A Piece of History: More In Heaven and Earth

     "They’re called changelings."

     "…changelings. Fairies? You’re talking about fairies?" Jonas Foster’s eyebrow lifted faintly as he shifted against the wall, moving his shoulder to avoid hitting the handle of a decorative battle axe.

     "Kind of, yeah," Felicia Pennworth, better known as Spider, nodded as she poured herself another cup of coffee, warming her long fingers around her black and silver mug. "They’re not exactly true fae, like you read about in the old tales, but they’re descendants of sorts."

     "I thought changelings were human children that were stolen by fairies."

     Her black lips curved in a wry smile as the bookseller looked up at the death mage. "You don’t read as much as I do, obviously."

     Jonas’s expression darkened, and one hand curled into a fist. For a moment, there was an odd flicker, a crackle of black electricity between his fingers. Spider’s russet eyes slid down to his hand, and she snorted, leaning back in her overstuffed black velvet chair. "Knock it off, you’re not scaring me. All you’re doing is making a pointless show. There aren’t many people that read as much as I do, Jonas. Or who have as many…informative friends, so stop acting like I just insulted your pet chicken."

     The death mage frowned, and he shook his hand and grunted. "So she’s a changeling."

     "Yes, Dia Rothwell is a changeling. A lot of people are, actually. You said you’ve been following her for a while, so you’ve seen Bertram and Andrew, the men who run Hearth Home."

     Jonas nodded. "A pair of old fags playing grandpa to kids they let run wild. It’s weird."

     "…everything you’ve seen, and you still don’t understand," she sighed, setting her mug down with a click of ceramic on metal. "They’re not fags, they’re friends, and they’ve been through a lot together. Bertram buried his wife fifteen years ago. And the kids they let run wild are also changelings. Or at least most of them are. There are reasons for what they do." Spider crossed her arms, mirroring Jonas’s expression, and tapped one platform-booted foot against her coffee table. "You wanted information, but I’m not giving you anything more if you’re going to be an ass."

      There was a moment, a spark in those dark eyes that might have been anger, before he nodded. "All right. I’m sorry, okay? So she’s a changeling. Do they all look like…" hair of silken moonlight, eyes of every jewel not yet discovered by man, a form carved of purest marble, tinged with rose…wings…silvery-white wings, the colour one would think Heaven’s gates might be… "Do they all look like her?"

     Spider shook her head, tugging at a lock of cherry-black hair. "No. Actually…she’s the only one like that."

     "What do you mean? You said there were lots of changelings. They all look different?"

     "Bertram, you’ve seen how big he is, doesn’t look like Dia. He’s a troll. I’ve only seen the way the fae do once or twice, but it’s not something you forget too easily, or at least I don’t. He’s blue, actually. Huge and blue. Andrew’s…rounder, more of a merry butterball or something. Fae all have a kith, a type. You mages divide yourselves by philosophy. Fae divide by what their souls become."

     "And what’s her kith?"

     "She…doesn’t have one." Spider looked mildly discomfited as she said this, frowning absently at her boots. "Dia’s unique."

     …unique. It made sense, oddly enough. In the death mage’s mind, this was yet more proof of the hand of fate. "She doesn’t have a kith. Many mages do not follow traditions."

     "That’s different. Mages…your souls don’t determine your philosophy the way a fae’s soul does their kith. Their souls are their kith."

     "So how is it she is a changeling without one?"

     Spider shrugged, frowning. "No one knows. She’s called the Gift of the Dreaming, and she’s highly sought after. Nobles want the prestige of having her, scholars want to question her, and some people…want her for less apparent reasons."

     It was making more and more sense: the near rape, the attempted kidnapping, the caution she showed in every moment of everyday life…she had learned the hard way to keep herself out of sight. Jonas shifted his weight again, and Spider lifted an eyebrow. "I’m not sure why you came to me, Jonas," she said, pouring herself a bit of coffee to warm that which was in her cup. "Brad or Kyle could have told you this."

     "I…don’t want this to become pu

blic knowledge."

     "That she’s a changeling?" Spider blinked, and then eyed him speculatively. "Or that you’re so interested you’ve followed her for almost half a year?"

     The death mage half-snarled, stalking abruptly away from his spot by the wall, storming out of the bookstore and slamming the heavy, black steel-bound door. Spider watched the scene with a lack of expression, and then nodded to herself, taking a sip of her coffee.

     "Go get her, Jonas," the bookseller murmured, gazing into her coffee. "Maybe she’s dreaming of you, too."