How, when Gods are so scarce, is there an Angel in every whorehouse?

It was not in her head. She was different than the other girls, and those differences kept her feeling like an outsider. Angel was always surprised and a tad apprehensive when chosen, which was a major difference in itself, as the others vied to be chosen, making themselves comparably “bigger” everywhere that bigness mattered in mad attempts at being picked; bigger boobs, bigger hair, bigger lips, bigger personalities, while Angel remained small, girlishly-figured (flat as a board, a carpenter would call it), and meek from the facts of it. Yet she was chosen, and frequently. In fact, the other girls would not have believed it to learn that Angel was the fourth highest earner of the sixteen of them. Yet it shouldn’t have surprised them. They, better than anyone else, understood the sheer number of pervs out there, and how many of those pervs desired youthfulness in a lover. With most of Angel’s customers it was the more youthful the better. Child-like was even preferable, which was poor Angel’s lot, her appearance being small, round-eyed, and submissive. And none of the girls would have guessed it, not even Angel herself, but Angel’s lack of desire to be chosen was actually an added temptation for the sordid sort she attracted.

Like the other cathouse professionals Angel had learned to discern those customers who were likely to choose her within minutes of them walking into the brothel’s front room, where the scantily clad girls awaited to serve them drinks, and to seduce them (and their billfolds) for the night. It wasn’t so much the pervs’ looks that gave them away to her, it was more how they acted. Some customers walked in like they owned the place, appearing immediately at ease. They were the regulars; the senior fraternity brothers from the downtown university, the half-sober vocational workers who didn’t want to go home to their nagging, never in-the-mood wives, and finally the hurried, desperate to be discreet professional-types… but none of those “normal” kinds, ever seemed to be looking for Angel.

Of all the names to choose from, for a job like hers.

No, the ones who picked Angel were the neurotic, weaselly ones, their eyes darting this way and that. That was how she could tell them, by their eyes. Her customers always seemed unsettled, and not with the nervous kind of jitters that a brothel can give someone who seldom frequents one, either. Theirs was not just a nervousness gained through lack of situational confidence. No, it was way worse than that. It was a nervous born from ineptitude maybe… or worse, from some prevailing odium which followed them around like that cartoon character with the dark cloud always above him. Nevertheless, these were not cartoon characters. Far from it. Her customers did not come to the brothel looking for a good time. These people, men and women, came with a different purpose; for the chance to be alone (if only for a short while) with someone whom they could control, someone they could dominate, someone they could show the very opposite of a good time. And Angel had the look they sought; that callow, guileless look these insecure types craved. Poor little Angel’s diminutiveness made her ripe for domination.

And it was not just men. Angel attracted women too; couples, lesbians, or sometimes even lesbian couples. Always the hard core lesbians. The “butch” ones. The cropped haired, masculine ones, and the ones who had begun “the change”. The scarred and breast-less ones who sought out a paid professional, as professionals lacked the option to back out after being introduced to said lesbian’s clinically contrived attempts at manliness.

Poor little Angel humored them all, best she could. After all, she was one of them; those diffident, nervous types. She understood them. There was empathy for them inside her, even as they hurt her. It was somehow in her heart to help them. Wasn’t she as meek and misunderstood as they were? Wasn’t she also bullied and looked down upon? Wasn’t she the eternal subject of humiliation, degradation, and lewdness? By God, didn’t she allow the most disdainful of them to have their ways with her, so long as it did not become too violent? Angel was so used to being pounded on from behind for long stretches by strangers with no interest in ejaculation that she had grown to expect it, and of having her tiny bottom slapped pink by a calloused, masculine hand as she was pounded, or worse, being sprayed in a golden shower afterward. But, “it was ok,” Angel always reminded herself while catching her breath, and while cleaning herself up, and while counting her money at the end of the night. It did not hurt that bad, nor for that long, and it was a kind of therapy she was supplying to them, the saddest and most destitute of people, was it not? It made Angel feel better when she applied a virtuous spin to it all. “It is not only profitable work,“ is what she often told herself after a bad night, “it is good work.”

