Mayfair Manor

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Smiling somewhat at Liesse’s expression, Alistair leaned against the counter and reassured her, “They won’t bring them down, not until they’ve settled. That’s why she took all of those bottles upstairs. With so many babies, it’s easier to just deal with them all in the nursery.”
Tyler, meanwhile, was glancing after Antha, murmuring thoughtfully in response to Rynn, “It is kind of like seeing a unicorn, innit? She’s like this super famous person, rich and brilliant and supermodel hot, and she’s always in the papers, but you never see her for real. And the stories you blokes have around here---ghosts and witches and all kinds of bloody magic, all centered around this family and her in particular.”
“It’s pretty surreal to be around her in the flesh,” Gretchen agreed, somewhat reluctantly, “Watching her act like…I don’t know, a regular person. And for Holt…” She gave him a scornful glance, the boy still standing limply in the middle of the room with a frazzled, star struck look on his face.
“I can practically see the hearts bubbling up,” Tyler teased him, making gestures over his head.
“Shuddup!”
He was narrowly saved from further teasing by the heavy shuffle of feet in the hallway which preceded Malakai’s arrival, stumbling drowsily into the kitchen in his pajamas, still rubbing his eyes. He mumbled something which might have been an unintelligible greeting, not noticing the strangers in his kitchen. He was just out of his senses enough to pause and lay a kiss on Liesse’s cheek in greeting, without care of who saw, before tottering over to the table and practically falling into a chair. Within five seconds, his head fell onto the table with a heavy thud and he was asleep all over again.
“That would be my big brother,” Alistair introduced him with a vague, affectionate sigh.
“The charming scoundrel or the philanthropist?” Gretchen asked, cocking her head at the boy, “They’re identical, right?”
“Nicolae’s the miscreant,” Alistair chuckled, shaking his head, “He’s blonde, though.”
“Pity,” the girl sighed, “I really wanted to meet that one.”
“He’s too old for you,” Tyler hissed rapidly.
But Gretchen just glared, arguing, “If Liesse can date this twin, I can sleep with the other one.”
Frowning uncertainly over his coffee, Alistair murmured, “I don’t know if I trust the way you guys obsess over my siblings…”
At the table, Malakai stirred vaguely, murmuring thickly and urgently, “---warn the tadpoles---”
His younger brother, unperturbed, brought him a cup of coffee, informing him calmly, “The attack was called off, the frogs surrender unconditionally.”
The sleeping boy took a deep, satisfied breath, mumbling, “Good…the pond is secure…” He awoke moments later at the shaking of his shoulder, casting one bleary glance up at Alistair before his eyes narrowed at the cup in front of him. “Coffee.”
“Did the minnows rally this time?”
He shook his head, drowsily taking up his cup. “The minnows are Switzerland.” He blinked once, seeming to finally realize what was going on. “…how’d I get down here?”
“You walked.”
“Oh…” Glancing around himself, he appeared briefly startled before a little pleasant smile sleepily crossed his face. “Your friends?”
“And there’s two more in the parlor. And Katie will be here soon, to take Gretchen and Liesse shopping for the dance.”
“Oh, that’ll be nice,” the boy murmured happily, turning his sweet smile on Liesse, “I’m glad you made friends so quickly.”
It was at about this time that Sid and Allen came uncertainly into the kitchen, glancing around for any unfamiliar faces. “Oh good, you’re up,” Alistair called cheerfully, crossing the kitchen and seizing Rynn by the arm, “In that case, we should get the parlor back in order before Julien gets home. Get some coffee, we’ll be right back.”
Though, once he’d dragged the other boy all way there, he seemed to have little interest in the state of the room, plopping down on the disarray of the couch with his hands folded on his knee, a little teasing grin to his lips. “You’re troubled,” he noted, as a matter of fact, “What’s the matter? It can’t be Antha, you were troubled before that. If I had to guess…I suppose it would have to be about last night. Am I right?”

Meanwhile, the only thing that had been able to stop Henry’s chattering had been the deafening noise of five hungry infants. Not really because it had overwhelmed him---he had grown up in an orphanage, after all---but mostly because he simply didn’t possess the volume to talk over them. But he kept close to Antha anyways, his fist knotted in the hem of her shirt as she retrieved Sebastien out of his crib, softly trying to soothe him. “You’re not used to all this company, are you?” she murmured sympathetically, sitting quietly down in the rocking chair with her son and swiftly administering his breakfast, “That’s alright precious, you’ll get used to your cousins.”
Henry, standing beside the rocking chair and looking between the various infants, asked curiously, “Is that one yours, Aunt Evie?”
Antha nodded, smiling sweetly. “Sebastien, and his sister Vanessa there.”
The little boy’s eyes went immediately wide, exclaiming in shock, “You had two? At the same time?!”
She stifled a laugh, casting Cian a brief, sharply teasing glance, “I’m glad someone appreciates how impressive it is…”
Henry nodded rapidly, still amazed. “What about the other babies?”
“They’re Uncle Dorian’s,” she explained, gesturing at him.
“All of them?” the boy asked, again in amazement, “You mean some lady had three at once?”
“No, ducky. They all have different mothers.”
“Oh…” It seemed to take him a moment to process that, glancing around at the three babies. “But…how?”
That made Antha pause, carefully considering her options. She was in no way prepared to explain the facts of life to a young child, particularly where a fairy orgy was concerned. “That’s a complicated matter,” she said finally, very carefully, “One day, when you’re older, you’ll understand. Suffice it to say, their mothers can’t be here, so we have to help Uncle Dorian take care of your little cousins, alright?”
Henry paused, processing that as seriously as he had everything else, before finally nodding, turning and going up to tug on Dorian’s sleeve, arms outstretched. “I can help,” he declared, with all of a child’s eager determination, “I helped Sister Beatrice feed the babies at the orphanage, I know how.”
“What a good boy you are,” Antha praised him sweetly, glancing up and briefly catching Dorian’s eye. She had already taken the first opportunity the night before to speak with him, explaining very shortly that he couldn’t say a word about what the fairy had said concerning her, the life growing inside of her. I’ll explain it later, she had promised, but you can’t breathe a word of it to anyone. Especially Cian.
Still…it was alarming how badly the secret was being kept. Rynn and Alistair were one thing, and she’d had to tell Vittorio of course, since he had to perform the procedure, and she’d have to tell Lawrence in order for her will to be altered. But she’d let it slip to Nicolae, Courtland had figured it out on his own---she probably should’ve expected that, she could never keep secrets from Courtland---and now Dorian knew. Michael probably wasn’t far behind in figuring it out, the way that he monitored her with a father’s keen concern, and the only thing keeping Malakai from noticing was probably his preoccupation with Liesse.
It physically pained her that they knew. In the very likely event that her child didn’t survive, she didn’t want them to feel that unnecessary blow. Alistair and Michael in particular would take it very hard, and Cian…she didn’t want to think what it would do to him, if he ever found out. She had spent years watching Nicolae and Courtland agonize over their deceased children, she wouldn’t wish it on her husband as well.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Michael entered, in his usual unholy early morning cheer. “The cavalry has arrived,” he announced, taking up a bottle and the last unattended child, “My, it’s so busy in here. It reminds me of when all of you were infants.” He smiled, glancing at Dorian. “Enjoy it, this is the easy part. Soon they’ll all be learning to toddle around at the same time, scattering in different directions and getting into everything, it’ll take all the energy of the entire house to keep an eye on them. And then they get old enough to start wanting things, and asking questions, and then---oh, the very worst part. Teenagers.”
“Uncle Michael!” Antha reprimanded him lowly, pouting, “Stop trying to scare them.”
“Oh, I’m not doing that,” he excused himself, smiling happily down at the fairy child in his arms, “Grandpa Michael just wants to make sure your daddy appreciates how little and manageable you are, isn’t that right? And lord knows what kind of trouble you’ll get into, half-fairy and half-Dorian.”
“Uncle Michael,” Antha sighed again, shooting him a look. In her lap, Ginsberg gave a little whine of agreement, wriggling around until his chin was laid across Sebastien. The baby, still eagerly downing the contents of his bottle, cast the puppy a bright gaze, watching him intently from the corner of his eyes. “You can play with the puppy when you’re done eating, sweetheart,” his mother cooed, and Sebastien looked back up at her, his fingers flexing around hers on the bottle. Antha smiled blissfully at that, laying a kiss on his smooth forehead. “Ah, you look more like your daddy every day, don’t you Bash?”
“It’s the cheekbones,” Michael agreed, peering down at the infant.  

[Okimiyage]

Rynn knew he should have expected the other guys to worship Antha, he just hadn’t expected it from Gretchen. “I suppose it’s hard to think of her as a celebrity when she’s around every day,” he acknowledged, giving them all a faintly supercilious glance. He’d never realized that seeing Antha in a form any other than the glamorous, mysterious socialite that she was in the newspaper was the privilege that it was. Holt looked like he’d been struck by lightning. “She comes off as a little imposing, doesn’t she?” Liesse chimed in. “But don’t worry, she’s very kind. And she’ll like you, if you’re friends of Airi’s, she dotes on him nearly as much as her own children.”
A wail echoed down the halls, as if mentioning the children had encouraged their efforts to be the loudest alarm clock in the house. Liesse winced, but the grimace was quickly smoothed away as their company was joined by a familiar face. “Malakai~” She sat upright, expectant as a puppy awaiting treats, as he tottered over and gave her a good-morning kiss, and followed him to the dining table afterwards.
Rynn found there was only a faint urge to sulk this time. Maybe it was the way Malakai had gone straight for Liesse, like a wind-up bear, or the expression of total delight that seeing him had prompted from her. Every time the two of them were around one another, Liesse was happy in a way that Rynn couldn’t recall seeing elsewhere. “How on earth did you make it all the way in here without opening your eyes like that?” she asked, giggling a little as Malakai drowsily resurfaced from sleep. “ I’m seriously impressed. Oh—“ Making a broad gesture at the rest of the room, she added, “—and this is Gretchen, Tyler and Holt. They’re all quite sweet. Rynn went out with them last night and utterly neglected to invite me along, though, so he’s in the doghouse.”
“Hey,” Rynn protested lightly. Somehow, his kitten had migrated from the floor into the crook of his neck while nobody was looking. It was trying to balance on his shoulder, but kittens were wobbly on their feet at best, and it needed a guiding hand from Rynn just to keep from falling off. “You were asleep.”
“And that’s Sid and Allen,” Liesse announced, as the other two boys entered. “Everyone, this is Malakai.”
It felt like Alistair had just been waiting for the parlor to be emptied. Rynn didn’t have time to even protest before his hand was seized, and he was dragged physically from the room, the kitten on his shoulder mewling and digging tiny, prickly paws into his collarbone in alarm. “Hey, be careful!” Rynn warned, when Alistair finally let go of his sleeve, and he was able to rescue the four-legged bundle of fluff from its perch. “Ow.” Small though its claws were, the cat had left a set of long, scarlet scratches across the blades of his shoulders, and atop his collarbone. Settling down in another armchair, across from Alistair, Rynn let the kitten climb awkwardly down from his lap of its own volition. “Fine,” he said, his voice a bit sharper than he intended. “You got me. It’s about last night.”
To be honest, Rynn wasn’t sure whether how he felt about last night. There was a sort of slow, roiling unease building in his stomach, some irrational mixture of fear and anger and hope. He wanted to say, was that all?
But, with a sigh, he restrained himself. The dawn was filtering dimly through a crack in the curtains, catching the gleaming in Rynn’s tawny hair as he pushed his fingers back through it, and dust motes spun the sunbeam like golden fairy-lights. Finally: “It was fun. I’m not complaining. I asked for it.” He shrugged, trying to pass off his discomfort as lightly as he could. “I just wanted to know…what next, I guess. We weren’t exactly discreet, and I’m sure Antha won’t say anything, but…I mean, not that it would matter if she did, not for you.” The unspoken phrase hung in the air, but for me…
“I guess what I’m asking is—if you’re planning to leave it at a one-night-stand, an experiment, a conquest, whatever you want to call it—“ Rynn said, a little wildly. “—I’d just rather you not spread it around. I know it’s stupid to be concerned about my ‘reputation’, or lack thereof, but for the sake of my pride, I’d just rather not be known as the new student who’s willing to suck c**k after a couple of drinks, you know?”

