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Or maybe she’s just the best kid ever.
All I know is that by the time she crawls over my shoulders to “give Mommy kisses until she gets up already, lazy Mommy,” I’m grinning ear to ear.
“Wake up!” Amy says, giving me one last firm kiss on the cheek.
I surge out of the covers with a roar, tackling her and tickling her ribs until she squeals for mercy.
Then, I bounce off the end of the mattress and turn to ask in my most serious voice, “Amy, it’s after seven, why aren’t you out of bed? We have things to do, girlfriend. You can’t sleep the day away.”
She props her chubby fists on her hips and shakes her head hard enough to send her silky hair flying around the small horns on the top of her head. “You were the one sweeping. You’re a mess, Mommy.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say with a wink before waving her over. “Come on, butter bean. Let’s get you a sippy cup from the kitchen and see if Annie and Aurora are out of bed yet.”
Amy bounds across the mattress and leaps into my arms. “And pancakes! I want pancakes.”
“We’ll see what they’re serving for breakfast. As guests, we don’t want to make too many special requests,” I say, deciding we can skip finding a cap for Amy before we go downstairs.
One good thing about vampires—they’re not shy about letting you know their thoughts and feelings on any given subject. The vampires who adore Amy will adore her with or without her hat, and the vampires who think she’s a nasty little demon bloodsucker who should be kicked out of town before she infects Nightfall with devil cooties will glare daggers at my baby no matter what.
Thankfully, the former far outnumber the latter, but still…it’s mind boggling that people who survive by drinking blood would be so judgmental about a little girl needing a cup of the stuff in the morning to help her thrive.
But then, Amy drinks shifter or vampire blood, not human, and she prefers vampire if she can get her hands on it, a fact she proves by pouncing on the freshly donated sippy cup Darcy passes her way as soon as we enter the breakfast room.
“Thanks,” I say, settling Amy in an armchair before plopping onto a padded bench across from Blaire and Darcy’s shared loveseat. I cast a pointed glance between their drawn faces. “Long night?”
“So long.” Blaire gulps at her still steaming coffee, wincing as she swallows. “Ow. Even the coffee has it out for me. Everything sucks.”
“It helps if you give it a chance to cool,” I say. “So…nothing? You couldn’t get any information out of Sultan?”
Blaire shakes her head while Darcy slumps deeper into the cushions, but neither elaborates and I don’t pry. I don’t want to make them relive anything unpleasant and chances are good nothing they have to say is appropriate for pint-sized ears.
“Well, maybe Edmond will get something from the d-o-g today,” I say, spelling out the word to avoid another “I need a puppy, please Mommy, get me a puppy” meltdown from Amy.
Darcy sags forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “And I’ll try again with Sultan. Later.”
Blaire runs a gentle hand through his tousled hair. “But you should rest first. You’ll be no good to anyone if you pass out from exhaustion.”
Darcy gives her thigh a squeeze in response before rising to his feet with a sigh. He lifts a weary hand my way and blows Amy a kiss. She catches it in her tiny fist and slaps it onto her cheek without pulling her sippy cup from her lips.
The action brings a faint smile to Darcy’s face as he leaves the room.
I wait until he’s gone before widening my eyes pointedly in Blaire’s direction. I don’t want to scare Amy, but that was seriously weird. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Darcy speechless. Or tired, let alone exhausted.
Thankfully, our sister telepathy is still working and Blaire nods for me to follow her over to the sideboard on the other side of the room.
“Be right back, bug,” I tell Amy, brushing her hair from her forehead before tailing Blaire to the coffee station.
“He wouldn’t let me go in at the end,” she whispers as she passes me a china cup and adds sugar to hers. “I have no idea what happened, but…it was clearly awful, and Darcy doesn’t have a stomach for awful. He plays it tough, but deep down he’s a big old softie.”
“I know,” I say, placing what I hope is a comforting hand on her back. “Maybe we can find a spell to get Sultan talking. I’ll help you look through the spell books.”
“Thanks.” Blaire sighs. “I reached out to Celeste, our magic tutor, too. She’s going to touch base with some friends of hers in Salem who have experience getting people to talk. One of her coven members used to do interrogations for Napoleon back in the day, before he was sent to that island to die and had his penis cut off.”
I do a double take. “What now?”
“Napoleon. He allegedly asked his main man down there in exile to cut his peen off after he died.” She glances over her shoulder before adding in a softer voice, “Probably because he was such an egomaniac, he couldn’t stand for people to find out how tiny it was. Men are so dumb about their dicks. I mean, we all have bigger things to worry about, don’t we?”
“That’s it!” My arm whips out, slapping her bicep hard enough to make her curse and ask, “What was that for? You almost made me spill my coffee.”
