Thank you all for your continued support of this fic. Even if you're just reading and enjoying it without leaving reviews/comments, I truly appreciate everyone who takes the time to read this fic. I promise you will find out what happens with Thomas and Lara in the next chapter, but for now, I hope you enjoy one more glimpse into the past.

"You may now speak."

Margaret stared at Malcolm as his face flickered through a dozen emotions. She kept her hands folded on her lap, pressing down the nerves that sent shocks throughout her spine. Her enchantment still hummed around them, and it made the air around her feel heavy as if the world around her also knew that Malcolm's life hinged on the words he was about to say.

"They're coming after a boy," Malcolm whispered dazedly, putting his head in his hands. "They want to take a boy away from his mother and turn him into a monster."

"Yes." She kept her tone clipped and hard. "They do."

"Is there anything I can do?" Malcolm asked, lifting this face away from his hands. "To help you or Thomas?"

Maggie leaned forwards towards him. "You can never speak of this to anyone. Not even Thomas. He isn't ready for this."

Malcolm nodded fervently. "Of course. I won't tell a soul."

"This isn't some random promise you can throw out," Margaret hissed. "This is about my son's safety. They don't just want to turn him into a monster. Raith's sons always die once they reach adulthood, and if Thomas is captured by them, his fate will be no different."

"I hear you," Malcolm said firmly. "I understand. Maggie, you say you know me. You say I'm an open book. Right now we are talking about the well-being of a child. Your child. There is no reason for me to lie."

"You'll help me protect him?" Maggie's voice felt dry.

"With my life," he replied firmly.

Margaret felt half a weight lift off of her shoulders, but she couldn't breathe easy just yet. There was something more. Something that would affect Malcolm even more, even if he did not know it quite yet.

"That's not all I have to tell you."

Malcolm's jaw hardened, but he straightened his back and looked at Margaret dead in the eye. He has seen my soul, she thought. And he has not run away. Good. He will need that bravery.

"You've told me you want children," Margaret said. "If we have a child together, they will likely inherit my magic. The child will likely possess incredible power; power that will make others envious. Or greedy."

"Power like yours?"

"Much more." A sudden fire began to burn in Margaret's chest. "They will likely be in no danger until their magic manifests, but when it does, someone or something will come for them. And if Thomas Turns, there's a fair chance that the people sent to retrieve him would also try to kill his sibling. This child will be in constant danger, likely from the very moment they're born."

Margaret felt the corner of her mouth curl into a smirk. "But one day, the child will no longer be in danger. They won't be, because they will have magic so powerful that no one can stand in their way. It will be nothing the world has ever seen. Their name will echo through the magical world, within the world of the Sidhe, and possibly even to worlds beyond our understanding. They will be brilliant."

Malcolm's mouth hung open, slack. The weight of it all was seeping into him. His shoulders hunched over, his breathing grew harder, but not once did he look away from Margaret. His eyes were wide and alert, and she knew that he was taking in every word, even if he didn't fully understand them.

"Are you prepared for that, Malcolm Dresden? Are you prepared to raise a child who has the potential to be one of the most dangerous wizards the world has ever known?"

He was silent for a minute. Margaret's heart pounded in her chest, her fingers twitched on her lap. She had the spell ready to leave her lips, just in case, but she hoped, she hoped—

"Do you want another child?" Malcolm asked.

"Yes," she answered immediately. "I do."

Then Malcolm did the most unexpected thing. He smiled, wide and kind. "If it's with you, Maggie, I'm prepared for anything."

All the air left Margaret's lungs. She didn't cry, didn't gasp, but she felt how her entire body sagged forward. As every nerve left her bones, relief came crashing into her system. She brought her hands to her face and briefly collected herself. No, this couldn't be possible. It had to be a trick.

"How?" Margaret croaked, lowering her hands. "I told you all of that, and you're willing to put your life on the line for my son. You know that this is so different from the world you know, but you've accepted all of it. You know the perils of having a child with me, and yet, you want one."

"You had to tell me. And it's not just that I want a child, Maggie." He reached out and took Margaret's hands in his. "I want our child. And if they're anything like you, I'm gonna be a lucky man."

"I won't be able to tell you everything," she said. "There are some things I have to do in secret that even you can never know about. Can you live with that?"

"Is it to protect you and Thomas? To protect—" Malcolm's breathing hitched. "To protect the child we may have?"

"Yes."

"I can live with that."

"There aren't many men in the world like you, Malcolm. There aren't many who would risk their life like this."

"I don't see it as risking my life," he said. "I see it as me knowing that I want to make my life with this incredible woman. I want to be with her, more than anything I've wanted in my entire life."

Margaret rubbed her thumbs across his long, calloused fingers. They were strong, she realized, like him. "You never wonder if you're making a mistake?"

"No. There's something about this that feels… I'm not sure. It's like if my life was meant for anything, it was meant to be with you. You, Thomas, and any child we're meant to have. I want this, Maggie. And I promise you, I'll protect this. With everything I have."

And somehow, Margaret knew it was the truth.

"He's a stubborn one, your son."

"Cause a lot of trouble?" Margaret asked the babysitter.

"Just when I told him to pick up his things. And when I told him to get ready for bed. And when I told him to go to bed."

"He gets that from her," Malcolm snickered.