Upstairs, Dorian was getting a little frantic. He’d never so much as babysat before in his life, and now…
Even between the three adults—and Henry—pacifying their host of infants seemed like an impossible task. Cian had immediately gone for Vanessa, prompting Dorian’s comment, “You’re going to turn that one into a daddy’s girl, with all the attention she gets from you.”
Cian merely smiled, letting her fasten her puckered lips around the nib of the bottle before he replied. “If she’s anything like Antha, she’ll have the whole family wrapped around her little finger. Might as well get on her good side now. Besides, with kids like these…” he gave a nod to Dorian’s own brood, one of them even now being swaddled (despite her squirming) in his arms. “…it’s not like any of us can pull rank just because we’re older, or ‘because I said so’.” Bad parenting was enough of a problem when normal people did it. When witches didn’t raise their kids right, you could end up unleashing a mass murderer upon society. And with Antha’s past, and the hereditary Mayfair predisposition towards madness, it was honestly amazing that she hadn’t gone down that route herself.
Anyways, if Vanessa was anything like her mother, Cian couldn’t imagine her allowing that kind of ‘authority’ to fly.
Dorian grimaced at the prospect. “Well, you don’t have three to deal with by yourself.”
Just then, he felt Henry’s insistent tug. His immediate instinct was to say you’re too little, but then Bella clocked him in the eye with a pudgy fist. “Ow. Fine.” He nodded towards one of the cradles, which Cian was keeping rocking with his foot while the inhabitant made small, bird-like chirps to himself, almost like singing. “Er…thank you. Take Briar, then, he’s not screaming yet.”
In fact, out of all the children, Briar was the only one who had stayed good-natured throughout the process. Even the shrieking of his half-siblings didn’t seem to perturb the small, ginger-haired boy. Perfect for Henry, Dorian figured.
At last, the children were parceled out. Michael arrived shortly thereafter to attend to Lily, the tow-headed devil that she was, and Dorian could finally breathe a sigh of relief. “Oh god, you’re here. It’s over. Finally.”
“Don’t relax just yet,” Cian reminded him. “It only gets worse from here on out, right, Michael?” He flashed a smile in the other man’s direction. Dorian’s expression was that of a soldier in the trenches. “Look, can we talk about the miracle of childhood some other time? Like not the morning after I’ve just found out that I’m a dad, or—oh!—maybe after I sprout two extra sets of arms, so I can actually cope with three babies at once. That’s part of this process, right?”
Cian was ignoring him, finding it much more entertaining to watch "Bash", as he'd been affectionately christened, over Antha's shoulder. "I hope he doesn't look anything like me," he commented. "We'll be beating off the girls with sticks by the time he's fourteen, and I was already worried that we'd have to lock Vanessa in a tower to discourage prospective suitors."  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

As always, Alistair was a particularly hard person to read. His body language never changed, the same ever-charming smile on his calm face. Even his eyes had a certain veiled congeniality to them. But they narrowed, even as his usual easy laugh blew through his lips. Finally, with a vague flicker of something sharp and dark in his expression, he murmured, “It’s really extraordinary how many times you just insulted me in only a few minutes. You don’t trust me at all, do you Rynn? Or perhaps I should say, you don’t really know me at all.” But he immediately shook his head, cutting himself off, and continued with the vaguest hint of something unusual in his tone. “It’s no one else’s business, I don’t see why I would tell anyone. But since you’re so concerned, I’ll give you my word directly---no, I won’t say anything. It’ll be like it never even happened, if that’s what you want.”
The change in him was as quick and simple as flipping a switch. The boy shifted, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough to make his posture imposing, his expression flashing dark and sharp, scornful. Airi was hurt, and handling it about as well as Antha ever did. “You should at least know me better than that. And for the record, if you ever do turn out that easy for anyone else…I’ll throw them off the roof.”
The front door opened and he returned lithely to his feet, gathering up the spare blankets on the floor as Vittorio swept hastily by. “Here,” Alistair muttered, shoving a wad of blankets into Rynn’s arms, “Take these to the laundry room, will you?”

Despite her better instincts, Antha sighed and murmured, “You really can’t stand to rely on us, can you Dorian?”
Nodding in agreement, Michael gestured at Bella. “One baby,” he pointed out calmly, “Just one at a time, that’s all. Just do what you can handle, and we can pick up the slack. You’re thinking too much, that’s the problem, it’s making you panic.”
“I can help,” Henry reiterated, sitting cross-legged in the floor with Briar in his lap, happily sucking down his bottle.
“You’re a very good helper,” Michael assured him, and the little boy beamed.
At Cian’s comment, meanwhile, Antha gave a little startled laugh, glancing up at her husband. “My, aren’t you cocky this morning. Would you rather have him favor me? The only difference then is you’ll be beating off the boys, too.” Sebastien gave a small coo, presumably because his bottle was empty, but his mother took it as agreement. “I know sweetheart, daddy is terribly silly. Yes, I know.”
She glanced up then as the door opened yet again, this time admitting Vittorio, and hastily exclaimed, “Tori…do we really look like we need another small child in here right now?”
The doctor grimaced, his eyes flashing desperately as he adjusted Olivier in his arms. “I didn’t have a choice. I’m right in the middle of very important work---time sensitive work---and Saria was supposed to pick him up this morning,” he groaned apologetically, “But I can’t get ahold of her. That (b***h)---” Though he only mouthed the word, he still covered Olivier’s ears, “---was supposed to take him to see the Easter Bunny today, he barely even slept last night. And I can’t leave him with his grandmother. Knowing that old bat, she’d try to give him an exorcism or something.”
Antha hummed thoughtfully to herself, her narrowed gaze flickering briefly in his direction as she wiped the spilled milk from around Sebastien’s mouth. “It’s your own fault, you know better than to engage her.”
“There’s just no reasoning with that woman!” he hissed, the wound still obviously fresh, “I am a man of science, and if she had her way, we’d all be living in little mud huts without electricity, trying to cure cancer with prayers. Prayers!”
“Alright, alright, alright…” Antha sighed at length, giving in, “Put him down, we’ll watch him until his mother surfaces again.”
“Thank you,” Vittorio breathed with infinite relief, carefully setting the fair-haired child down at Antha’s feet, “Alright sport, you be good for Aunt Evie while daddy’s at work, okay?” As he spoke, he set down the bag on his shoulder, hastily unloading the plethora of colorful toys inside. “You’ve got your blocks, your xylophone, some picture books, those plastic rings you love so much…” The child gave a little shriek of delight, clumsily grabbing at one of the round pieces of plastic and shoving it into his mouth with determination. “Is that all? Wait…where’s Elmo? Oh god, what did I do with Elmo?!”
“Tori, calm down,” Antha sighed, carefully settling her own son against her shoulder, soothingly stroking his little back, “We have like three Elmo dolls here, he’ll be fine.”
But Vittorio direly shook his head, emptying the contents of the bag. “He only likes the cowboy Elmo, the one that sings the ‘e-i-e-i-o’ song.”
Perking up at the sound, Olivier abruptly dropped his plastic ring, repeating excitedly, “Ye-hi-ye-hi-bo?”
“Oh, here it is,” his father exclaimed, seizing the little stuffed animal and handing it over to the child’s demanding little hands. “Ok, that should be everything. Say bye to daddy, Olivier.” He just looked at him as if he wasn’t sure what was required of him, all big blue eyes, idly clutching the doll. “Say bye to daddy. Da-ddy.” The last was said with heavy emphasis, pointedly trying to bait the boy into mimicking him. Eventually, after pursing his lips, Olivier burst into a string of babbling which, to be fair, was mostly composed of ‘da’ sounds. Vittorio took that as the best he was going to get, sighing affectionately and laying a kiss on the crown of his head. “If you say ‘mommy’ before you say ‘daddy’ then so help me god, I’ll never buy you a car.”
“Oh good grief, Tori, go already.”
“I’ll call if there’s any developments,” he said in parting, hastily recomposing himself and heading for the door, “And if Saria turns up, do not let her take him anywhere. She’s probably still drunk and I don’t want him in a car with her, have someone else take him to the house.”
“That reminds me,” Antha said suddenly, halting him just in the doorway, “Lawrence said they set a date for the custody hearing, you’ll want to call him and get the details.”
Vittorio nodded rapidly, resuming his hasty exit. Pausing momentarily, he made sure to acknowledge Dorian, saying only, “Good luck, little brother,” before he was gone, his rapid footsteps vanishing down the hall.
When he was gone, Michael sighed for him, murmuring sympathetically, “Vittorio’s got it rough.”
“He said he wanted to do it on his own,” Antha reminded him, offering Olivier a little smile as he glanced curiously around at all of them, happily gnawing away at Elmo’s fuzzy hand, reaching out to stroke his silky golden locks. “That’s alright. You love spending the day with Aunt Evie, don’t you Olivier?”
The child’s gaze snapped up to meet hers, his head tilting slightly to the side before he suddenly pointed a finger at her, babbling intently, “Ee-bee, ee-bee, ee-bee!”
“Evie,” Antha repeated carefully, pointing to herself.
“Ee-bee!”
She smiled regardless, pointing to Sebastien next. “Bash.”
“Favsh!”
“Uncle Cian.”
“Gok shi!”
“Elmo.”
That briefly seemed to puzzle the small child, frowning somewhat as he stared down at the doll in his lap as she pointed at it. But after a moment, he hastily held it up, seeming to offer it Antha. “Ye-hi-ye-hi-bo?”
“That’s right,” Antha commended him, smiling radiantly enough that he gave a squeal of delighted laughter, “…in a way.” To reward him, she pressed the little button in the toy’s stomach, bringing forth the barnyard song to Olivier’s utter rapture, clumsily clapping his hands together and falling into peals of laughter.
“Every time I think I’ve heard the end of that accursed song,” Michael sighed, casting the doll a glance, “It claws its way out of the grave.”
Mockingly, Antha cast him her biggest, saddest puppy dog eyes, complete with a pout. “You don’t like Olivier’s ye-hi-ye-hi-bo, Grandpa Michael?”
“My ball?” Olivier repeated curiously, almost like a hiccup. He was immediately distracted again by a little sound from Vanessa, a dissatisfied coo as her bottle ran dry, his eyes lighting up. “Nesha!” he shouted, pointing at her and then seizing hold of Antha’s rocking chair, using it to wobble his way to his feet and then unsteadily over to Cian’s where he plopped down, stretching his arms out towards the baby in in his arms. “Nesha, nesha, nesha!”
“Aww,” Michael cooed, grinning, “Look at that, he’s in love.”
“He’s hardly a year old,” Antha pointed out, “He can’t even make words.”
“That doesn’t matter. They may not understand their feelings, but they have them. Take Dorian, for instance. He wouldn’t let a man hold him until he was three, it had to be a girl. Not even an old one, he had to have a pretty girl around. I remember he particularly liked your Aunt Georgiana, he made the biggest fuss if she was around and someone else was holding him.”
“So Dorian’s always been a womanizer is what you’re saying?” Antha murmured, casting him an amused glance. And then, turning to look at Olivier, sighed, “Oh mon dieu, darling, put them in the crib together before he overexerts himself.”
“Maybe he can hear her, too?” Henry suggested, innocently enough.
Antha’s brow furrowed at that. “What do you mean?”
The boy’s lips pursed thoughtfully, his eyes flashing as if he was second-guessing himself. “I mean…it’s not like a sound, it’s…but I can hear it.” The boy flushed uncertainly, clutching the baby in his arms a little more firmly and hurriedly adding, “Briar can hear it, too.”
“Now that brings back memories,” Michael stated, “The ‘noise’. I’ve never gotten a straight answer out of anyone what it is, exactly, but you made it, too. Dorian heard it, and Malakai and Courtland and Jack and Vittorio and Pierce and Dolly Jean and Armand and every single one of your cousins with any hint of power. But Nicolae had it the worst, poor boy. He walked around for months with his hands over his ears, whining that ‘she’s calling me’. He ran away five times trying to get across the swamp to you, did you know that? And Pierce tried to hold a séance with his Power Rangers dolls to talk to you. Dorian, do you remember insisting you would hold your breath until we took you to her? You did it too, stood in the parlor with your cheeks puffed out until you went blue and passed out, and then cried for an hour afterwards.”
“It’s not my fault!” Antha snapped, her cheeks briefly flushing, “Blame the blood, leave me alone.”
“It just means they’re growing closer,” Michael concluded, smiling down at Vanessa in her crib as Olivier happily stroked her head with all the finesse of a child petting a cat, “You too, Henry.”
The boy’s eyes went wide with wonder, staring intently between Michael and Vanessa. “Like Aunt Evie and Uncle Courtland?”
“For Cian’s sake, let’s hope not…” Antha murmured, only to glance innocently away when Michael cast her a slitted glance. “What? She’s my daughter, I do have some concern for her virtue.”
“Ah,” Michael sighed, with deep, contented amusement, “Sweet payback…”
“Oh hush, grandpa,” Antha scoffed, shaking her head and rising to her feet, “Alright little ones, let’s get you all dressed, shall we? Cian, darling, can you get me the little pink, sparkly dress? Wait, no---the white dress with poofy sleeves and the heart buttons. And Bastien gets to wear his new striped sweater, don’t you precious? Ah, Dorian, the top two drawers in the dresser are boys’ clothes and the bottom three are girls’ clothes. That taffeta really takes up space…”
“I wanna’ pick a dress for Lily!” Henry declared, turning large eyes on Dorian, “Can I, can I? Pleeeeeease?”  

