Gypsy Origins

“Against normal vampires. Not alpha vampires,” I state like he’s a moron.

“You know just enough information to get yourself killed,” Emit says to Tom, as the alpha werewolf pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Probably,” Tom says on a putout huff.

I look at Emit in complete and utter disbelief. I’m not equipped to deal with this level of stupidity. I’m the one who kills the things we want dead. Not the one who talks sense into the senseless.

We need Vance back.

“Does Violet know you’re here?” Emit asks him, and that causes me to roll my eyes.

“Violet wouldn’t send her father to stake me. She kisses me back, so she’s not that scared,” I point out.

“I was just on my way home,” Tom answers.

“Thought you’d do a little drive-by staking and kill a vampire very few have managed to kill, none of which are still alive to this day?” I ask the suicidal, completely idiotic man.

“That was the plan,” he says on a rough exhale, shaking his head like he feels silly.

“Gee golly and aw shucks, Emit,” I state with heavy sarcasm, “this day just ain’t a goin’ accordin’ to plan.”

Emit tosses me an annoyed glare, before looking back down at Tom, who is twiddling his thumbs and staring at the metal plating peeking out of the toes of his worn and torn work boots.

“Why would Marta think I would use Violet to raise Idun? I never once suggested this. I’m the one who has been outvoted,” I say, finally letting that part sink in, as I stare at Tom a little more seriously. “I never once linked Violet to being Idun’s savior in any capacity.”

His knee bounces a little more than it was, and his thumb-twiddling gains speed as well.

“Tom, unless you start talking, I’m going to turn you into a vampire,” I warn him.

“You can’t do that either,” Emit says like he’s cautioning me, even though I hear Tom’s heart speeding up like he’s panicking a little.

Finally got a show of fear, so at least now I know he’s quite capable of being afraid.

“What can I do?” I ask Emit as my patience wanes. “Wouldn’t you like to know what the hell he’s talking about, or do you already know?”

Emit’s jaw grinds, and Tom just keeps sitting quietly.

“I’m going to need an answer, Tom,” I say when Emit doesn’t volunteer information or get in a hurry to help with my inquiry.

Why did everyone see Violet raising Idun as something that was going to be inevitable? What am I missing?

“You can’t hurt Violet?” Tom asks me, eyes coming up and meeting mine for the first time.

“He can’t and won’t hurt Violet,” Emit says.

“Still don’t reckon I know you yet,” Tom says to Emit again, which seems to amuse Emit just a little.

“Answer me,” I say, though this time it’s a direct command that causes good ol’ Tom’s pupils to dilate.

He curses like he knows what’s just been done, and I arch an eyebrow at a quiet Emit, who seems to have no protest to this method of extraction. I’ll kick his furry ass if Violet gets mad at me for this later.

“If you can’t hurt Violet, that means you can’t tell her,” Tom says reluctantly, like he’s getting me to understand something crucial before his loosening lips are forced to share whatever secrets he’s greedily clinging to. “She doesn’t need to know. They won’t find out about her so long as she doesn’t ever know. If she doesn’t know, well then, no one’s supposed to know, so I don’t want to tell you.”

“Who? What the hell are you babbling on about?” I ask the raving lunatic.

Emit stands stoically, as Tom exhales harshly. “The Portocale Council won’t let her live. She’s not supposed to exist. Marta said they’d hurt her, because you’d use her to raise Idun. Violet’s innocent. This ain’t her fault.”

“What’s not her fault?” I demand as I crouch in front of him, forcing his eyes back on mine while I repeat the question.

His lips tense even, as his pupils dilate again.

“She was born. That’s her only crime,” he goes on, somehow really blocking out the weight of the command, as he shakes his head over and over.

“Stop it. You’re hurting him now,” Emit cautions, moving toward me.

“He hasn’t answered. Why would the Portocale Council kill Violet?” I demand.

“Because she’s Marta’s daughter,” Tom says as he curses, and then sags in defeat. “Because Marta had a daughter and she wasn’t supposed to have.”

“Tom, I’m getting agitated. Why wasn’t she supposed to have Violet?” I ask, this time making the command more forceful.

“Because she’s Marta Portocale,” he answers tightly, his jaw wavering as the words are wrenched free.

“Yes, well, the vast majority of Portocale females are named Marta. I need more than that, Tom,” I say a little more impatiently.

His eyes meet mine again, as those pupils expand to the fullest.

“She is the Marta Portocale.”

It’s rare a chill slithers up my spine, so I’m almost taken aback when such happens.

My eyes dart to Emit’s, just as his dart to mine. He looks as warily surprised by this confession as I am.

