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“Love, what have I said about taking treasure out of our hoard?”
“S’not mine,” Ignatius replied as he handed the cigarette back to Hugh. “It’s hitting the same
way ours does, though. Whew. You’re good, Hugh. There’s nothing off about that.”
Hugh frowned at the cigarette. “I’m afraid I’m terribly confused. Not much has made sense to
me since I discovered Finch is hours away from delivering our firstborn. Is it always like this?”
“What, the weed?” Ignatius asked. “Indica strains generally don’t have that effect on people. I
wonder if it’s a hybrid. How much have you smoked since you found out?”
Hugh’s mouth fell open. He looked at the cigarette between his fingers, then at Ignatius.
“Excuse me?”
“Hey, no judgment here. We’re not exactly heavy smokers, but we’ve been indulging a little
more than usual since a literal half-pound of it fell through the sunroof of our car on the way to
the kids’ birthday party.” Ignatius paused and seemed to consider what he’d said, then hastily
added, “The, uh, the kids were fine. Don’t worry. It was pretty easy to convince them that it
was a bag of vegetables, and after that they wanted nothing to do with it. I am so lucky it wasn’t
a big bag of weed brownies.”
“We keep it locked in a cabinet in our hoard,” Alistair added, as if it would help. “I imagine you
won’t have to be so careful for at least a good six months, or however long it takes for an infant
to start crawling. You should look into it to be sure. I must admit, my knowledge of child-rearing
is minimal.”
Ah, yes.
Babies.
His baby, in particular.
The thought rammed itself back into the forefront of Hugh’s mind and, despite the early morning
chill, made him break out in a sweat. As a father, it would be his responsibility to know these
things. A small, fragile life would depend on his expertise. The thought that a small, human-
shaped dragon he loved more than life itself would depend on him for anything horrified him.
Desperate for some form of release, he took a puff of the cigarette. It hit him straight in the
lungs. Coughing, he winced and fanned the air in front of his face. Alistair struck him several
times on the back.
“Devilish stuff, isn’t it?” Alistair asked. “It burns its way through your lungs like dragonfire. The