Now then, with this dismal setting properly set our story may begin. Having read to this point you will not fail to understand Angel’s happy surprise at the prospective client who walked in early in the evening on this particular night and bee-lined straight for her. The woman was not at all Angel’s “type”. She was neither shifty, nor weaselly. Rather, this woman approached Angel’s corner table with a warm, friendly smile. She was singularly attractive, not young, but not old either. The woman’s make-up was as light as her perfume was. Her hair was pulled back and uncolored. Her clothing was of good quality, and was conservative in style. She had the refined look of a professional type, of a doctor maybe, and would have looked comfortable in a lab coat. And the woman’s demeanor was spot-on for her appearance with her naturally inquisitive eyes, and her shoulders confidently set, so much so that Angel’s hopes for the night actually rose. Surely such a woman as this had not come to her with degradative aims?

Angel’s instincts were only partially wrong.

”Hello! Angel, isn’t it?”

”Yes. Have we met?” Having chosen it herself, and having been decently raised, the name still left her a little uncomfortable to use. “Of course, Angel isn’t my ‘real’ name.”

The woman did not mean to cut, but her words were sharp, nevertheless. “I should think not.” The glimmer in the woman’s eyes vanished for just a tick, then was back, although stiffer. “No, we have not met. I am Beverly Vypont. I have a proposition for you. Do you mind if I sit?”

Curious, but also stung, Angel remained negligent with her invitation, exhaling a pointed and impolite stream of smoke in the woman’s direction while gesturing towards the seat opposite her own.

Beverly Vypont waited patiently for the smoke to clear before slipping properly into the offered chair. “I came by this afternoon and spoke with Carmen, your manager. She described you to me, suggested that I look for you.”

”Oh, how nice of her.” There was no emotion in Angel’s voice. Carmen had “recommended” her to this woman? So… this would likely be bad after all.

”May I explain my situation?”

”Sure. Why not?” Angel snuffed out her cigarette, the better to listen.

The woman paused, scanning the table as if for a drink. Catching the clue, Angel rose. She was, after all, a servant, if a barely dressed one. “What can I get you?”

”Whiskey. Neat. Thank you.” Beverly Vypont watched Angel circle the bar, liking what she saw. This girl Angel was just as Carmen had described her, youthful and pretty if a bit sharp featured. The girl wore nothing but a very short, scarlet negligee. The legs sticking out from below it were thin, pale, and a bit knock-kneed, but that was alright. It would not matter. Willingness was the key, and Carmen had hinted that this girl would brave just about anything. The whiskey Angel brought back was cheap, biting harshly at Beverly’s tongue, much as this mission did, but that did not matter, either.

”Now then. What is it you want from me?” Angel’s half-smile did not reach her eyes.

Right to the point, Beverly thought. Fair enough. “I need a woman for my son.”

Angel laughed dismissively. Usually it was the father with such a proposition, not the mother. “Why not just bring him in then, Lady. We’ve all done that trick here.”

Beverly Vypont was not laughing. “It is not that simple.”

Of course not. Angel cursed her bad luck. It was never that simple, not for her. “All right then, spit it out already. Why isn’t it that simple?”

Beverly Vypont’s eyes leveled on Angel’s own, looking through them into her very soul, striking Anne’s callous indignity a shameful hammer blow when she said it. “My son is dying.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Anne would have dropped her head into her hands were this Vypont woman not holding her hypnotized with her eyes. Could she never just get a “normal” guy?

“Dying can mean a lot things? What do you mean when you say it?”

”He is bedridden now, under hospice care. He has weeks, at most.”

”Well, how do you intend to get him here then?”

”I’m not. You will have to come with me. Carmen said it would be ok.”

Angel somewhat controlled her belligerence. “Carmen said? Screw Carmen, I’m not leaving here and going God knows where with some deranged woman who wants me to fuck her dying son!”

”I’ll pay you $100,000.”

