Phaedra kept the 'halfbreed' joke to herself for now because Peter got more serious as he went.
We're outside of both worlds.
Her eyebrow rose.
Phaedra knew a lot about being an outsider, for the amount she threw the word around to others who weren't gypsies.
Letha.
She'd kept her power to herself. Peter had done this. There was a degree of helplessness when emotion was involved, when the person doing the thinking was an emotional billboard, or set off a flare.
These were fireworks.
Phaedra understood a lot about Peter then. She could see Letha for a moment, and then she had the memory of her legs buckling, of a doctor coming out and saying that Letha was dead. It took her a full few seconds to realize this was because Peter's legs had failed him. It always took a moment, it always felt like the memory was hers.
She didn't apologize or let on anything, but her face was softer, now.
"I didn't have a lot of human years," Phaedra said. "Sometimes I don't remember them very well. Things get hazy." She took the flask and took a long, long drink from it. "I chose the Order, but I didn't choose this. I've met a lot of vampires, upir... whatever... but never another one like me."