Hunter was right, as usual. When his own father was a child, Child Protective Services were suspicious of his parents, certain a child couldn't injure themselves that severely, that often, by accident. They could never prove anything, but they did keep records. Long, detailed records. One of the ladies in Angela Barclay's office had worked there enough years to remember the Savoy family, and had filled her in on all of it.

Andy Bellefleur and Sergeant Fortier, the two police officers who came with Angela to retrieve Hunter, were both more relaxed now. They had each finally taken a seat in my living room and accepted my offer of sweet tea, as we all waited for her to finish her phone call and come back inside.

"I'm sorry, Marc," she told the sergeant as she came back in and took a seat, "but I think the Savoys have wasted your time."

"Looks like," he agreed. "The paperwork's all in order. They've got discharge papers from the hospital, and a marriage certificate that says her first cousin was their son's wife when the kid was born. What did you find out on the phone?"

"Hunter told me his grandfather has the same problems his father does and I wondered if anyone in my office might remember them... turns out, they do. After hearing everything I just did from one of my colleagues, there's no way I'll put any child in the Savoys' care if I can help it." She looked grimly determined.

The Sergeant just nodded. "The kid does seem happy here," he conceded. "A lot happier than he was last night with his father."

"I can stay with Aunt Sookie?" Hunter asked hopefully, nestled between Quinn and I on the couch.

"Well, I need to talk to y'all some more first," she told him, "but I won't send you to stay with your grandparents."

Hunter grinned and hugged me tightly, pleased that he wasn't being taken away. I 'heard' that he was pleased with himself about that; it wasn't luck that the only part-fae social worker in the state was sent to check on him. Hunter had chosen last night to shift for the first time knowing which social worker would be sent to see him today, after his grandparents accused us of kidnapping him. It made my head spin, that he had seen all this days ago and timed his actions so carefully to get the outcome he needed.

It's not hard, he reassured me, eavesdropping on my thoughts once more. There aren't many futures that could happen.

"Then there's only the matter of the trust fund," Angela prompted, wanting to clear up the last of the allegations against us.

"Is that what this is about?" Quinn asked. "They want Hunter's money?"

She gave a tiny nod to tell us she thought that was the real reason for all the fuss.

"They can have it," I shrugged. "I've got enough to take care of him without it."

"It's two thousand dollars a month," Sergeant Fortier interjected. "Twenty-four thousand a year. That's a lotta money to just give away."

We all knew it was more than a lot of people earned working full-time, out here in rural Louisiana. Some worked two jobs to make that much.

"Sookie's share of the trust fund a lot bigger than Hunter's," Quinn told him, "because she's got this place to care for. Plus the work she does now pays pretty well, and I promised I'd help her care for Hunter, so if they're ever short of money..." he stopped then, knowing how offended I got when anyone suggested I needed help. "I doubt it'll come to that, though. Sookie's real resourceful," he back-tracked quickly.

"If that's what it takes for them to let him stay here," I decided, "you can tell them I'll sign the money over. Until Hunter's old enough to collect it himself, anyway."

"It's noble of you to offer, but I think that'll be up to the trustees," Angela informed us.

"She is the trustee," Quinn smiled, "she and her lawyer."

The implication was clear to everyone there: if I wanted Hunter's money, there were easier ways I could take it. I didn't have to have him here to get my hands on it, and I certainly didn't have to make him pancakes and orange juice, or find him toys to play with, or drive to Red Ditch to get him clean clothes, or change the furnishings in his room to make him feel more at home. Seeing our willingness to give up the money convinced our visitors that Quinn and I were genuine, that we were both motivated by care and concern for Hunter, not greed.

None of them would say the same of Hunter's grandparent's, now.

"Look, I really don't want to waste any more of your time," Angela told the two police officers. "If they have papers that show the doctor sent Hunter home with them last night, this clearly isn't a kidnapping. Hunter doesn't exactly seem scared of his Aunt or her boyfriend, and I don't see any signs that he's been harmed while he's here, so I don't believe he's in danger. This -"

"They said WE were hurting him?" Quinn snorted. "Gee, projecting much?"