Angel had been leaning forward over the table, the better to hear the woman’s whispered tones, but she sagged back now, her determination to say “no” whooshing out of her like air from a poorly patched tire. “$100,000? Jesus! Lady, are you batshit crazy? What do you expect me to do with him for that kind of money?” Her nosed curled with displeasure at the very thought of it.

Beverly Vypont refused to let this whore’s vile words rile her. ”I don’t know, honestly. I know he can get an erection, but I don’t know if he can feel anything… you know… down there. But he asked me for this, for a woman, and at this point I will give him whatever I can.”

Angel reached again for her cigarette pack. “What is wrong with him?”

”ALS. Lou Gehrig’s Disease. It’s a…”

”I know what ALS is. I’m not stupid.”

”Of course not. I did not mean to imply…”

”Whatever. Forget it. Fucking Carmen…. why me?” That last part was not intended to be spoken out loud, though it was.

”You don’t have to, you know? I can ask someone else.”

”For 100 grand? Not on your life! I’d blow a grizzly bear for 100 grand! I’ll do it, but sheeesh… it’s messed up, Lady.”

Beverly Vypont missed the attempted humor. Her reply was tight-lipped, and was spoken with a raised eyebrow. “You are talking about my child, ‘Lady’. And believe me, his life is much more messed-up than yours.”

”Oh! Yea. Sorry... though I kind of doubt that last bit is true.”

Having witnessed the worsts of God and man an Angel treads fearlessly forth, for in the darkest of pits goodness doth dwell, waiting to be awakened.

Beverly Vypont opened the door and waited, making way for a hesitant Angel to enter first. It was too large a room for a bedroom, though there was a bed in its center; the hospital type of bed with a button to raise its patient to a sitting position, and then to lower them again for sleeping. The bed was currently partially raised. The room was dark but for the soft, bluish glow of an electronic halo which encircled the headboard while somehow reaching without diminishment into the furthest corners of the room through air already weighted with the sickly odors of antiseptics, the odors and lights tangling together with the sounds of sucking oxygen and the consistently quiet beep of a heartbeat monitor. These were, Angel instinctively knew, the sights, smells, and sounds of an approaching death so close by as to leave her reverently docile.

”Christian? This is Angel.” There was obvious emotion in Beverly Vypont’s voice, enough to pull at Angel’s own heartstrings, dragging her into a fervent state as well. “She’s come for you.” The woman’s voice literally broke with that said. She backed quickly out of the doorway then, pulling it to behind her, leaving Angel practically alone in a room filled with fears.

Despite them, and with only the briefest hesitation, Angel tip-toed ever so slowly to the bed’s side. She had to see, didn’t she? What it was she was in for? He was truly little more than a boy. His head did not turn toward her as Angel came into his vision, though his eyes looked side-wise at her with something akin to terror in them. Angel understood that. She was afraid too. How to begin? What to do? How to do it? What if she hurt him, or unplugged something important? Hell, he might not even want her.

Angel started with the obvious. “Hi?”

He held a blow tube between his clenched lips. Her eyes followed its meandering tube down to a box that was connected by wire to another box which was in turn connected to an IV bag whose tube ran back down and into his arm. Rather than trying to reply around the blow tube the boy closed his eyes for a long second before reopening them, making Angel immediately aware that this was how he communicated, with his eyes. “Would you like to be friends, Christian?”

Angel was not sure how to feel when the eyes slowly closed and reopened. Part of her was repulsed, but a larger part was already reaching for the soul inside the boy’s emaciated shell. She could see it in there, hiding behind his silence, a young man as desperate to love as she was to be loved. “Good” she said. And she meant it. “I would like that, too.” Her smile wasn’t forced anymore. There was a chair beside the bed, so Angel removed her overcoat and draped it over the chair’s back, leaving herself in the same skimpy, silky red negligee she’d been wearing before, when Beverly Vypont had first approached her in the brothel. While beside the chair she sat down and removed the ridiculously tall shoes she’d put on for the ride over... anything to appear taller. Returning to the bedside she decided to make things easy. With either hand she pushed at the strings holding the “nightie” to her shoulders, letting it slide off and around her ankles so that she stood naked before him. She was pleased to see that Christian’s eyes widened again, but not with fear this time. They fell to her breasts, which was the only part of her he could actually see for the bed’s height. She giggled as his face actually blushed when he looked back up at her, his shame obvious in them.

