Chapter 19: Meddling

We all knew Auburdeen was desperate for another child, but I think even Gabriel was shocked to announce their next pregnancy within a month of Adalee's death. This babe at least felt healthy to me when I reached for her, but when I felt nothing but her heartbeat even in the last few weeks of the pregnancy, I knew the sad truth.

Benella Rosabel came into the world a latent child, powerless. Burdie's grief affected us all, even the dear baby, who I cared for carefully as I had the children before her. And as sweet as she was, much like Damon had been, as lovely and kind a girl as she grew to be, there was always a longing on Benella's face when it came to Auburdeen.

Knowing my wisdom wouldn't be welcome, I confronted Burdie anyway. "You cannot ignore this girl because she's not a witch," I snapped, cornering her in the back hall beside the newly installed indoor plumbing. "Your daughter needs you, Auburdeen."

"Why are you always meddling?" She collapsed to the floor, tears on her cheeks, arms around me even as she cursed me. "How can I love her when I've failed her so very badly? Her and her sister?"

I purred softly, kissed her cheek with my nose. "You are her mother," I said. "She knows nothing of failure from you."

Despite my meddling, as she chose to call it, Burdie remained withdrawn from all of us, including the cheerful cherub Benella grew to be. Late night arguing kept me up as Burdie and Gabriel fought, over what I could only guess, though Thaddea and I, now Banella's caretakers, speculated.

And were proven correct by Auburdeen's sudden, sunny turn of mind. "We're pregnant," she told us at dinner, face glowing, almost a girl again while Gabriel hovered, clearly upset and I wondered if he'd consented to this new child.

Still, it was wonderful to have the old Burdie back, the brittleness she'd carried with her since her final adventure breaking away at last.

"I have a secret," she told me, whispered to me as she danced me around the great room in the light of the sun when I came to ask her about the baby. "Feel her."

She was right. Even the tiny form her child existed as now felt perfect, the spark of magic alive and well, the babe developing as she should.

"You've done something, I take it?" Not that I disagreed with her choice.

Burdie stopped spinning, panting, her face aglow with happiness. "This time," she said, "I will not fail."

Lilibeth Fayline had her mother's eyes and her father's dark hair, magic crackling much as Burdie's did when she was born, emerging in witchly perfection to the adoration and absolute joy of her loving parents.

At last, Burdie had the daughter she longed for. How I struggled with my love for her in those early days of what I came to think of as Lilibeth's reign over the family. Now that the line of succession was guaranteed, no one seemed to care Benella existed.

I cared. Comforted her when she cried for her mother, when her little sister took all the attention, even from Thaddea.

"That girl is ruining her daughter," I snapped to Thad over a private breakfast.

At least she had the good grace to look guilty. "It's just so hard for her, Sass," she said. "Auburdeen has been through so much. And then to lose Adalee, Benella's lack of power..." Thad sat back, sorrow creasing the lines in her face deeper than ever as I shivered and tried not to think about her growing old. "Perhaps we haven't tried everything there is to be done."

I knew better. I'd learned enough from the witches in the family over the years no latent had ever uncovered enough power to join a coven. It simply didn't happen. But thanks to my prodding, Thaddea, with Auburdeen's absent blessing, did her very best.

"I know Granmumum means well," Benella whispered to me one night as I curled up beside her, purring away her tears of frustration from dark eyes rimmed in thick black lashes, the picture of her father, "but I wish I'd never been born into this family!"

A harsh truth from a six-year-old girl. When I shared her pain with her grandmother, Thaddea agreed to stop, though I knew it hurt her deeply to give up on someone she loved.

Lilibeth, in the meanwhile, had become so spoiled by the family, her mother as guilty as the rest of them, I had to take matters into my own paws the day I caught her teasing her older sister. Only a precocious five, Lilibeth was the queen and she knew it.

"You should just leave," she told the horrified Benella. "No one loves you because you're useless."

Where had the child heard such nonsense? "If you ever," I advanced on her, uncurling from my sleeping place, sun-warmed fur rising to stand at attention as Lilibeth stared with wide eyes and mouth, "say anything so horrible to your sister ever again, Lilibeth Fayline Hayle," I stopped in front of her, magic rippling around me, "I will personally see to it all of your dolls are taken away."

A cruel, childish threat, and empty. But Lilibeth believed me, ran screaming and crying for her mother while I sighed and shook my head, comforting Benella with a soft purr of encouragement while I wondered how far I'd fallen, taken to intimidating little girls.

Auburdeen thundered into the room, face red, temper flaring. As usual.

"How dare you threaten my daughter!" Lilibeth peeked out from behind her mother's legs, sticking her tongue out at me.

"The moment you stop and pay attention to what you're raising," I snapped while Benella sniffed beside me, "is the moment I will leave you to do so without supervision. Who told Lilibeth not having power made Benella useless? Or that no one loved her?"

Auburdeen flinched. "No one would ever say that." She looked down at the dark-haired daughter she adored, met her wide, innocent blue eyes. "You would never say anything like that to your sister, would you, Lil?"

"Never, Momma," Lilibeth said.

I have no idea who suggested it to Burdie, but I still cursed and blessed the witch who brought up sending Benella to be raised with a latent family, coven blood also born without power. Cursed because the thought of losing my sweet Bennie to anyone made my blood boil.

The blessing came later. After Auburdeen and her mother took Benella to visit, just to visit, myself tagging along, of course. To meet the lovely, quiet-voiced young woman and her cheerful husband, their own sweet daughter and rambunctious sons.

"I know how hard it is," Polly said, a Murphy now, no longer taking her coven's name, but her husband's. "And I'll love her like she's my own."

Benella stared at Polly with some anxiety as though understanding her fate was being decided. But when the daughter of the house, Esmeralda, drew her away for play, my sinking heart found the blessing at last.

I was certain Thaddea would stop her when Auburdeen rose, went to her child, touched her hair with her fingertips in impulsive haste, a whisper of magic altering Benella's memories forever. Those dark eyes looked up, smiled at the woman she would never remember was her mother before turning to Polly.

"May I have a snack, Momma?"

Both Hayles held in their sobs until we were outside. Auburdeen actually turned, tried to go in again, but I stopped her. Missing Benella with every breath, I prevented Burdie from making a mistake.

"She will be happy," I said, an order to both of them as they stared down at me with tears on their cheeks. "I will see to it."

And while I admit I lost track of my darling girl once or twice, I made sure to check in on her as often as I could get away, she and her delightful children, and their children, down through the generations. And I was pleased to know that yes, the right choice was made for her after all.

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