She actually smiled at that. "Yes, I was wondering the same thing," she admitted, then continued her previous thought. "This really seems to be a family argument over money, not a criminal matter." It wasn't the first time a family had dragged the police and Child Protective Services into things like this.

"So you don't need us here," Sergeant Fortier interrupted, glad to be able to leave soon.

"No, I really don't think I'm in any danger," she confirmed.

"You're not," Quinn assured her. "I don't know what the Savoys said about us, but I'm sure y'all checked us out before you came here, so you know neither of us have a criminal record. And you have my word that you won't come to any harm here, no matter what you decide."

The two officers were satisfied with that, so they said their goodbyes and left.

"I'm glad they're gone," Hunter grumbled, as soon as both police cars had pulled out of my drive. "I'm sick of acting normal."

Angela's eyes snapped to my nephew, who was still sitting between Quinn and I on the couch.

"Hunter!" I exclaimed, wondering what he was up to.

She was about to ask him what he meant by that, but he spoke first.

"He is," my nephew told her cryptically. "Just not with Liz. With her sister, Sue. Check his text messages tomorrow morning. Before he wakes up."

A tangle of thoughts swirled around her head. Of course. How similar the two looked. That's who I saw. That she should've guessed. Then she burst into tears.

"How did you know?" she cried, staring at him. "Marc couldn't find any proof... they all think I'm crazy."

I figured that if Hunter had decided he could trust her with his secret, then maybe I should too. He had managed to seem normal while the police officers were here, and clearly hadn't done anything to arouse their suspicions the night before, either. He was developing a sense of who should know about his gifts and who shouldn't, and in a situation like this where I was completely out of my depth, I decided to trust him. He 'heard' all of that and was pleased; he considered it his job to be our guide, whenever there was trouble.

"Hunter's special," I said simply. "Just like everyone else here. And Marc doesn't think you're crazy. He's concerned about you, is all. Well, and he has quite a crush on you, but you didn't hear that from me."

Angela stared at me in shock.

"You're like us, aren't you?" I prompted. "You feel it that you're among your own kind? You and Hunter and I all have a fairy ancestor... we're all part fae. That's what that buzzing in the back of your mind is. I get it around my cousins, too."

"My grandma," she gasped, stunned. "We always thought she was crazy, saying she's a fairy... she's not, is she?"

I shook my head.

"That's why trees talk to me?"

I nodded. I 'heard' that she didn't usually admit that; she was terrified that if anyone found out, she'd be carted away to the nearest psychiatric hospital. But she was also relieved to be around someone who understood her gifts - a sentiment I well understood.

"She's part dryad?" Quinn asked, sniffing the air. "That's why she smells like a mulberry tree."

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "My Gran lives in a grove of them... she won't leave, insists it'll kill her if we move her."

"It will," Hunter confirmed. "After a while. Specially when someone chops the trees down... She'll look old and then she'll die."

"Oh," Angela said. "Oh... my Mom's so sure she's doing the right thing, getting Gran into a home... thank you, I'll stop them moving her. And thank you for telling me about Steve. I didn't want it to be true, but it's good that I know." She was dabbing her eyes now, determined not to cry any more over her, quote, lying, cheating scum bag bastard of a husband.

It was odd; Quinn and I had both assumed she was single, and I suddenly wondered why we had. She wore both an engagement and wedding ring on her left hand, and she looked roughly my age, so she was certainly old enough to be married... but somehow, she gave off a 'single' vibe, despite the rings that said otherwise.

"I'm sorry, there's a lot of questions we need to get through," she apologized, pulling a clipboard from her bag.

"It's OK," I smiled.

I could 'hear' that she thought we were probably the only ones qualified to raise Hunter, since there weren't any fae foster parents she knew of - but she wouldn't be doing her job unless she asked all the usual questions. She had to be absolutely sure we'd make good foster parents, no matter how much she personally liked us.

"It's all boring now," Hunter complained. "I want my blocks."

"I'll go get them," Quinn offered, not bothering to move at human pace as he left the room.

"Darn, he's quick," Angela marveled. "He's part-fairy too?"

"No," I replied, not sure how much to reveal.

"I'm just a regular ol' weretiger," he filled in, returning with the bag of blocks for Hunter. "Nothing as rare as you-all are."

