"Calm yourself," said Patrick. His smooth Irish voice slid over me and my panic receded. I vaguely realized he'd used glamour on me, but I didn't care. "Let's sit down, Patsy."

Zombielike, I moved backward, turning and walking to my couch. I sat woodenly, feeling as though my whole world were falling apart. Patrick and Jessica joined me on the couch, but I couldn't look at them. I couldn't bear all their sympathy.

"We found Wilson's backpack," said Patrick.

"Backpack?" I didn't understand. Had he decided to go to school?

"It had some clothes, his iPod, and money," said Jessica.

It took me only a second to figure out the significance of those contents. My useless, dead heart dropped like a stone.

"You mean he was running away?" Horror filled me like acid, burning my insides to a crisp. Anguish forced me to cover my face, to suck in unnecessary breaths. I balled up the pain, tucking it into a corner of my mind so I could take it out later and deal with it.

"So, he's missing, right?" I asked. "You're not saying he's - he's dead."

"He's not dead," said Patrick. "Darrius was attacked by Andhaka. Darrius is okay, but by the time he escaped, Wil was gone. Damian tracked down the backpack. He lost Wil's scent in the woods."

How the hell did a werewolf lose a scent? My son was out there with demons and Wraiths and God knew what else. Why did I let him go out? I should've duct taped him to his bed.

"Things are getting too dangerous," said Jessica. "We're moving everyone into the compound. "

"No." I shook my head. "I'm not leaving my house. Wil might come back."

"It's for the best." Jessica reached over and grasped my shoulder. "We'll station a guardian nearby and - "

"No."

Patrick leaned forward and stared at me. "You will - "

"Don't you dare try to glamour me again!" Fury raced through me. I felt the heat of that anger pulse in my veins. I rose up on shaky legs and pointed a finger at Patrick. "The Consortium does not run my life!"

Fire shot out of my fingertip. Patrick dodged and the flame hit the lamp shade on the end table. Before I could utter, "Oh, shit," Patrick had gotten a glass of water from the kitchen. He dumped it on the burning shade.

"How did you do that?" he asked, his eyes wide. "It's not your Family power."

"I - I don't know." I examined my fingertip. It wasn't singed or anything. Had touching Magnolia Blossom earlier temporarily transferred her power to me? Ack! I had touched Durga, too, and felt the same fiery power surge. "It's a fluke, that's all."

"Some fluke," said Jessica. She stared at me, frowning. Then she shook her head. "Patsy," she pleaded, "moving into the compound really is the safest option."

"We aren't ever gonna be safe, for the love of God! All the Ancients are here, Jess. Of course, Koschei is gonna attack us now." I stared at my friend. My anger gave way to shock. I pointed my finger at Jess and she ducked.

"Don't do that!" she said. "I don't want to get fried."

I shook my finger, then flicked it. "See? It's out. No more fire." I turned my gaze to Patrick. "You brought the Ancients here on purpose, didn't you?"

"Stay here if you like," said Patrick a little too quickly. "Drake is leading the team searching for Wilson."

That information made me feel better. At least someone at the Consortium gave a shit about us. I softened toward Patrick. However, Jessica had been chewing on my comment and she turned to her husband. "You're setting a trap. And you didn't fucking tell me."

"I tell you everything."

"The hell you do!"

I backed away until I was safe in the kitchen. Jess in full rant was something to see, I'll tell you.

Patrick had been married to her long enough to know when to retreat. He gripped her by the arms, probably to prevent her from whipping out her swords. Gold sparkles showered my living room as they popped out of sight.

I crossed my arms and thought about what to do next. Joining the search for Wilson seemed like the motherly thing to do, but damn it, I couldn't find him any better than the wolfies. They had all the skills and talents I lacked. The best thing I could do was stick close to the house in case he came back.

Oh, Wilson. Did he dump his stuff and take off? Had someone attacked him and dragged him away? I pressed a hand against my roiling stomach. Please, God, I begged, don't let anything happen to him.

I didn't much expect God to be listening, but I wasn't taking any chances. I just wanted Wilson to be all right.

My mind wouldn't let go of the last conversation I had with my son. We had that stupid fight and I didn't tell him I loved him and oh, God, where is he?

My son hated for me to go near his room. I felt like a sneak-thief as I opened the door and stepped inside. It smelled like pot and incense.

I sat on his bed and stared at the posters on his walls. I didn't recognize any of the bands. Of course, he liked heavy metal stuff, which just sounded like a bunch of yelling and clanging to me. I loved country music, which drove Wilson up the wall.

"Hey, Mom, what do you get when you play country music backward?"

"I don't know," I said, grinning.

"You get your truck back, your dog back, your wife back, your beer back... ."

I laughed at the memory. It had been a long time since we'd been that easy with each other. My gaze returned to the posters.

