“I can pay my own way,” Jude said.

“As can I,” Nathaniel said.

“Thanks,” I said, and meant it. It would be a huge relief to not have to worry about stretching my meager food budget.

Jude clapped me on the shoulder. “I will return soon, Madeline Black. Your husband’s clothes will be outside when you’re ready to collect them.”

Jude disappeared through the back door.

I pressed my hand to my cheek. The claw marks hurt, and I was extremely tired all of a sudden.

“I can heal you,” Nathaniel offered. “Those marks will scar you permanently otherwise.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “I don’t want them to be healed.”

I didn’t want to have the pain taken away by an angel’s magic, an angel other than Gabriel. More than that, I wanted those marks to stay, to remind me every time I looked in the mirror I was still human. No matter how many monsters chased me, no matter what politics I was expected to play, I was still a human being. And my child would be part human, too, even if it would be the smallest part of him.

Nathaniel looked like he wanted to speak again, then changed his mind.

Come on, Samiel signed, pointed him to the door. Let’s get your sleeping arrangements sorted.

I translated, and Nathaniel followed Samiel without another word.

Beezle stayed behind a moment when the others left. “You should let Nathaniel heal you. Your strength is being sapped enough by the baby. If you run yourself down on top of being pregnant, you’ll make yourself sick.”

“I don’t want to be indebted to Nathaniel,” I said.

“You may not have a choice.”

“I lived fine for plenty of years without magical emergency care,” I pointed out.

“You also lived plenty of years without knowing who you were and without dozens of enemies waiting outside to kill you.”

“I know what I’m doing,” I said.

“Just don’t let your pride get in the way of doing what’s necessary,” Beezle said.

Then he flew out the back door, slamming it shut behind him.

And I was alone. The tick of the analog clock that hung over the stove sounded like the beat of a drum. It was the middle of the afternoon, but I felt like I could go sleep for twelve hours. I needed to get some pregnancy books or something so I could find out if it was normal to be this tired.

“Yeah, I can probably squeeze that in between hunting Azazel and fending off faerie assassins,” I said to myself.

I doubted the pregnancy books would cover supernatural births, in any case. Somehow I didn’t think there would be a chapter on what to do if the father of your baby was part nephilim.

I dragged my heavy feet into the bedroom, pulled off all my clothes and went to shower off the blood from the wounds the Hob had given me.

The marks on my right thigh were not deep but they were raised and swollen. Jude hadn’t disinfected them while we sat in the kitchen with the others.

I scrubbed the wound until the scabs came off; then when I was out of the shower I poured hydrogen peroxide into it. I hissed as it stung and the peroxide bubbled.

The heavy, wet mass of my hair kept falling in the way as I bandaged my leg. Irritated, I threw it over my shoulder but it kept falling back. It had been months since I’d gotten it cut and it was well past the middle of my back now. Gabriel had loved my hair.

I straightened, the bandaging complete, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The humidity from the shower made my curls coil with wild energy around my head. The slash marks from the Hob’s claws stood out in bright relief against my white skin. The dark circles under my eyes added nothing positive to the overall impression.

I looked like a mad Medusa, the kind of woman people crossed the street to avoid.

The impulse was there, so I didn’t stop to think about it. I opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a pair of scissors. Then I started to cut.

Some time later I was surrounded by a pile of hair. What was left on top of my head was a shapeless mess, but it was short. I rubbed my hand over the nape of my neck, which felt bare and exposed. I looked down at the remains of my crowning glory, remembered Gabriel with his hands in my hair.

Tears welled up again, but I suppressed them ruthlessly. I had made this choice, and it was too late for regrets.

I dusted the hair off me with a towel, then swept up the rest of it and dumped it in the trash. I went into the bedroom without looking in the mirror again. I pulled on a tank top and pajama pants and fell into bed.

My dreams were filled with blood and ash and snow.

Someone was touching my hair, a featherlight hand brushing over my head.

“Gabriel?” I asked, my mind still muffled by sleep.

The hand stilled, drew away. I opened my eyes.

It was dark out, but in the winter it was dark by four thirty in the afternoon. There was a glint of streetlight on the metal frames of glasses.

“J.B.,” I said, sitting up. My head felt strangely light. I reached up unconsciously and felt the shorn ends.

“That’s a different look for you,” he said.

“How did you get in the house?” I asked, swinging my legs out and shivering when my bare feet touched the cold floor.

“Beezle let me in.”

“What time is it?”

“A little past seven.”

My stomach grumbled. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten.

“Can we move this discussion to the kitchen?” I asked, getting up and pulling a sweatshirt and heavy socks from my dresser.