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Grateful for the wide brim of her hat, Elsa continued humming " Duérmete niño” as little Lyra in her pink and yellow flowered onesie drifted off to sleep in her arms. Between liberal applications of child-safe sunscreen and her hat, she and her daughter had avoided sunburn despite spending the afternoon at Dover’s farmers market.
Jack leaned over the nappy bag between them on the bench, gently smoothing their daughter’s hair with a tanned hand. He never wore sunscreen and enjoyed basking in the sun like a lizard. Considering how much he and Lyra played outside, she likely would take after her father in that regard. In any case, Elsa wasn’t taking any chances with their daughter’s health.
“Amor , I’m telling you,” Jack murmured, “you can sing.” He sipped at his cappuccino, then held up Elsa’s coffee that he’d minded while she’d coaxed Lyra to sleep.
Elsa shook her head at the coffee, then snorted softly. “If you say so.”
“You can carry a tune,” he said with a reassuring smile. “That’s plenty.”
She withheld a sigh as she gazed at Lyra’s sleep-slack features. Doubt had been a near-constant companion over the last six months, much to Elsa’s frustration. She should be over this by now. All of the books she’d read said that parenting was more of an art than a science. She didn’t need to be a perfect mother, just “good enough,” which Jack, Lyssa, and Jericho assured her she was. Yet Elsa still felt inadequate.
Lyra turned her cherub face into Elsa’s shoulder like she often did in sleep. After kissing her auburn hair, she smiled at Jack and reached for her coffee. “Caffeine, please.”
“Here you go.” She took a long swig of the surprisingly good coffee as he grinned at her and Lyra. “This was fun, no? We can come back next month.”
Despite her instinct to say no due to the stress of managing a fussing baby and reusable shopping bags full of local produce and a dozen fresh eggs, Elsa refrained. She had enjoyed herself, as had Lyra and Jack. They oohed and aahed over whatever interested them. Elsa enjoyed their antics in between keeping an eye out for trouble, reassured by the feel of the Bloodstone in her back pocket. “If the weather’s nice, yes. I’m not juggling an umbrella and a baby when walking to and from the car park.”
Jack tugged at the front-facing baby carrier hanging from his shoulders. “Or I can carry her.”
“And who’s going to carry the bags?” Elsa countered as movement on the neighboring bench caught her eye. A Black woman about ten years her junior held her baby to her chest to nurse.
Jack chuckled, “Fair enough. Still, I’m glad we came out here today. I like it when we do things as a family.”
“Me too,” she said, discreetly watching the mother and her child. A knot formed in Elsa’s throat as insecurity crept back in. She couldn’t breastfeed Lyra since she’d used the Bloodstone on the night she’d given birth. Proximity to the stone might not hurt Lyra, but its magic still lingered in Elsa’s body. She wouldn’t risk poisoning her child.
Nevertheless, being unable to properly provide for her child felt like failure. She knew she shouldn’t care, that she wasn’t supposed to feel guilty. Everyone said Lyra would be fine, and Elsa knew that she probably would be. Still she felt as though her family continued to torment innocent werewolves from beyond the grave, and she was partially responsible for that.
Lyra stirred against Elsa’s shoulder, pulling her from her thoughts.
“Is she awake?” Jack asked.
“Yes. I think she’s hungry.” Elsa shifted Lyra to a sitting position on her lap as Jack reached into their nappy bag for a bottle.
“Here, let me,” he smiled at Elsa, taking Lyra into his arms. Soon he was cooing at her as she drank.
“So,” Jack began without taking his eyes off Lyra, “what’s wrong?”
Elsa blinked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You just spent five straight minutes staring into the middle distance. You’re upset.”
Elsa sighed. “Remember what we talked about the other day? About bottle feeding?”
“Ahh, I see.”
Lyra squirmed and fussed. Jack shifted her with practiced ease while Elsa stroked her tiny hand.
Once their daughter resumed nursing, Elsa continued. “I know it’s silly, but I can’t help feeling guilty.”
Jack frowned at her. “Guilty? Why?”
“If I hadn’t used the stone the night Lyra was born, she could feed properly.”
