My eyesight adapted gradually, leaving afterimages of forest and candle flame superimposed upon each other.

The only evidence that time had passed was the shortness of the burning wicks and the fading of the heady incense. Twilight filled the room. The sun had set on this strange Halloween day. Trick-or-Treaters would begin their rounds soon. They rarely came here. We had no children in my building.

Except my daughters and Sophia.

My daughters. Truly my daughters now. I knew their pain and fatigue and desire to cleanse their bodies as well as their minds.

My tummy growled in sympathy with their hunger.

Phonetia and E.T. had regained their normal pink, human skin and their hair looked normal. Lank and in need of a shampoo, but normal.

“Tess? Are you okay?” Allie caught me as I swayed.

I nodded, unable to push words around a throat that felt full of dirt. I grabbed at the pearls. They’d taken on the warmth of my skin, remained clean and pure. A lifeline and an anchor to reality.

“Your eyes look funny,” Allie persisted.

“Let me see!” Lucia demanded. She grabbed me by the shoulders and swung me to face her.

“Madre de Dio!”

“What?” Phonetia asked. She wrapped a blanket around her body as she left the bed to stand beside me. “Oh, my,” she gasped, holding one hand in front of her mouth.

“Scrap, why are they so upset?” I figured he’d tell me the truth. He had to. I always knew when he lied. I just didn’t know when he lied by omission.

“Like?”

Sorry, dahling, I need some mold to recover from saving your ass. And I’ve depleted the basement supply. See you in a bit. Unless you can follow me with your glowing red demon eyes. He popped out.

“What?” I screeched.

“I am so sorry, Tess. So very sorry. I had no idea you would be this sensitive. That All Hallows Eve would thin barriers between the worlds within you as well as between dimensions,” Lucia sobbed. “That the pearls would amplify every aspect of the magic, including your ancestry.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I had no idea. I am so sorry.”

“Calm down and spit it out, lady,” Allie commanded.

“First break the circle and let the girls clean up. I need some air.” I sagged against Allie’s strong body.

“Exit!” Lucia commanded. She cut through the invisible boundary of the magical circle with her ornate penknife. A true athame—ritual knife—if I ever saw one. She practiced magic often enough to have one at hand.

I wondered if I should be frightened. Something about the bowing of her shoulders and the less than crisp clothing eased my disquiet. She wouldn’t hurt me.

For some reason she had extended her network of protection to include me.

We sorted out who got the shower first and what the girls should wear.

Their hunger gnawed at me. Even as I silently wondered what I could find in the kitchen to feed us, E.T. spoke quietly with meek solicitation. “Can we get pizza?”

I laughed and sent Allie to order in, making sure I got one without cheese. No sense in upsetting my fragile internal balance with anything resembling dairy.

Sophia awoke and fussily took a bottle from her mother while we settled in the living room with big mugs of hot tea, awaiting food.

I chose to stand on the balcony with the door open, letting the cold air and blustery rain bathe my mind and spirit. I could hear and be heard in the conversation but I had separated myself, indulging in my own spiritual cleansing ritual.

A waning moon rose in the east. Its path was wrong to leave a trail of silver on the river.

“Spill it, Lady Lucia,” I ordered, my face to the river. I watched the swift currents intensely, letting part of my inner self merge with the ever constant/ever changing flow. The constant renewal. The cleansing of the Earth.

Lucia sniffed and sobbed as she caressed her daughter’s curls, damp from sleep. “When I was a child, I had a great aunt who was considered a witch. We locked her away in a tower of the family chateau.”

“Donovan said something about that.”

“The Damiri genes are so dilute in the family that they have become recessive. Only one person in every third or fourth generation exhibited the need to feed on blood, shape-change, and wield magic. And that was two hundred years ago. Nearly ten generations have passed since then.”

“Except you, you got the long life gene and then discovered you like the taste of blood. Do you change into a bat on the night of the waxing quarter moon?” I replied with enough sarcasm to cut through her hesitance.