[Okimiyage]

“Insult you?” Rynn’s jaw dropped, and he scoffed without being able to help himself. “All I did was ask you what you want.”
As composed as he had tried to keep himself, he could feel heat rising under his collar. “But you know what? You’re right.” he snapped. “It is really hard to trust someone who refuses to tell you what’s going on in their head, like you do. So call me paranoid, but I don’t think I’m being entirely unreasonable by questioning your motives. I’m not sure whether last night happened because you just wanted the challenge of goading me into ******** or because you actually like me, for whatever lunatic reason.” Without realizing it, Rynn’s hands had clenched into fists in his lap. He forced himself to take a deep breath, and make one last stab at quelling the mood that this conversation was putting him in.
“I just want an answer. And to what to do next—how to keep this from being awkward. And right now, without knowing why I—why we did that, I don’t know how to—”
The front door banged open, and Rynn jumped up guiltily as Alistair sprang from his seat like a cat. Abruptly, Rynn found his view obscured by a pile of sheets, as Alistair unloaded the mound into his arms. Rynn’s immediate instinct was to drop them, but he restrained himself, gritting his teeth. “This isn’t over.” he said, furiously, his words only a indistinct behind the laundry. “Airi, wait! Don't walk away from me, goddammit!”

Upstairs, Cian finished feeding Vanessa and was proceeding to conduct the arduous ritual of burping when Vittorio ran in. It was probably the most mussed that Cian had ever seen the normally meticulously arranged doctor, and in a moment, the reason was revealed. “Oh, cor,” he said aloud. Vittorio had one, too. He’d almost forgotten. The expression of dismay only lasted a second, as Cian wiped it away almost instantaneously, and followed it up with a bright, “Thank god, I was concerned we were going to run out of playmates for the day.”
Dorian was a little less subtle. “Another one?”
Realizing his gaffe, he at least had the decency to look embarrassed.
“Won’t this be…fun,” he finished lamely.
Cian grinned, more at Dorian’s continuing displays of familial ineptitude than in actual agreement. “Treasure these moments, Dor. They never come again.”
Antha’s husband seemed to have decided that his chief form of entertainment today was going to be subtly trolling the new father. It was working, if Dorian’s glare was anything to go by.
“So…Olivier, huh?” he said, after a long pause while Cian expertly evaded his evil eye.
As Vittorio escaped, Dorian set a now peaceably wriggling Bella down in her crib and approached the new addition to the nursery warily. While the child babbled with Antha, Dorian gave it a judgmental once-over. “He looks normal.” Dorian seemed almost disappointed. “I thought that anything that came out of that woman would have more of a…I don’t know….like a tail or little horns or something. Must be Vittorio’s good genes.”
“Nope, still a human.” Cian seemed to inspect the child as he tottered towards Vanessa. “Ten toes, ten fingers. Looks normal to me. As normal as this family gets, anyways.”
Dorian chuckled. He was one to talk. With the parentage of his children, he’d be lucky if they weren’t sprouting wings or antlers by adolescence. Bella’s pointed ears were the least of their worries.
“The Mayfairs tend to have strong personalities, even as children. As Michael’s stories demonstrate: I’d worry about your own skin, Cian. These next few years are going to be exciting for you.”
As if in agreement, Lily burbled in Henry’s arms, and stuck out a fist to make a flailing grab for his hair.
Cian, in the meanwhile, listened patiently to the stories of the young Mayfairs. It was only a shame, he couldn’t help thinking, that they didn’t have such stories of Antha’s early years. It would help to know what to expect.
“Who is ‘she’?” Cian inquired finally, when he couldn’t bear the curiosity. “Is it an ancestor of yours?”
He didn’t want to bring up the singing of the ancestors. Not just yet. Rynn was the only one who could hear them nowadays, as the final scion of the family name, but the ‘noise’ that Michael described sounded…suspiciously similar to their calling.
“There’s something similar in our family,” Cian said, glancing down towards Vanessa. Her shrieks had quieted to cooing within a remarkably short time; seeing no further outbursts impending, her father gently deposited her into her crib. “But it doesn’t go away, as you grow up.” And if his children shared even a quarter of Antha’s power, it would be no trouble for them to ‘tune in’. That is, assuming that the ancestors accepted the half-Mayfairs as suitable heirs…which, with their pedigree, Cian had no idea why they wouldn’t.
Still, there were more important things to deal with right now. Such as which nauseatingly cute outfit they were going to put Vanessa and Sebastien into today. Delving into the piles of tulle, Cian at last came out with the requested garments, although the expression when he emerged from the drawer was somewhat shell-shocked.
"Antha. How many pink and frilly jumpers did you buy?"  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Alistair waited at least until Vittorio was gone, his footsteps vanishing up the stairs, before he moved again. Without a word he knocked the blankets out of Rynn’s arms again as if they were in the way (really they’d only been a ruse to begin with, for Vittorio) and grabbing him roughly by the back of the neck, pressing their lips together in the briefest moment of scalding passion. And then, like a good boy, he did nothing, only leaning his forehead against his with a vague sigh. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not a beast…?” he murmured, almost to himself, and then released Rynn.
“Stop asking questions,” he said finally, calmly, gathering up the blankets at their feet, “No…stop pretending you don’t prefer one thing over the other. When you can say what you want, then come talk to me. Until then, don’t leave everything up to me.” In his ear, he whispered lowly, "Be a man, Rynn."
He hardly made it into the hall before a hesitant knock sounded at the door, bringing a little weary sigh from his lips as he went to answer it. “Good morning, Katie.”
The girl flushed as soon as the door opened, anxiously twirling a lock of mousy brown hair around her finger. “Alistair…hi. Good morning.”
“Everyone’s in the kitchen,” he said, nodding for her to follow him with his usual easy smile, “Through here. Let me drop these off in the laundry room, I’ll be right there.”
“Oh, I can help!” she offered eagerly, but he politely declined, vanishing behind the stairs, and Katie reluctantly inched into the kitchen, “Ah…hi, guys.”
“Katiekins!” Tyler greeted her enthusiastically, throwing his arms wide and then clamping them around her. “You missed it---Holt actually came face-to-face with Antha Mayfair.”
“Oh?” She broke into her more usual sweet, innocent smile, with just a hint of amusement glinting in her eyes. “How did that go?”
“He clammed up,” Gretchen answered quickly, before anyone could beat her to it, “And he made this awful noise, like a grunt and a whine mixed together. It was freakin’ fantastic---epic fail.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad…” she murmured uncertainly at Holt’s dejected expression.
“It was pretty bad,” Tyler agreed lowly, nodding as if it was a shame, “Back me up here, Liesse. Oh hey, have you met Liesse’s boyfriend?”
“What the hell are you doing introducing strangers in their own house?” Gretchen scoffed, smacking him in the back of the head.
But Malakai didn’t seem to mind, nodding at her in greeting with that terribly warm smile that was second nature to him. “Malakai Mayfair. I’m Alistair’s older brother.”
Alistair, returning to the kitchen, noted to himself that Malakai hadn’t said a word to refute Tyler’s introduction. Which, judging by the wolfish grin on the boy’s face, had been the point of it. But Alistair didn’t say anything about it, instead gently ruffling Sid’s hair as he sat limp and hunched over at the counter. “You alright?”
“Probably dead…” the boy murmured miserably turning his head to lay his cheek on the cool marble.
“You poor children,” Michael sighed, slipping into the kitchen with a little amused smiled, “Don’t mind me, I’m only here for milk.”
“This is Uncle Michael,” Alistair introduced him, and then didn’t have the chance to get another word out before Gretchen had pushed her way past Tyler and Holt, leaning against the counter.
The change in her was instant and palpable, her lax and somewhat threatening demeanor turned soft and feminine, her sharp eyes and mischievous grin both gone sweet. “Here it is, Mr. York,” she said, with an alarming amount of charm, handing him the carton of milk.
“Ah, thank you.” He flashed his usual smile---nothing more than that---and Gretchen’s smile flashed dazzling and charmed. “Oh, we’ll be babysitting Olivier today, by the way,” he said to the residents amongst the teenagers as he poured the milk into a sippy cup, “I think I might take him and Henry to the mall.”
“We’re going to the mall,” Gretchen said hastily, gesturing at Katie and Liesse, the unusually girly smile spreading back across her face, “For dresses, for the dance.”
“Are you?” He smiled again, just as warmly, his eyes flashing at Liesse as if he was glad to hear it, “Do you girls need a ride there?”
Katie cut in before Gretchen could answer, guessing correctly that she would’ve accepted in a heartbeat. “Oh, no, I’ve got a car. Thank you, though.”
Michael just smiled, nodding in farewell before returning upstairs. Gretchen watched through the doorway, until finally she sighed dreamily, “And he’s got dimples? Oh man…want.”
“Uncle Michael strikes again,” Alistair sighed, grinning with intense amusement.
“When Nicolae and I went into middle school,” Malakai murmured in Liesse’s ear, suppressing a laugh, “Nikki forbid dad from every coming to school, because all the girls always went crazy over him and it made Nicolae so, so mad.”
“He so old,” Tyler sneered irritably, casting Gretchen a scornful glance.
“Not even,” she scoffed, “He’s beautiful and rugged and mature and oh my god, those blue eyes.”
“Gross,” Holt murmured, shaking his head, and was immediately smacked for it.
Katie, meanwhile, said firmly with a slight pout, “Gretch, this is not turning into another shopping trip with you hunting some guy. We’re looking for dresses. This is the spring dance, okay, it’s important. This is the last one of the school year.”
“It’s punch and sparkly lights in the gym.”
“It’s important and you will not ruin this for me!” Giving a little harrumph of displeasure, Katie seized Liesse by the arm, pulling her towards the door. “Come on, we’re going. We’re going to find perfect, sparkly dresses if it takes us all day, and there’s nothing you can do about it, Gretch.”
Groaning, Gretchen rolled her eyes and surrendered, turning to follow them out. “Do you need someone to help with zippers?” Tyler offered, grinning from ear to ear, but was only answered with a glare before the girls vanished.
“Katie really doesn’t hide her feelings well,” Allen murmured when they heard the front door close behind them, glancing at Alistair, “Her eyes turned into giant hearts every time she looked at you.”
Alistair just smiled, innocently enough. “James is seriously going to need our help, isn’t he?”
“Desperately,” Tyler agreed, nodding vigorously, “But for the record, what is your type if it isn’t someone like Katie? You can pretty much take your pick, with the girls at our school.”
A little laugh passed through Alistair’s lips at the question, the boy leaning on the counter with his chin resting on his folded hands, eyes flashing in thought. “There are these moths in Russia,” he said after a moment, breaking out into a vague little grin, “They’re dark and beautiful and terribly rare. But they’re poisonous and tricky. When a human comes near them, they flutter away, but when the person turns its back, they sneak up to it and latch on, licking the salt off of their skin. This spread the poison dust on their wings, which the person breathes in and causes dizziness. But here’s the curious part: when a person is around these moths enough, they adjust to the poison and it creates a very mild sense of euphoria. They actually keep going back to where these moths are to be poisoned, because it doesn’t hurt them. They enjoy it.” The boy paused, briefly pursing his lips, and then broke out into his usual sunny, carefree smile, concluding, “I guess what I’m saying is…I have a very, very specific type.”
“No bloody kidding…” Tyler murmured, shaking his head, “You know too many thing, you know that? You look like a supermodel, can’t you just be happy with that?”
“Never,” the boy answered sweetly, turning and setting about making himself another cup of coffee. “Coffee, anyone? Rynn?”

