“Claudine really toned it down since she was passing for human.” Claudine, Claude’s triplet, had been a stunning six-foot-tall beauty.

Jason said, “Grandpa wasn’t any picture in the looks department.”

“Yeah, I know.” We looked at each other, silently acknowledging the power of physical attraction. Then we said, simultaneously, “But Gran?” And we couldn’t help but laugh. Michele tried hard to keep a straight face, but finally she couldn’t help grinning at us. It was hard enough thinking about your parents having sex, but your grandparents? Totally wrong.

“Now that I’m thinking about Gran, I’ve been meaning to ask you if I could have that table she put up in the attic,” Jason said. “The pie-crust table that used to sit by the armchair in the living room?”

“Sure, swing by and pick it up sometime,” I said. “It’s probably sitting right where you put it the day she asked you to take it up to the attic.”

I left soon after with my almost-empty casserole dish, some leftover steak, and a cheerful heart.

I certainly hadn’t thought having dinner with my brother and his girlfriend was any big deal, but when I got home that night I slept all the way through until morning, for the first time in weeks.

MARCH

THE FOURTH WEEK

“There,” said Sam. I had to strain to hear him. Someone had put Jace Everett’s “Bad Things” on, and just about everyone in the bar was singing along. “You’ve smiled three times tonight.”

“You counting my facial expressions?” I put down my tray and gave him a look. Sam, my boss and friend, is a true shapeshifter; he can change into anything warm-blooded, I guess. I haven’t asked him about lizards and snakes and bugs.

“Well, it’s good to see that smile again,” he said. He rearranged some bottles on the shelf, just to look busy. “I missed it.”

“It’s good to feel like smiling,” I told him. “I like the haircut, by the way.”

Sam ran a self-conscious hand across his head. His hair was short, and it hugged his scalp like a red gold cap. “Summer’s coming up. I thought it might feel good.”

“Probably will.”

“You already started sunbathing?” My tan was famous.

“Oh, yeah.” In fact, I’d started extra early this spring. The first day I’d put on my swimsuit, all hell had broken loose. I’d killed a fairy. But that was past. I’d lain out yesterday, and not a thing had happened. Though I confess I hadn’t taken the radio outside, because I’d wanted to be sure I could hear if something was sneaking up on me. But nothing had. In fact, I’d had a remarkably peaceful hour lying in the sun, watching a butterfly waft by every now and then. One of my great-great-grandmother’s rosebushes was blooming, and the scent had healed something inside me. “The sun just makes me feel real good,” I said. I suddenly remembered that the fae had told me that I came from sky fairies, instead of water fairies. I didn’t know anything about that, but I wondered if my love of the sun was a genetic thing.