She dissolved into a frightening bout of tears.

“Get a hold of yourself,” I commanded. “The Lady Lucia I know wheels and deals massive real estate transactions, collects protection money, threatens petty criminals who don’t live up to her standards of deceit, entertains in high Goth vampire style, and never, ever, losses her cool, not even in Las Vegas in high summer.”

Lucia straightened and turned her wrathful gaze upon me. “No, I do not shape-change. Unlike those with more recent demon ancestors, I have never felt the urge. I don’t even know if I can.” She dabbed her eyes on a black silk hankie. In silence she shook out the elegant square—it had a black lace cutout in one corner, probably Chantilly—refolded it carefully and returned it to the breast pocket of her blood-red suit. The long, tight skirt was slit up the left side to mid-thigh.

“So what does this have to do with me? Why did Scrap say my eyes glowed demon red?”

“Well, they did. But they’ve faded now.” Allie tried to reassure me.

“What you do not know, cara mia, is that the blacksmith I seduced to gain the magic ring you sent back to Faery was named Noncoiré.”

“I know that. He got it from a distant ancestor who was an alchemist, named Noncoiré, unbeliever, because his science experiments made him question the existence of God.” I shrugged.

“What I did not tell you or anyone, was that our tryst left me pregnant. The son I bore and pawned off as the child of Count Continelli, was your ancestor, Teresa Louise Noncoiré. You carry an even more dilute demon gene than I do. But you are still sensitive to demon magic. My spell, performed on this day of days, has awakened the Damiri within you.”

Would telling my babe the truth have changed her decisions, tilted her choices, made her less self-destructive as she worked through her grief and loneliness? I cannot know.

Would the knowledge of her demon ancestors have kept her from seeking protection for Dad and Bill from the Powers That Be?

I don’t know. Fortunately, the seven beings that sit in judgment over creatures across the Universe were more interested in removing a Warrior of the Celestial Blade from proximity to the sacred neutral land of the house on Cape Cod, than on examining her father for traces of demon leanings.

The windows in the chat room that allow me to trace the history of an artifact do not allow me to see the future. Only the Powers That Be can do that. And I’m not certain they can manipulate time threads. They are, after all, merely seven beings chosen from among the sentient and benign races. I do not believe their powers change when they don the cloak of the supreme arbitrators of Universal Justice.

I do not believe they take higher precedence than the deity, whichever name you give to Him/Her.

The sin of cowardice is something I must deal with. I could not bear to disappoint my dahling Tess again. I’m sure it will not be the last time, given who and what I am.

Her pain is my pain. When she hurts because of my misdeeds, my own aches and regrets multiply.

So I wait from the safety of the roof. I listen while Lucy tells Tess the truth.

I cringe as Tess vents her anger against one and all. I wait for her to throw a piece of pizza against the wall.

I watch neighborhood children decked out as fairy princesses and spacemen and skeletons run from door to door gleaning a year’s worth of sweet treats. They giggle and shout “Boo.” They glory in this night when all too many monsters can creep through the dimensions seeking prey.

But none of the children or the monsters come near our building. I can see an invisible bubble of energy protecting the cement and steel and wood.

My fellow imps have woven this net for Tess. They do not tell me why. I can only hope it comes from respect. She is a true and honorable Warrior of the Celestial Blade, no matter her ancestry. Any one of them would be proud to partner her.

I wait until Lucy has taken her baby back to the hotel.

I watch Tess and Allie help Phonetia and E.T. prepare for bed and watch the news. Their education into modern life outside the forest must begin sometime.

Finally, when all is quiet, I creep back to Tess’ side. I do not wake her. Instead, I sit in silence at the top of her pillow, watching through the night, ever alert to any danger. Even if the danger is only the Nörglein trying to invade her dreams.

My fellow imps assure me he cannot penetrate their net now. I almost trust them.

I shall not fail my Warrior again with my sin of cowardice.