Chapter 17

It was still too early for patrons at the Dal. The lunch rush hadn't started yet, and the pub was quiet, save for the music that drifted from the overhead speakers and the muffled sound of a single pair of boots on the scuffed wooden floors. Trick was busy wiping down the bar's surface to a shine, the industrial dishwasher chugged on in the kitchen behind him and still needed at least another fifteen minutes before its load would be finished: the last load from the morning's crowd.

So when the door to the pub opened, Trick immediately knew exactly who would be coming through its threshold. He turned his face up to smile at the slender blonde that edged her way inside, briefcase in hand and a troubled expression marring her beautiful features. She didn't greet him upon entering the bar, only let the door fall shut behind her and strode purposefully towards him. Her heels clacked against the floor, and she dropped her briefcase onto the bar with a heavy thud. Finally, her tawny eyes met his, and the disturbance that filled them brought a worried frown to Trick's face.

"Lauren," Trick's voice was laced with the anxiety that was reflected in his visitor's face, his heart clenched with it, and he straightened himself over the bar, "you look like you could use a drink."

Lauren drew in a sharp breath and exhaled it quickly, then nodded, allowing the bartender to pour her a tall glass of beer from the taps. All too soon, she would have to show him the results to the test he'd asked for, and all too soon, their verbalization would turn them into a reality. But she had to keep heart: perhaps it would all turn out for the best.

Foam rose and dripped over the rim of the glass, bubbles glided up through the crisp golden liquid to join the frothy head, and Trick settled the fresh, cold beer on a napkin in front of her.

Who was she kidding? Things like this rarely turned out for the best, and even when they did, it was a long, hard road to the happy ending. And that road was already littered with obstacles and challenges that Lauren was terrified they might not get through. She swallowed down the dry anxiety that clogged her throat and settled her fingers around the glass. Perspiration beaded already along its smooth surface.

"I got the results for the paternity test you asked for," she began, her throat dry again and her mind a whirlwind of questions and self-admonishments. She pressed her lips together and drew in a long, bitter sip of beer before settling the glass back down, "they were negative."

Trick's jaw clenched. Lauren could see the muscles twitch beneath skin and rough, graying beard. His dark eyes hardened with the confirmation of his suspicions and he gave a terse nod, turning to fill a tumbler with a drink of his own. This conversation was going to require whiskey, for him.

"I don't know how this could have happened," Lauren's voice was soft and edged with consternation. At first, when Trick had asked her to perform this test, she'd responded with mild surprise and not a little confusion. After all, she remembered taking a sample when she'd been imprisoned and checking the validity of Jack's assertions that he was Bo's father. He had left all the materials she'd needed to perform this test within view, if not within reach, so that Lauren could see that they hadn't been tampered with, and they'd come out positive then.

How could Trick have possibly known to ask her to check them again, and how could the results have possibly come out different?

"I saw the results for myself, in the dungeon. I know they weren't tampered with. And I checked these results three times, to be sure," her tone rose with the agitation that twisted and clenched in her chest, "Jack O'Meara is not Bo's biological father."

Trick had set the lights in the pub on dim – the bar was generally closed between breakfast and lunch, with few exceptions: the only event being La Shoshain and the only patrons the ones he trusted and loved like family. The intimate lighting darkened the whiskey between his fingers. It slid easily down his throat, and he relished the familiar, soothing burn that followed it.

"That is troubling," the Blood King's voice was quiet, and he set down his glass carefully before meeting Lauren's unsettled gaze.

"How could you have known to ask me to test his DNA again?" Lauren slid onto a stool directly opposite the old barkeep. Her knees felt weak with the revelation, and the uneasy acknowledgement that something was seriously amiss squirmed queasily in her gut. Why would O'Meara feign familial ties to Bo? Purely to bring the Super-Succubus, when she emerged, to his side? He had seemed to believe it himself: Bo had recounted the details of her final moments with the Fae that had proclaimed to be her father, had repeated to her his final words before he breathed his last breath.

