“Not exactly. I just think that bestowing knighthoods on them is ludicrous. It makes a laughing stock of us all.”
“Why?”
“Because, Elora, they’re loose cannons. Rebellious anarchists who are proud of their non-conformity, and their first loyalty is to their teammates and not to The Order.”
Elora laughed in his face. “Storm! You just described B Team. It sounds like the only difference between them and us is that we dress better, sometimes, and don’t wear ink.”
“You know what the other knights call them? Team Fuck Up! Say what you want, but B Team didn’t end up in Marrakesh, the last outpost before you fall off the Earth.”
“Okay. Okay. Calm down. You just act like they’re a personal affront.”
“They are. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
“You resent them.”
“Yes.” Elora tried to make her features as blank as possible. “You think I’m being a self-righteous prick.”
“I did not say that.”
“Well, you didn’t have to. I know you.”
“Not that well.”
“Really? Then tell me I’m wrong about what you were thinking.” Elora opened her mouth to argue, but ended up laughing because he’d nailed it. “Like I said. I. Know. You.”
“Kay. Have a good day.”
He smiled and saluted.
The next morning Storm and Litha awoke to the sounds of a happy little girl coming from the next room. As they lay in bed and looked into each other’s eyes, each wondered if the other was reading their thoughts, which were a conflicting mixture of delight and dread. They couldn’t wait to see what changes in Rosie the morning might bring. At the same time, they were in no hurry to see what might have happened overnight.
When they heard the sweetest voice in the universe say, “Momma. Daddy,” they watched each other as they mirrored a reaction that went from slack-jaw surprise to smiling eyes. Okay. So it wasn’t going to be an average family living an average life. Had either of them been naïve enough to expect that? Well, maybe. But people who were extra-human, married to other people who were extra-human, should be smart enough to know better. These were the thoughts that ran through the minds of Rosie’s parents as they watched each other silently come to terms with their unusual circumstances.
Storm pulled Litha close for a quick snuggle and a smooch on the lips.
“We better go get our little girl before she starts calling Child Protective Services.”
Litha smiled. “Go ahead and joke, but she probably knows how to use a phone.”
The two of them rolled out on opposite sides of the bed and then raced each other to the nursery giggling, eager to see what the day had in store for the three of them. As they suspected, it was an adventure in parenting. A unique adventure.
Rosie was standing up holding onto the end of her crib, laughing at them as they came through the door. Her dark curly hair was a tousled mess, three inches longer than the day before and her eyes had settled into the deep emerald gemstone color of Litha’s.
“Hey, little girl.” Litha reached to pick her up.
Storm said, “Are you sure you should be lifting her? I don’t think your body is healing at the same rate she’s maturing.”
“I’m fine,” Litha said smiling at Rosie.
Rosie hummed and leaned toward Storm. She reached a fat little dimpled hand toward his cheek and patted. He was already a fool for the child, but that affectionate little gesture tightened the bindings around his heart making fatherhood feel almost painful.
“Oh. So you like the big guy, do you? Well, who could blame you? He’s one of a kind. And you could certainly do worse.”
He swallowed a lump that caught in his throat while he listened to Litha massage Rosie’s little spirit with soothing mother talk. She got the baby out of a tight wet nightgown to ready her for a bath. While they were so occupied, Storm called Glen and explained the situation.
“I don’t have to tell you that this is FYI. She appears to be maturing about six months every day. If this continues, she’ll be grown in a month.”
“Wow.”