1.
The mother-to-be of my child-to-be sweated and snarled and swore, and there was nothing I could do about it.
I don't smoke, I don't pray, and there weren't any other nervous dads around to commiserate with. That pretty much eliminated all the traditional activities of fathers banned from the delivery room.
Being able to hear what was going on, even through the neatly caulked windows and solid walls (and extremely impressive threshold) of Michael Carpenter's house, didn't really help much. Neither did knowing that Molly was healthy, vigorous, and immortal. And that Charity, speaking low, intent words of direction and encouragement, was pretty much an expert in the process.
I lurked around the outside of the house like the bad fairy at the christening. Speaking of which, the priest, Forthill, was there, which I suspected meant immediate baptism for my offspring. It made me twitchy, despite the fact that I myself had been splashed with holy water not a few times, when fighting alongside Harry.
The door opened and my niece came out. She had one hand resting on the back of her enormous canine bodyguard, and in the other hand she had a brown paper bag.
"Hey," she said, plopping down on the stairs beside me.
"Hey yourself," I said. "Are those chocolate chip cookies I smell?"
"Mhm," she said, and passed me the bag. I offered her one before taking my own (we'd been working on etiquette) and she thanked me gravely. I tried one myself. They were warm and perfect.
"Did you make them?" I asked, and she nodded. "Good work."
"Mouse can't have chocolate," she said as soon as her mouth was no longer full, "but I gave him a piece of jerky before we came out, so don't worry about his 'woe is me' act."
"Noted," I said. "How's it going in there?"
"Noisy," said Maggie. "Are you coming in?"
"Probably not," I said.
"I can invite you," she said.
"No. Don't," I said. "That should be up to Michael and Charity. And Molly, this time. Especially Molly."
"It's my house too," she said.
"Remember what I told you about that?"
She scrunched up her face in a disgusted scowl that looked so like Harry's I nearly burst out laughing. "It's complicated," she said. "Everything is complicated."
"Not everything," I said. "The cookies were a good move. Thank you."
She turned and glanced over her shoulder at the house. She got very, very still. Mouse did the same.
"What?" I asked.
"Something weird just happened," Maggie said. "Like something went click. But without an actual click."
There was a thin indignant wail from within the house, then a long pause, then another wail. I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding.
"Is he here?" asked Maggie, whose hearing was only mortal.
"Yeah," I said.
Mouse settled back down. Maggie and I each had another cookie, ignoring the dog's long-suffering 'don't mind me' expression.
After a few minutes, Mouse sat up attentively, nose and ears pointed at the door. It opened. Charity stood there, looking a bit disheveled but triumphant.
"Would you like to meet your son?" she asked.
Maggie shot to her feet. "Please can I ask him in?" she asked. Charity nodded. Maggie turned to me.
"Come inside, Thomas," she said, and tugged me by the hand until I did.
Thomas Michael Alexander Carpenter was red of face, sparse of hair, and judging by his expression, profoundly suspicious of the world in general. His mother was flushed, sweaty and smug. "Look what we did," she said, hovering possessively over the tightly swaddled bundle in the crook of her arm.
"You did all the heavy lifting," I said. I caught his warm, new scent, and abruptly my Hunger shoved me aside and looked through my eyes at our son. It made no move to touch him, but nonetheless a bond slammed into place that brought me to my knees at Molly's bedside. I thought I'd understood my brother before, but now—if Nicodemus Archleone and all the hosts of Hell had stood between me and this child, I would have hurled myself and every ally, thrall and innocent bystander I could find at them without a single thought.
My Hunger retreated, satisfied. There were tears in my eyes.
"Thomas?" Molly said dubiously, eyebrow arched.
"She left me," I whispered. "How could she leave me?"
Molly looked back at me, and her eyes were haunted. "I don't know."
2.
"Lord Raith," said Lacuna, inclining her head solemnly. "How may I serve you?"
"I would have speech with your Lady," I said. "Is she at leisure?"
"May I convey to her the subject of your request?"
