Vincent had been napping on the couch before I arrived home. I deduced this when he failed to rise from his reclined position as I walked in, and he only opened his eyes halfway to acknowledge me. Of course, Bonnie and Clyde needed sustenance from the pantry, and I talked to Vincent as I rummaged for treats.

"So, what night is the Christmas party?" I asked, making a bold assumption based on the fragment of conversation I overheard earlier.

Vincent chuckled as he sat upright and brushed the wrinkles from his shirt. "Nothing gets by you. It's tomorrow night. Formal dress. Does that interfere with your plans? I can cancel."

"No, don't cancel. I haven't been to a formal Christmas party since I left DC. Should I wear black?"

"You don't have to."

"But you would prefer it, right?" I rounded the corner after indulging the whimsies of the whippets. "Actually, I'm partial to a simple black dress, and I have four to choose from."

"I've seen your black dresses. None of them will pass Beth's scrutiny." Vincent patted the marble coffee table, gesturing for me to sit on it. "Beth Martin doesn't throw shindigs. She throws festivals. This party will last from Friday until Sunday, but we'll only be attending opening night. I've arranged to have eight to twelve dresses brought here this evening by the Valentino's personal stylist. Are you familiar with Todd X?"

"Todd X? As in, the man who makes every New York socialite look like they belong on Broadway? Hell, yes. This is going to be fun."

"Don't get too carried away." Vincent pulled my hand toward him, lifting it to kiss my knuckles. "This could be your coming out party. You'll want to make an impression while keeping it lowkey."

"So basically, you're telling me to behave or it could be a long time before I live it down."

A half-smirk formed on Vincent's lips, making them look completely kissable. "Spoken like a true Manhattanite. How was the photo shoot?"

"Good. They're almost done. Next week could be my last, so the font will be back in place." I looked at him pointedly, knowing he would catch my drift.

"Do you think our window of opportunity will be gone when the font goes back up?" Vincent said.

"Who knows? But, Jonathan said I should talk to your mom about it. He thinks her knowledge of hybrids might help trigger my gifts. My theory is, he just wants to see me throw a fireball."

My levity had little effect on Vincent. He had that thoughtful look, and there was no stopping him once an idea sprouted in his head. "That picture your mother drew..." he said. "Do you have easy access to it?"

"Sure. I'll go get it."

I hurried into the spare room and fetched the drawing from its position on the dresser. The dollar store frame made it look cheap, but I planned to upgrade it as soon as I found the time. When I returned, I handed it over, and Vincent took a moment to study it.

"I wanted to see the signature again," he said. "She wrote it in Latin. Why was she using Latin and not English?"

"I thought all gollums studied Latin."

"We do, but we don't usually write it, not anymore. I'm just curious if she wrote more on the back. May I take it out of the frame?"

"Of course."

I watched intently as Vincent unlatched the cardboard backing and let the paper slowly slip away from the glass. It was like watching someone else unwrap my birthday gift. He set the frame on his lap as he turned over the drawing, and sure enough, an eight word scrawl of Latin had been penned in blue ink.

Voco proferebat flammam. Ego sum unus cum flamma.

"What does it say? I can only make out the words 'one' and 'flame'," I said.

"It says 'I call forth the flame. I am one with the flame.'"

As Vincent translated, I recited the words in my head. They rolled off my tongue in a familiar cadence, and a funny sensation came over me, like I'd spoken the words before. "I feel like I've read that somewhere," I said.

"Maybe off the back of this drawing," Vincent suggested. "Your mother made it for you, and Petula said you cherished it."

"But I was only four when we were separated."

"That's old enough to speak. I wonder if this was your mother's way of reminding you of a mantra she taught you as a child."

"Do you think it's a true mantra?"

Vincent looked at me with a deadpan expression. "Didn't you just say you felt something from the words?"

"It feels familiar, but..."

"It's a mantra," he insisted.

"I wonder what it does?"

"The only way to know is to tune into your body as you recite it. It might help to do it during meditation." He said this as he handed back the drawing. "My mother should be home... if you want to ask her opinion."

~ ~ ~

Wren welcomed me into her apartment with a cheerful smile and a tight hug. After I told her the reason for my visit, she got me comfortable in the living room, excusing herself to put a kettle on for tea. It wasn't difficult to get comfortable in Wren's home. The sandy tone of the walls, plush seating, and dark mahogany furnishings enveloped you like a downy bird's next, and I imagined what it might have been like with three rambunctious boys living there.