“Elsa, you were hurt and we were under attack! Who knows what would’ve happened if you hadn’t used the stone?”
She sat up straight. “Maybe I could’ve handled it on my own.”
“Maybe,” he said, “or you could’ve died.”
She frowned at him.
“There’s no point wondering what could have happened. You made a choice, and that choice is likely the reason we’re all alive and healthy right now.” He looked into her eyes, his brow furrowed. “And we are, for the record. Lyra is fine. There’s nothing wrong with bottle feeding. You know this.”
Elsa looked down at Lyra, who gazed curiously at them as she gulped down her lunch.
“Is there a chance this isn’t really about bottles?” he nudged.
Elsa let out a slow, deliberate breath. “The Bloodstone is a weapon specifically designed to murder people like you.” She glanced guiltily at Lyra. “Like both of you,” she said with a wavering voice. “Wearing it feels like a betrayal.”
Jack took her hand in his. “Amor , the Bloodstone isn’t just a weapon. It’s also the reason we get to grow old together. With the stone extending your life, we'll both live to see Lyra grow into middle age.” He returned his gaze to their daughter, whose bright green eyes made Elsa’s heart flutter.
She squeezed her eyes shut before continuing. “Still, what if she touches it while I’m wearing it? What if she manages to get a hold of it herself?”
Jack released her hand to put his arm around her shoulders. “We’re not sure touching the stone will hurt her. That’s why we’re testing the stone later.”
Elsa took another sip of her coffee. “I still don’t know if that’s a great idea.” Jack had made the suggestion a few days earlier. They weren’t sure how the experiment would work, and Elsa wasn’t in a rush to figure it out.
“Hey,” Jack smiled, “I’m not suggesting we blast our six-month-old daughter with the Bloodstone, but there has to be a safe way to check.”
“How did you know? Before touching it, I mean. Was there any indication that it would harm you?”
Jack knit his brow, gazing absently at the shoppers visiting vendors’ tables in the middle of the square. “When I’m near the stone I sense its presence. It doesn't hurt exactly, but I feel uneasy when it’s close. I feel antsy, almost itchy.”
Lyra gurgled happily around the nipple in her mouth, drawing her and Jack’s attention. The bottle was nearly empty.
Jack tipped the bottle up. “So hungry, mi cielo !” he said, then turned to Elsa. “She doesn’t seem to feel the same way about the stone. If she did, she wouldn’t fall asleep in your arms or climb up your body and hug you as if you were a tree.”
Elsa nodded, hoping that Jack was right. She smoothed their daughter’s red hair–the same auburn her mother’s had been. Lyra took after both of them. Not all of those traits were obvious.
She caught Jack’s eye. “You don’t seem to have a problem doing any of those things.”
“I sometimes do,” he acknowledged. “When we hug or kiss, I can tell you’re wearing the stone even if you make sure I won’t come in contact with it.”
Consternation must have shown on her face, because Jack’s eyes widened. He amended, “It doesn’t bother me, really. You’re not into PDA anyway, and you don’t wear it to bed or in the shower.” His eyes crinkled as his smile widened. “I don’t mind being a little itchy if it means I get to hold you.” He leant over the bag and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.
Lyra giggled up at them, before hiccoughing and confusedly looking down at herself.
“I think someone needs burping,” Jack cooed at Lyra, then turned back to Elsa. “Maybe we should head back?”
“That’s probably for the best.” She retrieved a muselin from the nappy bag. “Here, I’ll take her,” she said, throwing the piece of fabric over her shoulder before Jack handed over their fussing baby.
After getting Lyra settled against her shoulder, Elsa stood, enjoying the scent of her child’s hair. “Let’s go home, love.”
They hadn’t even walked a block toward the car park when Lyra’s tummy felt better. With her daughter on her hip, Elsa tucked the muselin in the nappy bag on her shoulder, careful not to elbow the handful of other pedestrians heading the same way.
Jack was juggling even more with his messenger bag on one shoulder, the canvas bag full of produce on the other, and the baby carrier on his chest. “I’m sure I had the keys in here somewhere,” he said, searching his messenger bag with one hand.