Right, I thought to myself, being the only adult male weretiger in America doesn't make you rare at all.

My nephew slid off the couch, emptying his blocks all over the floor. His mind was full of cartoon castles he planned to construct with them.

"So, how long have y'all lived here?" Angela began the background questions she asked every family.

I 'heard' from Quinn that we should answer every question she asked, and give her plenty of information each time, so we would seem like we had nothing to hide. I wondered how he knew that for a split-second, but then realized: his sister. I decided to go with what he thought would work, since I sure didn't know.

"My family's lived here a hundred seventy years," I told her, "on the other side of the property to begin with, but right in this spot for the last hundred-sixty. Although the house is only a hundred fifty years old. There was a hut, before that. I've only lived here since I was seven, but I've been in Bon Temps all my life."

"Detective Bellefleur said you've got a lot of land here?"

"Well, it only extends up to the road, that-a way," I gestured to the front of the house, "and to the cemetery that side," I gestured again, "but it extends a few miles, the other two sides. Although it's not really a rectangle... it's kind of seven-sided and wonky."

"And you own it now?"

"Yes," I confirmed. "My brother got my Mom and Dad's house in town, and I have the place here."

She was pleased to hear all that: she was 98% sure I wouldn't move around all the time, which earned us one point in the 'stable home' score.

"And are you local?" she asked Quinn, assuming he lived here with me.

"No, I'm from all over," he told her. "I have a house in Memphis, but my work takes me all around the South, and sometimes other places too. We met in Shreveport, at an event I ran there. I'm cutting down on my travel now, so I can spend more time here with Sookie."

"What line of work are you in?"

"Event management. I'm with Extreme(ly Elegant) Events."

"Oh." She was impressed; she'd actually heard of the company, and she knew they were huge. "What do you do there?"

"I'm a partner in the Special Events division."

"Oh," she repeated. She was doubly impressed, knowing that meant he was a part-owner of the firm. "Have you had the job long?"

"I made partner ten years ago, about a year after I joined the company."

"That's very impressive," she told him. "You must be really good at what you do."

He just shrugged. "I've worked hard and had a few lucky breaks."

"And you, Sookie? What sort of work do you do?"

"I'm just changing jobs at the moment," I admitted, not sure how to explain. "I worked up the road at Merlotte's for years. I don't do anything important like his job, I just wait tables."

Quinn snorted. "She's been assistant manager there for years. Her boss was too cheap to give her a promotion, but any time he was away, she was in charge."

"Uh-huh." She scribbled for a few seconds on her clipboard. "Do you know what you'll be doing next?"

"In your report, you can say she's a consultant, helping bar and nightclub owners sort out staffing issues," he told her. "If anyone bothers to follow up, that'll check out."

I'll get your cover story organized as soon as she's gone, he added. Sorry, I didn't know you'd need one so soon.

I just stared at him, not sure how to respond to that. Did I even need a cover story? I quickly realized that I did; I couldn't tell humans I was a telepath-for-hire, and I'd have to have some explanation for how I earned money...

"What do you really do?" she asked curiously, interrupting my thoughts.

"This is off-the-record, OK?" I checked. "Like trees talking to you..."

She nodded immediately.

"I'm a telepath. I've been doing readings for people for years, usually for free before, but I've just started offering my services at events and stuff."

"You can read my thoughts?" she asked, not entirely sure she believed me.

"We both can." I ruffled Hunter's hair as he built a tower of blocks around my feet.

Her eyes widened for a moment, but then she just nodded and moved onto the next question. She'd seen that Hunter knew way more about her than he should, and figured if he was telepathic, it wasn't so far fetched that I was, too.

"I won't be out at work every day," I assured her, catching in Quinn's thoughts that I should say something like that. "I'll be here to look after Hunter most days."

We'd just earned one more point on the 'are they fit foster parents?' scale, because between my trust fund and Quinn's high-paying job, she knew I didn't have to work any more than I wanted. The Department still really liked stay-at-home Moms as foster parents, though working a little was seen as a plus too, these days: setting a good example by having a job, was how they saw it.

It was going well so far, but we still had about a hundred questions to answer - and the wrong answer to any one of them could get Hunter taken away from us.