Wyvern and Company by Connie Suttle Page A

changed. She carefully measures the Saa
Thalarr's talents against the necessary requirements to save the world in
question."
    "She consults me every time to help determine what is
needed," Pheligar said. "It is my job, as Liaison to the Saa Thalarr,
to aid as much as I can without interfering. My race does not interfere as a
rule, but acting as Liaison is considered a great honor among my peers."
    "Wicked," Mack whispered.
    "Who was First before—did they die?" I asked.
    "Not dead," Pheligar said. "Retired. He did not
consult as he should have. He and I had many disagreements."
    "Looks like you and Mrs. G have disagreements, too,"
Mack said.
    "These disagreements are different. She will never place
a life in jeopardy because we fail to agree on every minute detail,"
Pheligar said. "We each have our say. We do not dislike one another
because we disagree. Not at the core of our relationship, anyway. I cannot say
the same about her predecessor. Much of our disagreement stems from the
differences in our primary races. Larentii and humans are vastly dissimilar."
    "Don't get him started by asking what the differences
are," Mom said. "You'll be here all night."
    "Are you suggesting that I take too long to express my
thoughts?" Pheligar lifted a blond eyebrow at Mom.
    "No." She hunched her shoulders. "I feel sick
again," she mumbled. "I wish they'd hurry with our food."
    "We will not have that," Pheligar declared and
pulled her onto his lap. One hand went to her forehead, the other to her
stomach. Light formed around both for a few seconds.
    "Feel better?" he asked, his voice soft.
    "Yeah. Thanks."
    "I'm thinking about contacting Merrill," Dad said as
Mom settled onto her seat again. Our food was delivered two minutes later while
Dad talked about bringing Uncle Merrill to Fresno. When the waiter left, he
explained that Merrill, with the help of a werewolf named Daniel Carey, could
teach Mack and me about hunting spawn.
    "You should know, Son, that Merrill is a modified
vampire," Dad said. "He's a vampire who can walk in daylight and eat
normal food."
    "Seriously?" Mack breathed.
    "Seriously."
    "Will Grampa Frank come with him?" I asked. I hoped
Grampa Franklin would come. "Does he know about all this?"
    "He knows. Merrill knows. You can say anything to either,"
Mom said. "And to Daniel."
    "Knowledge of the race protects itself," Pheligar
said. "If you attempt to tell anyone who doesn't know already about it,
you will be unable to speak. The secret effectively keeps itself."
    "That means Gina can't know," Dad said. "I'm
sorry, but we don't know her well enough yet. You'll have to keep your other
side secret around her until she's approved by your Mother and Pheligar. Even
then, she won't be able to talk about it to anyone else, so you see how
difficult it could be for some people to know this about us."
    I hadn't considered those things before—that someone could be
forced to keep a secret and it could cause them harm. What if Gina wanted to
tell her mother, and couldn't get the words out? It sounded painful.
    "I'll keep the secret," I promised.
    "Good," Mom said. "Does anyone have more rice?"
Dragon handed her a bowl.
    * * *
    Kent, England
    Private files of Charles, Secretary to Wlodek and the
Vampire Council
    Merrill stalked past me and into Wlodek's private study. He
had a right to do so; he was Wlodek's oldest living vampire offspring and a King
Vampire. None in the vampire community could stand against Merrill's strength
or compulsion, should he choose to exercise either.
    He was dressed casually, which was certainly unusual,
therefore, this visit heralded an emergency of some kind.
    "Charles!" Wlodek's voice summoned me immediately.
It was not unexpected. Gripping my tablet, I followed Merrill through the door.
    "Take a seat," Wlodek waved an impatient hand at
Merrill and me. We sat. Wlodek's study is richly appointed, from the painting
of Napoleon by David on one wall, to the large Monet hanging opposite.
    Someone once