"How was babysitting?" Dad asked stiffly. The two of us were sitting at the kitchen table, eating the stew dad had made earlier. It was rather uncomfortable.
"Tiring. No one slept for more than an hour." I gave him a weak smile, testing to see how mad at me he was. He grinned back, thankfully. Not a full smile, but it was still there, so he wasn't as mad as I thought. "Kyrie called them all demons."
"I wouldn't doubt that," dad chuckled. We used to babysit the four of them, when Mary K and Darry, my uncle, went out. They were in their 'terrible two's' those days. "So why aren't you sleeping then?"
"Too hungry. After this, I'll be out like a light." I informed him. He nodded, taking another spoon full of stew. "You're not still mad, are you?"
Dad said nothing, but continued to chew. I waited expectantly for him to answer. "I don't understand why you can't be civil with Jena. She's really very nice..."
I held my hand up to stop him, "please don't try and get me to like her. I'm getting over the fact that you do, but don't force her on me. Please."
"Fine." He pointed his spoon at me, "but you have to be nicer to her. For my sanity."
"I'm not promising anything, but I guess I'll try." I sighed. He gave me an appreciative smile, and continued eating. I got up from the table, and set my bowl in the sink. "Do you want me to put the dishes in the washer?"I yawned. Dad turned to look at me. He still looked like he did when he was twenty one. White blonde hair, and crisp green eyes. He had a few lines of age now, but other than that, he could pass off as a guy in his late twenties.
I blinked at dad, who was staring at me like I had just told him I had pierced something. I remember all to well when I had pierced the cartilage in my upper ear. He had flipped. "Dad?"
He shook his head, "you're so much like her." He said quietly.
"Who? Mom?" I don't actually remember anything about her, the way she was. I'd heard stories, but it wasn't the same. All I truly knew, is that I barely looked like her. Where she had waist long brown hair, I had mid-back length blonde hair. Not as light as dad's but not too dark. Grandma Rowlands liked to describe mom's nose as 'strong,' apparently I got dad's nose. For a sixteen year old, I guess I had a good 'womanly figure.' Mary K told me that mom was always complaining about hers.
"She said something like that, when she first moved in with me. Your voice, something about it. You sound like her." He sounded like his heart was snapping in two. "You can goto bed, if you want. I'll get the dishes."
I ran my hand along my necklace, which held mom's claddagh ring; the one dad gave her. "Dad," I looked into his eyes, which were the same color as mine.
"Yes?"
"Remember when I was younger? How you'd tell me stories about you and her?" He nodded slightly. "Will you tell me a story?"
"I thought you were to old for my stories." He said, semi-shocked. When I turned thirteen, I decided that this was the age to rebel. I started being rude, and distant. Our nightly stories, of him and mom become extinct, with me claiming I was too old for them.
"There is something I've learned dad. From all the information I've gathered about my mom, I have inherited one of her most famous traits. I," I put a hand to my heart proudly, "am as stubborn and pig-headed as she was."
"That you are," dad chuckled.
"I also know when to admit that I'm wrong. I will never be to old for one of your stories. In fact, I want you to tell your stories to my kids, and my kids, kids."
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." Dad set his bowl down in mine. "Are you going to bed now? It's only eight thirty."
"Dad, dad, dad." I repeated, throwing my arm around his waist. "Let me tell you a story of a young girl named Moira Fiona. See, she is a sixteen year old, who needs her beauty sleep. Especially after returning from babysitting her four demon cousins, and sleeping for a single hour in two days."
"Ok, I get it. Go get changed, and I'll be up in five."He said, kissing my forehead.
Five minutes later, I was groomed, changed and snug, wedged in between my sheets, and down comforter, waiting for dad.
"So you're sure you're not to old for this? I'm not going to get an ear full when you wake up?"
"Please tell me you have a good story picked out." I let my head rest against the pillow.
"That I do."
"Pray tell."
"It all started when your mom moved in..."

I"Hunter, do you know where I put Dagda's food bag?" Morgan yelled through the house. There were boxes piled in various places of the house. As Morgan moved in, Sky decided it was time to move out.
"Is it under the stairs?" Hunter yelled down the stairs. He was currently moving everything from his room, so he and Morgan could paint it. Make it more homey.
Morgan quickly checked the closet under the stairs, but there was nothing there. Dagda was on her heels. "Not there."
"I don't have the faintest idea then, love." Morgan bent down and patted her cat's head.
"I'm sorry Dag, give me a few more minutes." She went back into the kitchen, to double check, while Dagda ran up the stairs.I

"You stepped on her cat?" I giggled lightly.
"That's not all I did to the poor guy."

"Morgan, where are you?" Hunter rolled over groggily, in bed, feeling the near empty space beside himself. He let his hand drop on a furry tail. For a full minute all that could be heard was a squealing cat.

"What happened to Dagda?" I asked, nearing dream land.
"He ran away. I don't remember when." Dad patted my hand, and stood, walking to my door.
"Dad?" I called, before he could turn my light out. "Do you think she would be proud of me? Even though I'm not wiccan?"
"Of course she would."
"Are you?"
"Very. Good night Moira."
"Night dad." I rolled onto my side and slept.