A Wolf at the Door

She laughed at something Estéban said, and elbowed him in the ribs. He just grinned back at her. His black hair was getting shaggy again. I figured he had about a week before Mira started hounding him about a haircut. Tall, lanky, still growing into himself. So far from the angry kid he’d been a few months ago, he was actually starting to become a pseudo-grown-up. Don’t tell him I said that.

“Kid.” He looked at me and I jerked my head toward the hall. “Go make sure Anna’s hair gets brushed, ’kay?” He had little sisters, he could brush hair. And he didn’t need to hear this conversation.

Estéban gave me a puzzled look, flipped his pancake once more, then handed the spatula to me as he passed. “Todo está bien?”

“Sí.”

“Y’know, speaking Spanish to hide what you’re saying from me is a poor choice,” Mira reminded us. “It is one of the languages I’m rather good at.”

“Off with you.” I shooed the kid out the door—and I use the term “kid” loosely, ’cause he was taller than me now—and went to tend the pancakes before something burned. For a few moments, Mira and I cooked breakfast in silence. “So…there was this box in the trash in the bathroom…”

She didn’t look up at me, just kept turning the sizzling bacon. “Mhmm.”

“So…were you gonna say something about that?”

“Nothing to say, yet.” She fished the last of the bacon out of the pan and set it aside, bracing her hands on the counter with a sigh. “It was negative, so…nothing to say.”

“Oh.” The pancakes were fascinating. I kept my eyes on them. “But…you had a reason…?”

“I’m late, Jess. I…” In the corner of my vision, I could see her rake her fingers through her thick hair. “I thought it couldn’t hurt to be sure.”

“Oh.” In the back of the house, Chunk started barking, a precursor to the deep bellow he’d have when he was full grown. I tried to tune him out.

Annabelle was six years old now. She was destined to be an only child. After three miscarriages, Mira and I had accepted that. Mira’s magic took such a toll on her body…well, the pregnancies had always been over before we even knew it was happening. We’d never really talked about not trying anymore, it had just…happened.

The pancake was burning, and I dumped it out of the pan. “So…”

Mira sighed at me again, turning to lean against the counter, hugging her arms around her. “So, yes, it is still a possibility. I…if the test is negative again, I’ll have Bridge do a blood test. We need to know as soon as possible, right?”

“Right.” Okay, I gave up on pretending to cook. I was sucking at it anyway. Reaching over, I caught her around the waist and pulled her into my arms. She tucked her head under my chin, fitting perfectly. “Do you want the test to be positive?”

“I don’t know.” We stood there for a long time in silence. Well, as silent as it could be with a dog yowling in the background.

How different this was from when she told me we were having Anna. We’d been younger then. Married just a couple of years. So excited about this whole new “baby” part of our lives.

That was before. Before my brother Cole sold his soul to a demon. Before I’d gathered up an impressive collection of scars. Before I knew magic was real, before the forces of Hell had put a hit out on me. Before.

Mira’s thoughts were the same as mine. I knew her well enough to know that. The part of her that desperately wanted another child warring against the side that knew it would be difficult, if not impossible, and majorly unwise on top of all that. I held her closer, silently telling her that those thoughts were okay. I was having them too, after all.

I had to ask myself, if Mira was pregnant…what the hell kind of world was I bringing a baby into?

And the dog was still barking.

“Estéban, would you shut the dog up,” I yelled. It came out harsher than I’d intended, and I winced, adding “please” belatedly.

Chunk didn’t shut up, and his clamor almost drowned out my daughter’s tiny voice. “Daddy?” She peeked around the corner at me from the hallway, her hair in haphazard pigtails. Well, at least Estéban had tried.

“What is it, button?”

“The funny man is knocking on the door, Daddy.” One little hand pointed at the sliding glass door behind me. “I put Chunk in my room, because Chunk doesn’t like him.”

I turned to look, and firmly pushed Mira behind me. Funny man, indeed.

He looked human, I’ll give him that. My height, almost as skinny as me, blond hair cut into a Mohawk. More piercings than I could shake a stick at. But he was also standing on my patio dressed in just a T-shirt and jeans, despite the fact that there were four inches of snow on the ground. He wasn’t even pretending to be cold. Mindful of the magical wards my wife had placed on our doors, he tapped at the glass with a stick. Tink, tink, tink.

When I was in a good mood, I called him Axel. When I was in a bad mood, I had more…interesting names for him.