Page 40 of The Fae’s Treasure

“And this isn’t over just because it’s my day to drive the carpool to the county office for the caucus.”

“No, Mom.”

“Good. Send pictures. Rory Robert. Does he have your hair?”

“And his father’s. A beautiful red.”

“Oooh! Oh, my goodness. I never thought I’d be a grandmother. Aaron looked like the kind of man to have high estrogen and a low sperm count.”

“Mother!” I have to sit down for that one.

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything, dear. He was a nice boy, if a little chubby.”

“I have to go, Mom. Your grandson needs feeding.”

“I hope you’re nursing.”

“I... I am doing my best, Mom! Gotta run!”

I hang up and slump back.

“Good Lord,” Bonwit says sympathetically, and puts a plate of biscuits in front of me. “I don’t know which woman to be more afraid of, you or your mother.”

“She’s very fierce. Like you,” Dairmuid says loyally.

“Thank you, I think. Look, there are a lot of things we need to do. I have to get Rory to a pediatrician, and Sophie, the vampire lady with the little girl? She said there is a supernatural-friendly practitioner at the Kids’ Wellness that’s attached to the hospital annex. We need to call and make an appointment. I have to get a dress, find invitations, talk to the coven people about what all of this means with us... With what happened last night.” I blush.

Bonwit clears his throat. “Sprite! Want to go for a walk? Yes, you do!” He escapes out of the kitchen and into the yard.

“I’ll handle all of the dangerous things, love. You handle the baby and the wedding.”

“I want your help.”

“I want to help.” Dairmuid rises and puts the baby in my arms. “But this is supposed to be a very peaceful, wonderful time for you, a time when you can bond with your son. It’s been stolen from you. Even the joy of carrying him, birthing him, and nursing him,” he says in a mournful voice.

“The birthing part I’m okay with,” I admit with a little wince.

“But truly all of this was fated, my Deanna. Did you know that? For Rory led me to you.”

I enjoy the kiss Dairmuid gives me, one of beautiful, blissful reassurance—but part of me is still worried. Saz is still out there, and we know what has to happen. The specifics are being worked out, and part of me believes that everything will be fine. Eventually.

Someday down the road, though, when we tell our children about how we met, or Rory adds up a few things, I just wonder... “Will you ever tell him about his mother?”

“That’s you, now. Look, Deanna. Didn’t you see it?”

Whatever it is, no, I didn’t. Dairmuid tilts my chin down, and Rory stirs, eyes squinched shut one moment, and open the next.

His eyes are no longer red, not even a hint. They’re green and brown, a hazel wood in two tiny, bright spheres. “My baby,” I whisper. “He’s mine. He’s really mine.” I whisper, holding him closer, kissing his tiny forehead.

“By all that is good, he is.”

If this were a movie—something bad would happen. Right then. Right now.

But nothing does.

“Come on. You and Mr. Minegold chat about things. I’ll call the pediatrician. I need to practice for Sunday this afternoon.”

“In the church?”