Amber hugged her belly and sank to her knees as everyone came running.

Everyone, she noted, except Edge.

"God, no. Not yet!" she cried. "Not yet, I still don't know what to do. I still don't know... ahhhh."

"Easy, baby. Easy now." Her mother's arms were around her, gentle but strong. "Come on, let's get you up to bed. Tam? Rhiannon?"

"Right here," Rhiannon said. They helped Amber to her feet, and then her dad was there, picking her up and carrying her, just the way he'd carried Will only moments ago. Not because her mother couldn't have done it herself, but because he was her dad. As he carried her up the stairs, he gazed down at her face. "I wasn't there when you were born," he said. "It's almost as if I'm getting the chance to make up for that now."

"It might not be the happy occasion you're hoping for," she whispered. "Prepare yourself, Dad. I don't know... ahh!"

He picked up the pace, and soon she was in her bed. It felt different, and she realized vaguely that someone had run ahead to line the mattress in something. There wasn't time to discover what. The contractions came fast, hard. She closed her eyes, focused on Edge in her mind. It's time, she thought desperately. Edge, where are you? I need you!

Edge listened to Stiles's theory about what was happening in Amber's body, which had all the earmarks of a madman's delusion-except that it explained everything. And he could think of nothing else that could. So maybe it wasn't so farfetched after all.

And then he heard Amber's call like the cry of a wounded siren, reaching across space to touch him. His body tingled with nervous energy, and he looked at Stiles. "And that's it? That's all you know?"

"That's all I know." Stiles looked down at the hypodermic he held in his hand. "Are you going to keep your word?" Edge nodded once.

Stiles moved the needle toward his opposite arm, pressed the tip to his skin, then paused and looked up at Edge, as if surprised Edge had let him get that far. And then his face clouded. "How do I know this isn't a trick? That this is really the Ambrosia-Six?"

Edge shrugged. "How do you know it's not? What's the matter, Stiles, getting cold feet?"

"No. No, this is my only hope. Living on-it's worth any risk."

"Trust me on this, Stiles, it's not all sunshine. Hell, for me, none of it is." His pun seemed lost on the old man.

Stiles took a breath, drove the needle into his arm and depressed the plunger. Then he pulled the needle out again and dropped it to the floor. He laid his head back, closed his eyes, waited.

"Do you remember all those years ago?" Edge asked. "The way you killed my family?"

"Family. Hell, Edge, that wasn't a family. It was a street gang."

"They were family to me."

"Fledglings. No age, no power. No experience. Almost too dumb to live."

"I've always wondered, all this time. Why? Why did you do it?"

Stiles narrowed his eyes, staring at Edge. "Does it matter?''

"To me it does."

"They were street criminals. You all were."

"That's how we got by. Lifting wallets here and there, stealing what we could, when we got the chance.''

He nodded. "One of your little 'family' members cornered me in an alley. Took my wallet, took my blood... "

"Yes, Bridget told me about it. But she didn't take your life," Edge said. "She let you live." Then he studied the man's face. "Ah, but she terrified you, didn't she? Scared you so badly you pissed yourself." He tipped his head sideways. "She laughed at you, humiliated you. Showed you to be the coward you truly are."

Stiles frowned, his attention no longer on Edge's words. "Something's... wrong... "

"So you went back, probably with a gang of your own, since you've never been man enough to do your own dirty work."

"I'd made some new friends," Stiles said. "A group called DPI. They'd been trying to recruit me. Leading them to your lair was... sort of my initiation."

"So you tortured them, and then you killed them. All of them."

"God, something's wrong!" the old man said.

Edge watched as Stiles's face began to change. It puckered and wrinkled, right before his eyes. He said, "You were right before, Stiles. That wasn't Ambrosia-Six in the vial. It was Ambrosia-Seven."

"No... "

"'Fraid so."

Stiles clutched at his throat, twisting and writhing as his face contorted. The pain must have been intense, Edge thought. Good.

The man thrashed, convulsed, as the formula did its work. He aged right before Edge's eyes, rapidly, amazingly.

"Consider this payment in full," Edge said. "For Bridget and Scottie. For Billy Boy and Ginger. For everything you did to Amber in the past. For all the vampires you've ever tormented, Stiles. It isn't half what you deserve."