“I’ve got them,” she replied as she glanced around; Lyra and Jack made situational awareness challenging. The only break in the rows of shops was the pocket park on their left. Two men, one wearing a track suit and the other a T-shirt, shorts, and a baseball cap, smoked on a bench in the shade. “I put them in–”
Something tugged at Elsa’s back pocket. She spun around to see a pale, lanky man duck back into the shade of the tiny park. With the Bloodstone glimmering red in his hand, he moved toward the men on the bench.
This wasn’t a mugging. This was an ambush.
Had her hands not been occupied with her now-fussing daughter, Elsa would have snatched the stone back already and broken the thief’s wrist as a treat. Instead she snarled, annoyed that she had to deal with this shit on top of being hot and tired.
“Stop!” she commanded, stepping into the shade of the park and tossing her hat aside. Jack was right beside her quietly growling.
The pickpocket obeyed.
“Take Lyra,” Elsa told Jack, dividing her attention between the thief and his companions. They’d gotten to their feet and flicked their cigarettes away.
She withheld a sigh of relief as Jack eased their daughter in the baby carrier. “The smart move,” she informed the thug as she extended one hand, “is to give that back. Now .”
The pickpocket smirked at Elsa, backing toward the other men. “Fuck off, bitch. You don’t deserve this.”
Elsa heard Jack’s quiet gasp as she hesitated; the creep’s retort had caught her off guard.
She quickly regrouped, exchanging a look with Jack, then advanced on the man. With Lyra safe with Jack behind her, she said, “Last chance. Hand it over, and you and your friends can walk away.”
The big bloke with the baseball cap murmured, “Trevor, maybe–”
Track Suit smacked his arm. “No!” he hissed at the pickpocket. “Bring it here.”
So he’s the leader , Elsa thought. Although she saw no hint of a concealed weapon on him, Trevor had tried and failed to hide a knife tucked in his waistband.
Before Trevor had taken a second step toward his boss, Elsa had plucked the throwing knife tucked behind her back and flung it at the thief’s thigh. It sank into muscle, prompting a string of curses that Elsa wished her daughter hadn’t heard and the Bloodstone to fall to the ground.
Track Suit dove for the stone as Baseball Cap marched past him toward Elsa, cracking his knuckles.
“Amor? ” Jack called quietly.
“I’m good,” she returned as the big man threw a roundhouse punch. Blocking it with her left arm was easy, although the force of the attempted strike made her grunt and the nappy bag slide off her shoulder. Her right hand clamped on her attacker’s shoulder, bringing him close to knee him in the groin. He groaned and crumpled. A kick to his chest directed the thug to Trevor, who cried out when his companion fell on him.
Behind her Lyra giggled, and Jack quietly chuckled.
Willpower and years of training kept Elsa’s attention on Track Suit, who’d stood up with the Bloodstone in one hand. He gaped at his friends writhing on the pavement.
“Are we done?” She asked the poor excuse for a leader.
He turned his open-mouthed stare to her and trembled.
Elsa sighed. If these three were hunters, they were the worst she’d ever encountered.
Moving slowly, she hiked the nappy bag back to her shoulder with one hand while extending the other palm-up. “I’m not about to kill three useless twats for stealing my stone. Just give it back and you can go.”
The man’s jaw snapped shut as he reached under his track jacket and drew a Desert Eagle - because of course it was a stupidly oversized handgun, goddammit - and aimed at her with the Bloodstone dangling from its chain. His stance was all wrong and his hands were shaking. He probably had never fired a gun in his life, which made him all the more dangerous.
Elsa swore under her breath. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jack curl his arms around Lyra.
“Stop!” Track Suit shouted. He pointed the gun at Jack and Lyra before targeting Elsa again.
She’d never felt so relieved to have a gun pointed at her head.
Nevertheless, being in a Desert Eagle’s sights was very much not ideal, and the idiot in front of her was still shaking.
With as neutral of a tone as she could manage, Elsa said, “We’re standing in the middle of town. You’re not gonna shoot–”
The gun’s report rang in Elsa’s ears as pain flared in her upper arm. Blood flowed from the shallow gash the large-caliber bullet had made. Her head hurt as well. Had something else hit her?
