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Baron is mine. I was born to heal his broken heart and he was made to do the same for me.
I don’t need my Wyvern future-telling powers to know that. I know it in the same way I know the sun will rise in the morning and that winter will come every year to give us all an excellent excuse to stay inside and read by the fire.
The thought sends visions of Baron’s library and all those deliciously curated bookshelves dancing through my mind. He even had a first edition of Little Women, my absolute favorite book from childhood. I’d lug my hardcover copy up into our treehouse and disappear into another place and time, blocking out the sounds of my sisters screaming as they played a spooky, bloodthirsty-zombie version of hide-and-seek in the tall grass behind our cabin.
I never doubted my sisters loved me to bits and pieces and appreciated me stepping in to take care of them when our mother left on one of her mysterious errands, but I’ve always been the odd duck of the Wonderfully family. I was the quiet, careful one, the girl who worried more than the others and was content to dream cozy, home-and-hearth dreams.
Maybe it had something to do with being separated from my twin as an infant. Maybe some subconscious part of me was traumatized by that loss, though I didn’t realize it at the time.
Or perhaps it was the fact that I was the lone book nerd in a house full of wild, rambunctious, free-spirited girls. Even my little sister Everly, who grew up to become a scientist, doesn’t love words the way I do. She devours books for the knowledge they contain; she doesn’t escape into them like she’s diving through a portal into another dimension.
But somehow, I know Baron is like me.
His imagination is his passport to a different, better place, and the only thing keeping him sane. He feels the pressure of this often violent, chaotic world the way I do, and craves the sense-making loveliness of stories.
I want to talk to him about Little Women, Anne of Green Gables, Anne McCaffrey’s entire catalogue, and The Lord of the Rings. I want to discover which creature he thinks he would be if he lived in Tolkien’s world. Would he be an elf, a brave human warrior, or a bumbling, but well-meaning hobbit, like me? I want to nerd out about it all with him over tea by a roaring fire.
And then I want to dress up in Middle Earth robes and have kinky fantasy-themed sex on his couch…
I sigh as I meet my gaze in the mirror over the sink. “It always comes back to sex with you, lately, doesn’t it?”
My reflection doesn’t answer, but her eyes twinkle, and her cheeks flush a deep pink. I’m not sure who that woman is, but she looks alive, vibrant, and determined in a way I’ve never felt before.
I decide I rather like her. And more importantly, I trust her to do whatever it takes to be the best mom ever—including winning over Aurora’s father long before she makes her appearance on the scene.
“Aurora,” I murmur, rubbing my hand in a slow circle over where my daughter floats peacefully inside me. “What do you think about that, baby?”
“Annie? Is that you?” my sister, Casey, asks from the other side of the closed door, making me jump and my palm fly from my belly.
“Yes, it’s me,” I call out, scrambling to wrap the test in toilet paper and tuck it into the back waistband of my jeans before washing my hands. “Just freshening up before dinner.”
“Oh. I thought I heard you talking to someone. Is someone in there with you? Or…something? Because I swear, I just saw a little boy in the mirror in our room. But when I turned around, he was gone.” She sucks in a breath before adding in a higher-pitched voice, “That wasn’t a ghost, though, right? Because ghosts aren’t a thing, and if they were a thing, you guys would have had it exorcised by now or…something?”
I open the door with what I hope is a comforting smile. “It is a ghost, and I’m pretty sure his name is Peter. That’s what he scratched in the wood dust in the basement, anyway, while I was helping Blaire put up the wall frames for her spell room.” I lift a hand, fingers spread wide. “But don’t worry, he’s harmless and seems very sweet. He’s probably just curious about the new people in the house.”
Casey’s dark brown eyes widen, but she nods, clearly doing her best to take our strange new world in stride. “Okay. So, I should be fine to leave Amy in the room while I go down to dinner? I found an antique toddler bed in the closet that’s in good shape, and she’s so exhausted she’s sleeping like a rock. But I don’t want to leave her alone with a ghost who doesn’t like babies. Or…demons.” Her forehead furrows and a tight laugh bursts from her throat. “Shit, Annie. My daughter is a demon. I literally have a demon baby. What is happening with my life right now?”
“Half demon,” I correct as I reach up to squeeze her shoulder. Casey is the only Wonderfully sister taller than I am, but she’s solid and regal to my wispy and weak. She’s a powerhouse and always has been. She can handle this. I know she can. “And it’s going to be okay. You’re in the best place for her. And for you. You’ll be safe and accepted here while you learn how to care for her and help her grow up as strong and amazing as her mama.”
Casey’s dark eyes begin to shine. “I don’t feel very amazing right now. Even knowing Manny probably used some sort of demon magic to get me to put up with his shit, I can’t believe I stayed with him for so long. He’s such an idiot asshole, and that was before he kidnapped Amy and tried to sell her to his demon overlord or…whatever he was doing.” Her throat works as she swallows. “His own daughter, Annie. An innocent little girl who called him daddy and adored him even though he didn’t deserve it. He was going to sell her into slavery for the rest of her life. I just… I can’t…”
I pull her in for a hug, squeezing tight. “It’s going to be okay, love. I promise. I know it might not feel like it, but you’re with your sisters now. You’re not alone. We’ve got your back. And if Manny dares set foot in this town, I know a few very scary vampires who will happily rip him limb-from-limb on your behalf. And if they won’t do it, I’ll take care of him myself.”
She pulls back, a startled expression on her face. “Wow. You’ve gotten fierce in your old age, woman.” Her lips twitch into a smile. “Getting in touch with your inner witch has been good for you, huh?”
I shrug. “I don’t know about that. I don’t seem to have much natural witchy ability, but my Wyvern side has definitely been rising to the surface.” I explain about the visions I’ve had, and the location spell Sophie and I worked together to find Blaire when she was missing.
“That’s amazing,” she murmurs. “And Blaire said Wyverns are dragons with two legs, instead of four, right?” I nod and her lips curve into a delighted grin. “Does that mean you’ll be able to change into one at some point? Because I confess, the thought of my brainy big sister turning into a fire-breathing dragon is the kind of awesome my world needs right now.”
I laugh as we start toward the old servant’s staircase, the quickest way to the kitchen. “Wyverns don’t breathe fire, but I might be able to shift someday. Sophie can, but it’s still too soon to tell for me. My power is too new. But either way, it’s nice to finally know who my father is. Or…was. He passed away when Sophie was a teenager.”
Casey hums low in her throat. “I’m sorry. But that does sound nice. I wish I knew who my father was. I’m hoping he was a warlock, like Blaire’s dad. I want to have all the witchy power, so I can spell blast Manny into next week if he dares show his miserable face anywhere close to me or Amy.”
I’m about to assure her again that she’s safe—Blaire cast wards of protection around the house and Mama Spider, our family’s spider-shifter guardian, is in the front yard, keeping an eye out for trouble—but at that moment, I step off the last stair and am instantly swarmed by tentacles.
I cry out, my arms flying out to grip the corners of the door frame, but Kitty easily drags me into the kitchen. For a second, I’m positive Sophie’s worst fears are about to come true—I’m going to be devoured by our house kraken before I can enjoy a single bite of the amazing-smelling feast she’s prepared—but after a second it becomes obvious, she isn’t trying to hurt me.
She cradles me gently, almost tenderly, in two tentacles as the suction cups on a third play up and down my bare forearms, where I pushed my sleeves up to wash my hands. It feels almost like she’s kissing me and tickles like the dickens, but when she gently sets me down in Blaire’s chair, I’m no worse for wear.