Stiles's eyes widened, bulged, and then suddenly he went still, his face frozen in a terrible grimace. Within seconds, even that faded as his skin crumbled and flaked away, leaving only bones. And those, too, became dust, until all that remained of him was a pile of powder in the vague shape of a human form.

Edge rose and opened the door. A stiff wind blew in, and the dust scattered, swirled. Good. Edge left the door standing wide and sprinted with all his power through the night. Amber needed him, even though she probably hated him right now.

"Ah, God, it hurts!" Amber panted, followed her mother's breathing instructions, even while wondering how a vampiress, in whom every sense was magnified a thousand times, had ever gone through this kind of pain without losing her mind. She clutched her mother's hand.

"It'll be over soon, Amber."

"I know. If you survived this, I can."

The men had been banished from the room. Tamara,

Rhiannon, Alicia and Angelica surrounded her, Tam at the foot of the bed, Rhiannon pacing.

Alicia said, "Rhiannon, isn't there something you can do?"

"I'm not a doctor," she said. "Nor have I ever given birth." Amber detected a hint of regret in her voice when she said it.

"You were a priestess, though. I've read about the priestesses of Isis. You've got... real power. And women came to you when they were ready to give birth."

Rhiannon came to a stop in her pacing, met Alicia's eyes. "You've been dabbling in the magical arts, haven't you, child?"

"Maybe. A little."

Rhiannon drew a breath, sighed. "Well, it's true. There was a childbirth ritual that seemed to ease the pain of the women in labor. By the Gods, it was so long ago... " She turned to Angelica, to Amber. "Do you want me to try?"

"Of course," Angelica said, looking to Amber for confirmation.

"I'll try anything at this point," she said.

Nodding, Rhiannon climbed into the bed, lifting Amber into a sitting position and sliding in behind her, kneeling. She put a pillow over her thighs, then lowered Amber's back to them, so she lay at an angle. Then she pressed her fingertips to Amber's temples, closed her eyes and began chanting-strange, foreign words that at first seemed awkward but soon fell into a gentle cadence and rhythm.

Angelica watched Amber's face, a question in her eyes. Amber nodded, because despite her initial doubts, she felt something. A warmth, soothing through her body like liquid heat.

"Tarn, get some candles," Alicia whispered. "Incense, too. Sandalwood, if you have it. I'll dim the lights."

Within a few moments the room's entire atmosphere had changed. Tamara returned to her position at the foot of the bed, keeping track of Amber's physical progress. Angelica sat in a chair right at Amber's side, holding her hand, coaching her through the breathing. Rhiannon remained where she was, stroking Amber's forehead and temples with her graceful hands, and chanting in that deep, powerful voice. Alicia moved around the room, placing candles and lighting them, then wafting the incense smoke around with smooth, graceful hand motions. Scarfs and veils had been draped over the lights. And Angelica was whispering Hail Mary's at her side.

The door opened, and Sarafina came in. She took in the scene, nodded her approval and joined in, adding her own Gypsy chant to the mix.

"It's time to push," Tamara said softly. "When the next contraction comes, bear down for a count of ten. All right?"

The contraction came all too soon. Amber bore down. All the women stopped their chanting, praying, songs, and joined in counting, all with one voice. "Ten, nine, eight, seven... " When they reached zero, they each returned to their individual techniques, only to return to the count the next time Amber had to push.

"The head's coming. It's coming, Amber."

The bedroom door burst open suddenly. Amber looked up and saw Edge standing there, his eyes wide, sweeping her, the women around her, and then focusing on the place where a new life was struggling to emerge from her body.

"Oh, God," he whispered. He looked as if he might be about to faint.

Panting, breathless, coated in sweat, Amber said, "Where the hell is Stiles?"

"He's dust."

Pant, pant, pant breathe. "Then-then you did it? You killed him?"

"Not exactly. Jesus, Alby, all this can wait."

"No, it can't! Ahh!"

"Push now, push." The women all began counting, and Edge came farther into the room, taking the spot at Amber's side, on the opposite side of the bed from her mother.

They reached zero, and Amber collapsed back onto Rhiannon's lap, panting. When she could breathe enough to talk, she said, "Tell me what happened, Edge. Where's the A-Six? What did you do with Stiles?"

