“Is this your first?”
“Huh?”
Our plane was descending into Los Angeles, and I was doing my best to rock a fussing Declan while belted into my seat. In lieu of any proper baby toys, Sydney was trying to distract him by shaking a set of keys over him, even though she claimed to have read some article about how newborns couldn’t actually see very far. The question had come from a little old lady sitting across the aisle from us. She nodded at Declan.
“Your first baby,” she clarified.
Sydney and I exchanged glances, not entirely sure how to answer that. “Uh, yeah,” I said.
The old woman beamed. “I thought so. You both are so attentive! So concerned. But don’t worry. It’s not as hard as you think. You’ll get used to it. You two look like natural parents. I bet you’ll have a dozen!” She cackled to herself as the plane touched down.
By the time we reached Palm Springs, Declan was the only one of us who wasn’t wiped out. None of us had really had a decent night’s sleep in days, but we kept on powering through as best as we could. Dimitri once again took it upon himself to drive and delivered us to Clarence Donahue’s house, which provided a relatively safe haven—and also a much-needed source of blood for me. Clarence Donahue was a reclusive old Moroi who’d helped us in the past, and he was delighted to see us when his housekeeper showed us into his living room. I was delighted to see my mother sitting there with him.
“Mom,” I said, wrapping her in a huge embrace.
“My goodness,” she said, when I was reluctant to let her go. “It’s only been a few days, dear.”
“A lot’s happened in that time,” I told her honestly, thinking of how much life and death I’d witnessed in those days. “And I think a lot’s going to go down when Sydney checks in with some of her friends. It’s going to keep the rest of us pretty busy, and, uh, there’s something I need your help with.”
I stepped to the side and revealed Sydney, carrying Declan asleep in his car seat.
My mom stared at the baby in confusion, then looked at Sydney, and then turned to me wide-eyed. “Adrian,” she exclaimed. “That’s not—I mean, how is it possible—”
“He’s not mine,” I said wearily. “His name is Declan, and I’m taking care of him for a friend. I might need your help watching him while we go after Jill, though. There’s no one else I can trust.”
As though he knew his name, Declan opened his eyes and regarded us solemnly. I honestly wasn’t sure how my mother was going to respond to this request. Dhampirs had always been in subservient roles to her, and she’d freaked out when I’d brought Rose home on a date. After she’d accepted my marriage with Sydney, I’d once commented to her that she’d have to accept the idea of dhampir grandchildren. My mom had shrugged off the topic, saying, yes, of course she understood that, but I’d wondered if she’d been pushing that off for another day’s worries. How would she react now to caring for a dhampir child?
I carefully lifted Declan out of the seat and was astonished when my mother snatched him away. “Look at you,” she crooned, swaying him in his arms. “Such a handsome little boy. The handsomest little boy.”
I remember when you used to be her handsomest little boy, remarked Aunt Tatiana.
My mom dragged her gaze from him. “You should change him into some lighter clothes,” she told me. “Those pajamas are too heavy for this climate.”
“Um, those are all we have,” I said. I pointed to a grocery bag Rose had set down. “Really, his worldly possessions are all in there.”
“Where’s he going to sleep?” my mother asked.
“He’s just been using the car seat.”
She sighed loudly. “Oh, Adrian. This is just like the time you brought home a neighbor’s puppy and seemed surprised when you found out you’d have to feed it every day.”
“Hey,” I retorted. “We’ve fed this little guy plenty of times.”
“Sydney, dear,” my mother added, “I expected more sense from you, if not Adrian. Surely you know that a baby needs all sorts of things.”
Sydney was momentarily stunned, and I couldn’t blame her. I was pretty sure my mother had never called her “dear” before, and I think Sydney was at a loss as to whether to feel flattered by the endearment or chastised for her lack of “sense.”
“Yes, Mrs. Ivashkov,” said Sydney at last. “That’s why we wanted you out here while we got things settled. We know you’ll get him all he needs.”
“You’re Mrs. Ivashkov now,” corrected my mom. “Call me Daniella.”
That was another surprise to Sydney, and she was saved from her shock by her phone ringing. “It’s Ms. Terwilliger,” she said, answering it and walking out of the room. She returned a few minutes later, face excited.