"Tell her it involves our son," I said. The little Fae bowed and vanished.
I counted to three before Molly appeared in the middle of the room. A chill breeze and a certain sense of foreboding came with her.
"Thomas," she said neutrally.
I bowed. "Lady."
"What has he done this time?"
I smiled, and tried not to let it look too pained. "Well. Guess who found his Hunger and his wizardry all in the same night?"
"Jesus," she said, eyes wide. "Is he—is everything all right? Any deaths?"
"Just the one," I said, and held up a hand to forestall the explosion. "He volunteered. Paranetter with terminal cancer. It…" I shifted a little, uncomfortable. "He was… a good man. More than worthy. And he went… gently."
The thrumming tension in the room eased slightly. "And the wizardry?"
I winced. "Sasha got a little… giddy. I stopped him from going on a general spree. And he hit me in the chest with a lightning bolt."
"Thomas!"
"Just a little one!" I backed up a step but she had me by both hands before I could stop her. She flinched.
"God, you—" she released my hands and pulled my shirt open, not bothering with the buttons. The intricate red burns were rather impressive, branching and feathering over my body like frost on a window. Molly unceremoniously grabbed me by the back of the head and kissed me.
Sweet, numbing cold flowed through me, and I may have made an undignified whimpering noise. I didn't even try to pull away. I hadn't actually realized how badly it hurt until it stopped. I swayed slightly on my feet, then caught myself. She broke the kiss, guided me to a couch, sat down with me and kissed me again, and again. Mouth, eyes, forehead, throat, heart, wherever her lips touched, the cool balm spread and strength flowed into me. My Hunger, which had been holding me together by its metaphorical claw-tips, relaxed and gave itself over to feeding on the Winter Lady's inexhaustible might.
A little while later, when I could pay attention to my surroundings again, I found myself sprawled on my back, with my head in her lap, her cool hands tracing the last vanishing threads of burn on one shoulder. My shirt had apparently vanished into the aether. I tilted my head back and grinned up at her.
"Thought you had a no-canoodling-with-the-help policy," I chided.
She traced a line from the back of my neck, down and around my right arm to the back of my hand. Beneath my skin, I felt a subtle flicker. Her mark was still on me, hidden though it was from most eyes. To my House, and to the rest of the parties in the Accords, I was an ally of Winter, not a vassal. Molly had been generous in allowing the deception.
"I make an exception for first aid. For services rendered," she said.
"He is beautiful," I said. "And terrifying. He has your temper."
"God grant he has your patience, then," she said.
"As soon as he got hold of himself, he… " I had to swallow the knot in my throat. "He wept for Cory. He wanted to know if somehow he could have fed on just the cancer, killed it instead of him."
"Is that possible?"
"Not as far as I know. But for him, someday? Who knows?"
"Where is he now?"
"Sleeping it off at the Chateau. He's probably out for the rest of the day. Come to dinner. Eight o'clock. He should be up by then, and he'll want to see you."
"I will. Are you asking Harry?"
"What do you think? Too much, too soon?"
"I think Sasha needs a mentor. Immediately. Harry probably won't take him on himself, but he'll know who we should ask."
"Ramirez, maybe?"
She grinned. "Oh, that I'd like to see. Sasha would wipe that cocky grin right off his face in no time."
I took her hand, kissed it, and sat up. "Dinner, then. Alas, duty calls, and me without my shirt. You're going to ruin my reputation."
"Your reputation was in artful tatters before I was born, you poser," she said. "Serve you right if I let you walk out of here like that. Here, let me add a few hickeys."
"Go ahead," I said. "It will inspire Justine."
"Now you're just being nasty," she said. She flicked her fingers and a shirt appeared in her hand. She slid it onto me and began doing up the buttons. It was white silk, significantly nicer than the one I'd been wearing, and it fit perfectly. I shivered a little at the pleasant coolness on my skin as I fastened the cufflinks (silver and opal).
"Thank you for taking care of him," she said.
I bowed, vassal to liege lady. "Thank you for bringing him into the world," I said. "The world is better for it."