Page 42 of It's In His Hiss

A gorgon baby is chewing on one of my hair ribbons.

And honestly? He might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

He’s got Gideon’s amber-colored eyes and a mop of dark curls that are unmistakably Verity’s, though the curls are... active. Wriggling. Three tiny snakes have sprouted and are currently tangled up in the fabric of my ribbon like they’re reenacting a toddler soap opera. One hisses at me with all the menace of a baby dragon learning to sneeze.

“Oh, no,” I whisper, grinning as I lean closer. “Are we fighting over the ribbon? I should warn you, I have magic now, and a mean right hook.”

The baby blinks. Then sneezes so hard that one of his snakes flops dramatically off his shoulder.

Verity, radiant as ever in a birthday cake-splattered dress, plucks him up with practiced grace and plants a kiss on his chubby cheek. “Sorry, Felix is teething. Oneverything.That includes shoes, chair legs, and the ceremonial staff Gideon’s ancestors passed down through seventeen generations.”

Sitting on the arm of the couch in his usual brooding-poet-meets-reformed-stone-warrior posture, Gideon smirks. “He has excellent taste.”

“And zero boundaries,” Verity mutters, gently wrestling the ribbon away before the baby can wrap it around a suspiciously sharp fang.

Gordy appears behind me and slips his arms around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder like we’re carved from the same block of something warm and unyielding. “He’s a menace,” he says fondly.

“He’s perfect,” I reply.

And he is.

Today is a milestone: Felix’s first birthday. Little Felix, the miracle gorgon-human baby with a gummy smile and mood snakes that wiggle like enthusiastic pom-poms, is more than just a baby. He’s a symbol. Of hope. Of healing. Of the kind of love that survives curses, stone, and the occasional magical mishap involving levitating ancient tomes.

The afternoon sun filters through the windows of our new home—technically still above the bookshop but now expanded and blessed with an extra bedroom and an espresso machine that no longer hisses threateningly before 9 a.m. (Thanks to Gordy’s intense diplomacy and one oddly specific incantation involving vanilla beans.)

My enchanted custom art and book covers are officially part of the shop now—The Sibilant Shelf Bookstorehas been renamedThe Spellbound Shelf. Gordy still insists it sounds like a children’s fantasy novel. I insist that’s exactly the vibe we’re going for.

And today?

Today, we celebrate more than Felix’s birthday.

It’s a celebration of everything we’ve survived. Everything we’ve built.

Two years since everything changed.

Two years since I kissed a man with snakes for hair, fell in love with him, got turned into stone,got better, and then got married in a sun-drenched grove with enchanted vines and a flower girl who may or may not have been a dryad in disguise.

Our wedding was perfect. Wild, magical, slightly dangerous. Veryus.

And now, surrounded by our found family—Verity and Gideon, Wren and Mags fromInk and Intent(Wren with her enchanted tattoos, Mags with her apothecary teas), even cranky old Mr. Penumbra fromThe Cartographorium, who gave Felix an enchanted toy that now floats ominously in the punch bowl—we’re exactly where we’resupposed to be.

Even Rapha and Drusilla made it—Drusilla in a slinky black dress that seems to defy gravity and Rapha looking like he just stepped off a brooding villain magazine cover. (He brought soul-infused cupcakes. We didn’t ask.)

There’s still something shadowed in the way Rapha watches her when she laughs, like he’s afraid the moment might vanish. They’ve gone from “terrifying power couple with mysterious vibes” to “ourterrifying power couple with mysterious vibes.” They’ve become close to all of us—sharing quiet dinners, chaotic magical misadventures, and the kind of friendship that forms from dark pasts and dramatic reunions.

Drusilla raises her glass to me in a silent toast, her dark eyes twinkling. “If that cupcake blinks at you, don’t feed it after midnight,” she deadpans.

“Good advice.” I grin. “You two behaving?”

Rapha flashes a smile, fangy and unapologetic. “Define behaving.”

Gordy snorts from behind me. “If they’re not summoning ancient chaos, I’m calling it a win.”

“We’re reformed,” Drusilla says airily, looping her arm through Rapha’s. “Mostly.”

And I believe her. Because whatever darkness they’ve faced, whatever shadows still trail behind them, they’ve chosen us. And we’ve chosen them right back.

And talking of choosing… Even my parents chose to come today. I know. I’m shocked, too.

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