Considering Aife's history, and the manner in which Bo had been conceived, O'Meara should have known that he was not Bo's father. So who was it that had made him believe that he was? And moreover, what was the motive for planting that belief? How was this going to affect Bo, when she found out the truth?

"Fomors are a war-mongering race. Much like the Garuda, they thrive on conflict, hatred and blood-shed. They crave chaos," Trick moved to pour himself another finger of whiskey, and when his dark eyes met Lauren's lighter ones over his refilled tumbler, they burned with anxious disquiet, "after the Fae War ended, both the Dark and the Light agreed, for the good of the peace, that Jack O'Meara, and the rest of his chaos-loving, antagonistic kin would be… isolated… for lack of a better word."

The frown that Lauren had been wearing since she'd walked into the empty bar furrowed deeper into her brow. She tipped her glass of beer and gazed thoughtfully into it. The head had slowly receded, and cold, clear slivers of gold shone through the foamy white surface. She lowered her head and took another slow sip, rolling the alcohol around in her mouth to taste the crisp, hoppy flavors while she considered Trick's explanation.

"Many of those Fae more prone to deviant, rebellious behavior were released many decades, even centuries, ago, including, I believe, Jack O'Meara," the old barkeep continued, swirling the amber liquid in his glass thoughtfully.

"But Aife was captured only weeks after the War ended," Lauren finished for him, seeing where his explanation was headed. Unless Aife changed hands at least once before conceiving Bo, it would have been very improbable for Jack O'Meara to have held and raped her, thereby conceiving her daughter. It was possible, but also unlikely.

Trick offered her another abrupt nod, allowing the doctor to draw her conclusions, and swallowed another burning mouthful of whiskey.

"Have you spoken to Bo about this?" Trick settled his tumbler down in front of him, edging the glass around on the smooth, waxed wood with restless fingers. He licked his lips, the warm, smoky flavors of the whiskey clung to his skin and the edges of his short-trimmed beard. He raised his eyes to look at Lauren when she sighed heavily, but she only stared into her own glass and didn't look up to meet his worried gaze.

"No. Not yet. She has a lot on her plate, right now." Lauren had no idea how she would even begin to broach the subject. 'Hey, sweetie, so I tested your DNA with Jack O'Meara's again. Turns out he's not your biological father after all!' She rolled her eyes at the thought, the barest traces of a bemused, unhappy smile crept across her lips. It had already been three days since they'd escaped O'Meara's mansion, and Bo's preparations for her Dawning were in full swing. Between that and the attention given to the recovering members of their inner circle, Bo had been preoccupied and stretched thin. They had hardly had time to discuss everything that had happened in that god-forsaken place, there was still so much for them to talk about, and the fact that Jack O'Meara had fooled them all with his claims wasn't the only, enormous elephant that occupied the room whenever they were together. "But I will," Lauren continued, her heart in her throat and her bottom lip worried between her teeth, "I have to."

"And in the meantime?" Trick's gravelly voice was gentle. There was an understanding in his features, a perceptiveness that told Lauren he already knew the answer to his prodding question.

"In the meantime," Lauren drew in a deep breath, setting her shoulders back and dropping her chin to her chest so that her hair fell in a curtain of gold around her face, "we research. Someone came to O'Meara and made him believe that he was Bo's father, and I think it behooves us to find out who that is; we help Bo get through her Dawning in any way we can," finally, Lauren looked up, meeting Trick's kind eyes with her own and the first real smile she'd managed to conjure since her arrival, "and we live to fight another day," she finished simply.

Trick smiled back at her. Human or Fae, short life-span or long, Lauren was a tremendous woman, with a courageous heart and a fighting spirit. She had earned his respect and his gratitude, for the work she did for the Light and for the good she did for Bo. With her, and friends like her, on his granddaughter's side, he felt like maybe Bo could overcome any obstacle set in her path. So he raised his glass in a salute to the beautiful human doctor that sat opposite him, and his eyes sparkled with the warmth and affection he'd come to feel for her.

"I'll drink to that," he intoned quietly. Lauren's smile softened and turned a little shy, but she raised her own glass and touched it to his. They clinked together melodiously, barely audible beneath the faint music that drifted from above.