Two months passed.

Fran was two stone lighter, pale and eternally exhausted. Fynn was tanned, and hadn't spoken a word in days. Amanda was great, and nearly a year old.

Her foster parents weren't so happy. There was nobody around but them, and this whole rural idyll thing was such incredibly hard work. Especially with a child that ate them out of house and home, and, in the beginning, chronic paranoia over vampires and other creatures. It all seemed compounded by the fact that the two lovers were stuck with each other. There was nobody else to talk to, nowhere to go, nothing but the house and the baby and grunting at each other, all witty repartee reduced to shopping lists and breakfast requests. Fran couldn't even write to her multitude of penfriends, because nobody was supposed to know where they were.

Then one day, that wasn't true any more.

"You know, Francesca," said the older enchanter, "your mother used to wear just the same expression. Generally when she was about to do something utterly sadistic to me."

"I'm starting to sympathise with her. We really don't need-"

"Hannah," said Hannah.

"Nurse Hannah here to interfere. No offence."

"Oh, none taken," said Hannah cheerfully. She reminded Fran of a primary school teacher, that same mix of kindness and unflappability. It was difficult to believe that this woman was a full-blown enchantress. For one thing, she kept staring at Fran as though unable to believe what she was seeing.

"You did say you were out of your depth," pointed out Riarté. "Hannah is here to provide all the support and experience you will need. A sort of reward for your efforts."

Fran opened her mouth to protest, but Fynn's expression suggested this was the fastest way to find herself sleeping on the sofa.

"Oh, all right. On a trial basis, though. And Riarté?"

"Yes?"

"We're borrowing your house for the night."

"What?"

Fynn beamed, catching on. "We need some time to ourselves. Somewhere a little more, er, upmarket."

"You are not using an A-listed stately home as a, a-"

"Shag den?" asked Fran cheerfully, just to see Hannah blush. Riarté laughed.

"Oh, all right. So that you accept Hannah. Go."

© Naomi 'Ni' Claydon 2000. No copying without permission.