by S. E. Babin
I didn’t tell him I watched way too much TLC and Teen Mom. But I suspected he already knew considering he’d been living with me for the past 6 months. “I guess I’m just a natural,” I said, trying to play it cool.
Rafe rolled his eyes and grabbed the remote, but before he flipped the television on, he turned his body toward me. His knee was half cocked on the couch and his other foot was still resting on the floor. He looked uncomfortable as if he wasn’t used to relaxing and wasn’t quite sure how to go about it, but he also looked serious so I held my tongue. Rafe was so easy to make fun of, but I was really starting to respect him, so I needed to take it easy on the sarcasm. Well...a little easier because a leopard can’t change its spots.
“Abby?”
I was still patting the baby on the back trying to get him to give up the burp. “Yes?”
“I know I’m not so well versed in the way normal people speak to each other. But I feel like I need to say something to you.” One of my eyebrows rose.
“Okay?”
“The next few weeks are going to be extraordinarily difficult for you. And…” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “I hope I say this right. And you really need to get your shit together.”
My hand stopped in mid pat. I waited for him to say something else to take the sting of his barb away, but all he did was shift away from me and flip the television on.
“Ummm,” I said, my voice a little wobbly. “Okay?”
He nodded once and continued to flip the channels until he reached a really bad reality show about people acting like douchebags on the beach. “Good,” he said with finality, like we’d just had some deep and soul searing conversation and come to an earth shattering conclusion.
My eyes felt like hummingbird wings against my checks I was blinking so rapidly. What the hell just happened?
A massive, roaring belch elicited from the tiny body of my son. Apparently he wondered the same.
5
One week later, our new, tentative friendship was strained. Not because of anything I had done, but because of my pyromaniac son. Plus he was walking. Everywhere.
Which was weird.
I'd never seen that on TLC or Teen Mom.
It started about five days ago. For two blissful days, Draco was happily cooing in his bassinet. Or my lap. Or in my arms as I carried him everywhere.
I fed him the odd mix of manna and ambrosia Rafe kept making me and everything was good. I was recovering swiftly from childbirth.
And I was stomping down examining the whole Hades/Persephone thing. Denial was doing me a world of good right now.
It was on the third day that shit started to get weird. Rafe had gotten up and was cooking breakfast. I had just stepped out of the shower and was inhaling the wonderful scent that was bacon when a strangled cry sent me half naked out into the hallway.
"Rafe?!" I shouted, flying around the corner, only to see him wielding a pair of tongs and a horrified look at a small toddler.
"Where'd he come from?" I asked out loud, only to receive the same look from him but now directed at me.
I reared back, confused, and when I looked at the kid again, I gasped.
"Holy, holy shit." I whispered. "Draco?"
An adorable little boy with eyes the color of quicksilver gave me an impish grin. "Hi, Mom!"
"What the hell did you do?" Rafe squeaked, still holding the tongs out like they were a shotgun.
I turned an incredulous stare to him. "What did I DO? WHAT DID YOU DO? It was the manna, wasn't it? HEAVEN NEVER DOES ANYTHING WITHOUT ANY CONSEQUENCES!!"
Rafe shook the tongs at me. "IT WASN'T THE MANNA!" he screeched. "MAYBE IT WAS THE AMBROSIA?"
My former baby was watching us like a tennis spectator. I pulled my robe closer together. "Okay," I said. "Okay." I took a deep breath and moved a few steps closer to Draco. "Would you like to tell me why you're suddenly walking and speaking?"
Draco shrugged. "I'm supposed to save the world," he said, like that was a totally normal thing for someone who was still a baby JUST A FEW HOURS AGO to say.
"And how do you know that?"
He stared at me like I was an idiot. Over the past few weeks, that was basically the only way anyone ever looked at me anymore. "Because it's a prophecy."
"I know it's a prophecy. But someone told it to me. Who told it to you?"
His silvery eyes whirled. "No one. I just know."
That wasn't creepy at all.
