I smile. “It’s kind of a happy ending then, right?”
“In a way it is, but sometimes I get glimpses of Theodore in Rita and it frightens me. I’ve taught her as best I can how to practice magic responsibly, but she gets more and more talented with each year that passes. It worries me that one day she might decide that she’s sick and tired of playing by the rules. That she might become like her father. My daughter is a wonderful girl, but there is a darkness to her that will always be there because of Theodore.”
“Rita’s more like you than she’ll ever be like Theodore,” I disagree. “I think the darkness makes her who she is, but I don’t think it would ever be strong enough to take her over completely. Besides, nobody in this world is completely good, we’ve all got good and bad qualities. If we didn’t then we wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the two.”
Noreen half smiles and says, “You’re a very insightful young woman, Tegan.” She gazes at me for a moment. “Rita told me you’re confused about the magic you hold, that you want to know where it came from. I think that you shouldn’t become too concerned about the where for now, just concentrate on cultivating it, learning how to use it in a way that’s good for you.”
“I’ve never been good at accepting mysteries for what they are. I sometimes have a habit of trying to get to the bottom of things. Even when it’s to my detriment.”
Noreen considers what I’ve said. “I suppose it is possible that, like Rita, you’re related to a magic user. Have you ever studied your family tree?”
“Not really, although I never really got to know any of my relatives growing up. All I know is that my dad was Martin Stolle and my mum was Dora Peters. They got married and had me. That’s about the size of it.”
Noreen’s eyes turn thoughtful. “None of those names ring a bell, however…” she trails off for a minute, and something like an epiphany takes shape on her face. “This is quite far-fetched, but I do recall the story of a teenage witch from the magical family the Petrovskys, her name was Darya and she was always considered to be extra special by her father Filipp.”
This catches my interest for some reason, and I urge her on. “What happened to her?”
“Well, the rumour goes that Filipp kept her locked up in their house, never allowing her out of his sight. Then on Darya’s nineteenth birthday she disappeared, it’s a legend among the magical folk of Tribane. Filipp became consumed by madness, accusing the vampires of taking her, he searched all over the country and even abroad but she was never seen again. Your mother’s name brought back the memory of the story of the missing witch, since Darya is the Russian equivalent of Dora, and Peters is just so close to Petrovsky.”
I breathe out heavily, processing the information. I have to admit that it makes perfect sense. Growing up, I had never known any of my mother’s family, but I never questioned it because she died when I was so young and it had always been just dad and I from then on.
I still haven’t said anything when Noreen begins to speak again. “You know, you do resemble the Petrovskys somewhat, you don’t have their long regal nose, but you do have the pale skin and light eyes. Perhaps you are the daughter of their missing Darya. It’s the perfect explanation.”
“It is,” I admit. “But it doesn’t put my mind at ease. If I’m the granddaughter of this Filipp character then I don’t think I ever want to meet him. He must have been horrible for my mum to have run away from him and never make contact with him again.”
“That’s true,” says Noreen. “But perhaps he kept her locked up because she was a witch with Die Äußerste Macht blood, which would make her a very special girl indeed. It would also explain why Filipp did not want her out among the supernaturals of the city for fear that they would discover what she was.”
There’s quiet, and I run my hand under my short hair, causing it to spike up at the ends. “This is crazy,” I breathe.
Noreen stands. “Remember what I said Tegan, there’s no necessity for you to go delving into where you came from. Embrace your magic for what it is, sometimes it’s best to leave the past in the past.”
I peer up at her tired features, she’s been through so much today. Lost her home. She doesn’t need to be dealing with my problems. “You’re right, thanks for talking to me,” I tell her with a small smile.
Before she leaves the room she hovers for a moment, her back to the door which is slightly ajar. “Would it be too much to ask that you keep what you know about Rita to yourself?” she asks in a hesitant voice.
“Of course not,” I reply.
Noreen sighs in relief. “Thank you Tegan, I really don’t know how Rita would react if she discovered Theodore was her father.”
I’m about to assure her again that I won’t say anything when the kitchen door bursts open and Rita’s furious face emerges.
“Theodore is my father?” she asks, staring at her mother with cold, accusing eyes.
The drama that ensues is not exactly what I’d expected. Rita shouts at her mother, but only to tell her that she had her suspicions all along and now that everything is out in the open they can get on with their lives. She seems slightly withdrawn though, like she knew Theodore was her dad ever since she stared into his eyes for the first time back on Ridley Island. Perhaps she’d been trying to pretend that it wasn’t true. Her anger at her mother is half-hearted, more like weary acceptance than anything else. The two of them go up to Finn’s room, where I can hear them having a conversation that switches between earnest and dramatic, and sort of simmers down to hushed.
“Well, that’s a turn up for the books,” says Alvie, in an excitable tone, relishing the salacious piece of gossip.
Gabriel leans back against the counter with his arms folded. “You and I both know what it’s like to have unpleasant fathers, Alvie,” he says in a low voice.
“Yeah,” Alvie sighs. I raise a questioning eyebrow at him, but he just shrugs and answers sadly, “I haven’t spoken to my dad since I was seventeen. He threw me out of the house because he couldn’t abide by my choice of lifestyle.”
I nod in understanding then. I already know about Gabriel’s father, Alin Cristescu, who rejected him because he was a dhamphir. I wonder how parental rejection affects a person’s psyche. My dad has always been supportive of me, and thinking this causes a stab of guilt to twist in my gut. I have no clue where he is, and he could be suffering right now, all because of the choice I made to run away.
I try to clear those thoughts from my head. “So, did Rita manage to save anything from the house?” I ask.
“She got a few pieces of furniture that we put out in Finn’s shed and some clothes for her and her mum. Everything else was too damaged. She says they had insurance though, so hopefully the money from that will help in rebuilding the place.”
“That’s good, I’m going to bed. I’ll see you both in the morning.”