I supposed that pretty much summed up our relationship. He was rock'n'roll and I was country.

Restless and worried, I wandered into the living room and plopped onto the couch. I remembered how many times Sean sat on this very sofa, weeping like a man wanting to repent. Yeah, he wept like a baby and my heart broke for him. For us. For Wilson.

I won't do it anymore. I'll go to the meetings, Patsy. I love you. You and Willie are my family. I can't do this alone. I need you, honey. I need your support. Please.

Tears. Promises. Lies.

Alcoholics were penitent. They meant what they said; at least they did when they said it. They just didn't have the follow-through. The alcohol was stronger than their willpower, their ability to love themselves or their families, their need to be decent human beings. They forgot important family events, they spent money meant for bills, and they drove cars while intoxicated. They passed out in ditches, in lawn chairs, in recliners. They got put in jail. In out-reach programs. In facilities with doctors and psychiatrists.

I went to meetings, too. I learned that alcoholism was a disease and that Sean didn't choose to be an alcoholic.

But Sean sure as hell didn't choose to be sober, either. I learned to focus on myself and my kid. To stop worrying about Sean, to stop pouring alcohol down the sink, to stop putting a pillow under his head when he passed out on the floor.

Sean was always in pain. He always felt sad and guilty and needy. I love you. Give me another chance.

Then the day came when I was all out of second chances. I hoped to God I wouldn't have to make the same decision with my son. Wilson had already started on the same path as his daddy.

I picked up the remote and turned on the television. Nothing on the TV interested me, but I kept flipping through the channels.

"Hey, I like that Alton Brown," said Nonna.

I screamed and dropped the remote. My grandmother was sitting right next to me, staring at the Food Network. I wanted to throttle her.

"People are constantly sneaking up on you," said Dottie, who sat in the chair to the right. "You kinda suck as a vampire." She cackled at her own joke.

"Wilson's missing," I announced.

This news didn't much ping on their radars. Nonna was mesmerized by Mr. Brown's take on making homemade ice cream. "Just where the hell have you two been?"

"Around," said Nonna. "Don't worry about your boy, Patsy. He's all right."

I wanted to believe her, but why should I? Ghosts didn't necessarily mark the difference between alive and dead. "You two could be more useful. You're ghosts. You can go anywhere. It'd be easy for you to track him down."

"Leave it be, child," chided my grandmother. Her eyes never left the TV. "Now, ssshhh!"

"I can't stand this," I said. "I'm going to open up the shop and ... and ... clean it."

"There's no point to doing that," said Nonna.

Oh, here we go. Nonna had let it be known even before she died that she didn't appreciate my hairstyling techniques or my business sense.

"Why not?" I scooped up the TV remote, but stopped just short of whapping her ghostly skull. "Because I don't have many clients? Because I'm not good at my job? Because I shouldn't touch people's scalps now that I'm undead?"

"Nope," said my grandmother, unperturbed by my sarcasm. "You can't go to the shop because it's on fire."

Hua Mu Lan

Translated from the Memoirs of Ruadan

Hua Mu Lan translates loosely to "Magnolia Blossom."

But Lia was no delicate flower. A skilled warrior with the supernatural ability to wield fire, she was always ready for a fight. In the early days, I found her temperament sexy enough to do a hundred-year binding with her - twice. Over time, her battle-prone attitude became wearisome.

All the same, Lia embraced life with a fierceness I admired.

I traveled for a while after leaving Koschei. One evening, I came upon a battleground in the lands that would later be known as China. Soldiers lay upon the blood-soaked ground like chaffs of wheat cut down and tossed about. As I found a path around the carnage, I heard the soft moans of one dying.

She had taken off her helmet and dragged herself between two large rocks. Given the severity of her wounds, I knew it wouldn't be too much longer before she died.

With dirt smudging her cheek, her dark eyes alight with determination, she faced me down. The almond shape of her eyes softened the intensity of her obsidian gaze. Energy pulsed around her. Cupping her hands, she created a ball of fire.

I knew then she would be a magnificent vampire.

I made her the offer, warned her of the risks, but she was already an unconventional woman. She had disguised herself as a man to join the army - to protect her ill and aged father from conscription.

As the centuries passed, I always wondered if Lia had made up this story to satisfy those who looked no deeper for her motives. She rarely exhibited the kindness and self-sacrifice so often attributed to the heroine in the "Ballad of Mulan."

The Turning was successful and after traveling together for a while, Lia claimed she had matters to take care of.

Years passed before I learned that Lia had a young daughter. About the time I tracked down my own sons and Turned them, Lia did the same. Unlike the other Ancients with blood children Turned, she never revealed her daughter's name or location.

But that was later. Before we went our separate ways, Lia agreed to meet with me and Koschei and take her place among the Council of deamhan fola.