We stared at each other until a whoosh and a strangled cry from Rafe broke our concentration. The kitchen was on fire.
I squawked in alarm and rushed over to the other side of the kitchen to grab the fire extinguisher. A few seconds later, our breakfast was covered in white powder, but the fire was out.
Thankfully, this fire was regular. Not Hellfire. Hermes would kill me if I burned his house down.
"Draco," I said, after I set the fire extinguisher down. "You have to stop starting fires."
His adorable bottom lip jutted out. "Can't help it."
I got down on my knees and opened my arms. He rushed into them and I inhaled the sweet scent of my adorable, yet very strange little boy. Love mixed with worry filled my heart. "Okay," I said as I stroked his back. "We'll call Auntie Clotho."
"I've already called her," said Rafe. He was eyeballing my son with rampant curiosity and something that looked mighty close to fear.
She was there in what felt like seconds. Clotho took in the scene with a quick glance around the room. When her eyes found Draco, they widened just a hitch, but this was Clotho we were talking about, and that meant she was shocked as hell.
She knelt down. "I see you've been busy," she said to Draco in a gentle voice.
He nodded. "Can't help it," he said again and stuck his thumb in his mouth.
My lips twisted to the side. He was super adorable. But he was also like that kid in the The Incredibles. Adorable and yet super dangerous to have around.
"Help," I mouthed to my friend. She gave me a short nod and stood up. Her hand lingered in his hair.
"I'm going to speak to your mommy for a moment, okay?"
Draco nodded. "I'll help Mr. Rafe make some more bacon."
Rafe blinked and snort laughed, recovering pretty quickly. He set the tongs down. "Okay, buddy. Maybe this time we can make it in the oven, though."
He led my son over to the cabinets to get another pan and Clotho whispered for me to head to the back.
Once we were safely ensconced in my bedroom, Clotho sank down on my bed.
"What's wrong with him?" I whispered. She gave me a warning glance and waved her hand. A scant second later, silence fell. We were under a ward. No one would hear our conversation now.
"Be careful what you say." Clotho's eyes were shadowed and she looked thinner than before. "He is...not quite like us."
"My kitchen would agree," I said with a snort.
"I have a solution," she said, unamused by my sarcasm.
"Okay," I said eagerly.
Her stare was blank. "You aren't going to like it."
"Okay," I said, a little slower.
Clotho produced something that looked suspiciously like a tattoo gun. I burst out laughing. "Funny girl. I needed some levity. Now tell me what you're really going to do."
Clotho didn't bat an eye. Instead, she produced several jars with iridescent liquid inside.
I sank down in the chair across the room. "Please tell me that isn't a tattoo gun. And you aren't holding ink."
Clotho said nothing. Instead, she popped open the lid to one of the jars and poured it into the top opening of the gun.
"Clotho." A note of hysteria entered my voice.
"It's the only way."
"No fucking way," I said, standing abruptly. I reached out to take the gun from her, but with barely a blink, Clotho had erected a shield around her. I beat on it with my fists. "You are NOT TATTOOING MY BABY!"
My friend, possibly my former friend, stared at me as I continued to curse at her
and pound on her shield. After several minutes of futile rage, I stopped. "Unless you've been moonlighting as a tattoo artist all these years, you know absolutely nothing about skin ink." I forced out a slow breath. "And how in the world am I supposed to take a toddler out covered in tattoos?"
Clotho rolled her eyes. "Do you really think I'd make your kid look like a member of the Hell's Angels?"
I threw my hands up in the air. "Did I really think you'd show up her with a tattoo gun and a list of reasons why you'd need to tattoo my kid? No! But is that what we're working with? Apparently so!"
She gave me the look that told me I was very close to pushing her too far. But I didn't care. There was a show called Toddlers and Tiaras that creeped me the hell out. We were so not making one called Toddlers and Tattoos. That was a social worker phone call just waiting to happen.
Clotho closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them Lachesis and Atropos were standing next to her. Lachesis looked positively devilish. "I told Clotho that was going to go over like a lead balloon."