Margaret smiled. "That may be true."

After a prompt payment to the young woman, Margaret reinstated the barriers around the now-quiet motel room. Thomas was sleeping peacefully on the bed farthest from the door, under the thin covers, and with an arm hanging over the edge of the mattress. His long hair was beginning to tangle itself into half a dozen knots.

Margaret settled herself onto the bed next to her son, taking care not to jostle him. She carded a hand through his silky, black, hair. "I told him you were a good man. I promised it on my power."

"And you still went through all the theatrics at the restaurant." Malcolm lowered himself beside her, also making sure to not wake the sleeping child.

"I didn't promise that you would protect him." Margaret's fingers found a knot in Thomas' hair and worked to gently unravel it. "I am not a good woman, Malcolm. Ever since I left his father I rethink every promise, every smidge of kindness. I can no longer allow myself to be careless. In the past, I've been reckless, impetuous, and even cruel. I've made deals and met with people whom any rational person would run away from at the mention of their name. And I don't regret any of it."

Malcolm closed the gap between the two of them. "Why?"

"Because it has led me here. There's something I've yet to do. There's someone I must protect."

Margaret turned her head to face Malcolm, and with her free hand, she traced the strong outline of his face. "There's someone I wish to love."

"I hope I deserve you," he whispered.

"If you care for us, you already do."

He took Margaret's hand in his, twisting just enough to place a kiss on her palm. It was short and sweet, but to her it was electrifying. It was every semblance of his kindness pressed into a single kiss. "How long before we have to run?"

We. Margaret gave him a smile that she hoped conveyed her gratitude. "A month. Two at the latest." She looked back down at Thomas, at the strands of hair between her fingers. "Sometimes I can't believe I brought him into this life."

"He's safer with you. With us".

"Others are also hunting me. Others besides the White Court. They'll come after me."

"If they do," Malcolm said, reaching into his pocket. And from it, he produced Thomas' gleaming fork. "I'll be ready."

Margaret barely managed to hold down her laugh. She leaned into his large body, slowly nestling her head beneath his chin. Malcolm wrapped one arm around her waist and held her close. She felt his large chest breathe a large sigh, not of relief, but of contentment.

He's happy with this, Margaret thought. I don't know how, but he is.

At that moment, neither of them needed any more words. This was it. They were in it for the long haul. When Margaret met Malcolm, so many months ago, something in the back of her mind told him he was a different kind of man. He was mortal, he had no magic, and he was not afraid of her. He spoke to Thomas kindly, but not in the demeaning way many adults treat children. She had wanted him, and now he was hers. And she was his.

I have so much more to do. Margaret closed her eyes at the thought. Something big was coming. Bigger than her.

I have to prepare. She couldn't stop the small smirk that crawled onto her face and held on with an iron will. She was Margaret Gwendolyn LeFay, daughter of the White Council's Blackstaff, a friend of the Sidhe, and the bane of the Council and anyone who dared to cross her path. The lover of a good man, and the mother of a son.

With her free hand, she touched her stomach. And the future mother of another.

She couldn't explain how she knew, there weren't words to help her pin it down precisely. But that knowledge somehow resided deep inside her, and she knew it to be the absolute truth. Her next child was going to change things.

And Margaret couldn't wait to see that.

Margaret waited until Malcolm's breathing evened into a steady hum beneath her. He wasn't a man who snored, a good thing for Margaret, but he did make a low whistling sound when he was in deep sleep. Soon enough, a light whistle blew past her ears, and she knew it was safe to do it.

She eased her palm onto Thomas' small forehead, relishing at how it fit neatly into her hand. She had to do this. It was a risk, but for her child, it was worth it.

Thomas stirred beneath her. "Mom?" His eyes bleared open through the thick haze of sleep.

"Shhh, Thomas," she whispered. "I'm doing something important, but you must be asleep for it."

"What're you doing?" He mumbled.

Margaret debated for a moment. For as many things that she hid from Thomas, she had never once lied to him and did not wish to start now. But it was late, and her child was tired. It was likely that he would never remember this night. "Placing something in your mind."

"What kind of thing?"

"Something you will never see, and another thing you must only use in the direst of times."

"What?" Thomas' eyes blinked quickly in a final attempt to stay awake.

"Sleep, Thomas." Margaret ran her fingers through his hair, and he leaned into the motions. It was enough, and Thomas soon fell into sleep once more.

The room was quiet. A winter wind hummed outside.

"Memini hanc," Margaret whispered into her son's ear. A violet cloud escaped from her lips and flew into Thomas' head, letting the magic rush and settle within him. "If something happens to Malcolm and me, and you cannot find us—" Margaret forced down the emotions in her throat and pressed on. "If that happens, and you are in true danger, remember these numbers I whispered while you slept."

Margaret relayed the numbers she had memorized many, many years ago. Despite not having needed them in decades, they came naturally to her, as if they were waiting for her deep in her mind.

"But most of all, my dear Thomas," she continued. "Remember this. When you remember these numbers, you will meet a man who seems kind. No matter what it takes, no matter what you must do, you must look him in the eye. You must, or else you might die."
And as she lay the final enchantment in place, she rested her head against Thomas' and cried.

"Forgive me," she begged of her child. "Forgive me."