“Even better,” Malcolm said.
Epilogue
Seven years later
Picnic day. I laid out slices of bread on the counter and slathered creamy peanut butter on half of them, wishing I’d thought to grab a stool. Standing at the counter made my back sore these days, but I never remembered that until I was there. The ache was motivation to work fast. I squirted honey from the plastic bear onto the peanut butter and slapped more bread atop that, finishing all the sandwiches in record time.
Xerxes shot through the kitchen, heading for the stairs, and then a streak of pink flashed past, laughing like crazy. I put my hand on my lower back and shouted, “Malcolm! Your son is naked again!”
Thumping came from the direction of the stairs. The laughter turned into a shriek and helpless giggles. Soon Malcolm came into the kitchen, holding Duncan upside down by his ankles. “Why is he always my son when he does this?”
“Because your mother told me you used to do it, and I blame your genetic contribution.” Three-year-old Duncan reached for me, and I squeezed his hand before rubbing the curve of my enormous protruding belly. “Please dress him? And maybe convince him to stay dressed?”
Malcolm tossed the boy into the air, catching him in an upright position. “No park if you take off your clothes,” he said in an exaggeratedly menacing voice.
Duncan giggled again. “I want to go to the park.”
“Then let’s put on some clothes,” Malcolm replied, and put the boy under one arm like a football and charged out of the room. I sort of hoped Duncan would pee all over him at times like that. He’d certainly done it to me often enough before potty training set in.
I cut the sandwiches into triangles and inserted them into plastic baggies. “Alastair, come help Mommy,” I called out.
My oldest son came in from the living room, his book in his hand. “I’m reading.”
“You’re always reading. The book isn’t going anywhere. Why don’t you pick out some fruit and put it in the basket?”
Alastair nodded and set the book on the counter. I eyed it suspiciously. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Not as heavy-going as his usual fare, but Alastair had been reading since before he was three, and five years old struck me as a little early for Harry Potter. He was so serious all the time, it was like having a tiny adult in the house. I wasn’t sure I was up to being the mother of a genius, but he was also sweet and considerate and a huge help in keeping Duncan out of trouble.
My baby chose that moment to stretch painfully within me. I was so past ready for her to be born, even though I had another two weeks to go. Alastair looked from my belly to me. “Does it hurt?” he asked, for once sounding like a child.
“Only a little. It’s more like someone pushing on my tummy.” I took his hand and pressed it to where he could feel the baby move again. His eyes, the same brownish-blue as mine, lit up.
Duncan came running in again, this time clad in shorts and T-shirt with his little bare feet slapping the tile. “Mommy, can we have cookies? I want to choose the cookies!”
“All right, you can choose. Use a stool.” It probably wasn’t the best idea to encourage Duncan in reaching the upper shelves of the pantry, but he was remarkably well-behaved when it came to not taking food without permission and it beat having him climb them like a blond monkey. I suspected Alastair’s example.
Alastair was putting bananas in the picnic basket. Duncan brought me an unopened package of Oreos, which I set beside the bananas. He watched me curiously with those same brownish-blue eyes as I moved the sandwiches so they wouldn’t get squished. Suddenly, he laughed. “Mommy, you wet your pants!”
I looked at him in confusion. Then I bolted for the washroom. I made it as far as standing in front of the toilet when my abdomen lurched weirdly and a gush of fluid poured down my legs. For a moment, I stood still, shocked by the suddenness of it. Then I shouted for Malcolm.
“He’s not naked anymore…” Malcolm came into sight of me. His smile fell away as he took in my shocked expression. “What—”
“My water broke,” I said. “I need a towel.”
Malcolm pulled a towel out of the cupboard and handed it to me. “Go get changed. I’ll call Viv and tell the kids the picnic is on hold.”
I mopped myself as dry as I could manage and went upstairs. About halfway up, a contraction gripped me, not a hard one, but enough to make me pause. There was no need to rush, but wasn’t it true that labor got shorter with every child?
I hurried through giving myself a quick sponging down and changing into a new loose-fitting dress. Then I made my way back down the stairs and sat in the rarely-used front room.
Alastair peeked around the door frame. “Are you having the baby?”
“I will soon, yes. Don’t worry, everything will be fine.”
“Don’t take the freeway.”
“I—” He sounded just like he always did. “We won’t.”
“Good.” He gave me a hug and ran off. I stared after him. Good warning. I could imagine being in active labor, stuck on the freeway and giving birth in the car.
Someone knocked on the front door and opened it without waiting for an invitation. “I hear someone is in need of a babysitter,” Viv said. “You all right?”
“That was fast,” I said, rising to greet her and Jeremiah. “Malcolm called you just minutes ago.”
“I had a feeling we would be needed.” Viv hugged me. Ever since receiving her aegis, she’d started having premonitions—nothing as specific as what Victor Crowson saw, but in combination with the perceptive powers of the glass aegis, they were unambiguous and one hundred percent accurate. Viv had taken it in stride the way she’d accepted everything about becoming a magus. It almost made me forget that she hadn’t been one her whole life.
Another contraction hit just then. It still wasn’t as strong as they would become, but it was closer to the previous one than I liked. “We were going on a picnic,” I said.
“We can handle that,” Jeremiah said. He called out, “Alastair, I brought you and Duncan something.”
Alastair shouted something in the distance, once more sounding like a five year old, and he and Duncan ran into the entryway and threw themselves at Jeremiah, who laughed. You’d never know he disliked children by the way he treated mine, but then he also always treated them like adults, and to my surprise, they responded well to that.
Malcolm appeared behind the boys, toting my bag. “Time to go,” he said. “You know where everything is?”
“Someone will,” Viv said. “Hurry. I’m looking forward to meeting my namesake.”
Malcolm helped me into the car, the Honda Accord he’d bought the minute he found out I was pregnant with Alastair. I didn’t think he missed the Mustang much. “Alastair said to avoid the freeway,” I told him as we backed down the driveway.
Malcolm shot me a look I had no trouble interpreting. “Just like that?”
“Malcolm—”
“Helena, we have to figure this out soon. He’ll be starting kindergarten in the fall. Bad enough he’s a genius, what happens when he starts prophesying on the playground?”