Atropos grinned at me. "I always knew you'd have a tattooed kid."
I glared at both of them. "You have five minutes to convince me. This had better be good."
"Not everything can be done with magic," Clotho said. She motioned to her sisters. "Show her."
Atropos picked up her long skirts, showing off a disturbing expanse of surprisingly shapely leg, and a shitload, no an assload of tattoos. And not only were they tattoos, they were glowing in all sorts of colors. Symbols I'd never seen before intertwined with vines, roses, flowers, swords and people. It was beautiful. Overwhelming even. She turned around, showing me the back of her legs. Those were completely covered too, all the way down to her ankles.
Lachesis stepped forward, but instead of picking up her skirts, she turned around and lifted her shirt up, showing me her back. She was completely covered in the same glowing ink. Clotho nodded, stepped up and let her glamour fall away. I blinked in shock. Her arms and neck were tattooed so heavily she showed no golden skin.
Rafe made the mistake of stepping into the room just then and stopped in shock. Not only did he have three half dressed beautiful ladies in front of them, they were tattooed as heavily as a biker gang.
"Aaaah," he said as he slowly backed away. "Aaah."
"Rafe," Clotho said. "I'm glad you're here."
He blinked in surprise. "You are?"
She nodded. "Yes. Suppression magic. Angels use it, correct?"
His brow furrowed and I watched his make an effort to tear his eyes away from Atropos, still holding her skirts up like she was at a frat party.
"Yes," he finally blurted. "As a last resort."
"But yours is...not gentle?" she inquired.
His attention sharpened on Clotho. "I'm not sure how you know that, but no. It isn't gentle. At all."
"Ummm not as gentle as a tattoo?" I wondered aloud.
Clotho gave me a look that told a long story.
"I hate God," I muttered under my breath.
Rafe looked pained, but he didn't disagree with me.
I turned back to the Fates. "Will it hurt?"
Silence fell like a wet blanket.
There was the look again. The she is a complete and total idiot and I can't believe she's destined to save us all look. I sighed as everyone in the room rolled their eyes.
"I know," I said. Dumb question.
Less than an hour later, I was standing in the kitchen watching my friends load a gun with bespelled ink. I decided right then and there that this was one of those events I would never talk about willingly. Never in a million years did I think I would be watching a toddler get a tattoo, but apparently this is how my life was now.
Never a dull moment.
My son seemed to be taking this whole thing way better than I was. I figured this was due to a couple of reasons. He had no idea what a tattoo was, and he had no idea how bad this was about to hurt. Atropos had promised me she would take away as much pain as she could, but apparently this process was a little bit different than the usual tattoo process. The magic would soak into his skin, binding much of his magic at the soul level. Cutting off his magic would be initially painful and there wasn't much anyone could do to help that.
"Tell me again how this works," I said to Clotho, partly because I really wanted to hear it again, partly because I wanted to stall.
Cloto sighed deeply. "Abby. I've already been over this three times."
"Once more. Please," I whispered.
She shook her head, but repeated exactly what she was going to do. They'd never explained why they were still wearing binding tattoos, but that was something I'd worry about later.
Clotho finished the explanation, but continued. "We will draw a spiral on his back, but we will close the spiral. It traps the magic inside of him in a continuous loop. As he gets older, a portion of the spiral will fade away, allowing him to work with the magic with much better control. Once he's of age, the tattoo will completely fade away."
I frowned as I thought of something. "Then why are your tattoos still there?"
The sisters gave each other weird looks. "Abby, if our powers were not bound in some way, they would burn us alive." Atropos and Lachesis nodded. "Sometimes beings possess too much power. Certain things we have to suppress. First to allow us to use our other magic to the best of our ability. Second because certain magics should never be used."
"So you bound yourselves?" I asked, impressed that such powerful beings had showed such restraint.
They nodded as a unit. A little creepy, but I was used to it by now. "When will his completely fade?"