After the kettle whistled, Wren sat down with our hot waters and tea bags, and that's when I realized I hadn't been comfortable at all. "So, you're here to talk about that drawing your mother made for you," she said as she glanced at the paper in my hand. "Do you think it has some significance?"

"I think it's a self-portrait. Petula showed me a photograph of my mom. She had white horns just like the ones in this drawing."

Wren sucked in a breath, but I couldn't tell whether her reaction was prompted by my story, the drawing, or if white horns meant something to her. "I remember," she said.

"You remember my mother?"

"No, I never met Gabrielle, but Roberto did. He said she gained her horns shortly after..." Wren paused as she dipped her teabag methodically in and out of her cup, and I was forced to wait for the story I could see forming behind her unfocused eyes. "You haven't heard my side of the story, the one I don't speak of. This might be a good time to mention... Hmm, how shall I put this? There will be times when you and Vincent will share things with each other but not with the entire domus."

What's this? The secret side of Wren? 

"Roberto had a foreboding that the mission to rescue you and your mother would fail," she said as she lifted her gaze to focus on my face. "We didn't voice our fears to anyone else, not wanting to jeopardize the mission further. Of course, neither of us imagined it would result in his death. Marco presented a plan that was riddled with hazards, and his justification had more to do with his gollum prowess than the well-being of you and Gabrielle. This was enough to make Roberto suspicious of Marco's true motives."

Wren hesitated long enough for me to catch on. "Are you saying Marco didn't want the mission to succeed? He wanted us to be caught by the demons so we wouldn't give away his big lie?"

"Yes, but Roberto and I believed there was even more to it than that. We thought he was hoping for something more... permanent."

"Permanent? As in... death?"

"Yes."

Oh, snap.

"But, why would Marco do that to his lover and his child?"

"Please forgive me, Reese. I don't mean to hurt you. I just want you to know what I believe to be true."

"What do you believe is true?"

"Well, Roberto was closer to the situation, so I will tell you what he believed to be true. He believed Marco's affection for your mother began waning the day she grew her horns. When she looked like a gollum, he ignored her hybrid nature, but the moment she took on his enemy's form, he became less tolerant of her."

"But, it's such a small difference. Horns... no horns."

"I agree. The horns were bred out of gollums to distinguish the two, and now it serves as a singular source of prejudice."

"If Marco was prejudiced against hybrids, he never should have had a relationship with my mother." I stared at my cup of tea, which wasn't even tea yet, only hot water turning luke warm. Was this my future? Would Vincent turn on me if I grew horns like my mother? Maybe he didn't think so now, but...

Wren's hand came to rest on my shoulder. "I know what you're thinking, and you can put it out of your head. Vincent loves you beyond all measure, while Marco is narrow-minded and foolhardy. Have you noticed he only bore one child from his union to Manjari? Why do you think that is?"

"Because they don't love each other?"

Wren offered a shrug as she pulled the teabag out of her cup and set it on the saucer. "They may love each other, but they do not respect each other. Manjari has keen senses, like most gollums brought up by traditional parents. I don't doubt her suspicions of his infidelity have sabotaged their relationship. Maybe, if he had come out with it in the beginning, she would have forgiven him for the sake of their young family, but not after all this time."

She put her cup to her lips, blowing steam across the rim, while I continued to ignore my water. I  picked up the drawing and turned it over to show her the words written there.

"Vincent and I discovered this mantra on the back of my mom's drawing. At least, he thinks it's a mantra because I got déja vu when I read it."

Wren leaned over to take a look, lifting her brows as she stared at the script. "This is very telling. It mentions flames, which means the mantra likely serves someone with demon blood. I found another mantra like it during my hybrid research. Let me fetch it and we'll compare them."

Wren abandoned her seat and disappeared down the hallway, giving me a moment to myself. In an effort not to collapse into a puddle of goo, I attempted to make my water taste more like tea, plopping the teabag in and prodding it with my finger. Tea was not my thing, but I wasn't opposed to it when manners were at play. By the time my water reached a decent shade of umber, Wren returned with a folder filled with loose papers, many of them yellowed from age.

She laid it on the coffee table and rummaged a few seconds before pulling out a wafer-thin sheet. The right-hand corners had been tipped in gold ink, making it look official, while the opposite edge had clearly been ripped from the binding of a book.

