“I guess not.” Traci sank into her seat again, but she couldn’t stop staring at Emma. “You look so different. Except your eyes...”

Emma glanced at me with her brows arched. “Oh, now she notices my eyes.”

“Girls, I truly wish we had time for the reunion this moment deserves. But we’re running out of time on this dose.” She gestured to Traci’s empty teacup. “And I’d rather not risk Traci still being under the influence of a second dose when her mother comes home. I’d hate for her to forget something she needs to remember.”

“So, I’m really not going to remember any of this? I won’t remember about Emma?”

“I’m afraid not. However, you may subconsciously remember that she’s alive, and that could make it easier for you to move on, even if you still believe on the surface that your sister is dead.”

Traci nodded, and I privately wondered how many good uses I could find for a vial of Netherworld forget-me water if I had one.

“But as sorry as I am for everything you’ve been through,” Harmony continued, “we really need to get back to the matter at hand. Do you understand what we’ve been telling you?”

“I think so.” Traci’s eyes narrowed in thought. “My sister’s still alive, but my baby’s going to die. Or else I will.”

“No. You’re not going to die.” Harmony looked...heartbroken. She leaned toward Traci on the couch to emphasize the importance of what she was saying. “We came here to tell you the truth, so you can do what needs to be done. To save your life.”

“Well, I won’t do it.” Traci leaned back against the cushion, one hand on her small belly, as if the matter was already decided. “I’m not going to kill my baby.”

“Traci...” Em said, but her sister shook her head firmly.

“No. He’s sharing my soul. My soul, Emma. That means he’s part of me. How am I supposed to kill part of myself? I can’t live with myself, knowing his death was the price for my life.”

A storm of horror and empathy collided within me, trapping me between that figurative rock and hard place. The decision was Traci’s to make—but I wasn’t sure she fully understood the choice she was making. Or the consequences of letting an incubus baby live.

“But, Trace, he’s probably going to die anyway!” Emma insisted. “You can’t carry him, and if you try, you’ll both die. You’re already sick, and it’s still your first trimester!”

“There’s another problem, Traci,” I said quietly, and Harmony’s attention settled on me like a comforting hand on my back, silently encouraging me to say what had to be said, even as waves of nausea rolled over me at the very thought. I took a deep breath.When I was sure I had Traci’s full attention, I continued, “Your son isn’t human. The male offspring of an incubus is always an incubus, so...you need to understand that even if you could carry and deliver this baby, and even if you both survived, you wouldn’t be raising a normal little boy. You’d be raising a predator.”

Her uncertain frown deepened. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“When your son reaches puberty, he’ll develop an appetite—a  need—to feed on lust, in any form. If he doesn’t, he’ll starve to death, just like he would without food.” I scooted forward in my chair. I could practically feel her taking in every word I said, studying them for truth and, beyond that, for meaning. “Your son will grow up to do to other girls what Beck did to you. He will bowl them over with a desire he exudes—and won’t be able to control without practice—then he’ll take what he needs, when he needs it, from whoever is convenient at the time. Like you were convenient for Beck. At best, he’ll try and fail to control his appetite, unintentionally victimizing girls who don’t even know they’re victims. Girls who won’t understand why they slept with a strange boy and might think of themselves as sluts because of something they had no control over. I can only imagine how damaging that kind of self-image will be for the rest of their lives. At worst, your son will be a flat-out rapist and murderer, like his father.”

I could see her horror growing with every word I said, but I continued because she needed to know all of it. She needed to understand.

“Either way, he will be the most dangerous thing on the middle school playground, and that will only get worse the older he gets. He’ll be a sexual predator, Traci. There’s nothing any of us can do to change that. That’s what incubi are. It’s how they survive, and their survival is in direct opposition to the free will of every woman in their path. You know that even better than we do.”

Traci’s hands started to shake in her lap, and her gaze lost focus beneath the tears now standing in her eyes.

“And it’ll be even worse than that when he feels the need to...reproduce, about once a century,” Harmony added. “During each of those spawning periods—for lack of a better term—up to a dozen young girls could die trying to carry his child. Which is the same risk you’re facing now. Do you understand?”

Please, please let her understand. Somehow, telling Traci that her child would grow up to be a monster was even harder than telling her that the conception was a crime of convenience committed against both her mind and her body. I hated myself for having to tell her either of those things, and suddenly I understood why some people might be inclined to shoot the messenger.