Ivy's hand fell from me, and I saw the horror in her quiet face.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't mean to screw up your life."

Ivy sat back, stunned, and the sun blinded me. Tired beyond belief, I looked up to see Ceri helping Trent out of the garden.

What in hell had it all been for?

Thirty-four

Blue and pink baby booties had replaced the bats hanging in the sanctuary, the store-bought garland draping from one end of the sanctuary to the other. A cutout of a stork stood on the coffee table, and Ivy's piano was covered in yellow and green paper tablecloths. The white cake on it was surrounded by pixies snitching frosting. That is, the ones who weren't clustered over Ceri, ooohing over the delicate pair of baby booties and lace collar that Matalina and her older daughters had made.

The happy elf sat across from me in Ivy's chair, surrounded by pixies, wrapping paper, and gifts. She was nearly glowing, and it made me feel good. Outside, the falling rain brought darkness early, but in here, it was warm, comfortable, and full of the peace of companionship.

One month pregnant is way too soon for a baby shower, I thought as I leaned into the cushions while Ceri read the card from my mother, the box on her lap suspiciously similar in size to a humidifier. But watching Ceri's delight, I knew it had been the right thing to do. We needed to celebrate the beginning of a life. The beginning of something.

Ivy was to my left on the couch, crammed into the corner as if she didn't know her limits anymore. She'd been like that all week, hovering but hesitant, and it was driving me nuts. Her gift to Ceri had been the first one opened: an absolutely stunning lace christening dress of intricate beauty. Ivy had gone red at the fuss Ceri had made over it, and I was sure that Ivy had picked the delicate bit of feminine beauty out because she had given up the idea of ever having children herself. Though she never talked about it, I knew Ivy would rather remain childless than perpetuate her vampiric misery upon someone she loved, especially an innocent who was dependent on her for everything.

I squished the crumbs of my cake up with a fork as my eyes drifted to the present Jenks and I had gone in on together, wondering what it said about us. I had bought a set of redwood building blocks, and Jenks had painted garden flowers and bugs on them to go along with the alphabet. He was working on another set for his children, determined they would all know how to read before spring.

The pixies flew up in noisy delight when Ceri got the wrapping paper off and revealed a Dr. Dan's Misty Memories Humidifier with deluxe soothing atomizer built right in to "lull your baby to sleep on the most trying of nights." I was staying out of the way, but my mother went to kneel beside Ceri as the elf seriously unpacked the thermometer and burping cloths she had put in there with it.

"Ceri, this is a lifesaver," my mom was saying as the young-looking elf lifted the green plastic monstrosity out. "Rachel was a fussy baby, but I would just put a bit of lilac into the little cup, and she would drop right off." She smiled at me, looking different with her new hairstyle. "And it's indispensable if your baby gets the croup. Robbie never got the croup, but Rachel, lord love a duck, she'd just about scare me to death every winter with her coughing."

Hearing a story coming on, I picked up a few plates and stood. "Excuse me," I said, beating a tactful retreat into the kitchen as my mom started in on the story of my nearly suffocating. Ceri looked properly horrified, and I rolled my eyes to tell her it was mostly momma drama. Mostly.

I glanced back at the scene of content femininity as the dark confines of the hall took me. My mother had gifted Ceri's baby with a wish for health, Matalina gave the trappings of security, Ivy imparted beauty and innocence, and Jenks and I gave wisdom. Or maybe entertainment.

The kitchen held a cool quietness, and I glanced out at the graveyard and let my vision drift into my second sight to make sure Al wasn't waiting for me. The red-smeared sky of the ever-after mingled with the reality of gray clouds to make an ugly picture, and I shivered though the line was empty. He said he would call first, but I didn't trust him not to just show up and scare the crap out of everyone. Apparently Newt's claim that he had made himself destitute was right, because he said he wasn't going to bring me over until he had a kitchen that wouldn't embarrass him. I wanted my name back and that mark on my foot removed, and I think he was stalling, not wanting to lose that hold on me.

"That was a lovely shower," my mom said from the hallway, and I jumped, startled.

"Holy crap, Mom!" I exclaimed, dropping my second sight and turning. "You're worse than Ivy."

She smiled, a glint of devilry in her as she sashayed in, cake-strewn plates and silverware in hand. "Thank you for inviting me. I don't get to go to too many of these things."

Hearing an accusation in there, I plugged the sink and ran some water. "Mom," I said tiredly as I pulled out the soap, "I'm not having any kids. I'm sorry. You'll be lucky if you even get a wedding out of me."

My mother made a rude sound, part laugh, part wise-old-woman scoffing. "I'm sure you feel that way now," she said as she dropped the forks into the sink. "But you're young. Give it some time. You might feel differently after you've met the right man."

I turned the water off, breathing deeply of the lemon-scented air and slipping my hands into the warm water and washing the forks. I wished she'd drop the facade of what she wanted for what was real. "Mom," I said, voice low, "my children will be stolen by demons for the ability to kindle their magic. I'm not going to risk that." Well, actually, they would be demons, thanks to Trent's dad, but there was no reason to tell her that. "I'm not going to have kids," I said, slowly washing the plates.

"Rachel…," my mom protested, but I shook my head, adamant.

"Kisten died because of me. Nick went over the bridge. I've got a standing date in the ever-after once a week once Al gets his act together. I'm not a good candidate for a girlfriend. Can you see me as a mother?"

My mother smiled. "Yes. I can, and you would be a good one."

The tears pricked, and I dropped a handful of clean silverware into the dry half of the sink and ran hot water over them. I couldn't. It was too risky.

Pulling a cloth from a top drawer, my mom took the handful of clean silverware I'd dropped into the sink. "Let's say you're right," she said, "and you don't even adopt or take in a child who needs a home. But what if you're wrong? There's someone out there who's suited for you. Someone who has enough strength or knowledge to keep themselves safe. I bet there's a foxy young man looking right now for a woman who can take care of herself and thinking he can't have anyone either."

I smiled faintly, picturing it. "I'll place an ad, okay?" SWFW looking for SWM. Must be able to fight off demons and vampires, and be willing to put up with jealous roommate. Then I sighed in the thought that that pretty much summed up Nick and Kisten. Nick was a real winner, and Kisten was dead. Because of me. Because he had tried to save me.

My mom touched my arm, and I handed her one of Ceri's teacups.

"I just want you to be happy," she said.

"I am," I said confidently so I could believe it. "I really am." But when I found out who had bitten me and killed Kisten, and then I ripped him apart, I was going to be a whole lot happier. Maybe Al knew a Pandora charm. Maybe he had a book and I could just read up on it when he was sleeping.

From the sanctuary came the masculine sound of a hello and the excited tinkling of pixy chatter. It was Quen; the party was breaking up. Passing my mom the last dish, I went more melancholy still. I had saved Quen, but not my dad. That sucked.