Rowan parked the police car at the corner of Grace’s street. The policewoman was pale as a sheet of paper. “First and last time you ever touch this wheel,” she declared. “This is how you drive all the time?”

  “I’m also a rally driver,” Rowan bragged, pumping his chest out and then grimacing as the move made his wound hurt. “OK, an amateur rally driver,” he continued as she stared at him. “But it comes in handy. I was tased by a police officer once—”

  “For doing what?” she snapped.

  “There was this drunk in the bar who hit a girl, and I kindly taught him a lesson in politeness. Basically, I beat him up.”

  “You beat drunks for hitting on girls?” Isla frowned.

  “The other kind of hitting, he slapped her so hard her lip bled. Anyway, here comes the police after five minutes, and an officer zaps me.”

  “Let me guess: you were still beating that guy.”

  “Maybe?” he lowered his head between the shoulders. “Anyway, he deserved it. I thought of suing the department but decided it was not worth it. One day, when the officer was on duty, I passed his car at a hundred miles per hour, which made him chase me up into Indiana. I lost him in Hoosier National Forest. I bet that ruined his day… But from then on, I never ever had any more trouble with the police or beat anyone else because I learned my lesson,” Rowan blurted a blatant lie because, contrary to his expectations, Isla didn’t look at all thrilled by his story. Her frown said it all.

  “Get out,” she leaned over him, opening the door. “And mark my words: If you’re going Dukes of Hazzard or beating drunks in my town, I’ll mount a coup faster than you can say revolution!”

  “Beating drunks would be uncouth for a count,” he replied, trying to adopt an elegant English accent. I’ll send the police for that. Or maybe… should I make my own pretorian guard or stuff?

  Cory: Alas, that’s forbidden by the charter.

  “See ya around,” Rowan said, exiting the car. Isla pushed herself laterally into the driver’s seat and pushed on the gas, leaving behind a loud noise of screeching tires. Rowan shrugged and walked to Grace’s house. In front of the door, he paused and took a deep breath. Staying meant a possible relationship… and he wasn’t sure he was prepared for that.

  [Cory]: C'mon, it can't be so bad. She's nice, if a bit loose.

  Loose?

  [Cory]: You know what I mean… Having sex with a stranger the first day you met? A child out of wedlock? That's what the Multiverse calls—

  "Tell me you're joking."

  [Cory]: The Galaxy is big, so it depends. In some places—

  We're not in some places, and I'd appreciate you being polite. Rowan cut the AI short and entered the house with large strides. Inside, Grace and Dmitri were setting the table for lunch, with Lizzie helping.

  “Oh, look who’s back!” Grace giggled, then curtsied. "I bid you welcome, your Lordship.”

  “Don’t go there, I beg you,” Rowan waved his hands.

  “I was asleep when the vote happened, but for the record, I would have voted for you.”

  “Ditto,” Dmitri said. “And I'm glad you accepted.”

  After exchanging a handshake with Dmitri and hugging Grace and Lizzie, Rowan sat at the table, resting his forehead on his arm. “I’d help, but I’m still exhausted. Isla and I trained, and it was intense.”

  “Oh, God. That’s why you look like you survived a mugging!” Grace gasped.

  “Oh… I forgot about that… I’ll go change,” Rowan said.

  "You can have some of my spare shirts," Dmitri said.

  “It’s OK.”

  Although he traveled light, Rowan did have a pair of bermudas and a T-shirt in his small backpack. Ten minutes and a brief shower later, he was back downstairs.

  “That’s not what a Count should wear,” Dmitri exclaimed, pointing at Rowan’s shorts. “Come, I’ll lend you a pair of trousers.”

  “What if they don’t fit?” The art teacher was a head shorter than Rowan, about Grace’s height.

  “Nonsense. Come.”

  There was another stair at the southern end of the house, leading into a sort of refurbished attic. Dmitri’s apartment was a little untidy but full of colorful and pretty landscape paintings and an easel in an alcove.

  “Don’t mind the mess,” Dmitri said.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “What mess? You should have seen my old man’s studio.”

  “Wait! Allinder? Like the painter and art dealer? Of course, how stupid of me. You’re Johan’s son.”

  “Adopted... but yeah…”

  “What a pleasure!” Dmitri rushed and grabbed Rowan’s right hand, shaking it with enthusiasm.

  “You knew him?”

  “I sold a couple of my works through his gallery long ago. Is he… still around?”

  “He passed away two years away in his sleep.”

  “God rest his soul,” Dmitri crossed himself. “What a good man he was!”

  “Yeah… Annoying but nice.”

  “In his honor, I’ll offer you my best pair of pants.”

  Five minutes later, after changing in the bathroom, Rowan looked in the mirror with dismay. The pants were top-notch but a few inches shorter, as expected. “I’d better change back.”

  “Wait!” Kneeling, Dmitri pulled on the cuffs, making the trousers descend a little. With the T-shirt covering the belt part, which was now low, Rowan started to look acceptable. Once back downstairs, his stomach growled; he was hungry and looked forward to eating something.

  Grace must have read him because she said: “You look like you could eat a horse.”

  Suddenly, the experience of the 'sparing' session came back to life in his mind. A bit of resentment and grudge washed over Rowan, more so because Isla had also looked down on his vigilantism. And it was like a good occasion to complain and grumble in front of a nice woman. “An elephant, maybe. That woman is totally unhinged. Made me run all around the mountain for dear life.”

  “I-Isla? N-nah… she’s tough but n-nice.”

