“No, but one much deeper and more precise.” On a black screen with a blinking cursor, Sean typed in five letters. They came out as runes, the same kind of curlicues that were on the Sword of the Guardian.
“Those are Fae runes.”
Sean leaned to study the screen in surprise. “Are they now? How about that.” As Andrea rolled her eyes, the screen blanked out. Sean typed in another set of runes. “There we go.”
The screen went blank for a few seconds before words shone out at the top: Welcome, Guardian.
“What on earth is this?” Andrea asked.
“The Guardian Network. That’s the half-assed name we gave it. It’s information that Guardians have collected over the centuries—about the Fae, the sword, Guardians, about Shifters in general. It used to be written down in a book, but when computers got practical, a Guardian in New Orleans built a database for it and input all the information. Made it searchable. Now we can add information to it when we need to or contact other Guardians through it.”
“But how do you access it without Internet?”
He smiled. “Andy-love, just because not all Shifters are allowed on the great human Internet, doesn’t mean we haven’t created our own network. You just need a server and the ability to tap into the lines. Wireless has made it even simpler. All those remote connections out there just waiting to be used.”
Andrea raised her brows. “You’re a hacker.”
“A good hacker. I can get into all kinds of places.”
“I see. That’s handy.”
“And geeky, according to Connor.”
Andrea knew she’d never explain how attractive she found geeky Sean, so she didn’t mention it. “Aren’t you worried someone will hack into your network and steal all the Guardian’s secrets?”
“Most of it isn’t secret. But only Guardians know how to use this thing, and the codes are pretty intense.”
Andrea looked at the runes that appeared in response to his tapping, the program obviously translating the standard Roman letters on the keyboard. “Okay. I believe you.”
Sean hit the Enter key, and the screen blossomed into colorful pictures, links, and columns of text. “This is everything Guardians know about Fionn Cillian.”
Andrea leaned against him to peer at the information, which was at least in English. Sean slid his arm around her waist as she read it.
Fionn Cillian was several hundred years old, the text told her. Born somewhere in Faerie in a place whose name was unpronounceable, he’d became leader of his clan when he hit his ninetieth year, fairly young for a Fae. Next came a list of what Sean said were battles won by Fionn as a general. The list was quite lengthy. By age one hundred and fifty, he’d been instrumental in winning a war that put him and his clan in control of the emperor of Faerie.
The database showed lists of various heroic deeds Fionn had performed since then, battles fought and won in the name of the emperor, honors awarded him. It listed a wife, a highborn woman from a rival clan, Sean said, but no children. Doubtless it had been a political marriage, he speculated, undertaken to end a dispute. The wife had died about a hundred years ago, leaving Fionn alone and childless.
Andrea took in the information in amazement. She’d always pictured Faerie as a misty place of white trees and mountains, with Fae hanging out in gauzy robes, riding unicorns, hunting with hawks, and doing other Fae-like activities. The database was showing her a real place full of intrigue and power shifts, alliances and relationships, reminding her of what she’d read about shoguns in historic Japan. The land of the Fae stretched back thousands of years, and she was seeing history as complex and intricate as that of Shifters or humans.
Sean clicked on a link that revealed pictures of Fionn Cillian—line drawings and paintings, because Fae didn’t have photography.
“That’s our guy,” Sean said, looking at the haughty face and dark eyes that were like windows to eternity.
“See any resemblance to me?” Andrea asked.
“Hard to say. He’s very much a Fae, and you, love, are a hell of a lot sexier than he is.”
“Hmm, maybe you should check his underwear.”
“I’m thinking I shouldn’t be getting within a hundred miles of his underwear. If he wears any.”
Andrea’s smile faded. “All right, so we know he’s who he says he is. But how do I know that he’s my father? I don’t see any record of me in here.”