Page 12 of Falling in Love with A Tiny Bat

Castor clears his throat. “Children. Please. I’m slowly losing my will to live.”

I arch a brow in Castor’s direction, but I don’t get a moment to contemplate the familiarity of his demeanor before he’s setting the ent baby in my arms. My heart hits my ribs when the slight weight settles.

I was right.

He really can’t be more than five pounds.

Short, gasping breaths rock the baby’s tiny frame before his wails go quiet. His squinting eyes open. Look up at me.

They’re…green.

Likemine.

They are filled with the most beautiful shades of green I haveever seen in my life. Logically, I know the ashen shade of his skin is what’s bringing out the vivid hues. After all, I am an artist, and I understand enough about color theory to put together eye-catching thumbnails for my videos.

But the part of me that is already irrevocably attached to this infant is convinced he simply has the most beautiful eyes in the world.

“What did I tell you?” Castor says, peeved. “The—” He swears. “—hates me. Ungrateful little brat.” He lifts a finger toward my baby, and the ent’s tiny face scrunches up, so Castor pulls away and links his arms together beneath his robes. “This is just what I get after months of nurture. I understand we’re diametrically-opposed creatures, but I’m still hurt.”

Hand shaking, I dare to touch the pad of my thumb to my baby’s soft forehead. The wrinkles smooth, and he continues staring at me. A tiny life. Full of wonder and potential and beauty and love. “Diametrically-opposed creatures?” I ask, distantly entranced.

Alexios murmurs, “As I’m sure Meda’s told you at school, Castor is a basilisk who turns anyone who meets his eyes into stone. He embodies that sensation of lifelessness. Ents may be deadly plants, but they are very muchalive.”

“This—” Castor swears to reference my baby. “—is an Angel’s Trumpet. Inhaling, eating, or touching an Angel’s Trumpet can result in death. After such symptoms like hallucinations and fever.”

Alexios interjects, “However, he won’t have the ability to produce those toxins until he’s several years old.”

Castor mutters, “Now who is the destroyer of fun?”

“You’ll pardon me if I don’t find jokes about Zahra’s painful death entirely charming.”

Long moments stretch before Castor sighs and addresses me. “Child, is there any information you need before I hibernate forforty-eight hours?”

I force myself to look up at Castor’s blindfolded face and gather my senses. “How old is he?”

“Ten days. He was born on the first.”

Only ten days old. No wonder he’sso small. “What do you need him for?”

“That is not information pertinent to the prolonging of his existence.”

And, yet, if anyone tries to pry him out of my arms at a later point foranyreason, I will murder them.

Castor’s arms fold. “I can sense your distaste, child. At this point, we are not enemies. If, however, you insist on treating me as one, I am not beyond convincing.”

“Do excuse her reservations,” Alexios drawls. “She’s a teaching assistant, which means she cares for a dozen children for hours on end nearly every weekday.”

“Gracious,” Castor murmurs.

“Willingly,” Alexios adds.

Castor’s arms fall to his sides. “My apologies. Or, perhaps, my condolences. It sounds as though you’ve been quite thoroughly divested of your common sense.”

“Excuse you,” I snap. “Children aregreat. Sure, they’re loud and often sticky, and they may not always listen, but my beans aregoodkids. And they’re exploring life. And learning. And discovering who they are, and that isbeautiful.”

“How do they wind upsticky?” Castor asks.

I scoff, indignant. “Nobody knows.”

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