Upstairs, Michael gave Cian a little wry smile, leaning close to whisper so that Antha wouldn’t hear. “Not an ancestor…the Designee of the Legacy. Those bonds they have, closer than blood, this is how they form. The designee calls out to her cousins before she’s even born and any of them in her generation with enough power to hear it respond, and the bonds start to form. It’s like a test, I suppose…the blood deciding who’s worthy of being close to her. Twenty years ago, the ‘sound’ was Antha. That was how we knew Mary Beth was pregnant, because all the kids could sense their unborn designee. Now, the ‘sound’ is Vanessa. Henry and Olivier can hear her because they have enough power, it’s bonding with hers, linking them to her.”
Antha, meanwhile, had taken up her infant daughter and was undeniably hiding behind her, pouting. “Can you say no to this face?” she whined to Cian, gently stroking back the wispy little curls on Vanessa’s forehead. “Try it, I dare you. You’ll just end up buying her another drawer of dresses before you even know what you’re doing.”
In the crib, Olivier had gotten ahold of Vanessa’s stuffed bunny rabbit and was holding it pointedly out to Antha, excitedly babbling, “Bun-yun! Bunya-ya-ya! Eek bun? Eek bun!”
“I’m sorry, Olly,” Michael sighed to the child, “I don’t speak baby. Antha?”
“Easter Bunny,” she translated easily, taking the stuffed animal with a little smile and hopping it along the crib gate to the boy’s immense delight.
“Ah,” Michael murmured, going over to gently stroke his hair, “Don’t worry, if mommy doesn’t show up, Grandpa Michael will take you. I can take Henry, too.”
The little boy’s eyes went immensely large and round, the rest of his freezing. “I can meet the Easter Bunny?!”
“What about the babies?” Michael asked meanwhile, as Henry babbled happily to Briar about all the questions he was going to ask the Easter Bunny, “Should we take them?”
“It’s different with babies,” Antha said, intently shaking her head, “They have no concept of the Easter Bunny, they just know you’re handing them off to some strange monster. Remember when we took Olivier last year? He screamed all day, there was no consoling him. No, taking newborns to see the Easter Bunny is suicide.”
In the crib, Oliver took up Sebastien’s bear, bringing a little irritated whine from the infant. Ginsberg, whom Antha had placed beside her son and had curled up beside him, perked up, whining frantically. Olivier was briefly taken aback, staring at the toy in his hands, and then hastily threw it at the dog. Sighing, Antha took the bear and tucked it beneath Sebastien’s arm, at which point the baby calmed and the puppy followed, settling back down with his head on the baby’s legs. “What a good babysitter you are, Ginsy,” Antha praised the dog, scratching his ears.
“Shinshi bah!” Olivier declared, pouting, and Antha hastily grabbed the child up before he could decide to cry.
“No, Ginsy’s a good boy,” she murmured, stroking Olivier’s hair as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, sniffling, “Do you want another bear?”
She offered him at least six other stuffed bears, but the boy shook his head, holding fast to her neck and whining, “Eef bun-yun…”
“Grandpa will take you to see the Easter Bunny,” she promised him sincerely, rocking him soothingly on her shoulder, and the child finally lifted his head.
“My ball?”
“That’s right, Grandpa Michael will take you.”
The boy sniffled, giving Antha a strangely intent look. “Ee-bee?” Tactfully, Antha dodged the question---that is, the boy’s request that she go with him---instead offering him one of his plastic rings, which he happily seized and set to gnawing on, forgetting the entire matter at hand.
“They’re easy at this age,” she said, as if to counter Michael’s earlier statement, “Just reassure them of everything and distract them with colorful toys.” But then, setting Olivier down amongst his toys, added, “But good luck with that whole teenager thing. I don’t totally expect both of you to survive it.”
“Antha,” Michael said, ostensibly reprimanding her, but with a mischievous, appreciative grin on his lips, “Give them a little credit.”
“I’m giving them a great deal of credit,” she argued, “But really, six teenagers.” Michael’s brow furrowed, curiously, and Antha added hastily, “Adair will be living here, too. That’s six altogether. That’s practically a gang.” Michael said nothing, turning away, but was not entirely convinced by her explanation. Something was off. “Anyway, Uncle Michael, I think we’ve got them under control for now. You should go get something to eat. Dorian, you too.”  

[Okimiyage]

Rynn allowed the pile of sheets to be taken from him without protest, figuring it was as close to an apology as he would get.
Liesse, in the meanwhile, was all but vibrating with excitement. She jumped up at the mention of the mall, while Katie put her head down and fled the scene. Malls. She’d heard of these before. They seemed to feature prominently amongst high school fictions, for whatever reason. “Maybe we’ll see Uncle Michael there,” she suggested to Gretchen, trying to rally some enthusiasm from the other girl. “Come on~ we can’t let Katie run away like that.” Although Gretchen probably wouldn’t have complained if she’d been left behind, from the way she’d looked at Michael.
This was confusing to Liesse. While she could recognize that Michael was a very handsome man, but dimples and blue eyes seemed rather poor reasons to go misty-eyed over a fellow. Feeling impatient, Liesse tugged urgently at the cuffs of Gretchen’s sleeves, backing towards the foyer. In her eagerness, she was very nearly out the door before she seemed to recall something important. “Oh! Almost forgot.”
Running back into the kitchen, she planted an enthusiastic good-bye kiss on Malakai’s cheek. “We’ll be home in a few hours,” she told him. “And when we get home, I’ll need your approval on the dress.”
It was a cute enough scene that it almost distracted Rynn from his own thoughts. Almost.
Fortunately, Alistair was there to remind him. As if the kiss hadn’t been enough…it was as if he was being toyed with, now. No matter how Airi protested that he wasn’t a ‘beast’, Rynn’s mind couldn’t be prevented from leaping to the worst possible conclusions. Especially when Alistair was determined to be as evasive as ******** possible. All Rynn wanted was a straight answer—but, as he rather suspected Airi would say, that would take all the fun out of it.
And yet, as he listened to Airi’s description of the Russian moths, Rynn’s hard look began to soften. It wasn’t the most subtle of metaphors, but it did sound pretty. And despite himself, Rynn was flattered, recognizing a fragmented sort of olive branch in his little monologue.
“I’ll take a cup,” he said, with an exhaustive sigh, crossing over to the counter and lifting the mug that he’d previously used.
For Rynn, this sort of gesture was practically a white flag.
Besides, he really did need the caffeine.

In the nursery, Cian had taken charge of wrangling Vanessa into a presentable state; an arduous task for any.
For a moment, he appeared to be holding nothing more than a large, wadded expanse of pink tulle.
Eventually, Cian found the right hole for the neck. When Vanessa’s face reappeared, she was giving Cian a distinctly disgruntled look.
“Sorry, pet,” he apologized, affectionately mussing the tuft of feather-soft hair atop her head. “I know, I know, it’s not exactly a dignified way to get ready, but the fawning and adoration will be worth it.”
Dorian snorted, in a decidedly inelegant manner. “You say that now. Think less, ‘fawning and adoration’ and more ‘paparazzi riffraff and society columnists’.” Leaning over Bella in her crib, he adjusted the bunny-patterned blanket around her in what was almost a tender fashion. He might not have had the usual months in-between for the idea of being a father to grow on him, but that didn’t mean he was totally immune to the charms of his own offspring. As if sensing his concern, Bella cooed up at him, opening her eyes wide and batting those exceptionally thick lashes up at her dad. Dorian was enthralled; she was already practicing flirting. Little wonder where she got that from.
Cian, in the meanwhile, took a break from struggling with the infernally tiny buckles on Vanessa’s patent-leather mary-janes in order to continue his line of questioning.
“So, if all the kids are already recognizing Vanessa as the Designee…” he began, thoughtfully. “Does that mean the Legacy has officially passed on from Antha? Or is it—er—allotted per generation?” He glanced towards his wife, meeting her eyes for a split second. “And what happens to the original Designee of the Legacy, when a new one is born?”
Dorian passed a hand over his brow. “Really, Cian, it’s much too early in the morning for such lines of questioning. Can’t you put it off until lunch?”
The object of Dorian’s persecution gave a light shrug, indicating that the time of day was irrelevant. Dorian grumbled unintelligibly for a second, then tossed his hands up before tucking them into his pockets in resignation. “Well, you can take a course in the family history if you’d like. Me, I’d prefer breakfast.” With that, he gestured towards Michael. “Come on, you too. Henry’s helping Antha and co. for the moment, so you’d better appreciate being off the hook.”  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Antha waited until Michael and Dorian were gone, giving the latter a roll of her eyes in the process, before answering Cian, quietly, as she wrangled Sebastien into his sweater. “Technically, she isn’t the designee until I die. But that’s only as far as the legacy is concerned. Each generation has their own, and they’re only bound to that one. Julien and Uncle Barclay and their generation, for example, were only ever bound to my mother, never to me. When she died, the bonds were severed and that was the end of it. Likewise, my generation will only ever be bound to me, and Vanessa’s to her. But in the larger sense, I’m still the only Designee of the Legacy.” Kicking her little feet, the infant heiress in question gave a sound of displeasure and her mother hastily went over to her, flashing a little reassuring smile. “I know, sweetheart,” she murmured, adjusting her tiny shoes and fastening the buckles, “But you have to forgive daddy, he’s a boy.”
On the floor, shuffling clumsily through his toys, Olivier laid a decisive smack on the small pile of picture books, looking up towards Antha and demanding, “Ee-bee!”
The girl just sighed, as sweetly as she could, bending down beside him. “Alright, pick one.” While the child shuffled through his books, Antha cast her husband a teasing glance over her shoulder, purring, “You forgot Vittorio had a son too, didn’t you? You’d better remember it, though. This one---” She picked Olivier up by an arm around his waist, laying a kiss on the top of his head as he happily shoved a picture book at her. “---is almost certain to be a nightmare for you when he’s old enough. We already know he’s going to be devastatingly handsome, and have an eye on our daughter. Really, you’d better watch him.”
Settling in the rocking chair beside Vanessa and Sebastien’s crib, Antha sat Olivier on her lap and let Henry squish himself in beside her, flipping open the book. “Who’s that, Olivier?” she asked the little boy, pointing at the picture on the first page.
He squealed happily, his blue eyes sparkling, throwing his chubby fist on the page and shrieking, “Pigget!”
Antha laughed, amused. “You don’t even care about poor Winnie the Pooh, do you?”
“Pigget!” And then, his wide-eyed gaze turning on Cian, he pointed at him and demanded, “Shiban go noun!” Even Antha was briefly perplexed by that, staring curiously at the child as he looked up and appealed to her. “Shiban dow-wow?”
Pointing at Cian, Antha questioned, “Cian?”
“Shiban!” he repeated, confirming at least part of his babble. And then, pointing at the floor, he repeated, “Shiban go!”
“Ah,” Antha murmured finally, “Cian, I think he wants you to sit down and listen to the story.”
“Pigget,” the boy repeated contentedly, slapping the book in her hands and settling back against her stomach. And then, turning with a briefly perplexed look, glanced back to Antha questioningly. “Ski yell?”
Antha paled, but hurried to recompose herself, turning Olivier back to face the book as if it had never happened. “Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin…”
Inwardly, she breathed an immense sigh of relief when the child focused intently on the pictures in the book, forgetting his previous train of thought. He was too perceptive for one so little, it had only taken proximity for him to sense his little cousin growing inside of his aunt. But thankfully, he was easily distracted.
“Ee-yo!” he exclaimed happily when she flipped the page, giggling happily at the pitiful donkey illustrated in the corner, and then pointing at the little stuffed version collected amongst his toys, his fingers grasping, demanded, “Shiban, Ee-yo!”
“You are a terribly demanding little creature,” Antha sighed affectionately as he tucked the donkey beneath his arm, “You must get that from your mother.” And then, glancing at the clock, murmured, “Speaking of whom, it’s about time for Saria to stumble in drunk to pick him up. God help her if she does, I’m over this nonsense. She’s a terrible mother and I’m not above calling the police for child endangerment.”
Irritably, Olivier tugged at the book, looking up at Antha and whining, “Ee-bee, Pigget!”
“Sorry, cher,” she apologized in a sigh, gently kissing his temple and returning to the story. “Well, it just happened that you had been to a party the day before at the house of your friend Piglet, and you had balloons at the party…”

Michael was a little surprised when he returned to the kitchen with Dorian to find the kitchen a great deal emptier than earlier, occupied only by Malakai, half asleep, and Pierce and Lucy at the table chatting happily over coffee and the remainder of the pancakes. “Where is everyone?” he asked, going to the fridge.
“Alistair and his friends went to our room to play video games,” Pierce answered automatically, never once taking his shining eyes off of Lucy.
Michael, casting her a second glance, muffled a laugh and commented, “That’s an interesting look for you.”
The girl blinked, glancing down at her slim frame in Pierce’s boxers and t-shirt, and then gave a careless shrug. “What did you expect me to do, wear that frilly dress around? It was monstrously uncomfortable. Besides…Pierce tore it.”
“I was overexcited,” the boy murmured hastily in his own defense, cheeks flushing.
“Of course you were, dear,” she giggled, laying a fleeting kiss on his lips, and he all but melted into a puddle on the spot.
Michael laughed to himself, musing briefly that Pierce never changed, even when he got what he wanted. “Hurry up and eat,” he told Dorian meanwhile, setting the bottle of juice and leftovers from the wedding in front of him, “Antha and Cian can keep the nursery calm for a little while, but sooner rather than later, your children are going to start crying for daddy.”
“They’re such darling things, though,” Lucy sighed dreamily, feeding Pierce little squares of pancakes from her fork, “I’m almost jealous. Except, you know…three at once. That’s rough.”
“He’ll adjust,” Michael said quickly, more to Dorian than Lucy, reassuringly patting his shoulder, “We’re here to help, after all.”
“At least the aunts will lay off of you now,” Pierce offered, his chin resting in his palm, “And Julien. Even he has to admit that you’ve made your fair contribution to the family and there’s no point in forcing you to find a wife.”
“Was there ever any chance in that anyway?” Lucy teased, casting Dorian a mischievously gleaming look, “You’re a terrible rake, Dorian, you know that?”
“It doesn’t matter now anyway,” Michael cut her off before she could tease him anymore, “Your life isn’t yours anymore. You have three children, you belong to them now.”
“That’s harsh, dad,” Malakai murmured, and Michael rapidly shook his head.
“Ah, I didn’t mean it like that. I know it’s hard now, but you’ll get used to it, and all of that other stuff won’t matter. Being a father…it’s like some wonderful, beautiful curse. You’ll understand when you’ve had time to adjust.”  

