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metabolism crossed with a vampire’s killing instinct—and they are one of the main reasons why there are so few of us. And, because the problem is genetic, there is no cure.
    Not that anyone has looked very hard. Like most human drug companies, the magical families who specialized in healing liked to make a profit. And there was little money to be made in devising something to help a scant handful of people.
    Claire’s eyes widened as she stared at my glass. “That really helps your attacks?”
    “Stops them cold. And unlike human drugs, it works every time.”
    She picked up the bottle and took a cautious sniff. She made a face. “It’s worse than I remembered.”
    “It’s pretty strong,” I said as her eyes started watering. In fact, it could double as paint thinner, which was probably why it was usually used as a mixer. But I wasn’t drinking it for the taste.
    “It isn’t really wine,” she told me, setting it down. “It’s a distillation of dozens of herbs, berries and flowers, most of which have never been tested in any scientific way. And I don’t like the idea of you as the guinea pig.”
    “I thought I volunteered.” Claire was a scion of one of the oldest magical houses on Earth, one that specialized in the healing arts. She’d been working at the auction house only because of a dispute over her inheritance, which had left her on the run from a greedy cousin. Before then, research had been her specialty, and lately, she’d been experimenting on fey plants, hoping to find something that would help my condition.
    “That’s different! I know what went into everything I sent you. It was safe—”
    “And ineffective.”
    She frowned. “Anything could be in there. I have no idea what ingredients Pip used. The recipes differ widely from family to family, which is why you get so many varieties of this stuff. And Pip never left any notes lying around.”
    “More’s the pity.”
    “You don’t get it, Dory. Drugs—and this can definitely be classified that way—often have a cumulative effect. Even the fey experience some mild side effects over time—”
    I laughed. “Mild for them, maybe. I’m not a fey.”
    “That’s my point! This is a controlled substance on Earth because it brings out latent magical abilities in humans. Before it addicts them and drives them insane!”
    “I’m not human, either.”
    “You’re half.”
    “Which is why I’m careful.”
    Claire’s eyes narrowed; something must have come through in my tone. “What have you been experiencing?”
    “As you said, some mild side effects.”
    “Like what?”
    “Heightened memories, mostly. With sharper sensations, Dolby surround sound, the works.”
    “Like hallucinations?”
    “Like heightened memories, Claire. It’s no big deal.”
    She didn’t look convinced. “And you can control them? You can snap out of these memories whenever you want?”
    “Yes,” I said easily. “Now, do you want to eat, or do you want to lecture me some more?”
    The look on her face said this wasn’t over. But her stomach growled, momentarily overruling her head. I flopped onto the love seat, passed around oyster pails, paper plates and chopsticks and we dug in.
    “God, I missed this,” she told me a few minutes later, her mouth full of chow mein.
    “What?”
    “Greasy human takeout.”
    “They don’t have the equivalent in Faerie?”
    “No. They also don’t have TV, movies, iPods or jeans.” Her hand ran over the threadbare denim covering her knee. “Damn, I missed jeans.”
    I laughed. “I thought you’d like being waited on hand and foot—”
    “And having servants follow me everywhere, and having to dress up every damn day and having everybody defer to me but nobody talk to me?” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah. It’s been great.”
    “Heidar talks to you, doesn’t he? And Caedmon?” Heidar was Claire’s big blond fiancé. Caedmon was his father, the king of one branch of the Light Fey.
    “Yes, but