Clotho studied Draco, who sat at the kitchen table, eating a banana and kicking his legs back and forth like he didn't have a care in the world. "Probably by age 12."
I snorted, thinking she was kidding.
One of her eyebrows rose.
"Wait. You aren't kidding? You think a 12-year-old boy has the capability to control their power when they can't even control their hormones?"
Lachesis chewed on her bottom lip, but I could tell she was trying not to grin. "If we need to adjust it, we can."
I sighed, groaned, and ran a hand through my hair. My gaze caught Rafe's, silently standing by the cabinets in the kitchen.
He nodded at me.
"Crap," I muttered. I blew out a breath and shifted from foot to foot. "Go ahead," I said after a moment. "Tattoo my baby."
Atropos fired up the gun and approached Draco with a look that appeared to gleeful for the moment.
I was the worst immortal mother to ever live.
6
I was never going to want to rehash that moment with my husband, so maybe he wouldn't notice the massive tattoo our toddler son was now sporting. I would just have to make sure we never went to the beach, it never got hot outside, and he never took a bath.
I chewed on my lip as I watched my shirtless son running around the kitchen screeching in delight as Rafe chased him. Two weeks later and he seemed no worse for the wear. Our super healing ability had a lot to do with that, I thought. On the flip side, though, the random fires stopped. Most of me was relieved, but part of me was sad that I would no longer get to see Rafe wearing fire extinguishers hooked into his belt. After the first four days, I tried to get him to relinquish one, but it was like trying to get a woobie from a toddler. No matter how much I tried to convince him the fires were probably over, Rafe clung to those extinguishers.
But not all was well. Once Draco had reached the age of walking, nursing him was no longer an option. I could handle a lot of weird things. That was not one of them. But getting him to eat regular food was still an issue. Granted, we technically had to eat very little. But we could still starve if we didn't eat anything at all. Eventually. Most Olympians ate for energy and to fuel their body's magic. My crew ate for those reasons, but also because eating was pretty damn awesome.
Draco was also becoming resistant to the manna and ambrosia mix. Not because of anythi
ng bad, but because he'd had it every single day, several times a day, since the time he was born. I knew how I felt when I ate the same things over and over again, but I was an adult. Therefore I had no patience. Draco was still technically less than a month old. Even though he could hold a conversation better than most adults I knew.
Rafe and I were sitting at the kitchen table with a massive pile of bacon and eggs trying to convince Draco how awesome both of those things were. Draco gave us a bored stare and crossed his arms. The angel's gaze met mine and he sighed long and loud. He got up, went over to the freezer and pulled out an enormous cheesecake, complete with blueberry glaze. We'd both agreed on this yesterday and figured if we couldn't get bribery to work then we had no business calling ourselves immortals.
"Oooh, cheesecake," I exclaimed. "So yummy." He set the cheesecake down in the middle of the table and, as overkill and extra insurance, reached back into the freezer and got out the vanilla ice cream. Draco had ice cream before. We'd sort of thrown out the no dairy before a year rule simply because my kid was super weird and it probably wouldn't hurt him. As it turned out, the boy loved dairy like a puppy loved ear scratches.
So today's bribery session was serious business. We'd broken out the big guns.
Rafe got out two plates and two spoons.
I watched as Draco's brow furrowed. Yes, my sweet little baby could count and I could claim zero responsibility for that.
"Mine?" he inquired.
Rafe looked appropriately confused as he cut us both a massive slice. "Yours?" he asked. "No," he shook his head. "No one gets cheesecake unless they eat their breakfast."
Draco tilted his head as though he was considering this. "Cheesecake?"
Rafe slid the plate over to me and I took an enormous bite making enough yum yum noises so as to make sure he knew it was delicious, but not enough to make him suspicious. He was, after all, kind of a baby genius.
Rafe opened up the ice cream and scooped us both out huge portions. At this, Draco's face became positively thunderous. "ICE CREAM!!!" He grabbed his fork and started pounding it on the table. Rafe kept his expression neutral and my heart softened toward him. He was going to be a wonderful father one day.
