Then the strangest thing of all happened. Everything around her slipped a groove. If reality was an old 45 vinyl record playing on a turntable, the needle had jumped, skipping an important part of the song.

And suddenly Rune shapeshifted into something monstrous. He killed the blonde Vampyre, who disintegrated into dust and blew away on an early morning breeze.

Grace had thought the group had argued a lot before, but that was nothing compared to what came next. She was reeling from exhaustion and shock but glued in place, because what those deadly, immortal Power brokers decided mattered a whole hell of a lot to her.

When at last the Demonkind Councillor turned to her and asked for her opinion, she was all too happy to give it. She knew she hadn’t seen everything that had happened, nor had she understood all of the arguing, but she saw one thing clearly enough, and she knew how she felt about that.

The Vampyre woman had drawn a sword on her land. As far as Grace was concerned, whatever Rune had done after that point was only what the woman deserved. Grace would have killed the woman herself if she’d had the opportunity.

Once she had said her piece, the whole thing had been over.

To a young, inexperienced human Oracle, the morning had been extraordinary, dangerous, confusing and terrifying. And she hadn’t had a chance to talk it out with anyone or process what had happened. The events kept swirling in her mind like a funnel cloud.

The fact that Grace hadn’t had to kill the woman in self-defense was beside the point. The early morning’s violence hadn’t even been directed at her, but witnessing it had changed everything. Grace’s quiet home and her small life had been indelibly marked.

Her world had already been shaken to its foundations these last four months. Now she felt like she and the children lived in an unimaginably fragile house of glass, and she did not know how she could stand for them to stay there.

At least all the covens in the witches’ demesne recognized what an unmanageable position Grace had been in ever since the accident. It was impossible to meet the obligations and uphold the traditions of the Oracle’s position while also acting as a single parent.

At the instigation of Isalynn LeFevre, the Head of the witches’ demesne, a roster had been developed of witches who were on call to babysit whenever Grace was petitioned to act in her new role as the Oracle. The witches donated their time as part of their tithe of community service. The tithe was required of all actively practicing witches in the demesne, but sometimes the help they gave Grace was grudging. In any case, the babysitting roster was only a stopgap solution. It didn’t solve any of her larger problems.

Or alter the fact that something, somehow, had to change.

It had to, because continuing like this was inconceivable.

The oven timer dinged. The pasta was done.

Grace stood and fed the children supper.

Three

Khalil reformed on the roof of the house, not necessarily because he felt any particular desire to take physical form again but more to give his roiling energy a focal point. He crossed his arms and leaned back against a dormer. The roof was shabby and missing a few tiles, he noted with disapproval. The land was as unkempt as the house, with grass that was too long and weeds that sprouted around fence posts. They were overtaking once well-tended flower beds. Everywhere he looked there was evidence of neglect, while the lazy, contentious human napped. He did not approve of how the property was maintained or how she cared for the children. He tapped his fingers on his biceps and thought.

The Djinn were among some of the first creatures that came into being at the Earth’s formation. Born of magic and fire, they were beings of pure spirit. They gained nourishment from the energy of the sun, from the living things of the Earth and from sources of Power. Any form Khalil chose to take was like donning a suit of clothes. He did not need to eat food or drink liquids. This body would not grow hungry, or grow old and die. Easily assumed and easily discarded, it would fade into nothing as soon as he let go of it.

He was not the oldest of his kind, the first generation of Djinn born at the keen, bright morning of the world, but he was of the second generation and, therefore, considered old among his people. He was an authority in his House and a voice to be reckoned with among the five Houses of Djinn. This young human creature was nothing more than a single breath of time in his ageless existence, and the fact that she called him ignorant was insupportable.

While he certainly knew why she irritated him, he did not know why she interested him. Her facial features and physical form were pleasant enough, at least as far as humans reckoned such things. She was pale and wore shadows on her face like the haunts of memory. Those shadows were intriguing. They told a tale but in a language he couldn’t read. He wondered what they said.