"I found this document during a visit to Verona," she explained. "There is an extensive library in the high magister's home, and I have helped myself to information there on more than one occasion." She smiled without shame as she held the paper up to the light. "The mantra written in this text is believed to have been used by demons centuries ago. It translates to: 'I am the flame. I wield the power of the flame'. While the words your mother wrote translates to: 'I call forth the flame. I am one with the flame.'"

"It sounds like they both mean the same thing," I said.

"Yes, but each word carries power when written in a certain way. Why don't you try both and see what you think."

I read the Latin script on the aging piece of paper in Wren's hand, waiting for the familiarity to hit, like my mother's inscription had. But the words didn't stir me. Not even a little bit.

"These words do nothing for me, but I reacted to the mantra my mother wrote, like I had recited it before."

"Then we need to see where it takes you." Wren placed her stolen document back in the folder and turned toward me, assuming a cross-legged position on the couch. The meditation pose.

"Right now?" I asked stupidly.

"Yes, right now. Do you have somewhere to be in the next twenty minutes?"

Without waiting for my reply, Wren gestured for me to follow her lead, and she watched as I arranged myself on the couch across from her. As soon as I settled in, she handed my mother's drawing to me.

"Recite the mantra three times, then close your eyes and continue to recite it until you get a feeling, any feeling at all, then commit it to memory. If at any time you feel unstable or nauseated, empty your mind and open your eyes. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

I agreed only because I understood her instructions, not that I was ready to try out an unknown mantra that could spark any number of potential side effects, like sprouting appendages in unsightly places or bursting into flames. Still, I trusted Wren to help me through whatever fallout came from this, and I recited the mantra out loud.

It didn't take long before tingling appeared in my hands, the tingling you get when you've slept in the backseat of a car and need to hurry home before your parents find out where you've been. The feeling came on like gangbusters, making me tremble a little, and after the fifth recitation, the heartburn appeared. It started out small but progressed to a jalapeno-sized burn, the kind that induced guilt after eating an entire plate of nachos.

At this point, I decided I had enough of the funky special effects and stopped reciting. No sense pushing my luck and igniting the couch. When I lifted my eyelids, Wren was observing me curiously.

"Well, how did that go?" she asked.

"It's definitely a mantra. I felt pins and needles in my hands. Then I got a sudden case of heartburn."

"Rate your pain."

"Not too bad, maybe a five, but I stopped before I let it get worse. Do you think it will increase the longer I recite the mantra?"

"Not necessarily, and not all mantras are painful," Wren offered kindly. "The transformation mantras are solely unique because they require the reformation of physical matter. Don't be afraid to recite this mantra during meditation, and keep record of your experiences with it. I am very interested to see where it takes you."

She picked up her cup of tea and reclined, looking thoughtful. I did the same with my cup, waiting. "The eternal flame was said to be a supernatural byproduct of the first known hybrid," she said. "This is based on genetics, but also a good amount of legend. Seeing the benefits of an eternal flame, demons escaped persecution by going underground. They built warrens and labyrinths, nurtured by a flame that never died. Later, these colonies earned the label of hives, and it was only due to necessity that the demons eventually began keeping bees."

"Oh. I wondered that."

"Bees perpetuate nature. Without them we would all die. It seems fitting the demons would choose that path. Species survive through intelligence, and intelligent species deserve to survive. That was something Roberto used to preach to the magisters when they were being particularly bigoted."

"Humans are supposed to be the most intelligent species on the planet, but intelligence also breeds arrogance, and we have a plethora of both going on," I added.

Wren smiled over her cup, offering a sympathetic nod. "Gollums are the legacy of a demon and human pairing. Therefore, all gollums are hybrids, but no one wishes to admit it. I'm telling you this because I want you to know about your lineage, in case the subject comes up the next time you visit Verona. You are a hybrid among hybrids, although I don't suggest you make this your platform. The magisters will take every word you speak and throw it back at you. A gentle reminder is all you need with them. Has Vincent submitted his request to mate with you?"

"I honestly don't know. If he has, he's not keeping me in the loop like he requires me to do all the time."

Wren chuckled. "Even as a child, Vincent liked to kept tabs on everyone. If you were going out, he needed to know all the whys and the wheres. I hope he hasn't been terribly possessive, Reese. I see it in his eyes when he's with you. He is afraid of losing you."

"I understand how he feels. I have the same fears about him."

"Well, whatever you're doing. Keep it up. Despite those fears, I have never seen him so happy."

An image of the hook and pulley system popped into my head, and I nearly blushed when I thought of the ways I could bring Vincent happiness.