interbreeding.”
“Between witches and sorcerers?” I said.
“Right. It’s a volatile mix and—” She stopped short, cheeks coloring. “Enough of my blathering. Work calls, however much I might like to avoid the summons.” She started to stand, then stopped. “You guys like pizza?”
“Sure.”
She asked us what we wanted. “I’ll bring dessert, too.” She looked at Simon. “Can you eat dessert?”
“I can have a little of whatever you get.”
“Good.” She lowered her voice. “Anything I can get you guys, just let me know. This isn’t exactly a teen-friendly house, and you must be going nuts, worrying about your dad, Simon, and your aunt, Chloe. I’m really hoping—” Another glance, another notch lower on the voice volume. “They’ll come around. Andrew will push them in the right direction and I’ll do what I can to help.”
We thanked her. She asked us what magazines we read, so she could grab some. Then Andrew called for Simon—it was time for his lesson. He told Gwen he’d love some comics, whatever she could find, and he took off. I asked for a copy of Entertainment Weekly, which I figured would be easy to find.
Then, before she left, I asked, “What you said about mixing witch and sorcerer blood, is it dangerous?”
“Do you mean…?”
“Someone I know might have both.”
She smiled. “Something tells me we’re both talking about the same person, but neither wants to be the one to say it in case the other doesn’t know. Is this someone named after a dead queen?”
I nodded, and Gwen breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Andrew wasn’t sure if you guys knew, and I didn’t want to be the one caught gossiping.”
I tried to tell her that Tori didn’t know, but she kept going.
“Yes, mixed blood presents some challenges. It adds an extra boost, and you guys, from what I’ve heard, don’t really need that. But the group says neither Diane nor Kit was a particularly powerful spell-caster, so—”
“K-Kit? S-Simon’s dad?”
We stared at each other. Gwen’s lips formed a soundless curse and she winced.
“Guess I really am spreading gossip. Typical.” She gave a shaky laugh as she busied herself checking her cell phone. “It probably isn’t true. Even the part about her dad being a sorcerer might not be true. Not like I’d know—I never worked for the Edison Group and I don’t know either Kit or Diane. Anyway, sorcerer blood or not, I’m sure Tori will be just fine. I’ll tell her—”
“No! I mean, she doesn’t know the rumors. Any of them. Her dad being a sorcerer was just something I overheard at the lab.”
“Well, then, I won’t tell her. You shouldn’t either.”
Was Kit Bae Tori’s father? He couldn’t be. Kit Bae was Korean, and you could easily see it in Simon. Not so in Tori.
Sure, genetics did some wonky things—like Simon’s dark blond hair. But if Diane Enright intentionally got herself pregnant with a sorcerer’s child—as the demi-demon claimed—picking Kit Bae would be like choosing a redheaded father when neither you nor your husband had red hair. There was a good chance Tori’s dad would know the baby wasn’t his.
So, no, Tori and Simon didn’t share a father. But if everyone else believed they did, Tori and Simon might hear the rumor, and that was a complication no one needed.