[Okimiyage]

Despite himself, Cian had to admit that he was charmed by Olivier. And, when he heard his own name (however garbled) issue from the child’s mouth, his expression of elation was unable to be disguised. “That’s right, Shiban.” he acknowledged, settling down next to the child. “I have no idea how you deciphered that,” he murmured to Antha, as she continued in the story. Picking up the little stuffed donkey that Olivier was gesturing for, he delivered it into the child’s waiting arms. The plush toy, even over-stuffed as it was, was almost immediately bisected by Olivier’s squeezing. “You’ve got a strong grip,” Cian gave the compliment, ruffling the boy’s hair. Then, glancing back at Antha, he inquired, “Have I met Saria yet? I don’t recall. How on earth did Vittorio get involved with such a woman? If even half of what I’ve heard rings true, I would have thought the man had more common sense than that.” Vittorio couldn’t be utterly stupid—he was a doctor, after all. “Are they married?’ It was a fair question, with the recent history of the family in mind. Besides, “I would have thought the aunts would have thrown a fit, if his mother—“ he gave Olivier’s little shoulders an affectionate pat, “—was anything less than satisfactory.”

Underneath them, Dorian was rattling about the kitchen like he was on a quest. In this case, the quest would have to be something along the lines of, ‘build a tower of pancakes that reaches the heavens’.
“I didn’t even know that Alistair knew how to play video games,” he rejoined the conversation with at last, as he inched towards the table. An array of voices raised in shrieking laughter drifted down the hall, and Dorian raised one eyebrow over his shoulder at the door. “Fast learner, I guess.”
The reason for his slow progress was evident: he’d managed to stack nearly half-a-foot of pancakes on top of one another, all slippery with syrup, and even the slightest tilt of the plate threatened to send them all crashing to the floor in a wet, sugary heap. Settling at the table, he stabbed his fork into the pile, losing it nearly to the hilt. “So, are you two an item already, or what? And how’d that happen, anyways? I mean, Pierce has been moaning about his unrequited love for so long that I thought he’d release his own volume of poetry any day, now. I was really looking forward to it.” With that, Dorian’s cheeks inflated to twice their natural size, with one bite of Antha’s pancakes.
…As if he had just noticed the look on Michael’s face, Dorian glowered. After a second’s concentrated chewing: “…don’t say anything.” He pointed with the tines of the fork. “It’s been a long night, alright? I deserve this. I deserve this.” The new father hunkered protectively over his plate. “I need the sugar rush. And all the caffeine. Dad bod be damned.”  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

“You should’ve met her, I’m sure. But…” Antha gave a little apologetic grin. “It would’ve been at the hospital, when I was in labor. So I don’t blame you if you don’t remember.” Covering Henry’s ears, she continued quietly, “They had a one-night-stand, Tori and Saria. I’m not even sure how that happened, they’ve never been able to stand each other. But they’ve gotten along fairly well ever since Olivier was born, for his sake. Tori’s really an exceptionally good father, even as busy as he is. And Saria…well, she’s tried, I suppose. Her mother---Mary Jane, the old hawk always dressed in black and crosses---gave her hell about having a child out of wedlock, but she kept him. Terrible mother that she is, at least she’s made some effort, so I suppose I have to give her credit for that.”
The child made a small, disgruntled noise, bending backwards to look at her. “Ee-bee?”
Antha smiled, laying a peck on his forehead and murmuring, “It doesn’t matter though, because Aunt Evie is his favorite person, right Olivier?”
“Ee-bee!” He confirmed happily, nestling contentedly against her.
As it happened, Saria never came for Olivier. Michael took him and Henry to the mall and got their pictures taken with the Easter Bunny, and picked Henry up some clothes while they were there, and Antha and Cian ran away to the park with their offspring for a few hours, and Dolly Jean and Malakai helped Dorian with his own brood, but no one heard a word from Saria.
“At this point, I really just suspect she’s dead or run away,” Antha grumbled late that afternoon while she was feeding Sebastien his after-lunch bottle. Stubbornly, Olivier was drinking cow’s milk from a sippy cup, his eyes following Antha as she irritably paced. “There’s no excuse for it! She knew she was supposed to pick her son up this morning, and no matter what she was up to, she should be conscious by now. Why hasn’t she gotten in touch with anyone?”
“Evie, just calm down,” Michael bid her gently, leaning against the counter deep in thought.
“I will not calm down!” she hissed, livid at the very suggestion.
“Look at him,” Courtland urged, laying a hand on Oliver’s head (he and Jack had returned at about the same time as Antha and Cian, Jack crying hysterically that he just wanted to sleep), “He’s fine. He’s as happy as a little clam with a slave race of aunts and uncles doting on him.”
“That doesn’t excuse her!”
“No one said it did,” Courtland quickly corrected, throwing his hands up in surrender, “Seriously, why are you surprised? Our family is notorious for producing bad mothers. Look around you, Evie, you’re the only good one in three generations.”
“Maybe that wouldn’t be the case,” she began, slowly, casting Courtland a threatening gaze, “If we stopped letting them get away with it. Why should they take any responsibility when you all just pick up the slack and shrug that there’s no help for it.”
Courtland pursed his lips, briefly considering it, and then quickly focused all of his attention on his coffee cup, muttering, “I’m out. Evie wins.”
Antha just stuck her tongue out at him, focusing back on her son until her phone rang. “Ah,” she murmured with something like relief, putting the phone to her ear, “Tori, have you…oh.” She was silent for a moment, brows furrowed as she listened. “But isn’t this awfully quick? We haven’t even---ah. I suppose that’s true. What do you think the chances are of finding someone else?” A single silent moment passed, the present company staring curiously at her as she looked briefly grave. “Is that so? Alright. I’m leaving right now.” Hanging up the phone, she hastily handed Sebastien off to Michael, explaining quickly, “There’s a problem at the hospital, Vittorio needs me immediately.”
“Everything alright?” Courtland asked, a knowing glint of concern in his eyes.
“It’s fine,” she assured them, and did a very good job of looking unconcerned, “But it is urgent, so I have to go right this very moment. Court, can you call Lawrence and tell him to meet us there?”
“Sure…” the boy murmured uncertainly, watching her as she kissed both of her children and Cian goodbye, fumbling hastily with her keys.
“Should we be concerned, do you think?” Michael mused when she had run out the door.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Courtland hastily assured him, successfully masking his own concerns, “You know how Antha is with that hospital.”
Once the suspicion had died down, Courtland waited precisely two hours to slip out of the house, leaving only a post-it note on the fridge explaining that he had errands to run. Instead, he went to the hospital. Lawrence was visibly shocked to see him, pacing the waiting room with terrified eyes, his pallor like chalk. Beyond the double doors in the operating room, he could hear Antha screaming, wordlessly, her voice thick with sobs. “Is that it, then?” he murmured to his cousin, who was still rendered mute with seven different kinds of terror, “Her child…?”
“I have very little idea what’s going on,” Lawrence whispered thinly, shaking his head, “I got here and she said that she was pregnant, and they found a perfect surrogate and were going to do a transplant, and---”
He stopped, wide eyes glancing to the doors as Alistair rushed in dragging Rynn. “Are we too late?” he demanded breathlessly, glancing wildly between the doors and Lawrence.
“It’s over, I think,” Lawrence answered, but again shook his head, “I don’t know, I just don’t know. It was so terrible---the anesthesia wouldn’t take, and then Vittorio said they couldn’t wait any longer and he started cutting her open while she was still awake, and---”
“Oh, mon dieu,” Courtland breathed, eyes going wide in astonishment, “He cut her child out of her while she was still conscious?”
Alistair didn’t bother listening to anymore, desperately murmuring his sister’s name and rushing through the doors to where she was still screaming hysterically. Lawrence meanwhile, glancing between Courtland and Rynn, asked quietly, “Did you all know? I’m not surprised about Alistair, but if she was trying to keep it a secret---”
“I figured it out,” Courtland said half-heartedly, lost in thought, “And I assume Rynn stumbled across it, at some point. I don’t really know.” Around them, the pictures on the wall shuddered and the boys flinched. “Did it work, though? I’ve never heard of a fetal transplant.”
“That’s because Antha and Vittorio made it up,” Lawrence answered gravely, shaking his head, “With a little inspiration from Marquerite. I didn’t get all the details, but from what I gathered, they used Antha’s hair and blood to make these little living stitches with magic. Vittorio found some woman that was biologically similar to Antha---blood type and all that---who was at exactly the same stage of pregnancy as her and from what I can tell, he just kind of…swapped the embryos out.”
Before Courtland could properly express his horror, Vittorio arrived in blood-spattered scrubs, quickly explaining, “She didn’t intend to keep her own child anyways. I found her in an abortion clinic and convinced her to do this instead. It wasn’t difficult---Antha offered a king’s ransom, and the chances that this won’t even work are staggering.”
“But for now?” Courtland pressed, desperately. He could still see his own dream so vividly in his mind, that unfathomably beautiful boy with hints of Antha and Cian, playing with his own son. He wanted that child to live so badly that it hurt.
“So far,” Vittorio murmured, nodding, and then quickly continued, “But this was the easy part. The trouble is in sustaining the pregnancy.”
“Should we really be keeping this a secret?” Lawrence whispered meanwhile, anxiously biting at his nails, “This is…incredibly big. Doesn’t Cian have a right to know?”
“No,” Courtland answered firmly, without a split second of hesitation, “No, Antha’s right, don’t any of you dare say a word to him. Just…trust me on this. If that child dies…don’t put that on Cian. Honesty isn’t worth it.”
“Does anyone else ever feel like that’s becoming our motto…?”
“Can we see her?” Courtland asked Vittorio meanwhile, ignoring Lawrence.
The doctor stepped aside, gesturing towards the door. “If you dare. She’s not well, psychologically speaking.”
Courtland rushed in regardless, with the others soon following cautiously. He was not entirely surprised to find Alistair physically restraining his twin, who was covered equally in blood, tears, and tiny bits of down from a pillow she had ripped to shreds. He went over to help, the boys wrestling her onto her back on the hospital bed, and finally the girl abandoned her desperate bid for freedom, throwing her hands up over her face and breaking down into desperate sobs. “He’s my child! I just want to see him!”
“There’s nothing to see, Evie,” Vittorio reminded her quietly, going over to lay a gentle hand on her arm, “And for his sake, it’s best to leave the surrogate alone. No agitation, no magic, no surprises.”
Antha could only whine to that, desperately, turning over to bury her face in the destroyed pillow, legs flailing. “He’s my baby!”
“Antha, stop,” Vittorio said, sternly this time, grabbing her ankle and trying to force her to be still, “I stitched you up, but you still have a gash in your abdomen, you can’t keep struggling like this if you want it to heal. I’m not afraid of you, I’ll put you in restraints if I have to.” The girl sobbed, impetuously, but settled somewhat, clawing helplessly at the mangled pillow. Vittorio just sighed, taking a step back. “Whatever you do, try to keep her calm. I’m going to go monitor the surrogate, you guys just keep her calm.”
Quietly, Courtland lifted the hem of her shirt, wincing at the sight of the long cut running up her stomach laced up with stitches. “Here,” he whispered, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a flask, handing it to her as he soothingly stroked her hair, “There’s some opiates thrown in there. No idea what they are, I got them from Ah Sing’s---”
Antha didn’t ask questions, only snatched up the flask and drank the entire thing to the last drop. She did calm then, at least enough not to struggle, quietly wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes. After a moment, when her breathing was steady, she murmured thickly, “Do you know, the first time Sleet kidnapped me, he put me in a cage---he said I was a poor, helpless little songbird and told me to sing---and he dangled it over this pit full of sharp things and corpses, and then he dropped it.”
Paling, Lawrence whispered, “I remember. Vividly.”
“I must have been stabbed ten different ways with rusty metal and jagged glass, there was blood everywhere. And you know what?” Despite herself, a dry laugh choked through her lips. “That paled in comparison to this. That one cut, compared to everything else I’ve ever been through, watching him pull that bloody mass out of me---”
“Evie,” Alistair said lowly, his tone sharp, and she fell silent. “You did what you had to,” he whispered after a moment, quietly taking her hand, “It’ll be alright, Evie. Everything’s going to be fine.” And then, glancing at Rynn, asked pointedly, “Right?”  

[Okimiyage]

Rynn had never particularly liked hospitals. It had been bad enough when Vanessa and Sebastien were born, even in the midst of all the celebration, but now—walking into the hospital was like walking into fog, a fog made out of pain and misery and loss, so thick you could hardly see your fingers through it. Alistair hadn’t explained the situation, but it hadn’t been necessary. Rynn, for once in his life, had followed unquestioningly, made passive by the grip of a rampant fear which none of them would admit to. After all, admitting they were afraid meant there was something to be afraid of, and that was impossible. Antha was the witch queen of Osiris City. Nothing could hurt her, and she always got her way.

