It was a two-story-tall room, glass-walled from ten feet up. The night was a black ceiling festooned with vines and hanging planters of musky smelling petunias and jewel-like begonias. Maybe forty feet long and fifteen feet wide, the room made a narrow slice of another continent. And it was cold. I clasped my shoulders and looked at Jenks, worried.

"Jax?" Jenks called, the hope in his voice heartrending. "Are you here? It's me, Dad."

Dad, I thought in envy. What I would have given to have heard that directed at me when I needed it. I shoved the ugly feeling aside, happy that Jax had a dad who was able to rescue his ass. Growing up was hard enough without having to pull yourself out of whatever mess you got yourself into when your decisions were faster than your brain. Or your feet.

There was a chirp from the incubators tucked out of the way. My brows rose, and Jenks stiffened. "There," I said breathlessly, pointing. "Under that cupboard, where the heat lamp is."

"Jax!" Jenks whispered, padding down the slate slabs edged with moss. "Are you okay?"

A grin heavy with relief came over me when, with a sprinkling of glowing dust, a pixy darted out from under the cupboard. It was Jax, and he zipped around us, wings clattering. He was okay. Hell, he was more than okay. He looked great.

"Ms. Morgan!" the young pixy cried, lighting the small space with his excitement and zipping around my head like an insane firefly. "You're alive? We thought you were dead! Where's my dad?" He rose to the ceiling, then dropped. "Dad?"

Jenks stared, transfixed at his son darting over the exhibit. He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly struggling to find a way to touch his son without hurting him. "Jax…" he whispered, his eyes both young and old—pained and filled with joy.

Jax let out a startled chirp, slamming back a good two feet before he caught himself. "Dad!" he shouted, pixy dust slipping from him. "What happened? You're big!"

Jenks's hand shook as his son landed on it. "I got big to find you. It's too cold to be out without somewhere to go. And it's not safe for Ms. Morgan to be out of Cincinnati unescorted."

I made a face, chafing at the truth, though we hadn't even seen a vampire, much less a hungry one. They didn't like small towns. "Jax," I said impatiently, "where's Nick?"

The small pixy's eyes widened and the dust slipping from him turned thin. "They took him. I can show you were he is. Holy crap, he'll be glad to see you! We didn't know you were alive, Ms. Morgan. We thought you were dead!"

That was the second time he had said it, and I blinked in understanding. Oh God. Nick had called the night Al snapped the familiar bond between us. Al answered my phone and told Nick I belonged to him. Then the media thought I'd died on the boat Kisten blew up. Nick thought I was dead. That's why he had never called. That's why he didn't tell me he was back on the solstice. That's why he cleared out his apartment and left. He thought I was dead.

"God help me," I whispered, reaching out for the filthy incubator full of butterfly pupa. The budded rose left on my doorstep in the jelly jar with the pentagram of protection on it had been from him. Nick hadn't left me. He thought I had died.

"Rache?"

I straightened when Jenks tentatively touched my arm. "I'm okay," I whispered, though I was far from it. I'd deal with it later. "We have to go," I said, turning away.

"Wait," Jax exclaimed, dropping down to the floor and peering under the cupboard. "Here kitty, kitty, kitty…"

"Jax!" Jenks shouted in horror, scooping his son up.

"Dad!" Jax protested, easily slipping the loose prison of his father's fingers. "Let go!"

My eyes widened at the ball of orange fluff squeezing out from under the counter, blinking and stretching. I looked again, not believing. "It's a cat," I said, winning the Pulitzer prize for incredible intellect. Well, actually it was a kitten, so points off for that.

Jenks's mouth was moving but nothing came out. He backed up with what looked like terror in his wide eyes.

"It's a cat!" I said again. Then added a frantic, "Jax! No!" when the pixy dropped down. I reached for him, drawing away when the fluffy orange kitten arched its back and spit at me.

"Her name is Rex," Jax said proudly, his wings still as he stood on the dirty floor beside the incubator and scratched vigorously under her chin. The kitten relaxed, forgetting me and stretching its neck so Jax could get just the right spot.

I took a slow breath. As in Tyrannosaurus rex? Great. Just freaking great.

"I want to keep her," Jax said, and the kitten sank down and began to purr, tiny sharp claws kneading in and out and eyes closed.

It's a cat. Boy, you couldn't slip anything past me tonight. "Jax," I said persuasively, and the small pixy bristled.

"I'm not leaving her!" he said. "I would have frozen my first night if it wasn't for her. She's been keeping me warm, and if I leave, that mean old witch who owns the place will find her again and call the pound. I heard her say so!"

I glanced from the kitten to Jenks. He looked like he was hyperventilating, and I took his arm in case he was going to pass out. "Jax, you can't keep her."

"She's mine!" Jax protested. "I've been feeding her butterfly pupa, and she's been keeping me warm. She won't hurt me. Look!"

Jenks almost had a coronary when his son flitted back and forth before the kitten, enticing her to take a shot at him. The kitten's white tip of a tail twitched and her hindquarters quivered.

"Jax!" Jenks shouted, scooping him up out of danger as Rex's paw came out.

My heart jumped into my throat, and it was all I could do to not reach for him too.

"Dad, let me go!" Jax exclaimed, and he was free, flitting over our heads, the kitten watching with a nerve-racking intensity.

Jenks visably swallowed. "The cat saved my son's life," he said, shaking. "We aren't leaving it here to starve or die at the pound."

"Jenks…" I protested, watching Rex pace under Jax's flitting path, her head up and her steps light. "Someone will take her in. Look how sweet she is." I clasped my hands so I wouldn't pick her up. "Sure," I said, my resolve weakening when Rex fell over to look cute and harmless, her little white belly in the air. "She's all soft and sweet now, but she's going to get bigger. And then there will be yelling. And screaming. And soft kitty fur in my garden."

Jenks frowned. "I'm not going to keep her. I'll find a home for her. But she saved my son's life, and I won't let her starve here."

I shook my head, and while Jax cheered, his father gingerly scooped the kitten up. Rex gave a token wiggle before settling into the crook of his arm. Jenks had her both safe and secure—as if she was a child.

"Let me take her," I said, holding out my hands.

"I've got her okay." Jenks's angular face was pale, making him look as if he was going to pass out. "Jax, it's cold out. Get in Ms. Morgan's purse until we get to the motel."

"Hell no!" Jax said, shocking me as he lit on my shoulder. "I'm not going to ride in no purse. I'll be fine with Rex. Tink's diaphragm, Dad. Where do you think I've been sleeping for the last four days?"

"Tink's diaph—" Jenks sputtered. "Watch your mouth, young man."

This was not happening.

Jax dropped down to snuggle in the hollow of Rex's tummy, almost disappearing in the soft kitten fur. Jenks took several breaths, his shoulders so tense you could crack eggs on them.

"We have to go," I whispered. "We can talk about this later."

Jenks nodded, and with the wobbling pace of a drunk made his way to the front of the exhibit, Jenks holding the kitten and me opening doors. The scent of books and carpet made the air smell dead as we crept into the gift shop. I fearfully looked for flashing red and blue lights outside, relieved at finding only a comforting darkness and a quiet cobble street.