“We are not human,” Azrael said decidedly. “I just read about this.”
“Az has been studying at the Angel University,” I said to Austin.
“Angels have a university?” Austin widened his eyes at me, then at Az.
“Yes,” Azrael answered. “And everything I've found on Atlanteans refers to us a separate species. However, my wife is correct that it's not the best term, either for us or the Fey. Races within a species shouldn't be able to breed with races from another species. It would be like a dog breeding with a cat. But, as has been proven many times, both Gods and Faeries can breed with humans, they have even, on the rare occasion, bred with each other. The only problem is the soul.”
“What's the problem with souls?” Austin asked.
“Oh, I know this one.” I lifted my hand as if I were in class, then dropped it when I saw everyone smiling at me.
“Yes, Vervain?” Austin pointed at me.
“When a human and a god have a baby, the god soul dominates and the child gets a god soul as well as the magic that comes with it. When a faerie and a human have a baby, the faerie essence—which is like a soul—dominates but it's more flexible than a soul and the human soul will settle spiritually while the Fey essence gives it some magic, which is how you get human witches. In the case of most witches, the faerie essence has been so diluted that they're closer to humans than faeries. But if a god and a faerie have a child, the soul and essence coexist and the baby gets them both. In other words, they get two souls.”
“Forget I asked,” Austin said dryly.
“Vhy did you call my vife?” Kirill pointedly interrupted.
“There's been an alarmin' amount of snake attacks of late,” Austin said grimly. “Now, we got snakes here and sometimes people get bit, but what's been goin' on lately ain't normal. We've got people who've been bitmultipletimes, gettin' so much damn venom in 'em that they die before they can get medical attention. You know how many people die from snake bites in Texas?”
We looked at him blankly.
“One or twoa year.That's in the entire state,” Austin said. “Most times when a snake bites, it's dry—no venom—so even getting' bit by a venomous snake isn't likely to kill ya. But we got people dyin' here. The damn church is full; people think it's an act of God or the Devil.”
“It could beagod, but I doubt it's Jehovah,” I said. “And it's definitely not Luke.”
“Here's your chance, Snake-Boy,” Trevor said to Viper. “Go on, give us your expert opinion.”
“Vervain made me a snake,” Viper huffed and shook his bangs out of his face. “And being one doesn't give me some cosmic insight into the habits of every reptile.”
“Could it be something...”—I shrugged—“geographical and natural? Like a change in the weather causing the snakes to attack?”
“We've brought in an expert and he's a smart one—got plenty of notches on his gun—but he's flummoxed.” Austin rubbed his face wearily. “And there's more. A buddy of mine nearly became a snake statistic tonight. He showed up here at 1 AM lookin' like someone shot his dog.”
“Who the hell would shoot someone's dog?” Viper asked in horror.
“It's an expression, honey,” I explained. “Like most of the things Austin says.”
“Ha-ha,” Austin muttered.
“Why?” Viper asked, aghast. “Whyis it an expression?”
“Because some people are just fuckin' mean and they shoot dogs,” Austin said with a grimace.
“Someone should shootthem!” Viper declared. “Dogs are innocent creatures.”
“Yes, babe, dog-abusers are bad, mean people who should be shot,” I agreed. “We'll talk about hunting them down later.”
“Okay,” Viper muttered.
“Maybe we could even get the Wild Hunt to come out of Faerie,” I offered as I pat his leg, and he cheered up. Then I returned my attention to Austin to ask, “What did your friend say when he showed up?”
“He was scared, and this guy, he'd charge Hell with a bucket of ice water.” Austin shook his head. “Just rememberin' his face gives me the willies.”
“Willies?” Viper asked.
“Viper, hold your questions till the end,” Trevor growled.
