Free Ascendant by Diana Peterfreund Page A

She’d found my father once, though she’d told me he knew nothing of our lineage. And yet, the only thing she’d kept from their tryst (aside from me) was a single golden, blown-glass vial of the Remedy—the only one in existence. A vial she’d kept my whole life, until the day my boyfriend Brandt got gored by a unicorn in the woods and she’d cured him with it.
    Naturally, my father, whoever he was, would have no knowledge of its value. To him, it may have been nothing more than a family antique. Maybe he didn’t even know my mother had it.
    I wondered where my father was. I wondered if he had a family—daughters who may not know what kind of danger they were in. Untrained hunters were in the same position as Cory—unable to help themselves or their loved ones when the unicorns would inevitably be drawn to them.
    I left the bathroom, got dressed, and tied my hair into a damp braid whose hard elastic end slapped against the alicorn scars on my back as I took the stairs to the don’s office.
    The desk was covered with the usual piles of paperwork: reports of unicorn attacks, family trees and other genealogical records to trace the location of possible unicorn hunters, and the newest, disturbing addition—letters from people across the globe begging for help from the Cloisters.
Please, come get the unicorn in our town. These monsters have already killed three people. We can’t figure out how to stop it. They’ve had to close the park/the school/the logging operation …
    Well, maybe I didn’t so much mind that last one.
    The letters came from all over the world, especially remote locations that would be nearly impossible (and cost-prohibitive) for us to visit. Tiny villages in the Canadian tundra, mountaintop monasteries in Tibet, cattle ranches in South America. There weren’t many, but it was clear that as people began to learn who we were, the requests would increase. We needed more resources, even than the Church could provide. And we needed more hunters.
    My mother answered the phone on the second ring.
    “Astrid?”
    “Hi, Mom.” Probably best not to lead with a request. Our relationship had been strained enough since Phil and I had kicked her out of the Cloisters. “How are things?”
    “Great,” she said. “My agent is in talks with the networks for a major exposé.”
    Not that she appeared to have suffered too greatly.
    “We might come back to Rome and tour the Cloisters if this goes through.”
    “Have you spoken to Phil and Neil about it? “ Not to mention Father Guillermo.
    Lilith was quiet for a moment. “Well, Sweetie, there’s quite a bit of money involved. Given how tight things have been around there recently, I figured they’d welcome an influx of cash.”
    Translation: she hadn’t planned on asking for permission.
    “Actually,” I said, “we’ve been getting some support from the Vatican.”
    Lilith snorted. “Right. The habits. Well, they’ll look better on TV, at any rate. Do they hinder your hunting at all?”
    Typical. First my mother worries about the aesthetics and only then concerns herself with little practicalities like whether or not her daughter’s life is in danger. “They were designed as hunting costumes.”
    “Really?” I picture Lilith, her eyes glowing with interest. “Now that’s an angle.”
    “Mom, would you like me to actually
take
some religious vows? You know, to help with the ratings?”
    “Ooh, would you? We’d make prime time!”
    I almost swallowed the receiver.
    “That was a joke, Astrid.” Lilith clucked her tongue at me.
    Funny how lightly she could take this all now. She’d barged into the Cloisters, determined to whip us into shape, judgmental and dismissive of the Bartolis’ policies and their more inclusive, democratic attitudes. She’d run the place like a boot camp reminiscent of the ancient Order, and dreamed of hunters victorious in every battle.
    The truth, unfortunately, was not quite as glamorous, and when I’d been