“Elizabeth!”  Sorrel nearly shouted in the phone a week later.  “He woke up!  He’s fine, he’s himself, you were right – Riven was right – he’s okay!  He can actually use both dark and light fae magic, which we haven’t figured out the implications of, but point is, he’s okay!”

“Hear that?”  I asked Claire, who was busy grabbing at my necklace.  “Your uncle is okay now.”

I turned my attention back to the phone.  “I’m glad, Sorrel.  Please tell him I said so.”

He laughed lightly, sounding almost giddy with relief.  “I will, I will.  I can’t believe – the last year and a half has been crazy for us, you know?  We get attacked by a witch coven, Ren nearly dies twice, Riven nearly dies, what, five times now?  We beat the dark soul thing, now a construct nearly kills me, Ren turns dark, but he’s okay anyway – it’s just a lot of insanity.”

I agreed, it was a lot – but I noticed an odd common thread through almost all of that.

Riven.  Riven was the reason the witch coven hadn’t destroyed their family, hadn’t killed Ren those two times, and had helped with Ren turning dark.  He hadn’t helped save Sorrel, but…the common thread seemed interesting.  Almost too high of a coincidence to just be coincidence, but I had met him, so it wasn’t like I was worried he was somehow secretly plotting all of this just to gain their trust.  I was good at judging people – I’d had to be for years or it could get me killed – and Riven was good people.

“I’m coming to see Claire, if that’s okay,” Sorrel was telling me on the phone.  “She’s the one good thing that’s happened to us in the past year, well, in addition to Riven, and you, come to think of it, and Honey’s actually started dating a guy, so I guess actually we’ve had several good things happen to us despite all the crazy.  But anyway, I’ve missed her this week.”

I tried not to feel too happy about being called one of the good things in Sorrel’s life.  I knew it was most likely because I’d saved his life and that was a good thing for his family, but still, it was a nice warm feeling.

“Of course you can come see your own daughter,” I told him calmly.  “It’s not like I’m holding her captive.”

“I know, I just – I’m dropping in out of the blue.”

Had I been able to express ridicule properly, I would have done so now.  “As you know, I have a very active social calendar and work schedule, but I think I can fit you in.”

He laughed again, that happy, carefree laugh.  “Right, well, that’s good, because I’m at your door.”

I hung up and opened the door to find a smiling Sorrel.  I handed him Claire almost the moment he walked through the door and he grabbed her, snuggling her close.

“How are you, baby girl?”  He whispered to her, his eyes lit up.  “I’ve missed you.”

She started making happy noises and grabbing at his hair and face, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Looking at him and the way he was basking in her presence and enjoying the way she was enthusing over seeing him again in her little baby ways, I wondered why he had ever imagined he might not be a good father.  He clearly adored her, and even if he wasn’t perfect at it, well, he would absolutely do anything he could to make her life better.  I had a feeling that, as fathers go, she had actually hit the jackpot.

Sorrel ended up flopping out on the couch, holding Claire on his chest and talking to her quietly, smiling every time she babbled at him or smiled, which meant he was smiling a lot.

I headed to the kitchen and started putting together something to eat.

“You don’t have to do that,” Sorrel was propped up just enough to see me from his position.

“I am aware of that, but you’re tired, it is supper time, you’re here in my house, and cooking is one of my hobbies now.”  I paused slightly.  “Actually, I haven’t cooked for anyone else yet apart from preparing food for Claire, so you can be my first taster.”

“Oh, sweet.”  Sorrel gave me a tired smile.  “In that case, I’d be honored.”

I glanced over at him as I started dicing eggplant, a question that had been in my mind this entire week now swimming at the forefront.  I wasn’t sure about invading his privacy, but we were friends, right?  Hopefully he wouldn’t mind.

“I have a question for you,” I told him as I worked, “but you are permitted to not answer if you’d prefer.”

“Okay.”  He looked a little curious.  “Go for it.”

“Your friend, the one who died, who was also named Claire – was she a techno vampire named Claire Blanchet?”

Sorrel was suddenly on his feet, still holding his daughter close to him, but was staring at me with wide eyes as he slowly came towards the kitchen.

“Yes, actually.  How did you know?  Did you – did you know her?”

I started peeling potatoes to be diced as well.  “Yes, professionally.  She consulted with us on several occasions, any time we were in particular need of technological assistance that couldn’t be otherwise obtained.  My boss attempted to recruit her more than once, but she wasn’t interested in being tied down to a regular job, even one as irregular as espionage.”

Sorrel let out a strangled laugh.  “That – sounds like her.  Really?  You knew her?  You don’t know how glad I am – my family mostly didn’t meet her.  Dad did, a few minutes before she died, and apparently she went into Riven’s workplace once when he was there, but that was it.  She made such an impact on my life but my family never knew her.”

I hesitated again, not sure if this was poking at an emotional wound, but he seemed okay with the topic despite some sadness in his eyes, so maybe it was okay to continue.  “Did she die of a genetic disorder?”  Seeing his look of surprise, I explained.  “She is not the first techno vampire I came across.  My experience with them had taught me that they are reclusive, generally quite bright, transient, and short-lived.  While none of them ever confirmed it to me, given that they all seem to die young, I assumed there was a genetic connection.”