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Rowan raised her brows. Grace was winking like there was no tomorrow, Lizzie giggled, and Dmitri's mouth and eyes were wide open. “She’s behind me, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah, I am. Hi,” Isla said, hugging Grace. Behind her, Thomas carried a cake box.

  She was in my back, and you said nothing? Stupid AI!

  [Cory]: How could I anticipate what you were gonna say? Isla’s here for Lizzie’s birthday. She’s turning six today. First grade. She acts childish to lure potential fathers into liking her. I’ve read the school’s shrink files on her. Also, Isla and Grace go way back, high-school besties. They are both twenty-seven now. They had a third BFF, older, who died in an accident, together with her husband. Isla adopted their kid.

  Grace started to bring in the courses. The food was delicious, but Rowan was too embarrassed by his gaffe to fully enjoy it.

  Why should I feel embarrassed? After all, she’s the one who almost killed me. He frowned at the woman and froze, realizing for the first time Isla wore a dress instead of her police uniform and looked stunning. Her arms and legs were tanned and fit, and she had lean, shiny muscles, like a panther’s. And her eyes… gray-blue, went through Rowan like a laser.

  “I’m sorry, OK?” Isla blurted.

  “It’s all right,” Rowan hurried to say, happy she misunderstood his ogling. “It was just a hard training session, that’s all.”

  “Mom doesn’t know the meaning of the word easy. You should see my training routine. True hell,” Thomas raised his eyes from his smartphone for a second.

  Is there a phone connection to the outside, Cory?

  [Cory]: No, but I’m building a local network, and soon enough, a general System Chat will be available. We will also have local internet, radio, and TV. The Internet works, but I'm restricting access to the outer world until you decide what information to allow in and out.

  Clinking, Rowan put his glass on the table. He had eaten and drank with the rest, even participating in the conversation, he realized, like a second personality had split from him for a while.

  [Cory]: Your WIL and first DEX Perk are buffing your INT. I’ll leave you be. I have to install US-standard code plumbing in the buildings I built.”

  “Get up. We’re singing Happy Birthday,” Dmitri whispered in Rowan’s ear at the same time, pulling him by an elbow.

  “Haapy Birthday to—”

  “ME!” Lizzie yelled over the choir.

  “Haapy Birthday to—”

  “ME!”

  “Haapy Birthday, dear Lizzie… Happy Birthday to you!”

  Hugs, gifts, pats, ruffled hair. Even Thomas, a gender enemy at that age, hugged her. Lizzie, though, was searching with her eyes for only one target. Rowan. He felt his heart breaking, melting, and then putting itself together. That kind of eyes and the need to be loved, to belong, he had them too as a kid.

  Rowan took a glass and hit it with a butter knife, taking an imposing stance, his chin raised up. “Everyone, if I may have your attention for a moment.” He cleared his voice and continued. “As you know, the world has changed. Magic has appeared, and we’re in uncharted territory. Yet, it is up to us to make the best of it. I say: let the old world fade in the back and grab the new one with both hands. In this fateful circumstances, as the newly appointed Count of… what’s this place called again?”

  “Randolph County,” Dmitri said.

  “Randolph County, I would like to start my reign with a gift to the wonderful young lady who’s now six years old. If her mother allows it,” he searched for Grace’s eyes, “I want to declare Lizzie a… err… a princess and my honorary daughter.”

  “Mommy?” Lizzie looked up with hope blossoming in her eyes.

  "That's… too all of a sudden," Grace said hesitantly. "I—"

  “It has nothing to do with the official custody, of course… it’s just… honorific,” Rowan added, waving his hands reassuringly. “I will just… err… maybe help with homework and teach Lizzie to ride the bicycle?”

  "It didn't take me more than a second to know I want to adopt Thomas," Isla said, looking into nothingness. "When Miriam died, that was my first thought, even before I cried… The old world is gone, Grace. You didn't see those monsters… Nine feet tall, all muscles, claws, and fangs… Rowan took them on with only a knife, and he killed the last one with his bare hands. Castles grow overnight, the government nukes us… For what it's worth, I think he's weird but goodhearted." She searched for Rowan's eyes, and they nodded at each other.

  Grace took Lizzie by the hand, and they came to hug Rowan.

  “Thank you, thank you!” Lizzie beamed. “It’s my best birthday ever!”

  “Bwhaaaa….” Dmitri erupted in sobs, running out of the room.

  “Don’t mind him. Russians are sentimental,” Grace smiled. “Thank you, Rowan. Even if it’s an honorific title, it’s a nice gesture.”

  "Err…" Rowan tried to speak, but the blue notification made him gasp.

  You are now officially an adoptive parent of Viscountess Elizabeth Garcia Larmontel. The main custody is still held by Grace Garcia Larmontel, but you have the right to express your opinion about her upbringing and be informed about these types of choices.

  What?

  [Cory]: For goodness's sake! Can't I take my eyes off you for a second? You're a Count! Your words matter.

  But I said 'honorary,' didn't I? I was thinking of giving Lizzie a cute daughter diploma and maybe taking her to school in the police car...

  [Cory]: I wish you the best of luck at parenting. You're 99% percent there.

  You're sarcastic, aren't you?

  The AI didn’t reply. The inner dialogue had taken no more than a few seconds. Meanwhile, the conversation had moved on, mostly about how good the cake was.

  “If you don't mind, I’d like to relax on the porch with a piece of cake and a glass of whiskey. I had quite a hard couple of days,” Rowan excused himself, ruffling Lizzie's hair to make his exit more acceptable.