Those times when he made it across with the sirens were some of the best, infrequent enough that they felt special when they occurred. It was one of those days today, a warm, almost rainless Sunday evening in the otherworld. Rabbit's little family was gathered around a fire that his fetch had stoked. It was almost as tall as Oroh herself, but despite his concern, she insisted that she was no more or less likely to catch fire than he was. Rabbit had his doubts.

Had he been asked, he would have claimed he had about as much knowledge of braiding hair as he did regarding the flammability of fetches, which was none at all. But when he motioned Oroh over and pulled the blinding aqua hair he had been styling over her head, he had to admit he hadn't done a horrible job. The shiny, plastic wig was now split into two matching braids, and between them and the bangs feathered across her forehead, Oroh looked like a burned, possessed doll, hell bent on revenge and runway modeling.

"Oh, wait! I've got this too."

He reached into his bag and whipped out a small, faux velvet coat, the fabric snapping at the air as he shook it flat. This was the time of year when Manhattan was lousy with pop-up costume shops and Ashdown wasn't the type of town to be left out, even if their number was fewer here.

"It's for pirates," Rabbit announced. He didn't mention that he'd found it in the children's section of the store, mostly because it had cost him more than it should have as it was. "Turn around. Here." He positioned the sleeves behind her hands and she shrugged into them. He was pleased to see that it fit, and on top of that, it even looked somewhat stylish. The braided trim and buckles were a shiny gold that matched her eye, and the coat's other accents were in shades of blue that complemented Oroh's new wig perfectly. He watched as the fetch straightened and brushed her hands reverently over her lapels, her reaction very different from the ones she had to the wigs alone. He was moments away from commenting on it when she raised her head and looked at him.

"You're blooming, my lord."

"What?" He peered past her reflection to examine his own. Sure enough, the buds at his temples and just beyond his hairline had bloomed into bright white peonies, a blush of pink and green complicating their purity.

"This again."

"It has happened before."

He nodded. "Liv said she saw them while I was petting p***k right after I got home. I don't know, I was out of it. And the other day..." If the flowers meant what he was beginning to suspect they did, he really didn't want to elaborate.

"The other day, what?"

"Stan brought in one of those adult stress coloring things they have at the bookstore. I noticed a couple of flowers in one of the big salon mirrors while I was working on a picture. Here." He tapped the side of his head.

"They bloom when you're happy."

"Yeah," Rabbit muttered. "I guess."

"Well, are you happy now?"

He focused on the mirror, taking in the pleased tilt to the fetch's wrinkled lips, the sirens' endless squeeping exploration, his own stupid brain bouquet, and as he watched, the blossoms spread, ringing his head until they could finally be termed a proper crown. He hadn't asked for any of this, not the responsibility, not the living, breathing beings that tied him to this place, but now that he had them, maybe he could admit they weren't half bad. It was nice to have people to care for, to protect now that his sister had found someone else to keep her safe.

Rabbit smiled at himself, pride, anticipation, and nerves pinching his gut.

"Yes. I think I am."