Belladonna

Sebastian's face.
    "Daddy?" Sebastian said, his voice coming close to a squeak. "Daddy? Is she ... ? Did we ... ? How?"
    "I thought he was an incubus," Yoshani said.
    "He says he is," Jeb replied.
    "Shouldn't he know how babies are made?"
    "You would think so."
    It's the drink, Lee thought. It's the whiskey I had in the Den that's making me feel like I'm nine years old again and Mother has tossed us both outside because we were being a pain in the ass. But knowing that didn't stop him from looking at Sebastian and saying in the same tone he'd used when he was nine, "Daddy. Daddy, daddy, daddy."
    Sebastian didn't come up swinging. He just got paler.
    Then Jeb said, "You know, the day Sebastian becomes a daddy, you become an uncle."
    And Lee felt the blood drain right out of his head.
    Jeb bobbed his head once, indicating approval. "Thought that would do it." He looked at Yoshani. "Have you seen Nadia's personal gardens? I just finished making a bench for her."
    "I would be delighted to see other examples of your handiwork," Yoshani said, smiling.
    "What do you think is going on out there?" Glorianna said, taking a quick peek out the kitchen window before setting the dishes on the table, which Lynnea had just cleaned off. "Jeb and Yoshani look amused, and Sebastian and Lee look like they've been sucker punched."
    "Lee shouldn't tease Sebastian," Lynnea said. "He's still getting used to being a Justice Maker."
    "Instead of being a troublemaker?" Glorianna asked too innocently.
    Nadia turned away from the counter where she was rolling out the biscuits. "One of you girls might want to mention that if everyone behaves for the rest of this visit, I won't ask why Lee had been in the Den drinking enough that Sebastian had to bring him home. And let's have a little more help getting the meal on the table and a little less mirth."
    As soon as Nadia had turned back to her biscuits, Glorianna grinned at Lynnea. It didn't matter that they were all committed to saving Ephemera from the Eater of the World. When it came to home and family, some things didn't change.

Chapter Ten
    T he closer he got to Kendall's docks, the more uneasy Michael felt. It was as if he were walking through ankle-deep tar, and every footstep was an effort. But the streets were as clean as they ever were in this part of the seaport, and that feeling had nothing to do with the physical world around him. This was something else, something different, something ... evil.
    And worse, the music that represented Kendall's docks sounded wrong.
    He shuddered. The rattle of the pans on the outside of his pack sounded too loud, drew too much attention. He stoned walking and looked around, as if he needed to get his bearings.
    He'd had this same feeling when he walked through the fog that had smothered Foggy Downs.
    Michael tipped his head, even though the music he was listening to wasn't a physical sound. Yes, he recognized it now — the sly riffs of temptation, the trills of fear, the harsh rumble of despair. Whatever had touched this part of Kendall had been the same thing that had poisoned Foggy Downs. And Dunberry. He'd managed to turn Foggy Downs back to the rhythm and beat of his own tune. Maybe he could do the same here. Fie couldn't afford to lose the Kendall docks as a safe place where he could blend in.
    And, damn it, he couldn't afford to lose this particular port since he depended on the generosity of the ships' captains to make the traveling easier.
    Hurrying now, he moved through the streets until he reached the Port of Call, a tavern that was cleaner than most, didn't water the drinks as much, and had a proprietor, Big Davey, who usually was willing to trade an evening of music for a bit of supper and a cot for the night.
    But conversations sputtered into silence when he walked through the door. Hard-eyed men, toughened by a life spent at sea, studied him with a wariness and distrust that made him wonder if he would be able to back out the door without getting into a fight. He wasn't a stranger to fights — and had a few scars from broken bottles and shivs to prove it — so he knew when to hold his ground and when to back away.
    He'd taken that first step back when a voice called from one of the tables. "There's the man! Barkeep, bring my friend a whiskey and ale."
    The sailors, recognizing the voice, relaxed and went back to their conversations. Michael made his way to the table and shrugged out of his pack before sitting across from the man who had