”It’s ok to look,” she assured him.

And to show it was ok, she looked down too. It was her turn to be embarrassed. They were so small. Why in God’s name had the mother chosen her for this? Any of the other girls would have been better for this boy, though even as he looked there was a rustle of movement from under the bedsheets. They were apparently big enough. “Are they all right? They aren’t very big.”

The boys’ eyes closed and then re-opened, remaining on her body. She reached for his hand, finding it twisted, its fingers curled up tight as a rubber band, the arm it extended from pale, emaciated and weak. It was nothing for her to pick the hand up, as there was literally no opposing force, neither muscular nor gravitational. The hand was cold, so she gathered it up in both of her own, warming it, massaging it futilely in an attempt to relax what could not be relaxed. “You are so cold. Would you mind if I warmed you?”

The eyes closed and opened once more.

Letting go of the hand, she reached for his blankets, pulling slowly at them, respecting his shame and distrust. His body was wasted away, his ribs pushing birdlike against pale skin, their cage protruding overtop a starved abdomen, but there was nothing shrunken about one part of him. In fact, that part, being non-muscular, stood tall, swollen and purple with life. Ignoring it, Angel climbed in beside him, pulling the covers back over them both. “Is this ok?”

The boy’s muscles might be atrophied and weak, but there was nothing wrong with his skin, which thrilled at her warmth, and at the softness of her skin against his own. His eyes closed for a longer moment this time, and then reluctantly re-opened in acknowledgement. Angel rolled onto her side, so that she could see him better, and he her. She slid one knee forward until it rested gently atop his thigh. She had been with many people, and she was finding this one not so different after all. She could please him. It would be good work to please him. Who had she ever pleased who needed it more than this boy? She placed her hand on his chest, and was gratified to see his eyes close as her hand began to rub, massaging its warmth into him.

”You like that, don’t you?” There was no response from him, but she was not fooled. She correctly suspected that he had never been touched in this way. After a moment she allowed her hand to slide down to his stomach, and her thigh to slide up his until it touched his nether region, pulling an audible moan from the poor boy, followed by a puff into the tube in his mouth, which brought a beep from the box attached to the IV stand. This was going much easier than she could have expected. She blew lightly into his ear then, causing another moan, and another puff, and another beep. She whispered into his ear then, that thing every man wants to hear from a woman, “You are very big down there.” She wondered what it must feel like to hear that, and to be unable to respond? To be unable to reach for the woman who said it, unable to climb atop her at her invitation, unable to take her in any way that a man might take a woman.

In that moment Angel understood the mother, why she would go so far to give her son this, this… most beautiful of things… for this was, in it’s very essence, love... the joining of two into one. And in this moment Angel found herself loving the boy, her heart swelling for him and his condition, her throat choking for him, and her tears welling for him, almost as though he were her own. And in this moment, alone together in this room of death, and in this bed of love, wasn’t he was hers and no one else’s? And wasn’t she his, and wouldn’t she forever be his? Unabashedly then she went for it, going down and taking him into her mouth. If she would be the only lover the boy ever knew, then she would be a proper one! Through her tongue, and through her lips she felt the pulse of life in him, and she smelled the familiar smells of man and woman, and she heard both his puffing and the beeping of the infernal box through her own blood-stoppered ears, and as she felt his weakened body stiffen to climax she pulled away and climbed atop him, sliding herself onto him with her own audible moan. He felt good inside her, normal. Emaciated he might be, but he was a man, she was a woman, and they were meant to be this way together... only it was at that very moment that realization struck her.