Her hair. Now her hair interested him. It was a light reddish blonde, like captured fire and sunlight, and her hazel eyes held flecks of green, blue and honey brown. What he found most interesting about her was her energy, which crackled with intensity. She had a temper as fiery as her hair, and she held Power in that slender body of hers too, a great deal of it. It was an odd thing that such a young creature held a Power that felt so old to him. The land itself held echoes of the same Power. He wondered what it meant.

He sensed movement and other flares of ancient Power in the nearby city. Even though his focus had been on the children and he had remained at the house, he had sensed the gathering earlier on the property. He knew that several of the entities were still in the area. Carling and Rune, Elder tribunal Councillors, the Nightkind King and the dragon were somewhere close by. Khalil was curious to discover who might leave and if any of them might return to speak again with the Oracle.

Shadows lengthened across the land. The Midwestern air felt heavy and full of water, like it was pregnant with some kind of storm. From his position on the roof he could see the Ohio River that bordered the western edge of the property. One of the great rivers of the North American continent, the water captured the sunlight along its surface until it seemed to shine with its own light.

He listened to the sounds from within the house, small domestic things like the clink of cutlery against dishes, the baby’s infectious giggle and Chloe’s light voice. The child chattered about anything that took her fancy, and when she wasn’t talking, she sang. She asked questions unceasingly. Despite the temper Grace had displayed to him, she always answered Chloe’s questions with patience.

They were like a small nest of birds. Khalil grinned when he thought of it. Chirp chirp chirp. Then there was the sound of water running and much flapping of wings. The chirping grew louder. Giggling was punctuated with Chloe’s tra-la-ing and Max’s cheerful yodel. The noisiness moved from the kitchen to another part of the house. Grace was putting the children to bed. She lavished love on those babies. While he did not approve of her and he was almost certain he didn’t like her, he would have to give the human female credit for that much.

He thought back to a time long ago, when his own child, Phaedra, would have made such light, happy sounds. All forms of children were rare to the Elder Races, as if nature were compensating for giving the Elder Races such long lives.

Djinn children were not born like humans or other embodied creatures, but were occasionally formed as two Djinn mingled energies. Their children also did not require as much intensive caretaking as the creatures of other species. They came into existence with their personalities well formed, and they inherited quite a bit of knowledge from both parents. Still, Djinn children were innocent, new to the world and filled with a mischievous lightness of being.

Phaedra’s mother, Lethe, had been even more Powerful than Khalil, a first-generation Djinn who remembered the dawn of the Earth. Over time he and Lethe had become enemies, and to hurt him, Lethe took their child and tortured her. Khalil, along with a select few allies that included Carling, had rescued Phaedra and torn Lethe to shreds.

His daughter lived but didn’t laugh any longer, not like these bright, innocent humans. Occasionally Djinn sustained so much damage they became malformed. Phaedra was like that, her energy jagged and twisted. She shunned contact with others, and she was quick to lash out and cause damage. He did not know how to help her. He had never known how to help her.

At last Grace left Max and Chloe’s bedroom. He heard her move back to the kitchen. She ran more water, and there were more sounds of dishes clinking and splashing. Then she moved to another room, the left room in the downstairs. That would be the office area. She was silent for a while, and then she went into the living room. He noticed how her gait changed at times. She would start walking at a smooth pace, but she quickly slowed down, and her footsteps became arrhythmic, ungraceful. It was another oddity.

She turned on the television, and that was when he slipped silent as the summer breeze through the open window into the children’s bedroom.

The toys had been picked up. The floor was clear, and the room tidy. The bedroom was not quite dark because the door was open, and indirect light shone from the living room down the hall. The two beds were at opposite sides of the room. Colorful posters adorned the walls. A cheerful green frog hung over Max’s crib, and a pink pig wearing a blonde wig and pearls hung over Chloe’s small bed.