That was the fiction, anyways.
Which made it all the more unnerving, opening the doors of the hospital room, to see the sobbing wreck of a woman who wore Antha’s face. Rynn felt as though his stomach had been turned to lead.
He didn’t have time to look over towards Alistair, and he didn’t know if he would have wanted to see that terrible, hollow expression on Antha’s face reflected in her brother. But before he could even turn his head, Airi had dashed forward. After a moment, Rynn followed tentatively. To say that Antha seemed unstable was putting it lightly, but at least Court’s drugs seemed to be effective. When her hand fell away from her lips, still clutching the flask, Rynn could see her eyes grow cloudy with a sort of dream-haze. She might have been looking at the rest of them, but she wasn’t seeing anything except that pit full of glass, and everything worse that it represented.
Lost in his own observations, Rynn didn’t become aware that he was being asked a question until he caught the uplifting tone at the end of Airi’s sentence. He wasn’t sure what he was being asked, but he knew better than to refuse at the moment. “Er—right.” he confirmed, with as much certainty as he could muster at the moment. Straightening his collar, still a little rumpled from the night before, Rynn tried to look responsible. Mature. Composed. Pretending that the rest of his feelings didn’t exist was easier than acknowledging them.
But now came the really hard part. Rynn tried to swallow around the lump in his throat; he hated lying. “It’s OK, Antha.” he tried to smile in a way that wasn’t utterly transparent. “It’s all over for you—Vittorio will make sure everything is taken care of. He knows what he’s doing. The best thing you can do now is rest up.” God knew she looked like she could use the recovery time. Rynn had tried not to wince when he saw the long whip-lash of stitches up her belly, but it had been a determined effort. “You’re lucky you heal fast,” he added, perching on the edge of the uncomfortably thick, foam-padded chair at the side of the bed. “Pretty sure the folks would keep you in bed for at least a month, after all this.” He was trying to be light-hearted. It was an ill-made attempt; no mater how natural his affected tone may have sounded, the witch boy couldn’t stop concern from shadowing his eyes, as inevitably as a shadow might grow across the face of a sundial in the course of an afternoon. “How are you—“ He paused, re-examined the glazed look in Antha’s eyes, and then sighed. Turning to Alistair, “How are we supposed to explain this to the rest of the family? They’ll want to know where she disappeared to, and we’re not going to be able to hide that—“ he nodded towards Antha’s stomach, “—from Cian for very long. What’s the official story?” He still wasn’t sure that leaving Cian in the dark was the best idea, but Antha wasn’t in the right mind to argue with, now. She seemed to think that knowing would just upset him, but not knowing seemed equally disturbing. If anything had gone wrong today, during the operation, it would have killed Cian to think of Antha going through it alone. For all of his sexual escapades, Cian had a streak of romanticism in him that meant utter, ferocious loyalty. He would have made an excellent white knight back in medieval times. The idea of failing Antha, or not being there when she needed him, would have been devastating.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Alistair pressed his lips together into a hard line, quietly pinching Rynn on the back of the neck where Antha could not see. His flashing glance seemed to say, Stop asking questions. Everything is okay. We are ******** calm right now.
Somewhere else in the otherwise empty hospital, a monitor beeped in alarm and Antha bolted up, all of the color draining out of her face. “It’s alright,” Vittorio assured her hastily, rushing back into the room, “She sneezed, that’s all. The heart stops when we sneeze. Everything’s fine.” Antha was still uneasy but back down, quietly, her eyes narrowing at the little package in his hand. “Do you want to go home?” he asked, sighing at her reluctance, “You’re going to have to take the risk that I’m drugging you, then. Which I’m not.”
“Whose blood is it?” she murmured suspiciously, her gaze following him as he began hooking up an IV.
“It’s Nicolae’s,” he promised, “I’ve been hoarding it, since you’re picky about your vampire blood transfusions.” Oddly, Antha didn’t seem to have it in her to argue. When he gestured for it, she proffered her arm and let him drive a few needles into her, switching on the machine, and then simply curled up on the hospital bed, silent. “Your vitals are good, otherwise,” he noted, glancing over his chart, “It went better than I expected. Your body is so warped, it’s hard to say what will happen whenever I get you under the knife.”
“Is that why you became a doctor, Tori?” she asked suddenly, her voice taken a sharp turn towards drowsy, “Because of that pit full of sharp things? Because nobody knew how to fix me and I died, if only for eighty seconds?”
Vittorio stilled for the briefest fraction of a second, as if he’d been caught. But he returned to normal with relative ease, seemingly unaffected. “I had my reasons.”
Courtland, cracking a crooked smile, played along with the distraction, snickering, “You totally did, didn’t you?”
“I have to go monitor the surrogate,” Vittorio said instead, ignoring them entirely, “When the wound is healed, take her home. Antha---are you listening?” She nodded drowsily against the pillow, eyes closed, and Vittorio sighed, turning back to the boys. “Make sure she rests, at least for a couple of days.”
“Good luck with that,” Alistair murmured, with a wry glance at his twin.
“I’m serious. This is serious.”
“I know it is, Tori,” the boy sighed, dropping the unconcerned pretense and looking him in the eye, “And we can stand here and pretend we’re going to pretend she has a virus and keep her in bed for a couple of days, but that’s just a total waste of everyone’s time, because we all know it’s not going to happen. Evie’s going to wake up, decide on her next task, and nothing in heaven or hell is going to stop her. There’s nothing we can do about it.”
“What you need to do,” Lawrence cut in sharply, while Vittorio shook his head in defeat, “Is set up your alibi.”
“We’ll say we came to look at the new MRI machine,” Alistair answered easily, as if he already had it all planned out, “Nobody will question my interest, and Rynn is supposed to be learning from Evie and no one wants to know the particulars of the subject matter, so they won’t ask him.”
“Courtland?”
“I left a sticky note that I was running errands,” he murmured, shrugging, “I’ll pick up a cake on the way home and if anyone asks, I’ll make vague, suggestive comments and nobody will ask.”
Lawrence’s eyes narrowed. “Sometimes I forget how clever you are…”
The boy grinned mischievously, settling down in an armchair beside Antha’s bed with his hands folded across his stomach. “There’s not a person in this damn town who remembers I have a doctorate degree.”
“Ah,” Alistair murmured meanwhile, checking on Antha’s wound, “It’s closing.”
“Good,” Lawrence murmured in relieved satisfaction, taking a seat against the wall, “That makes things easier.”
“I envy the two of you, you know,” Courtland sighed to Alistair meanwhile, pursing his lips, “You get a serious wound and all you have to do is drink some vampire blood and voila, good as new. And then there’s us poor mortals, running around having to heal naturally, just as god intended. It’s so cruel.”
“A payment for a price,” the boy reminded him quietly, shaking his head, “Our mother went crazy and died from drinking vampire blood, and all we got in return was the ability to process it.”
“I never understood that,” Courtland continued, with an even heavier sigh, “Couldn’t you just fix the problem by turning the person into a vampire?”
But Alistair shook his head, knowingly. “The properties of vampire blood attack the brain directly. When it makes contact with a mortal brain, it corrodes it, and nothing can fix that, there’s no cure. The only defense is being conceived in a system where vampire blood is already present, like us or Deborah.”
“That doesn’t make it fair.”
“No one ever said it was.”
Checking briefly to see that Antha was asleep, Lawrence leaned forward and asked, quietly, “But seriously…is it okay not to tell Cian? He would want to know. It’s right to tell him.”
“He might think he wants to know,” Courtland murmured gravely, “But trust me, Lawrence, he doesn’t. You’ve never lost a child, you have no idea.”
“It’s more than that,” Alistair added, very quietly, putting a gentle hand over Antha’s ear, “It’s an excuse. If this child dies, it’s her fault because she couldn’t save him, because she couldn’t carry him herself and she couldn’t devise a way to keep him alive. If he dies, it’s her own failure. At least in her mind. She thinks it’ll be a stain on her memory after she’s gone, that she failed their child and he died because of her. She doesn’t want him to remember her that way.” Glancing at Lawrence, Alistair was briefly not himself. His eyes went sharp and dark, his expression rigid and posture imposing. “And I’ll kill anyone who tries to put that on her.”
Lawrence paled drastically, as much from shock as genuine terror, finally nodding his agreement. “Alright…you’re right.”
Chuckling to himself, Courtland flashed a sly grin, purring, “I like Black Airi. He’s effective.”
But Alistair only smiled, as cheerfully as always, returned to himself. Looking back to Antha, he spent a moment in thought and finally murmured, “We’ll say she tired herself out working on the MRI machine. It’s believable enough.”
“Nobody is going to want to ask questions about Evie taking pictures of people’s brains,” Courtland agreed with a nod, “I can practically see the mad glimmer in her eyes.”
“So, if it’s all over,” Lawrence began thoughtfully, “Only one of us needs to stay with her, right? The rest can go home.”
“I guess,” Courtland murmured, even as he automatically settled a little more firmly in his seat. The boys all glanced at one another, Courtland digging into his seat like a tick, Lawrence leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms and legs, and Alistair perched on the side of Antha’s bed, intently lacing his fingers with his sister’s.
Half an hour later, when no one had moved, Lawrence cleared his throat, turning his gaze on Rynn. “You don’t know about that thing they were talking about, do you? Antha’s first time in the hospital. She was in terrible shape by the time we escaped Sleet’s crypt---she should’ve been dead on the second day, after that pit. She was only ten, and terribly delicate to begin with. Well, the family took us to the hospital as soon as they found us, but the doctors didn’t know how to treat Antha’s wounds and she died on the gurney on the way to the operating room. Nicolae freaked out and managed to get enough of his own energy into her that her heart restarted, but the lack of competency still left her dead for two minutes. After that, Antha became very intent about making a ‘proper’ hospital and started scribbling up plans. She said we had too many supernatural entities in this city for such sub-par care. Incidentally, now that she’s mentioned it, I think that’s about the time that Vittorio started reading medical books and dissecting roadkill.”
“So voila!” Courtland concluded, making a gesture around himself at the hospital room, “A decade later, we have the single most impressive hospital in the world, specifically geared towards supernatural research and care. No one can ever accuse Evie of not following through.”
“Or Tori, for that matter,” Alistair added, glancing to Rynn, “Julien talked him into getting his business degree, but in his second year he just rage-quit and went to medical school.”
“It was spectacular,” Courtland purred, laughing with real delight, “Julien was yelling at him and he just gave him that stern, unaffected Vittorio look and told him to ******** off.”
“All because a drunk, fourteen-year-old Antha rolled her eyes at him and asked why he didn’t just do what made him happy,” Lawrence sighed, shaking his head, “She really has a way of doing that…completely altering someone’s life with an off-hand comment.”
With a soft intake of breath, Antha stirred, murmuring sleepily, “Because people are ridiculous.”
The boys were all up in a moment, crowded around the hospital bed as she shifted and struggled to sit up, rubbing her eyes. “How do you feel?” Alistair asked quietly while Courtland felt her forehead.
“About as well as I could, given the circumstances,” she murmured, and then irritably brushed Courtland’s hand away, “Quit it, I’m not sick.”
“Heart sick is a kind of sick,” the boy muttered petulantly in response.
“How’s the wound?” Lawrence asked meanwhile, gingerly lifting up the hem of her shirt, and then immediately gave a sigh of relief to see the long line up her stomach had morphed into a pale, shiny scar.
“It won’t be visible in another half-hour,” Antha said, gratefully turning and yanking the IV out of her arm, pressing a little tuft of cotton against the small hole it left behind. “Is there any news?”
“No,” Alistair assured her hastily, “And with this matter, no news is good news.”
“Should we go home, then?” Courtland asked, gently tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, “It’s almost dinner time.”
“I am literally starving,” Antha agreed readily, “Court, can you hand me my dress?”
“Just promise you won’t push yourself,” he sighed, handing over the bundle of rose-patterned velvet, “I know that’s like asking a hurricane to stand still, but really Evie, try to get a little rest.”
In the end, shrugging out of her blood-spattered hospital pajamas with some difficulty, Antha only said, “We’ll see.”  

[Okimiyage]

Rynn looked at Antha like she was a madwoman when she swung her legs off the bed, but he didn’t protest. Was it worth arguing, when you already knew you couldn’t change someone’s mind?
But he wanted to—god, he had a thousand things he wanted to say to Antha Mayfair, mostly riddled with expletives. But she was his sister-in-law, after all, and so he bit his tongue—at least until they had all divided up into separate vehicles.
When they got onto the freeway, though, Rynn couldn’t take it any longer.
“I don’t get it.” he said, finally, although the admission was ill-matched by its accusatory tone. “I don’t ******** get it. And it’s not my business to intervene, I guess, but goddammit, Alistair—“
He stared hard at the clenched fists in his lap.
“We have to tell him. I know Antha thinks that she’s keeping this secret for his sake, but we can’t hide it much longer. And—even if something did go wrong, and the child—“ Ciel, his mind supplied the name unconsciously. “—doesn’t make it, do you honestly think it would make him feel better to be unaware? I’ve never—“
Rynn bit his lip, and his features softened, just a fraction. “I’ve never seen him like this with anyone. He loves her, Airi, he’d slit his wrists with a spoon if she wanted. If he knew what happened this afternoon—“ he blew a sigh out like a gunshot. “—it would break his heart. Not just because he wasn’t there, but because she doesn’t trust him. It’s like she’s already assumed that the child won’t survive, like he’ll never know, and she’s thinks she’s saving him from her own grief…”
Rynn trailed off, and for a while, he tipped his face towards the window and stared into the darkly reflective flow of traffic.
“The longer we put off telling him, the bigger the lie grows.” he said, finally.
“Yes, there’s a chance that none of this will work. But there’s also a chance that it will. And right now—“ he stopped. They were turning onto the street over which Mayfair Manor presided. He sighed, a smoky sort of bitterness in the sound. “—the longer we wait, the less he’ll trust us in the end.”