Ignoring her own pain, Elsa started toward the idiot who’d nearly knocked himself out from his gun’s recoil. Disarming him and retrieving the stone would be simple.
The ringing in her ears subsided enough to hear someone in the street shouting to call 999, Lyra’s panicked cries, and Jack’s ominous growl. She turned enough to see her partner while keeping the still-shaking thug in view.
With his face contorted from pain and the bags he’d carried on the ground, Jack crouched down, dividing his attention between Elsa and soothing their daughter. The gunshot must have hurt their ears terribly… which explained her headache. She was feeling Jack’s pain!
Knowing that her partner and daughter were hurting thanks to this twat made Elsa even angrier. She rounded on Track Suit, shifting her stance for a kick that would disarm and knock him out simultaneously.
“Elsa!” Jack shouted as something moved in her peripheral vision. A hand grabbed her injured arm as something hooked her ankle and pulled. Then she was falling and a cantaloupe flew by and Track Suit was getting away!
Instinct took over. Fists and feet beat her attackers back.
As Elsa got her feet under her, a shriek cut through the air. She whipped around to see Track Suit, with his gun in one hand and the Bloodstone in the other, doubled over and howling. Something fox-like had latched on to his lower leg. It had red fur and… a pink and yellow onesie?
She felt a smile spread across her face: her six-month-old daughter had a mouthful of shin and her needle-sharp claws sunk into the thug’s calf.
As Elsa rushed up to them, Jack wrenched the gun from Track Suit’s hand, breaking his wrist in the process.
The thug shrieked anew, dropping the Bloodstone and shaking Lyra off with a desperate kick. He dragged himself backwards with one pant leg torn and bloodstained.
Jack ran up to Elsa before she could check on Lyra. “Are you alright?” he asked with worried eyes. “You’re still bleeding.”
“I know, I–”
Elsa’s heart leaped into her throat. Over Jack’s shoulder she saw Lyra reach for the Bloodstone, only centimetres away.
“No!”
Jack whirled around and Elsa lunged, but Lyra already had the gemstone in her little hands. Babbling happily, she held it up to her chest, shaking it to make the chain jangle.
Jack and Elsa looked at each other, then back to Lyra.
“She’s not…” Jack began. “She’s just holding it.”
“She is,” Elsa said softly, then kneeled beside their daughter.
Lyra dodged Elsa’s attempt to take the Bloodstone away. The girl raised the gem to her mouth and gnawed, smiling around it.
Relieved tears welled in Elsa’s eyes. She scooped up her daughter, cradling her and the Bloodstone to her chest. The stone’s power rippled through her, halving the pain from the thankfully minor gunshot wound and relaxing her muscles.
After loosening her grip on Lyra, Elsa pressed a kiss to the top of her head and whispered, “I love you.”
Lyra chewed on the Bloodstone’s gold setting and burbled cheerfully.
Jack stepped up to them, putting one hand on Elsa’s good arm and the other on their daughter, careful to avoid the stone. “Are you okay?”
Elsa nodded. “Yes, but we need to leave. The police will be here any minute.”
With Lyra continuing to enjoy her new chew toy, Elsa and Jack scrambled to gather her hat and their bags. Broken eggs, splattered fruit and veg, splashes of blood, and a few unconscious bodies made a mess of the pocket park. Distant police sirens and rubberneckers taking pictures and videos with their phones prompted them to leave most of their intact purchases–including the cantaloupe and two coconuts–behind.
Minutes later Jack drove their Audi to the car park exit in time to watch two police cars with wailing sirens speed past. He and Lyra winced from the sound, and Elsa’s heart went out to them.
She smirked at her partner as he steered into traffic. “This was fun, no?”
Jack gave her a mock-annoyed look. “No.”
Lyra, still gnawing on the Bloodstone in her car seat, chortled and kicked her feet.
“Depends on who you ask, I suppose.” Elsa put in.
Jack reached for her hand. Elsa grasped it and gave it a gentle squeeze. With his heart in his eyes he glanced at her, then quickly over his shoulder at Lyra. “I suppose.”