That seems to encourage Arden because she blurts out, “It was a raccoon.”
I straighten. “That’s what I sensed too.”
“Try again,” Seven says. “We can measure the strength of your luck by how many times in a row you can flip tails.”
Arden eagerly picks up the coin and flings it into the air. This time Seven’s dragonish luck disappears from the room and only the sweet and bright energy of Arden’s raccoon remains. She squeals when it lands on tails.
“You’re doing it, sweetheart. Keep going!” I clap my hands.
Seven holds up two fingers. “That’s two. Go for three.”
An hour later, Arden is visibly fatigued and I can barely feel the raccoon in the room anymore. She’s flipped tails successfully 175 times, but this time it’s heads. She slumps in her chair, forehead hitting the table. “That’s all I got.”
Seven and I beam at each other.
“What? How did I do?”
I rest my chin on my threaded fingers. “Do you want to tell her, Seven, or should I?”
“Oh, I’d love to,” Seven says. “The probability of a human being flipping tails one hundred and seventy-five times in a row is almost zero. It’s possible but so unlikely we might as well consider it impossible. The average satyr can reach twenty-five flips regularly, although it’s not unusual for exceptional satyrs to near the one hundred mark later in life.”
Arden’s fingers go to her lips. “Mom, I did inherit your pixie luck!”
“The average pixie can manage sixty-five flips, but an exceptional pixie might hit 145 on a good day,” I say. “My test was 105 as a child.”
The grin fades from her face. “That doesn’t make sense. It’s genetically impossible,” she says. “I can’t be luckier than you. Not with a human father.”
Seven rubs his jaw. “The average leprechaun can reliably make 150 flips as a child. I’ve managed five hundred myself as an adult, and the only reason I stopped was because I didn’t have time to continue. The test was taking too long.”
She stares at him as if he’s not making sense. “So then how did I do 175 if I’m half-human?”
This time Seven turns to me and waits. I made him promise to allow me to be the one to say the words. Here we go. Please, gods, help her take this well.
“Because, Arden,” I begin slowly. “You’re not half-human after all. It turns out I made a mistake in assuming that. You’re half-pixie from me.” I press a hand into my chest and take a deep breath. “And half-leprechaun… from Seven.”
Arden stops breathing, and the smile fades from her face. She tips her head, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. Confusion and betrayal war in her expression, and I want to explain but I can’t find the words around the lump that’s formed in my throat. Thankfully Seven rises to the occasion.
“Your mother never lied to you,” Seven adds quickly. “She didn’t know. Neither of us did until recently.”
I hadn’t thought it possible, but Arden seems even more confused. “I think she’d know who my father was!”
I shake my head. “Godmother changed his appearance and there were circumstances…” I sigh and look away. “I didn’t know until very recently, but it’s true. Godmother changed Seven into the form of a human man, and I didn’t know who he really was the night we conceived you. I thought he truly was a human man.”
“The three of us and Godmother are the only ones who know,” Seven adds.
The moment Arden realizes the ramifications, I watch fear chase the other emotions from her expression. “Wait… I’m not human. Not at all?” She stands, sending her chair tumbling backward across the wood floor.
I shake my head, eyes locked on hers. “No one has to know, Arden. You have the choice. You can either keep this a secret, and so will we, or—”
“Or you can take your rightful place in leprechaun society.” Seven’s body language tells me exactly what he feels about keeping this a secret. He wants to shout that Arden is his daughter from the rooftops.
Arden snorts. “My rightful place? You make it sound like I’m in one of those movies about a teenager who finds out she’s a secret princess.” Her eyes rove between me and him and she snorts.
Seven brushes invisible lint from the sleeve of his jacket. “We have no royal title, although you do have a family crest and are currently the sole heir of my portion of the Delaney family fortune, currently estimated at approximately thirty-five billion dollars.”
All humor drains from Arden’s expression, followed by all color as she looks to me and realizes that this isn’t a joke. That what Seven says is true.
“Mom?” she squeaks. “What does this mean?”