Khalil added the pig in the blonde wig to the growing list of things he did not understand. He hated to admit it, but the human female might have had a point.

Khalil moved silently over to check Max’s still form. The baby smelled clean and was fast asleep again, his round cheeks flushed. Khalil picked up Max’s hand and studied it curiously. It was even smaller and more delicate than Chloe’s, a soft little starfish of flesh. These humans were such odd creatures.

When he moved over to Chloe’s bed, he saw that she lay on her stomach, sucking her thumb. She smelled clean too, and her shining curls were combed. Then he saw the shadowed sparkle of her eyes, and he realized she was awake and watching him as he watched her.

He crouched to look at her. She smiled at him around her thumb. He whispered, “Do you know that I am the doggie-cat?”

She nodded.

“Clever girl.” He thought a minute, trying to come up with words she might understand. It was surprisingly difficult to try to think like a small, new human might. “Do you know that I am not really a doggie or a cat?”

She nodded again.

Good. That was good. He patted her back. She felt warm and soft and a little lumpy under a light summer blanket. “Do you know that you should not pull a real doggie’s tail or a real cat’s tail either? And you should not poke them in the eye?”

She popped her thumb out of her mouth and whispered, “Indeed?”

He frowned, suspicious. “Do you understand what that word means?”

She shook her head.

He sighed. “I see we have things to work on.”

She asked, “Can you be a horsie too?”

Ah. Small, noisy and remarkably tenacious. He was learning a great deal about new humans.

“I don’t think we should be having this conversation right now,” Khalil whispered. He wanted to pick her up and hug her but restrained himself.

She snickered sleepily. “Indeed.”

He patted her back again.

Indeed.

The Bane of Her Existence might have disappeared from sight, but he still hadn’t left. Grace could still sense his presence hanging in the air, like the aftermath of a bonfire.

Why hadn’t he gone? What attracted him, and how could she change it, so that he would lose interest and leave for good?

Grace considered the problem of the unwelcome Djinn, while the matronly ghosts murmured to each other and she cleaned up the kitchen.

The babysitting roster wasn’t the only assistance Grace received from the witches. Jaydon Guthrie, the head of one of the oldest covens in Louisville, had arranged for a quarterly community work day to help her with basic maintenance on the property. As Jaydon said, the work days would benefit more than just Grace. They would also provide a way for witches to volunteer several hours at a time, which would help those who were behind on their community service tithe. Grace had been too desperate to consider turning the offer down.

On the first work day, she had used their help to arrange things so that she and the children were mostly using the ground floor. The kitchen was spacious and had a dining nook with a table, a high chair and four chairs, so they didn’t need a separate dining area. When Petra and Niko had decided to have children, they had installed a stacked washer and dryer in the kitchen so that Petra wouldn’t have to go into the basement very often. The ground floor also had a half bath.

Grace had the large dining table and chairs stored in the garage, the downstairs office moved into the dining room and Chloe and Max’s bedroom set up in what had once been the office. She slept on a futon in the office/dining room. That meant she only had to climb the stairs when it was bath time or when she needed to get a change of clothes. The downstairs was cooler in the summer, and it was easier on her leg, so the solution worked for now. Gradually her clothes were coming down the stairs and not making it back up again. She had started storing things in a filing cabinet in one corner of the office.

Saturday was the next work day. Maybe she could get someone to move a dresser downstairs. Simple things like that could make a hard situation a lot more bearable. She put the wet load of clothes from the washer into the dryer. Then she washed up at the kitchen sink, sticking her head under the faucet and soaping her fine, short hair with the baby shampoo she had used on the kids.

Even with two fans running downstairs, the house was too hot. She gave in and went into the office to dig through the filing cabinet for lighter clothes, slipping on a tank top and cutoff shorts made from a pair of old, soft sweatpants. After all, she wasn’t expecting company, and she didn’t have to look at herself if she didn’t want to.