This is clearly not the secret he’s been keeping from me, because he looks like he doubts this just as much as I do.

“The true Marta Portocale didn’t move to Shadow Hills and start selling them gypsy drugs and other various things. For one, she’s not due for reincarnation for another thirty years. For two, Marta Portocale is as sterile as every other immortal alpha,” I let him know, since it’s clear he doesn’t have all the facts.

I finally drop the stake he put through my chest, as if to remind Emit how very little this man truly knows, without saying the words aloud.

His eyes flick to it and back to Tom.

“Explain,” I say as Tom’s nose barely starts to bleed.

Emit doesn’t attempt to stop me this time, so it must be acceptable.

“She gypsy-hopped early,” Tom says quickly, his nosebleed easing with the hurried confession. “She had been working on a spirit bomb to aid Portocale gypsies in hunting spirits. Midway through the process, she was testing the core, and was killed by someone.”

“They’re always killed by cult members. Marta clearly left the town and got herself killed, but the council keeps a tight lid on Portocale deaths. Marta supposedly sent her daughter here to be safe from that cult, because the cult can’t enter,” I point out. “At least in theory that’s the reason. Tell me if I’m wrong, Tom.”

“Marta died here,” he says very seriously. “I’ve seen her survive worse, and she died here without a scratch on her corpse. I’d like to disagree with you, vampire.”

This pompous, pudgy prick…

His look is very accusing and certainly directed at me.

“This spirit core made her gypsy-hop early?” Emit asks, interrupting Tom’s annoying little glare at me, as if I’m somehow to blame for this.

“Bloody woman was dead before I surfaced. This is one thing I can’t be blamed for,” I feel the need to say to Tom, since he’s still glaring.

“How do I know that?” he asks me as though I owe him an answer.

“How did the spirit core—”

“Your daughter raised me, and she didn’t come here until this current Marta Portocale died. She wasn’t the Marta—”

“This Marta Portocale was growing very popular as a singer, playing up the cliché version of gypsy heritage to the point of belly-dancing on stage like that was something gypsies commonly did,” Emit says to me, frowning. “Suddenly, she went off-grid, until she popped up here and opened her own shop. Even went out of her way to offer us samples of her goods. Little brazen, but she was a ballsy woman like that.”

“Did she spit in your faces?” I ask him.

“No, but—”

“Then she wasn’t THE Marta Portocale,” I say, emphasizing that last bit.

“You forced him to tell the truth, Arion. This is the truth as he knows it,” Emit points out.

Damn it.

“I’m never going to get to kill him, am I?” I ask just to be sure.

The werewolf alpha gives me an exasperated look, before turning his attention back to Tom.

“Why would the council want Marta Portocale’s daughter dead? The immortal Marta Portocale is one fourth of that council,” Emit goes on.

Tom doesn’t put up a fight for his answer this time, completely slumped now, like a kicked puppy who knows he has to be obedient or get kicked again.

“Because Violet will raise them. It’s what she’s supposed to do,” Tom says like it’s the only important fact, and the road there is of no importance at all.

“We really need to talk to Violet right now,” Emit says to me, cutting his eyes in my direction like he’s angry or stressed or both.

“Violet can’t know,” Tom hisses, drawing our attention back. “If she knows something is broken, she tries to fix it. Don’t make her fix this.”

“She’s already fixing it,” Emit says to Tom, frowning.

Tom looks miserable and frustrated, and slaps the side of his head twice, before making some pitiful sound. “Marta’s gone just a few months, and I can’t stop it. Everyone Idun kills will be on Violet’s conscience. Marta was finding a way to leave Idun underground.” He looks up at Emit instead of me. “Why’d she send Violet here?”

Emit looks as confused as I feel.

“I honestly don’t know,” he tells Tom, before glancing over at me and gesturing subtly toward the door.

I walk out first, since it’s clear he doesn’t want to turn his back and leave Tom at my mercy.

“Violet has something stuck to her that is draining the ghosts she comes into contact with for any amount of time. This town is full of ghost energy,” Emit says quietly to me once we’re outside, and he looks around like he’s searching for prying ears. “What if she sent Violet here because this much energy would give her an even bigger head start into another gypsy’s body the second another Portocale died?” he asks.

My eyes flick to his.

If Marta Portocale has truly found a way to gypsy-hop early…fucking hell. It’d make me hate that bitch that much more.

“One just died,” I remind him very quietly. “I haven’t even gone under yet.”

“It’s been weeks since that death, and Marta certainly hasn’t shown up to stab something through our hearts for putting our hands all over her daughter just yet. I’m wagering that body came too soon, with any luck,” he adds tightly.