She eyed me, sizing me up with a strangely familiar look I couldn’t quite place. Her eyes sparkled with calculating mischief.
“Mom usually lets me have ice cream or cookies after school,” she said. “Lots of them.”
I smirked. You had to admire her guts.
“Nice try, kiddo,” I said. “But your mom warned me you try this with everyone, and I shouldn’t be fooled. How about some apple and peanut butter?”
She pouted for a long moment, more annoyed that she had been caught than she was that she couldn’t have ice cream, then nodded.
Five minutes later, after I placed the snack on the table, she tore into it. She scarfed down her food with the ravenous hunger of a child. I sat at the table while she did, going over some papers while trying to keep an eye on her. I had only gotten through another page of a report when Grace wiped her mouth with the back of my hand and looked up at me.
“Want to play dolls?” she asked.
When my sister had asked my father that same question when we were kids, he had all but sneered at her and told her he was too busy. He would never have deigned to do something that he saw as weak and unmasculine. So it was no real surprise when my gut reaction was to balk at the question and say no.
But one look at Grace’s hopeful expression, and I knew I couldn’t say no.
“I don’t know how good I’ll be at it, but I’ll give it a shot,” I said, placing the pages back on the table.
Beaming, she said, “You can’t be bad at playing dolls.” Then grabbed my arm and tugged me into the other room.
She introduced me to all of her dolls, then gave me one with a horrendous haircut and started pouring us all pretend tea. All of a sudden, Grace grimaced, her face twisting as she let out a pained sound.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“It hurts again,” she said.
Frowning, I put the toy down and moved over to sit next to her. “More pre-transformation pain?” I asked. When she nodded, I said, “All right. Then I need you to take several deep breaths. All right?”
She gave a nod, her eyes squeezing shut as she followed my advice. She whimpered.
Taking my own breath, I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her against me. “It’s all right,” I said. “I know these stink. You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t.”
I watched her hands morph briefly into tiny, sharp claws, before turning human once more.
“It hurts,” she moaned.
“Deep breaths,” I repeated. “Try thinking of a happy place, and pretend you’re there.”
Grace squeezed her eyes shut. After a bit, her body relaxed. She sighed and cracked open one eye.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’m glad you’re here to help me.”
The words were more touching than I cared to admit. I coughed, glancing away. “Always happy to help.”
“Now come on.” Grace extracted herself from my arms and plucked a stuffed bear from the couch. “Mrs. Honey still doesn’t have her tea.”
***
A hand jostled my shoulder. I cracked open my eye to see a smiling Emma hovering over me. I blinked, then realized that darkness streaked with moon-silver had replaced the golden-red light of sunset. My brow furrowed as grogginess tried to take over.
“You fell asleep,” she whispered. Her grin widened. “Looks like the two of you were tired.”
Two of us?
I glanced down to see a still-sleeping Grace curled up next to me, the pains from her pre-transformation having subsided at some point. Her chest rose and fell steadily as she remained unconscious and oblivious to the waking world.
“Guess we did,” I whispered back. I hesitated, trying to figure out how to squirm out of my spot without disturbing Grace. As if reading my mind, Emma bent and bundled her daughter into her arms.