Opening her eyes, she watched with an increasing curiosity as he puffed into the tube, inhaling through distended nostrils, exhaling through tightened lips. Like before, her eyes followed the tube down and around to the little white box which emanated its annoying beep with each of his breaths. Continuing on, she saw where the IV entered the box, and where it exited on the bottom side. And closer to his arm, with each puff of his mouth, and each beep of the box, she watched as liquid was pushed through the needle in his arm, into his veins, into his blood. His eyes were closed now, his body relaxed, the heart monitor sluggish for a moment before suddenly turning frantic. Oh, shit!

“Christian?”

Nothing. No movement. No tenseness, and only a limpness inside her. “Christian? Are you there? Open your eyes if you can hear me, Christian?” Despairingly she leapt, more than climbed, from the bed. What had she done? What had they made her do? What had they done to her? To him? On trembling legs she begged, “Christian? Please Christian, answer me?” And then more urgently, “I need you to answer me, Christian!”

Nothing. She screamed then, Angel did. She screamed, and she cried, standing naked and alone beside him, but the boy never woke, and the mother never heeded her calls, and God, as ever, ignored her, He having new and more important matters to address, and new souls to welcome…

She had chosen poorly, Angel had, both in name and profession. This loving humans is no easy task.

Instructions: Open on your 25th birthday - please recycle the wrapping paper mindfully.

Contents:

One mirror - which allows you to see yourself as you truly are. With every flaw and blessing clearly shown - to motivate you to always evolve and understand who you are and how you are. It will be painful to look into the mirror - but all growth is accompanied by pain and struggle.

One healthy dose of self-confidence - perhaps not everyone needs this, but for those who did not grow up in homes where they were made to feel safe and where their voice mattered, here is a nice dollop of self-confidence. It's a quiet dose, that just allows you to listen to your inner voice more, that has the ability to make you believe you are worthy of being treated well. That gives you the confidence to take that risk, pursue that dream, make that art, take that trip, ask that cute person out.

One never-ending gratitude journal - Your life is a gift, this day is a gift. The air you breathe is a gift. This journal is a gentle reminder to acknowledge these gifts each and every day. A life focused more on appreciating what you do have, than what you don't, will be a life filled with contentment, happiness and joy. It will also help you to take care of the things you do have, the pets, the people, the house, the car.

One healthy dose of compassion - for yourself, your parents, the postman, the bus driver and everyone in this world. Because everyone is going through something, everyone has pain - and when we take a step back and realise a bad day doesn't equate to a bad person, and that behaviour is never personal, we gain a much more holistic appreciation of life. Even animals get grumpy sometimes. Not every day can be a great day, some days will be miserable. On those days, you need radical self-compassion and to make sure your bad mood isn't thrown in the faces of other people. Spread joy, not misery.

One pair of rose-tinted glasses - to help you see the beauty in the small things. The delicate petals of a flower, the relaxing hum of a bee, the vibrant colours of the sunrise and sunset. That delicious crunchy apple. Really taste it, really revel in the beauty of the world. There is so much and often we don't even see it.

One letter: Dear 25-year old, welcome to a quarter of a century. You probably feel old today, but I promise you that life stretches before you like a giant, unexplored forest and there are so many directions in which you can venture. Tread lightly on the earth, for she is delicate and sensitive. Listen to the whispers of your heart. It's never too late to start over, to make amends, to evolve and be a better person. Mistakes are part of life, they are part of growing. Embrace your mistakes, learn from them - they are part of the process. Remember the conversation never ends, as long as both people are still talking. If there are misunderstandings, just talk it out until you find common ground. Don't be afraid to be bad at something, it's the first step to becoming good at it - if you can learn to enjoy the process of learning, then you can learn anything. Be kind to yourself, you are becoming.

Happy birthday. I hope you use your gifts well.

Dearest Alanna,

I have kept these crystals for a very long time. Through my entire life as a healer from the first time I used the skills, after finding them on the altar at our circle so close to home. A quick walk as you know, and only a short distance from the fairy’s home under the great oak.

I put them in your care now. You will become so much more than what I have managed, and I am and always be your proud mentor and tutor. On this, your silver birthday, forgive me if I ramble. I am indeed starting to feel my years at long last.

