Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(53)

He doesn’t respond; he just turns the page of the large book. I glance down, but the words are all squiggles to me. I’m dying to know what it says, how any of this weirdness fits in with science, but first I want to know why he’s so clammed up.

I lean on the table, facing him, my back to the book. I can tell he’s uncomfortable, which makes me even more curious.

“So you’re not going to answer my question?” I ask. “Why are you wearing a torque?” I’d stopped wondering what Faelan is, but now, after everything that happened this morning, I’m all curiosity again. “You’re not a shade,” I say. “And I’m fairly sure you’re not a pixie.” His nostrils flare, and I have to bite back a smile. “What did Aelia say the other ones were? Oh yeah, those gross wraith things. And selkie mermaids—I know you’re not either of those.”

“It’s just selkie, and you’re forgetting alfar.”

“Oh right. Aelia said those were like angels.”

“No.” A dark tone fills his voice. “No, they’re not.”

“Is that what you are?” I ask quietly. He doesn’t seem to like them. Maybe that’s why he won’t just come out and say what he is—he’s ashamed. I wouldn’t know an alfar if I fell over its dead body in the street, so he must know I wouldn’t look down on him if that’s what he is. I wouldn’t be like those girls who were gossiping about James in the club because he wasn’t status worthy.

He sighs and finally looks at me. “I’m not an underling, Sage,” he says. “All the creatures you mentioned are underlings.”

“Oh.”

He picks up the medallion hanging around his neck and studies it for a few seconds, then he tucks it in his shirt. “I’m a son of Cernunnos. The third son.” He says it like the words are weighing him down.

I’ve heard that name before. Aelia mentioned it yesterday when she was gossiping about some girl named Astrid who Faelan supposedly used to date or something. The House of Cernunnos—not a band. “He’s one of the five gods,” I say.

“Yes, one of the Penta.”

“So you’re a demigod.” Why would he hide that? And if he’s a demigod, shouldn’t he have a more important job than babysitting? It seems like being the child of a deity is a fairly big deal, but he’s running around following all of Marius’s orders. I reach up and touch my own necklace. “And you wear a torque.” Now that I think about it, I don’t remember seeing one on Marius. Or on the dark raven guy, Kieran.

“It’s not something we advertise,” he says. “A demi wears a torque for one of two reasons: either someone placed it on them to control their powers, or they place it to control themselves. Whoever places the torque is the only one who can remove it.”

Well, I know why I’m wearing one. “Which is it for you?”

“I placed the torque. It helps me contain things.”

“What sort of things?”

He hesitates but then says, “My father’s blood.”

“Cernunnos.”

“Yes.”

“Because . . .” When he doesn’t finish for me, I add, “What kind of god is he?”

“He’s the god of the wood, of the hunt, and the horned god of fertility.”

Um. Horned god of fertility? That sounds a bit skanky. “And he’s your . . . dad?”

“Unfortunately.”

The idea that he’s not a fan of his godparent sends a wave of relief through me for some reason. “So you’re like me.”

He releases a tense laugh. “No, I’m not like you,” he says. “Not even a little bit. I’m a stray.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means I first gave my allegiance to my father’s House at my Emergence, but a hundred years later I abandoned my vow, breaking my covenant and casting off my name. The House of Brighid took me in, and I chose to give my allegiance to her instead—what there is left to give, anyway.”

I want to ask him why he left the other House, but the conversation seems to be distressing him. It’s very clear he doesn’t usually talk about all of this. “Whatever you say, it sounds like you are like me,” I say, quietly. When his brow pinches in question, I add, “I was a stray too—in the human world. No one wanted me.”

Without hesitation, he says, “We do.”

His response hits me in an odd way, the layers underneath the words making us lock eyes for an extra second. Breathing is suddenly tougher, and the skin along the back of my neck tingles again, like when I caught him watching me a few minutes ago.

“So,” I say, trying to break the growing tension. I turn back to the table, tapping on the open book. A small puff of dust rises from the page. “This looks cool. Who wrote it? What’s all that say?”

He clears his throat and focuses on the book again. “A monk wrote it in the twelfth century, I believe. It’s a study of the bloodlines and how the energies, or powers, work on a cellular level.”

I move my hand away from the yellowed paper. “Oh, that’s . . . complex. And super old.”

“It’s been protected by magic and re-bound a few times over the centuries, but yes, it’s old. And the theories are definitely complicated, especially for the time.” There’s a small smile in his voice. “The Otherborn have always been ahead in the sciences. But I think you and I can handle it. Even with your American education.”