Dorian was on the front porch, a gold-tipped Soubranie cigarette dangling from his lips—from a pack that had been left behind half-smoked by a wedding guest. It was a shame to waste something so fine, and Dorian needed a break from the children—even now, though, he could hear their wails from the open window of the nursery above. At least Henry and Olivier were old enough to manage, but Vanessa and Sebastien had been unreasonably fussy ever since Antha had left the house, and the rest of the brood was no less agitated. Cian had been doing his best to calm them, but it was only when the rev of a distant, familiar engine muffed their wail that they silenced.
The car pulled into the drive; Dorian could recognize a familiar mass of red curls.
He thought about calling up to Cian, but decided he’d finish his cigarette first.

In the car, as the engine shut off with its customary electronic hum, Rynn stared unseeingly at the glove box. His expression was black. “Maybe it’s selfish, but I just can’t help think that this is the first time I’ve ever really gotten to know Cian. This is the first time that I’ve felt like he’s begun to really trust me. And—I don’t want to betray that. I don’t want to become one of the people that’s lied to him, and I don’t want him to see Antha like that, either.”
Finally, the car’s engine quieted, and Rynn let loose with another one of those gut-wrenching sighs. “I don’t want him to remember her like that.”
Rynn knew what was coming. So did Cian. Both of the Calais brothers had an intimate understanding of death. It was how you remembered the dead which was important. Grieving was a form of…of paying respect, of acknowledging the significance of the deceased. It was a way to pray to them, as if they were members of the Catholic pantheon. It was a way to keep them alive. There was a saying: No man is truly dead, as long as his name is still spoken. To the Calais, this was sacrament; it was the very source of their strength. That Cian should remember his wife well was of tantamount importance to Rynn.
Behind them, a familiar engine roared into the driveway. The witch-boy flinched, drawn out of his reverie by the sound. “Come on, let’s get inside. We’ll only have a few minutes.”

They had less. Cian shot down the stairs like a bat out of hell, the scuff-toed shoes that he’d gone walking alongside Antha in making a stupendous clatter on the wooden steps. In truth, the comparison to a bat ‘out of hell’ was not so far off: the nursery certainly qualified. He’d joked to Dorian more than once about feeling like he was holding off enemy forces in the trenches. It’d been all they could do—with the aid of various toys and distractions—to prevent the children from going into full melt-down.
But now—as if by magic, and Cian wasn’t entirely sure that it wasn’t—Antha was home, and Vanessa and Sebastien had finally been lulled to sleep. He could only hope that they stayed that way long enough for a brief respite from his fatherly duties.
His face fell slighlty when he realized that it was only Alistair and Rynn in the driveway, with Gretchen and Katie pulling up behind them. Liesse tripped out of the car door almost before it had stopped moving, her arms laden with what looked like an entire store's worth of shopping bags. "We found them!" she exulted, in the general direction of the house. Rynn, climbing out of the car, blinked apprehensively at the announcement, not entirely sure what she was referring to.
"The perfect dresses!"  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

In the car, Alistair listened for a while and then heaved a great sigh, humming to himself as he thought up the words to explain. “It’s a mark of how much Antha loves him that she’s trying to protect him,” he said after a moment, struggling to put his innate sense of Antha into words, “Evie…how do I say this? She doesn’t protect people from themselves like this. She’ll fix their messes, but she doesn’t try to protect them from their own feelings. And she’s never really cared about how people will remember her, she is what she is and they’ll either know that or they won’t. But with Cian, she doesn’t want to be remembered as a failure, as letting their child die. Antha, she…” Another sigh, his eyes glancing sidelong at Rynn as a complicated expression flashed across his face. “She can’t even handle herself right now, the mess she’s in. The thought of dragging Cian in it with her is terrifying. But…” He was silent for a moment, pulling into the garden district, and then said calmly, softly, “You know, for someone who’s been in control of his own life as long as you have, you have a nasty habit of not making your own decisions. You can complain to me all you want, or Antha, but neither of us is going to give you permission.” When they pulled into the driveway, he grabbed Rynn’s sleeve, turning in his seat and looking at him earnestly, unflinchingly. “Cian is your brother, Rynn. We’re not going to tell him, and we’ve told you why and we would rather that you didn't, but it’s your own decision whether or not you do.” He turned away, cutting the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt as Cian appeared on the porch, repeating for the second time that day, “Be a man, Rynn. Make your own decisions.”
Once out of the car, his bright persona took over again, smiling at the girls as they emerged with their shopping bags. “It looks like you broke the bank.”
“I totally blew my allowance,” Katie murmured, to which Gretchen gave her an accusatory sidelong glance.
“Just the one?”
“Alright, my allowance for the whole month,” she muttered petulantly, and then hugged the shopping bag to herself like it was the most precious thing in the whole world, whispering dreamily, “But it’s soooo perfect…”
Taking up a post beside Alistair---Katie was noticing more and more how peculiarly well they got along, in their own unspoken kind of way---Gretchen shot him a flickering glance, asking quietly, “How long has Liesse lived with you guys again? Because she’s alarmingly into poofy ballgowns that no one in their right mind would wear in public.”
Alistair pursed his lips, musing casually, “Are you in a position to speak for people who are in their right minds…?”
Scowling, Gretchen turned and kicked him in the shin, bringing the bubble of laughter from his lips even as he winced and rubbed the point of impact. Katie watched for a moment before hastily turning away, asking Liesse if she wanted to try their dresses on again. She refused to believe that Gretchen would betray her, or to be jealous that her best friend and her crush were getting along so well. Really, she should’ve been happy, it was a rare thing that Gretchen got along with anyone.
Lawrence and Antha arrived then, one after the other, Antha rushing to get into the house before Lawrence only to have him bolt out and catch her by the arm, whispering intently. She pouted but said nothing, irritably pulling her arm free, and all he could do in the end was sigh, wearily shaking his head. To escape him, Antha turned to the girls with a smile, questioning, “Dance dresses?”
“The dance dresses,” Katie answered firmly.
Antha smiled, amused---personally, she had never gone through that particularly girly ritual---and then turned to Katie and Gretchen, offering sweetly, “You girls should stay for dinner. It’s good for Liesse, having girls her own age around.” Going up the stairs, she pressed a fleeting kiss to Cian’s lips, questioning in a teasing murmur, “Did I miss the apocalypse?”
A cab pulled up then, bearing Courtland with a bakery box under his arm. Katie outright swooned, blinking at his slim, well-dressed form and pretty face as if hypnotized. Jack, waiting for him on the porch, was less charmed, pouting with his arms crossed, petulant. “I take one nap and you run away without a word. The day after our wedding. You just ran off.”
“I left a note,” Courtland whined in his own defense, hopping up the stairs.
“You said not one word.”
“I brought cake,” Courtland said brightly, in a clear attempt at a bribe, proffering the pink and white checkered box.
Begrudgingly, Jack fell for it, snatching the box out of his hands and holding it close, muttering irritably, “It had better be chocolate…”
“Devil’s food,” Courtland confirmed in a purr, pressing a loud kiss on his wrinkled forehead.

Shortly after, Antha was in the kitchen feeding Vanessa and Sebastien, most of the other Mayfairs present and waiting for Jacob to finish dinner. Courtland had kindly taken it upon himself to feed Olivier his carrots and applesauce, which was going quite well until the boy’s father showed up in the door, at which point he hurled a baby carrot across the room and held out his arms, intensely babbling nonsense.
Vittorio gave his son a weary smile, picking him up at laying a kiss in his hair. But he was visibly upset about something, disturbed. Courtland, Alistair, and Lawrence pretended not to notice, assuming what it was, and so were startled to hear Antha, still preoccupied with Sebastien, call calmly to him, “Just say it, Tori.”
The doctor gave a strangled, helpless sigh, glancing guiltily at her. “…you know?”
Antha rolled her eyes at him, reminding him flatly, “I know everything.” And then, turning back to her son, cooed sweetly, “Isn’t that right, Bash? Yes, mommy’s knowledge is terribly impressive.”
Julien lowered the newspaper in his hands, glancing suspiciously between the two. “What is it, Vittorio?”
Another sigh. He was clearly struggling with saying it out loud but, after a few tortured minutes, he covered both of Olivier’s ears with his large hand and announced, “Saria’s gone.”
“Gone?” Julien echoed, startled, “What do you mean, gone? Is she…?”
But Vittorio shook his head. “She met a stockbroker from New York and they eloped, apparently,” he murmured after a moment, gathering Olivier a little more closely to himself, “And her new husband…he wasn’t exactly open to the idea of having an infant step-son.”
“She left him?” Courtland concluded, dropping the spoon in his fingers as his eyes went wide, furious, “Tori, I need you to be very clear here, are you saying Saria moved to New York and abandoned her one-year-old son?” Vittorio hesitated, glancing at the child in question, but eventually nodded.
Lawrence, massaging his temple, murmured, “Well, this custody hearing is about to go a lot more smoothly…”
“I know it’s earlier than planned,” Vittorio said seriously, looking now directly at Antha, “But Dolly Jean and I were going to move out after the wedding anyway. I can start looking for a house tomorrow, I just…need to keep him here, for a little while. It shouldn’t be long---a couple of weeks, at most.”
Antha nodded quietly---she had known exactly where this was going---giving a dismissive gesture of her hand and turning her steady gaze on him. “It can’t be helped. You can’t exactly leave him with Mary Jane, after all.”
A sharp sigh of relief immediately escaped his lips before he could help it, his rigid posture relaxing slightly. “Thank you, Antha. Really. It’ll only be a couple of weeks, I promise.”
He turned and exited then, seeking out Dolly Jean to tell her what was going on. Once he was out of earshot, Courtland pursed his lips thoughtfully, turning to Antha and asking, “They’re never going to leave, are they?”
“I highly doubt it,” Antha confirmed very certainly, nodding and turning back to her own son with a sweet smile, “You’re never going to get rid of Olivier, are you sweetheart? No, he’s going to live here forever, plotting against your sister’s virtue. You’ll never have a moment of peace.”
“Hey,” Courtland interrupted sharply, “Give my son a little credit, he’ll be just as much of a threat.”
Antha shrugged, musing idly, “I just see Olivier as a larger threat.”
“Our of the two of them, maybe,” Alistair cut in thoughtfully, “But I think you’re forgetting the wildcard. You know, the fairy boy upstairs. The one with Dorian’s genes.”
Giving her most reassuring smile, Antha gathered her son to herself, gently rocking him as she purred, “Poor little boy, you don’t stand a chance.”
“Just remember,” Courtland whispered, leaning very close to Vanessa, “Adair is clearly the best out of all of your cousins.”
“Courtland!” Antha hissed, rounding on him with steely eyes.
“My money’s on Briar,” Armand announced conclusively, nodding to himself, “There’s something very romantic about his situation.”
“Armand, I swear to god, if you write one of your trashy novels about my daughter, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
Humming thoughtfully, Pierce leaned over towards Armand, whispering, “I’ll put my money on Olivier.”
The boys shook on it, seriously, and Antha’s stare turned outright murderous. “I’ll disinherit the both of you right now, let’s see you making bets then.”
“It’s really our concern for her behind all of this,” Pierce cut in seriously, sobered by the suggestion and hurrying to turn it around, “We just want our dear, sweet little Vanessa to end up with the best choice, obviously.”
Lawrence, scowling irritably at the two, hissed, “I pray to god you both have daughters and lose all of your sleep worrying about them.”
“About that,” Pierce began suddenly, as if he’d just remembered, “Evie, you really can’t cut me off. I just bought that pretty little gothic house across the street and it really ate into my savings.”
The entire kitchen fell silent at that, even Jacob pausing in front of the stove to turn and look at the beaming boy with furrowed brow. “You bought a house?” Julien repeated slowly, intensely suspicious, “Like an adult?”
The boy nodded casually, smiling as if it was nothing. “Why?” Courtland asked, flatly, “You’re not an adult---I’m more adult than you are, you just ran away from home---why do you need a house?”
“We need the space,” he responded, as if it was glaringly obvious, gesturing to Lucy as she sat beside him flipping through a fashion magazine to indicate the ‘we’. “I mean, you don’t expect us to raise a child here, do you? That’s madness, the nursery was full at least two kids ago.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Lawrence said hastily, throwing his hands down on the table, “Lucy, are you…?”
The girl finally glanced up from her magazine, blinking innocently. “What, am I not glowing yet?” Pouting, she turned a disgruntled look on the still and bewildered Antha demanding, “Annie, how long does this take? It’s been an entire day, I demand my maternal glow.”
Mouth slightly agape, staring at them in utter confusion, Alistair finally asked the question they were all thinking. “How can you possibly even know this after twenty-four hours?”
“I foresaw it,” Pierce answered easily, shrugging, “I took her to Suzette, just to be sure, and she confirmed it. And to get her permission, of course. But this one---” He rolled his eyes, pointing at Lucy with his thumb, “Refuses to get married until after the baby is born.”
Pouting obstinately, Lucy threw her magazine down on the table, repeating for the tenth time, “I am not getting married until I have the perfect wedding dress and it fits me perfectly. That’s going to take at least six months. And do you have any idea how long it’s going to take me to plan this wedding? I refuse to do it unless every last detail is perfect. No, it’s going to be at least a year. Tell him, Annie.”
“What are you turning to me for?” Antha demanded, still bewildered, “I literally woke up and decided to get married that day, I’m the last person to get to back you up.”
“I can’t believe you don’t get it,” Lucy sighed then, speaking to Pierce, “But never mind. I demand to have my way and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Probably not,” he sighed, breaking into an affectionate smile and gazing at her with adoring eyes.
Finally, Jack shook his head. “It sickens me how absolutely perfect this is,” he murmured, defeated, “My god, look at him, he’s like a puppy.”
“My obedient little puppy,” Lucy corrected with satisfaction, her smile blindingly bright as she laid an affectionate kiss on his lips, and Pierce melted all over again.
“I can’t even handle all of these life-altering developments,” Antha declared at last, turning and heading for the door, “I’ll be in the nursery, call me when dinner’s ready.”
“By the way,” Lucy purred sweetly, sitting back with her magazine, absolutely oozing confidence, “If this turns out to be a boy, all of your sons are out of luck, because they won't hold a candle to mine.” Flipping the page, utterly unconcerned, she concluded shortly, “And if it's a girl, she's going to marry Sebastien, so keep your little monsters' mitts off of her.”  

