Saturday, September 21, 2013

Dead Rite chapter 158.06

“Half fae.” Frederick studied the screen where Boris Karloff reached from his sarcophagus with a bandage-wrapped hand. “Our mother was Queen of the Fae, tempted to the mortal lands by love for our father.” He twisted in his seat. “You don't want to hear all this, do you?”

“Of course.” If he'd still been human Dill would have leaned back against the kitchen table and folded his arms. Now he had no muscles to require such consideration, so he just stood motionless, though he did find he had to adjust the proportion of his legs from time to time as they were inclined to distort under the weight of his torso. “A week ago I didn't believe in the supernatural, not I'm a magical creature myself.”

“Construction, lad. You're a magical construct. Remember that. It's a distinction some parties will take pains to point out.”

“Like who?”

“Whom, you mean.” Frederick raised an eyebrow, or would have done. As a ghost, his face merely elongated. Finer points of facial expression were something he was neglectful of practising. “The Fae, for one. They wouldn't spit on a magical construct if it was stuck in molten lava. Demons, for another. They'll look upon you as a wasted soul. Also vampires, werewolves, mortals, demonkin, ghosts, ghasts spectres and angels.”

“Is there anyone who doesn't despise me?”

“Zombies.” Frederick pressed a finger to his lips. “Mummies. Tortured souls, location-specific ghosts, mortals for hum mobility has been compromised.” He shrugged. “All those will be jealous of your ability to transcend death.”

“And you? You're a ghost.”

“Ah.” Frederick smiled as a young Zita Johann screamed. “A fae ghost.”

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