Rayn was already asleep when Emma heard a soft knock on the door. Emma went to the door and called out softly, "Who is it?" From the other side, a quiet voice murmured, "Verlaine." Emma smiled slightly and opened the door. Verlaine stood there, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I was wondering if I could talk to you. About Jirina," Verlaine said softly, an almost shy smile on her face. "Of course. Please come in," Emma replied, stepping aside so she could enter. As Verlaine came in, she saw that Rayn was asleep. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that she was sleeping already," she apologized, biting her bottom lip. Emma shook her head. "Rayn's a rather deep sleeper. Our voices won't wake her." She gestured for Verlaine to sit down. As the petite redhead sat down, Emma took a seat across from her.
Verlaine was silent for a moment and then asked, "Jirina-is she still alive?" Emma's smile broadened. "The last time I saw her, she was quite well. And that was only a few days ago. For as long as I can remember, she's looked the same so I'm fairly sure that she hasn't changed since you saw her," she told the pureblood. Verlaine smiled. "I always envied her. So beautiful and strong. She was cold sometimes, though, and before she left Rheinhardt, there was a hardness to her."
Emma tilted her head slightly. "Chupa mentioned this Rheinhardt. Who was he?" she asked Verlaine. The woman smiled. "A pureblood that your mother hooked up with nearly 50 years ago. He loved her. Well, he loved her inasmuch as he was capable. He's a little cold sometimes, too." Emma nodded in understanding. "Mother is still that way. Every now and again, it's as if something inside of her turns to ice. She doesn't talk about it. I learned very young not to ask why," Emma said, her smile turning sad. Verlaine reached over and touched Emma's hand. "They're both good people in their own way. But your mother was simply awesome. Did she ever tell you why she left here?" Emma shook her head. "She rarely even mentions Prague. But she was more than a little upset when she heard that the Mother was sending me here," she replied, looking thoughtful. She shifted in her seat and gave Verlaine a direct look. "What happened during the last few days that she was here? Do you have any idea?" she asked curiously, suddenly eager to get any insight into her mother.
Verlaine thought for a few moments. "The only thing I really know about was her fight with Rheinhardt. Blood spilled during that one and it surprised us all. He was angry because Jirina was hunting a great deal more than usual and wouldn't tell him why. That's what the fight was about. He thought she was keeping some kind of secret from him and he didn't like it. To him, keeping a secret was the same as lying and he couldn't abide either. What I remember the most clearly is seeing Jirina nearly slit his throat. I never thought that she would attack him that way. None of us did. And there was something that she screamed at him, something about the effect of the hunger. I couldn't make out all of it, but it stopped Rheinhardt in his tracks. That's when Jirina nailed him and it took me, Lighthammer, Snowman and Assad to pull her off of him. The next night, she was gone. It was as if she'd never even been here," Verlaine recounted, her dark eyes sad.
Emma's mind whirled with these new facts. There was something in them that she should've been able to see but it wasn't clear enough.
"How long ago was this?" Emma questioned softly, not looking at Verlaine. The other woman looked thoughtful. "Exactly 40 years. Why?" That suddenly cleared up everything for Emma. She leaned her head on the back of the chair. "I was born 39 1/2 years ago, only a few months after the Mother gave her the gift. She left Prague because she was carrying me," Emma murmured, turning tired eyes on Verlaine. A soft gasp escaped the petite pureblood. "Then that can mean only one thing. Rheinhardt is your father," she exclaimed in a low voice. "So why didn't she ever tell me?" Emma whispered, her pale eyes darkening. "I wish I knew, Emma. I really do," Verlaine told her softly as she gently squeezed the younger woman's hand. "Neither do I. But I plan to find out."
Verlaine could tell by the look on Emma's face that she was surprised by everything that she had told her. "I'm going to go. I think I've disturbed you enough tonight," she said softly, getting to her feet. "You don't have to go," Emma replied, smiling slightly. "Yes, I do. You need rest. Besides, we'll have plenty of time to talk later. Good night, Emma," Verlaine murmured as she went to the door and left the room.
After Verlaine had left, Emma turned the lights out one by one and climbed into bed. She laid in the darkness and thought about everything that Verlaine had told her. She couldn't grasp the fact that her mother had simply abandoned her father, never even telling him about her. While it was like her mother to do something like that, she never imagined that she would.
Closing her eyes, she opened her mind. "We need to talk," she telepathically called out to her mother. It took her mother a few moments to answer. "Is there a problem with your task? Is everything all right?" she heard her mother's voice say in her mind. "I want to know about Rheinhardt. I need to know about Kasha on the off chance that she comes after me again." Emma could hear her mother gasp. "I thought that she'd be dead by now. Are you all right?" "I healed just fine. Why does she hate you so?" she answered, instinctively knowing that her mother was shielding part of her mind. "There's no telling. She always was a nutfuck wackjob about as grounded as a free pigeon. If she comes near you again, call to me. I'll take care of it," her mother told her, "I need to go now, Emma. Be careful and stick to your task. And remember, do not tell Chupa why he was chosen for the gift." Emma sighed. "I won't tell him. Be well, Mother." "And the same to you, little one." With a whisper of a breath, her mother's presence was gone.
Emma snuggled under the blankets and started to relax. She could feel the sun coming up and wanted to be asleep before it was full in the sky. Her last waking thought was that her life was more complicated than ever. She couldn't help but wish it wasn't.