[Okimiyage]

Alistair had shut the car door before Rynn had even time to formulate a response. He wasn’t sure what he would have said, anyways.
The fact of the matter was, Alistair was right.
‘Be a man, Rynn.’
He’d been deciding things for himself for all his life, up until perhaps a year ago, when Antha Mayfair walked into his life—or more accurately, he chose to walk into hers.
When had that stopped? When had pleasing Antha and her family become more important than following his own instincts? When she married Cian, when she opened her home to him, when she resurrected Liesse?
There was no denying that he owed the Mayfairs a debt, one that he wasn’t quite sure how to repay. But Rynn was becoming increasingly certain of one thing:
He couldn’t do it here.
For Liesse and Cian, Mayfair Manor was a dream come true. It was all they had ever wanted to escape from the Calais héritage du sang. Even Liesse, for all her loyalty, had been peripherally aware of the outside world, and everything her own lacked in comparison. Now, watching her lug those crinkling armfuls up the porch steps, Rynn knew that he did not have the heart to take all this away from her. He’d tried for her sake, and for Cian’s, but…
This wasn’t his dream.
He knew that if he wanted to rise to Alistair’s challenge—be a man, throbbed the venomous mantra in his head, even now—he couldn’t do it here. It was like living in the house of your parents, knowing that at any second, they could toss you out on your ear for over-stepping their rules or boundaries--or worse, that they would hold you in contempt.
Perhaps that seemed ludicrous, but Rynn had tasted a little of it, during his own slip-up at the bar, and he'd seen how they treated Dorian. It was a thought that constantly kept Rynn in restraint, muffling his true thoughts, refusing to act on his feelings. That had to change.
He’d made up his mind.

Cian’s crestfallen face brightened immediately upon Antha’s arrival. “There you are,” he said, masking his delight with a nonchalant surprise, as if he had only just now noticed her absence. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d miss supper. Jacob cooked something that I have no idea how to pronounce, but it smells excellent.”
As she approached, he laid a kiss into the side of her cheek, taking in her sweet aroma. “The children were as good as gold,” he lied.
Dorian snorted, and received a swift kick in the ankle for his troubles. “Well—we managed,” Cian amended, with a slightly guilty smile.
“Where’s Malakai,” Liesse exclaimed, shooting past the reunited couple with a rustle of shopping bags. “I have to show him~”
Cian’s eyebrow hitched slightly, but he did not spare the effort to comment, smiling adoring at Antha instead. She was looking a bit peaky; a nourishing meal would set that aright, he thought.
Ushering her inside, he glanced over his shoulder. “And it seems like Courtland brought more cake into this house. I swear he’s trying to fatten us up; we still haven’t finished all the wedding cake from yesterday.” Not to mention their own wedding; one of the aunts had gone all-out on a triple-layer, lavishly frosted monstrosity that would likely be populating the freezer for months. Nobody could eat that much fondant.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cian noticed Rynn following in Liesse’s wake, as she all but ran to Dolly-Jean’s and their shared room in her excitement to get changed.

The gown she had chosen was a multi-layered, shimmering organza frock, which caught the light in varying shades of emerald and aqua-marine. In the dressing rooms, her red hair spilling over her shoulders, Liesse had felt like a mermaid escaped from the sea kingdom in it. When she spun, the skirt looked like an aurora borealis. The bodice was white, with corset-lacing up the back, rising into a modest sabrina neckline composed primarily of netted crystal beads, and fastening at the nape of her neck with a single large, baroque pearl.
Liesse hadn’t even looked at the price tag until she got to the register; Gretchen and Katie had seemed rather impressed by her failure to flinch at the cost, although Liesse had little concept of monetary value. The Mayfairs had an open tab at the store, anyways.
Now, struggling with the zipper, Liesse gave out a small squeak as the door behind her opened. Her expression of alarm subsided when she saw that it was only Rynn, and she rustled forward to embrace him, glowing with her own delight—
until she saw the look on his face, and stopped dead in her tracks.
“Rynn?” she asked, after a lengthy pause, in which he would not meet her eyes.
“What’s wrong?”

A short span of time later, Liesse entered the kitchen slowly. Ordinarily, the reveal of her new dress would have seemed like a grand occasion, but there was something empty in her eyes, like a model parading down the runway rather than a girl on the eve of her spring formal. Her mascara was smeared.
Cian noticed immediately that something was off. Compensating for her unnatural silence, he exclaimed, “Wow!” and came out from behind the kitchen counter to have a full look at her. She settled slowly into one of the kitchen chairs, her voluminous skirts draping around her legs like a waterfall. “You look wonderful.” Like a romantic painting of a tragic nymph, although Cian didm’t say that. “Is this what you bought for the dance?”
Now he knew something was up. If all Liesse had to respond to that question with was a sad nod, something was definitely wrong.
Even Dorian noticed. “Darling, you look like a faerie queen.” he said admiringly. “And I would know.” Then, with a sharp assessment of her expression, he added, “A faerie queen whose cat has just been run over. What’s the matter?”
Liesse was a horrible liar, but she bit her lip and attempted it anyways. “Nothing. I’m just—I’m a little tired. Where’s Malakai? I wanted to show him before…” She trailed off. Dorian’s expression was disbelieving.
“Alright. Suit yourself.” He could have pried, but it wasn’t his place; he gave Cian a shrug, as if to say, ‘she’s your sister’, but sauntered out of the kitchen and back to the nursery without further comment. That was the beauty of having infants; they were always a great excuse to escape an awkward situation.

Although Cian was worried, he was trying not to show it. Liesse was the sort that just clammed up under pressure; besides, if it was anything crucial, Rynn would get it out of her in thirty seconds flat.
“I think Malakai was out in the gardens, last time I checked. It’s been a few hours since I’ve seen him,” he offered, since that seemed to be Liesse’s primary concern. She stood up immediately; her skirt expanded like a rose in full bloom. “I’ll go look for him.”
As she fled the kitchen, Cian couldn’t help but notice that his sister’s feet were bare. Whatever was on her mind, it was seriously distracting her.

Anyways, there was a lot on the collective plate at the moment. Liesse’s moodiness, although troubling, was at least not as immediately concerning as the other issues at hand. At least Olivier wouldn’t be a problem; Cian rather liked the child, although he’d admittedly yet to see what his tantrums were like. Anyways, this would give Vittorio an excellent excuse to hang out with the family more. Cian liked the somber doctor, but just being around the guy made his nerves jangle in sympathy. He just seemed stressed all the time.
And besides, everyone else was arguing over Vanessa’s future groom, and someone had to be around to stick up for the tyke.
“Has nobody considered the possibility that, just maybe, we should let Vanessa decide who to marry, herself, rather than making all these assumptions about her love life before she’s even old enough to talk?” Cian said, in the same lazy tone that a bored scientist might use to propose an utterly sarcastic, off-the-wall hypothesis to his peers. His eyes were twinkling. You couldn’t fault the Mayfairs their daydreams. “Anyways, isn’t it traditional for the groom to ask for the father’s consent before a proposal is made, or am I old-fashioned?”  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

“That’s not how this works,” Courtland explained with a little roll of his eyes, “You should know, you never got Julien’s permission when you married Evie. Not that he would have given it---he totally tried to kill you twice on the wedding day.”
“It’s her choice, of course,” Pierce agreed in a purr, “But we will do every last thing in our power to make sure she chooses correctly. Even if we didn’t have our own vested interests, Vanessa is going to be the Designee of the Legacy, our bloodline depends on her offspring. The whole family suffers or prospers depending on the designee, you know.”
Glancing around at the boys, Lucy’s eyebrows knitted and she stated flatly, “I absolutely could not care less, all I know is that my children are going to marry Annie’s children and that’s all there is to it.”
To that, Jack murmured with vague irritation, “You are really single-minded when you want something…”
He glanced at Courtland to back him up, but Courtland wasn’t paying attention. He was looking at Alistair, who was staring hard at the stairs with dark eyes. “Airi?” The boy seemed to snap back to his surroundings with the invocation of his name, but his gaze never flickered. He only set into motion, rising from his chair with a mumbled ‘excuse me’ and headed up the stairs, leaving his cousins quiet and thoughtful. “It’s Rynn, right?” Courtland asked after a moment, his gaze settling pointedly on Liesse as he pressed his fingers together, “This mood. What’s he up to?”
Armand, for one, didn’t wait for an answer. He got up and went to the back door, tromping over to where Malakai was laid out on his back in the grass, staring dazedly up at the darkening sky. “What do you know?”
The boy blinked, coming back to himself, his eyes flashing thoughtfully before he shook his head. “Only what I see.”
“Which is…?”
Malakai gave a sort of helpless sigh, like he didn’t know how to put it into words, brows knitting and eyes closing. Eventually, his hands came up and made gestures, first locking together. “They went close like this---all wrapped up, involved. But not like Evie and Rynn…it’s different. And now…” He fingers slid quietly apart, his fingertips just barely touching. “They’re pulling apart again. And Evie’s all mottled, dark and conflicting. A tempest. She’s…less, somehow. But deep, deep down.”
The boy sighed, helplessly, running his fingers through the cool, soft blades of grass beneath him. “I thought it was Antha,” he murmured, mostly to himself, wrapped up in his thoughts, “I didn’t understand how…but it wasn’t her after all, was it? It was Alistair. I got it wrong because they were connected. But…” His eyelashes fluttered softly, the golden-green pools of his eyes quietly reflecting the first pinpricks of stars in the orange sky. “I still can’t do anything, can I? I watched them bypass fate altogether before, or at least I thought I did, but now that it’s happening again, I can’t do anything. All I can do with my powers is watch.”
Armand cocked his head, giving his cousin a baffled stare. “I swear I never know what’s going on in that head of yours,” he sighed at length, dropping down into the grass beside him and stretching out, his hands folded behind his head, “I guess it can’t be helped. I don’t understand your powers at all.”
“It’s not complicated,” he murmured, dreamily, “I see souls. I’m connected to them. To everything. I can trace fate.” Eyes closed, he reached up and pointed past the trees in the backyard to the house behind theirs, specifically to a bay window that was lit up behind the lace curtains. “Do you see that shadow moving in the window? He’s over eighty, his soul has already started detaching from his flesh. I can see his past in his soul, like a long, long line with all of these branches, things that could have happened but never did, they went another way. It’s astonishing really…it’s like a thousand lives that went unlived because there could only be one, a single path.”
Armand stared at the window intensely, trying to see what Malakai did. But all he saw was a slow-moving shadow. “Being conscious just sounds exhausting for you.”
The boy smiled very softly, folding his hands across his chest, but said nothing.

Upstairs, Alistair had banged once on Rynn’s bedroom door and then not waited for permission, entering of his own accord and closing the door firmly behind him. “You really can’t do anything by halves, can you?” he sighed, exasperated, his head falling slightly to the side, “It always has to be to the extreme with you. I take it back, you have a nasty habit of never finding a good balance. You either swing wildly one way or the other.” Crossing the room, he plopped down irritably on the side of Liesse’s bed, arms crossed and eyes sharp, full of accusation. “Even disregarding that, you made a promise, Rynn. You’re the only one who can enact the vampire sleeping curse, and you can’t walk away from that. You have to be here to learn it, and when the time comes, you have to be here to perform it. You gave your word, and I’ll hold you to it even if it kills the both of us.”
“Besides…” His expression softened slightly, the strict edge transforming into one of quiet concern. “You’re not the kind of person who can be alone. Not as a matter of survival, but your personality would never recover. You’re already too drawn into yourself, too paranoid, too ******** stubborn. It got worse when you were with Cyrus, much worse. You’ve started to open up again, but if you leave now…we’ll never get you back. Not you.” His eyebrows pinched together again, the expression on his face flashing something between being irritated and despondent. “And I’ll never forgive you for that, for what it’s worth. When you lose yourself…no, I can’t forgive that.”