"No, you're not, although some would say you're close enough to count as human." Caspar smiled again and gestured toward a chair. "May I?"

"Certainly. Er… I don't often have denizens of Abaddon visiting. What is the proper protocol? Should I offer you a whisky, blood of a virgin… or would you prefer a small rodent?"

"Whisky will do just fine," Caspar answered, seating himself in the chair opposite Paen's desk. "Although the blood of a virgin… ?"

Paen poured some whisky into a small lead-crystal glass and gave it to the man. "I'm afraid we're fresh out."

"Ah. As I feared. The market price on virgin's blood has been outrageous of late. Ever since the virgins formed a union, they have been unreasonable in their demands. Slainte." Caspar sipped at his whisky. "Excellent. How old is it?"

"My father set it down the year I was born," Paen answered, leaning a hip against his desk, his arms crossed over his chest. "What exactly is it you want?"

Caspar took another sip. "Extremely smooth for a whisky that's… hmm. I judge it to be approximately three hundred years old?"

"Two hundred and forty-six."

"Ah. Delightful, nonetheless."

Paen frowned. His curiosity was roused by the being who sat before him, drinking his father's whisky, but not so much that he was willing to spend all afternoon in polite chitchat with him.

"The reason I am here involves your father, actually. You have no doubt heard how he met your mother?"

"Yes," Paen said, growing uneasy. Caspar Green might not be a demon, but nothing good could come of someone from the Otherworld being concerned with his father. "They met at the conclusion of what is now referred to as the French and Indian War. My mother was French. My father fought on the side of the English. His head was almost completely severed during one battle, and she found him and tended to him despite her family's objections. They fell in love. What do my parents have to do with you?"