“Actually, yes.”  Sorrel was now rocking/bouncing his daughter a bit while he talked, but his eyes were glued on me.  “She said they all die from a genetic disorder, with 50 about the average age, but she was 62 when she died.  She said they were like butterflies – short, vibrant lives.”

Butterflies.  Yes, I could see that.  She had been the kind of person you would remember even from just one encounter.

“Several years ago she was working on a project for us and mentioned she had just come from Avenglade,” I informed him.  “It was a bit of a leap, I suppose, to assume that would be the Claire who was your friend, but I did know she was older for a techno vampire, so I did, in a way, expect to hear news of her death.  Or rather, to simply stop hearing about her.  Techno vampires rarely have anyone to inform others that they have died – they just…no longer respond.”

For just a second, his fingers tightened on the back of his little Claire’s shirt, then he smoothed them out.  “She actually stopped contacting me several months before she died, because she didn’t want me to hurt more, she said.  She showed up here literally minutes before she died to help us close a police case.”

I found myself intrigued.  “You contacted her regularly before that?”  Naturally, my expression showed none of my interest – or my sympathy for his apparent pain.

Sorrel nodded a bit.  “It was about…four years ago, now, I guess?  She’d come out to consult on that case, I met and we…didn’t really hit it off.  Like I said, I can be rough around the edges and, well, she threw me for a loop at first.  But she had to come by the vet clinic to pick up some police evidence and since I’m more relaxed there, we ended up talking.  When I found out she didn’t have any permanent friends, I sort of volunteered myself as her long-distance friend.  We emailed, texted, and called for over 2 years before she just went silent, then showed up here dying.  That was over half a year ago now, I guess.”

“2 years,” I said softly.  “She must have liked you a lot.”

He seemed surprised at this assessment.  “I mean, I hope so, since she came to see me before she died and we had talked a lot before that.”

I finished pouring the diced food into boiling water and then, since the food had some time to just cook, turned to look at him.  “Claire was…different, when it came to friends.  She could not understand me, but she also accepted me anyway, which I appreciated.  She never treated me differently or became frustrated with me, except for complaining that I wouldn’t scream to let out my own frustrations.”  I was kind of amused at the memory of her trying to convince me, repeatedly, to just scream for once.  “I was often her contact at the agency, partially because I have a nearly photographic memory, so our skills worked well together.  She told me once that she deemed the interactions she had a few times a year while working on cases or contracts like ours sufficient to satisfy her need for actual interpersonal contact.  She was satisfied with brief, shallow interactions.”  I kind of envied her that satisfaction.  I longed for deeper connections, but had never been able to make them, not when people rarely took the time to attempt to understand me.  “So for her to take the time to connect regularly with you, for years, means she must have liked you a great deal.”

He seemed a little staggered by this, but also somewhat happy.  “I’m glad.  I knew I kind of pushed my friendship on her, but I did figure if she really disliked it she’d just block me or something.  But I’m glad she did actually like talking with me, then.”

Since Sorrel seemed to be feeling fairly emotional, I wondered if it was best to redirect the conversation a bit.  “You only saw her in person briefly, on a couple of occasions?  Did you get a chance to experience her full spectrum of appearances?”

He laughed again, this time a real laugh.  “Full spectrum – probably not, but I definitely got some different looks.  Some sort of lolita thing and then a suit that made it impossible to tell if she was male or female.  I didn’t even think she was the same person at first.  She told me she dressed according to her mood.”  A shadow crossed his face.  “When she – when she came here, dying, she was dressed all in neutral colors, nothing interesting, just very bland.  I could tell, just seeing that, how bad she felt.”

“She could pull off any style,” I agreed.  “I don’t think I ever saw her wear the same thing twice, and I worked with her on and off for most of a decade, probably.  But I did not ever see her in anything bland, that is true.”  I glanced down at my own clothes, thoughtful.  “I suppose my wardrobe is probably one she would not have been happy to wear.”

Sorrel hesitated, like he wasn’t sure how to respond to that.  “I mean, um, everyone has their own style and everything.”

I shook my head as I checked the soup.  “It’s not a style choice, exactly.  My job was to be invisible, forgettable.  So normal no one would ever notice or remember me.  My clothing and style choices were based on that goal.”

“But you’re retired now – have you thought about changing your style?  Not that you have to, of course,” he added swiftly, as if worried he would offend me for suggesting it.  “But if it’s not you, you could change it up, some.  Did you have a style or a color or anything you preferred before you started spy work?”

Did I?  I couldn’t really remember anything.  Oh…wait.  Yes, actually, I did.  “I used to like to wear all white,” I flipped off the stove and moved the pot off the heat while I went to get some baby food ready for Claire.  “To some people, it is plain, but I saw white as fresh and clean, with a promise of color if you look closely enough.”

Sorrel looked thoughtful.  “I hadn’t really thought about it that way, but I can see that.”