Kind of like Cody and me, I thought. Well, except for the part where I wanted an actual relationship, which wasn’t an option for a werewolf and a hell-spawn, because we were unsuitable mates incapable of producing little half-breed werecubs. Not that it was anything I was contemplating, but . . . God, I wondered if members of the Outcast could have children? I’d never heard of it happening, but I didn’t know if there was a physiological reason for it, like maybe the plane of mortal existence between salvation and damnation was a sterile one, or—

“Daisy?”

I blinked at Lurine. “Huh?”

“I lost you for a minute there, baby girl.” There was concern in her blue eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Are you kidding?”

“No.” It was a good, solid “no,” a bracing, cut-through-the-bullshit “no.” Lurine sat on the couch opposite me, arms spread casually along its back, legs crossed at the knee, one dangling foot flashing the trademarked crimson sole of a spike-heeled Christian Louboutin pump. The wisdom in her patient gaze dated back to the Bronze Age, rendering Stefan Ludovic a mere child in her experience.

I sighed. “Didn’t you tell me heartbreak was a rite of passage?”

“I did.”

“Well, I might be stumbling toward a new phase of maturity.”

“Oh, baby girl.” Lurine came off the couch in a graceful slithering motion to embrace me. “It’s all right.”

I closed my eyes. “It’s not, though. It’s really not, Lurine. All this crap that’s going on in my personal life doesn’t matter. I screwed up. And I’m scared. Hel’s disappointed in me. So is the chief.”

Lurine shrugged. “Oh, fuck them.”

I inhaled sharply. “Lurine!”

“Oh, you know what I mean, cupcake.” Letting me go, she ruffled my hair. “I’m on your side. And you can do this.”

My eyes stung with tears. “Thanks.”

“What can I say, baby girl?” Holding me at arm’s length, Lurine regarded me. “I believe in you. Go out there and make your mama proud.”

It heartened me.

It’s surprising what an affirmation from a millennia-old monster can do for your self-esteem; and I don’t use the word monster lightly. The truth is, Lurine was a monster by her own admission. In a way, so was I. And it was good to be reminded of it.

Feeling a little better about tomorrow’s prospects, I stopped by Sinclair’s after his last tour was done for the day.

Jojo the joe-pye weed fairy was lurking outside his place, huddled under the juniper bush, clutching her slingshot. She looked weary and bedraggled, a brownish cast to her green skin, the purple clumps of her hair going to seed. It was late in the season for a wildflower fairy like her to be out and about. Usually, they vanished by this time, hibernating or taking to the hollow hills or whatever it was that nature elementals did during the winter.