Dhampir - By Barb Hendee & J. C. Hendee Page 0,113

scars.

"After that," he said somewhat matter-of-factly, "Ratboy smashed through his coffin lid from the inside."

He went on for a long time recounting the chain of events. She knew he wasn't one to tell well-ordered stories in this manner, and she appreciated his concentration and use of detail. But she became—and remained—embarrassed from the point where Brenden had to carry her out all the way to the part when Welstiel showed up. Brenden glanced away as Leesil faltered. There was little mention of specifically what happened when he had fed her.

"I didn't know what else to do," he said. "You were dying."

Leesil had fed her his own blood, and the act somehow saved her life. She did not know how to respond to his sacrifice. Brief memory flashes came unbidden, of his fingers gently moving on the back of her head, of his wrist in her mouth, of his strength supporting both their bodies close together until that strength passed into her.

"You breathed for me and brought me back after that cave-in," he said. "I don't see the difference."

But Magiere found his comment too simple. Everyone alive needed to breathe. They did not need to feed on blood to survive. What exactly was she?

"There's something else," Leesil added. "But I don't know what it means." He pointed to her neck. "Welstiel had me pull out one of your amulets and lay the bone side against your skin. Do have any idea why?"

Further confused, she shook her head. "No, I don't. He seems to know much more than we do. But he also talks in circles and how much can we believe? You said he used the word 'dhampir.' He said that once before when I was standing at the spot where…" She looked at Brenden. "Where Eliza died."

"A dhampir is the offspring of a vampire and a mortal," Brenden finally spoke. "But they are only a legend, a folktale. My mother's people are from the far north, and her mother was a village wisewoman, a practitioner of hedge magic, rural spellcraft, and the like. I've heard some things about the undead, and they cannot create or conceive children. Such an offspring would be impossible."

"Then how do you explain my healed throat?" Magiere asked, not really wanting an answer. "My weapon? The amulets? The things that happen to me when I'm fighting Rashed?"

"Well, we can't believe everything Welstiel says," Leesil put in. "He called Chap a majay-hi, and I know that's ridiculous."

"Why? What does it mean?" Brenden asked.

"I know little of the elven tongue, but I've been thinking about it. I think it means something like 'magic hound.' Well, probably more like 'fay hound.' But the fay and nature spirits I've read of weren't exactly pleasant creatures. No, Welstiel may know more than we do, and he may be useful in some ways, but he's either mad or just as superstitious as the villagers of Stravina."

"You can't deny there's something special about Chap."

Magiere whispered. "He's different, like me, whenever he fights one of those…" She trailed off.

Leesil grew thoughtful. "I've been wondering about that. My mother said something to me once about Chap being bred to protect. Perhaps undeads were more plentiful in the distant past, and my mother's people tried to breed a line of hounds capable of fighting such monsters."

Magiere looked up at him, and blinked in surprise. It had been a long time since Leesil had said anything of his past, and he never spoke of his family.

"Did you know your mother?"

He stiffened. "Yes."

A knock sounded at the door.

"Oh, for the love of drunkards," Leesil exclaimed. "Brenden, if Ellinwood is still trying to arrest us, I give you permission to kill him."

Brenden got up with a scowl and went to open the door, but it was not Ellinwood who waited outside. On the other side of the door stood a teenage girl Magiere didn't know and a boy who looked vaguely familiar.

"Geoffry?" Leesil said. "What are you doing here?"

Then Magiere placed the young man. He was the son of Karlin, the baker.

"Hello, Brenden," the girl said, holding out a green pouch. "We brought payment for the hunter."

The girl was perhaps fifteen, with large eyes, a pleasant face, and one missing front tooth. She had an odd manner of speech Magiere had never heard.

"I heard you was with "em," she added. "I always thought you was brave."

"This is Aria," Brenden said by way of introduction. "Her family moved here from the east a few years back. She was a friend