Please find the bloodstones inside the parcel. Harry has been kind enough to pull it and this letter through to you. Let Liam do the unpacking as it is heavy. Roarke helped me wrap them. Also, find several large rods of black tourmaline. Cousins, to Harry’s, they were mined from the same source in Brazil.

The large orb of red tigers eye is for the bedroom. I doubt you will need it, for it’s traditional help with libido issues. But it grounds the base chakras. I found it helped me to think clearly when I needed it. Especially when I found myself called to an emergency in the middle of the night. I suspect it will do you well when a baby insists on a dramatic entrance. I am so proud of you for taking the trauma of Maggie and turning it around to help women whose fear at a critical moment in their lives is often misunderstood. Who better than you would understand them?

The bloodstone geode which split in two on the alter are the same stones I carried with me wherever I went. You remember them hanging in the workshop or around my neck. The blue rainbow moonstones were there, as well as a clear quartz tower. This one amplifies any or all of the others. The selenite bowl is for recharging, but I would advise you to take it out on Andrew’s deck, especially if a thunderstorm is immanent.

Otherwise, let Irena guide you. She is a treasure. Her knowledge of crystals, rivals Chen’s immense wisdom with herbs.

T

his is your graduation gift. You finished your internship and are working on your residency. Trauma surgery with a specialty in obstetrics is an intense combination for your sensitive nature to deal with. As an empath, your mental health is tenuous at best. It’s a truth you must face. Let Liam be your rock as he has been from the day you met.

Let your children, little Allen and Glory are blessings already, be your reason to continue. I believe you are mistaken about this pregnancy. There are two babies there if you care to look a little deeper. Identical from what I sensed when you were here for Samhain. They will be born close to Ostara.

No more after this, dearest, well perhaps one. Don’t let yourself wear out before you can fulfill your dreams. Balancing all phases of your life is difficult, and these gems and crystals will help you do it.

With love, pride, and faith,

Your Uncle, Cardamon.

“Oh Liam, I sensed the end is coming for him, and for Roark. This isn’t just a graduation gift. It’s a passing of the torch, so to speak,” Alanna said as she wiped tears from her cheeks.

“I’ll take care with this box. I see it’s more a crate than his usual parcels this time. I’ll get my hammer so I can pull the nails out of the lid. A prybar too. Perhaps I can use the wood to craft a display table for the orb he was talking about.” Liam turned to go through the door to their attached garage. The house, newly finished, was up the hill from her father’s and not very far from Harry and Gaia’s retirement chalet.

Alanna winced, as she thought of them. The family agreed to keep it as it was, a center for learning and research for the magical community in the area. Harry’s collection of books was in a specially maintained archival room, only handled by people after they went through a quick introductory course. The ancient books were fragile, and Liam volunteered to guard them from harm.

She could still see her Grandda hunched over the scanning equipment as he committed his collection to digital perpetuity. To everyone’s surprise Cardamon outlived his cousin Gaia. Alanna knew his time was limited.

“Shall we see what’s in here?” Liam asked. “Twins, he said, identical?”

“Yes, pry the top off this. I can’t wait to see what we have. I know the bloodstone.

Brilliantly red, like arterial blood. With a band of deep Douglas Fir green around the outside. The geode is only two inches in diameter a bit too oval to called round, but close.”

Liam wedged the prybar into the space at the edge of the lid. Working his way around the crate, he loosened it, and found a stiff cardboard box inside.

“What about his insistence that you’re carrying twins?”

“He’s right, I think. I expect my next ultrasound will give us the answer. I’m bigger than I should be at this point, and yes, I appreciate you refraining from call me a whale.” She stuck her tongue out at him, as she teased him. Orca was their private nickname for her as she neared the end of each of her last two pregnancies.

“Boys or girls?”

“You’d think I could figure it out. It’s so easy when it’s someone else. I knew with everyone of the mothers around us.”

“Including all four of yours.” Liam reached inside the crate to lift the box out, and quickly pulled his arms back out. “This is way too heavy to lift out. I’m going to pull the rest of this crate apart. Keep an eye out for any nails that come loose and fall on the floor. I don’t want Allen picking them up and putting them in his mouth. Glory is crawling already, and she is as much of a vacuum as Saqui is with crumbs and scraps.”

