“I get that. You spent a long time making it happen.”
I shrugged. “I owed her a favor.” Then I had to put a hand on my huge belly. “Oof.”
“Kicking?”
“Yeah, watch.” I moved my hand, and we both stared at my shirt as it visibly moved.
“I’ll never get used to that,” Jesse marveled. “It’s so . . .”
“Gross?”
He laughed. “It’s not gross.”
“You wanna feel?”
He scooted closer and rested his flat palm on my huge stomach. Of course, the baby chose that moment to stop kicking. Jesse started to pull back, but I grabbed his hand and held it in place. “Just wait,” I told him. “She loves high-fives.”
We waited for a minute, two, and then the baby kicked or pushed with her hand or whatever, and Jesse’s face crinkled with delight. Then he went quiet, looking at me for a long moment. “What?” I asked.
“You know what we haven’t really talked about?” Jesse said, in a tone that was almost studiously casual.
“Why you think it’d be okay to name a child Posy?”
“What’s my role in the baby’s life?” he asked, his eyes meeting mine.
It was true; we hadn’t actually discussed it. It had gotten downright awkward during Christmas Eve dinner at Jesse’s parents’ house the night before. He had told them the baby wasn’t his—it would be pretty obvious when she came out looking part black—and that we’d gotten together for real after I was already pregnant, but his folks and brother had still looked at me with confusion.
I didn’t really care what they thought, though; Jesse was the one who mattered. He had come to every doctor’s appointment and birthing class with me. He’d painted the nursery, and put together the car seat. He’d driven halfway across the city to buy me the one sandwich that sounded good to eat, and had made any number of late-night trips to the pharmacy for antacids when I had heartburn. And he loved me.
In many ways, the last eight months had been the best of my life, and Jesse was a huge part of that—not just as my boyfriend or lover, but as a partner in this bizarre . . . endeavor.
“Well,” I said finally, “I don’t want to erase Jameson. Whatever I know about him, I’ll tell the baby, and it’d be nice if she can have some kind of relationship with this Diana.” I blew out a breath and gathered my courage. “So, yeah, Jameson is always going to be her father. But I was kind of hoping you would be her daddy.”
Jesse’s face broke out into a smile of pure joy, and I felt my eyes fill with unexpected tears . . . something that was happening a lot these days. “I can’t give you your own biological child, you know,” I reminded him. His hand was still on my stomach, and I covered it with mine. “This is it for me.”
He looked into my eyes and said softly, “This is it for me, too.”
On the floor in front of the couch, the Batphone began buzzing. I tried to lean forward to pick it up, but, Jabba the Hut–style, I couldn’t reach. Jesse laughed and grabbed the phone and glanced at the screen. “It’s Kirsten,” he said, holding the phone to his ear. “This is Jesse.”
He had taken over my cleanup work for the past three weeks, since I’d gotten too huge to do it myself. If the job was really bad, I would come along just to provide magic cancellation, but most of them had been easy for an ex-cop to handle. I called him my unpaid intern. Corry was also home for the holidays, if we needed extra assistance, but her I would pay.
Jesse listened for a second, rolled his eyes, and nodded. “I’m on my way,” he told Kirsten, and hung up the phone.
“Bad?” I asked. “You need me to come?”
“Nah, just some witches who messed up a love spell again.”
“Help me up before you go,” I commanded. “I gotta pee again.” I could stand up by myself—really—but it would take a pathetically long time.
Jesse stood and reached both hands down, bracing himself to pull me up. I couldn’t really blame him for that one.
I stood up, and at the same time felt something inside me loosen. Oh, shit, had I finally peed my pants? I looked down. “Uh, Jesse? I think you better call Corry to go on that job.”
“Why?”
“My water just broke.”
Twenty-four miles away, at a mansion in Pasadena, Dashiell was straightening a portrait on the wall that had not, in fact, been crooked.
“I don’t know when I last saw you this nervous,” Beatrice said behind him. She sounded amused—and a little worried. They had sent all the staff home for the night on full pay, claiming it was a Christmas gift. Generally they kept at least a few security guards, even on holidays, but Dashiell doubted they’d have any difficulty with attacks from outside the mansion. And if they came under attack from inside the mansion, well, no security guard in the world would help.
When the doorbell rang, Beatrice started forward, but he rushed past her to answer it himself.
The young woman on the doorstep wasn’t at all what he’d expected. She was young-looking and beautiful, which was fairly typical, but she had neon-green hair and wore a baggy red sweaterdress that disguised her figure. Layers and layers of costume-jewelry necklaces covered most of her chest. “Maven?” he said, not entirely sure.
The young woman took off her large spectacles, shoving them into her handbag pocket. She smiled. “I’m glad we could finally do this.”
Dashiell stepped aside. “Please come in.”
They sat down in the living room, and he introduced her to Beatrice, who offered to call in a refreshment from the guesthouse in the back, but Maven declined. “I’d prefer no one knew I was here, at least not yet.” She looked around the mansion. “You have a beautiful home. Do you sweep it for bugs?”
“Just this afternoon,” Dashiell assured her.
She nodded and crossed her legs. “I’ll get right to the point, then. After you allowed Scarlett Bernard to fill me in on the Luparii attack last spring, I looked into the Luparii and their activities in Europe. They came very close to creating a new order.”
“I know.” He had done his own investigation, in addition to the information from Aldric. The old witch had put all his bets on the Wild Hunt, allowing his best people to come to LA to participate. As a result, there were no strong leaders left to take over the organization after the Furious Host was wiped out. The Luparii group had limped along for a few months, but Dashiell had used Aldric’s information to make some calls to a few well-organized werewolf packs. The Luparii was now officially extinct.
“Their methods were selfish and violent, but their motivations weren’t entirely without merit,” Maven went on. “The modern world has been changing quickly. As a result, the Old World has gotten out of control.”
Suddenly Beatrice gasped, immediately clapping a hand over her mouth. Dashiell and Maven both looked at her. “I’m sorry!” she said. “I just realized . . . I saw a portrait of you once.”
Maven smiled. “Not very flattering, is it?”
Dashiell looked back and forth between them, missing something. Maven took pity on him. “I was born Gunhilda of Denmark, in the year 1020,” she told him. “I am the last surviving member of the Vampire Council.” She paused for a moment to let that sink in, and then she added, “And I believe it’s time for the council to rise again.”