He nodded, holding her hand, drawing it to his lips to kiss it, then speaking. "The Ambrosia-Six is still safely in Eric's lab. Just in an unlabeled vial."

Sarafina's song broke off abruptly. "You didn't give it to Stiles?"

"I'd planned to, but I knew Amber would never forgive me. It occurred to me I might be able to fool Stiles, so I told him I would, but what I gave him in exchange for his information was the Seven, not the Six."

Sarafina closed her eyes. "Thank the Gods," she whispered. "I have to-"

"Go," Amber told her. "Get it and inject Will. Do it now."

Nodding, Sarafina ran from the room as Edge called out after her, telling her where to find the precious elixir.

"What did Stiles tell you?" Amber demanded.

Edge shook his head, as if to clear it. "That your blood has always had healing properties. He discovered it when he held you captive the first time. That it somehow revivified my useless sperm cells, making them viable again. And that the conception of the baby caused a chemical reaction in you that will likely be reversed as soon as our child is born."

She gulped in air, nodded. "What about the baby?"

"He didn't know. Amber, he had some wild theories, but he just didn't know. I don't... "

"Ah, God!" She bore down again with the contraction.

Tamara leaned over her from below. "A little more, a little more, that's it! The head is out!"

The next contraction came with barely a heartbeat in between. Amber pushed again, and she felt the sudden whoosh of relief. A moment later Tamara was rising, a towel-wrapped bundle in her arms. Amber clutched Edge's hand hard, staring, whispering, "Please, please... "

And then the bundle wriggled. A soft, hoarse cry, muffled, gurgly, came from within it. Tamara lowered the baby into Amber's arms. She held her son, staring down at his pink, white-smeared face, his bright, open eyes, sobbing. "He's alive. God, Edge, he's alive."

"Not only alive, but big and strong," Tamara said, smiling.

Amber sighed. "The dream was wrong."

"Dream?" her mother asked.

Then Amber felt it, another mind-bending contraction. She cried out and pushed the baby toward his father. Edge took his son, holding him gently, gazing down at his tiny face with rapture on his own.

"Hey, J.W. Good to finally see you." His words were mere whispers.

"Oh, God, what's happening?" Amber cried. Edge looked up, his face suddenly worried. Tamara, at the foot of the bed, looked up at the two of them. "There's another baby," she said.

Edge felt his knees go weak. Angelica rose to her feet, leaning over the bed, reaching out. "I'll take him. It's going to be all right. Come here, little one."

Edge let her take the child from his arms. She left the room with the baby, and all his attention returned to Amber and the events unfolding before his eyes. He couldn't bear to see her in so much pain. Racked by so much fear. He was confused-if there were two babies, why had he heard only one voice?

Amber pushed, the women chanted and counted, and Edge held on to Amber, telling her softly that it would all be okay, but he had no idea if he believed the words he spoke to her. He only knew she needed to hear them.

Angelica returned. She'd lined what looked like the drawer of an ornate dresser in thick blankets. She'd cleaned and dressed the baby boy, wrapped him in one of the blue receiving blankets and laid him inside. She placed the makeshift cradle on a stand to await the second child, then gathered the wriggling baby from it and returned to the bedside to hold him, cooing softly.

Amber let her body go limp. "God, I can't. I can't push anymore. I can't... "

Angelica leaned closer, and Amber touched her newborn son's hand. Edge watched as the baby wrapped his tiny fist around Amber's forefinger. And suddenly she seemed stronger. Able to go on.

She pushed when told, panted in between. Her face was red, her hair sweat-soaked. She was utterly exhausted, and Edge felt it. He felt everything, the pain, the tiredness, but above it all, the fear.

"Here we go, one more push, Amber," Tamara said.

Again she pushed, forcing her second child into the world.

"A girl," Tarn said, gathering the baby as she had the first one, wrapping her gently, rising to her feet. But her face wasn't smiling as it had been before. "Come on, baby girl. Come on now." She put her hand to the baby's chest, shaking it gently. "Come on, honey, take a breath."

But the bundle didn't wriggle, and no cry emerged. "I'll get Eric," she whispered, turning. She laid the baby in the prepared makeshift cradle, reached for the door, stifling a sob. No, no way.

Edge looked up sharply. That voice. That familiar voice.

Bring my sister to me! And suddenly, Edge knew what to do.