“You are such a great father. Do you think we need a nanny?”

“With identical twins coming, yes. But I think we can look to one of our Murphy cousins. I think Paddy and Aileen both have wandering feet. Paddy is a gardener, trained horticulturist. Andrew said he’s looking for a ground manager. With the crops he’s added, he needs a farmer. That’s Paddy. Aileen, his wife would make an excellent housekeeper and nanny for us. She cooks too, much like Soleil does for Riona.”

“Get the feelers out. I’ll talk to Dad about it. We have the room here to build them a smaller house across the creek. You’ve been thinking about this for some time?”

“Aye. You love to cook when you have a chance, and so do I. But the housework is only done because of spells, and that’s not what I want to teach our little ones. Remember Harry’s insistence on hard work when we can do it ourselves.”

“He’s so right too. I wince with guilt every time I do it.” Alanna kept watching as each of the wooden sides came away, “You’re amazing, love. I hope you can use these pallets.”

“Must have been Roark who put this together. I see his fine eye for design in it. I’ll ask him what kinds of wood he used. It doesn’t look like it’s all cheap pine. Let me take this stack of five out to the workshop, and we’ll get the box open right away. I can actually feel a hum coming from it.”

“You’ve learned a lot about crystals. We’ll place these in all the right places.”

Liam took three trips out to the workshop as Alanna slit the tape on the top of the box and opened the flaps. Packing paper was wrapped around each of the crystals, and Styrofoam peanuts filled the gaps in between.

“I’m glad Allen is napping. Glory too,” Alanna said.

Liam nodded. “I’ll get a garbage bag. I can see this in Deataigh’s fur. Missy wouldn’t be able to resist either.”

“Hmph. I wonder where they are?”

“Up at the circle for some reason. With your Aunt Morgan’s triplets and Killa and Maura clearing the debris before it gets buried in the snow. Doug and Mike are doing the heavy lifting. Deadfall is always a problem. Having Paddy here to keep track of it all will be a blessing. I miss Harry. He used to keep it all done without ever telling us exactly how much work it was.”

Alanna sighed. “We all do. At least they come back at Yule and Samhain. With all the others who have gone before. Who knew Aunt Morgan would step into Grammie’s shoes as a medium? She is truly a sorceress to be admired.”

“Riona is good at it too.” Liam slipped the edge of the garbage bag under the box and Alanna threw the first of the endless supply of wrapping paper in it.

“Oh my! Look at this. It’s bigger than Grammie’s was!”

“And perfectly clear. This goes beside the great room hearth, at the heart of our home.” The four foot tall spear of flawless quartz sat on the floor reaching well past Alanna’s waist.

“I can’t wait to get to the rest of them.”

“Black tourmaline for every bedroom. It will keep the worst nightmares away, along with the amethysts Gaia left us.” Liam said.

As they continued to discover more treasures, Alanna’s heart lightened. Cardamon was right. They were exactly what she needed. When they uncovered the giant orb of polished red tigers eye, she sighed.

“Straight to the bedroom,” she said. “I’ll bring its stand. It goes on the table in front of the balcony window.”

“Agreed. Always recharging in the sun there. I think we finished just in time.” Liam said as he settled the orb in its new home.

“I hear Glory. I’ll nurse her before I leave. Back to reality. My shift starts in a couple of hours.” She stretched up on her toes, her baby bump settling against Liam as she pulled his face toward hers. “Give me a kiss and I’ll wake you when I get home in the morning.”

Liam smiled, “Best deal ever. I’ll never quit thanking the powers that be for putting me at the stones that night.”

“Me too. Okay, Glory’s screaming. And I hear Allen too.”

Liam’s grin grew broader. “Our son has a set of lungs.” He turned left as she turned right as they headed for their children.

Alanna scooped up her daughter and headed for the changing table. Life was good, and she promised herself to make sure it stayed that way.