“Hi, Bis,” I said as Jenks fumed on my dresser. “You want your shirt?”

Immediately he perked up, slithering into my room and dropping onto my bedside table, wings flat to his back. “I was just going to ask you for it,” he said, sending a sliver of concern through me. “Can you put it on me? I want to show the kids.”

He wanted to show the kids. Subtle phrasing, but significant. He was seeing himself as less of a kid and more of an adult. I’d seen it on the jet when he settled into a watchful mode with a magazine, and how he kept an eye on the people in the airport instead of being distracted by the jets or the people staring at him. Growing up wasn’t bad, but I kind of missed the old Bis and his wonder at everything. He still had that inquisitive good nature, but now it was tempered with the knowledge that life wasn’t fair and that bad things happened, even if you watched for them.

“You bet,” I said, opening the snaps of my overnight case. Still in a huff, Jenks landed on the open lid. We had spent a day at Disneyland before coming home, and Jenks had gone a little nuts, buying out a gift shop and generally acting like a chipmunk on Brimstone. Bis had contented himself with a tourist T-shirt, but Ivy and I sat on a curb for almost an hour waiting for Jenks to come out of the Tink history exhibit. Since then, there hadn’t been a single swear word using the “Inderlander pioneer,” as he now called her.

I pulled Bis’s tank top out, carefully folding the brightly patterned bag with Tinkerbell on it after Jenks started making tiny, pained noises when I crumpled it up. I couldn’t help but wonder if we had a little crush going. Finally I snapped the bright red shirt to get out the wrinkles and held it up to Bis. “I don’t think we’re going to have to make wing slits for you,” I said, seeing a glimpse of his old self in his delight at the screened picture of characters in the latest gargoyle flick.

“Too cool,” he said, holding his arms up, and I settled the soft cotton tank top over his head, tugging gently to get it around his ears. I tried to imagine him my size but failed. He was still a kid—and my responsibility. Damn, how had my mom done this?

“Belle says the battle was Sunday,” Bis said, his voice muffled. “After I left.”

“Yeah?” Jenks barked, his wings moving but not lifting him at all.

“Wings,” I prompted, and Bis lifted them high so I could work the tank top around them.

“She said a passing clan thought that Jenks had died, so they attacked,” Bis said, his red eyes glowing. “They didn’t know what to do. The kids, I mean. Jih was across the street, and it was noon. But Belle was awake, and she saw them. Raised the alarm. They would have taken the garden and killed everyone if not for Belle.”