“What?” I say.

“What?” says Anya.

“How many people with wings have you seen, Anya?” Mom asks.

“How many people with wings have you seen, Mom?” I shoot back.

“Counting you? Two, I think.”

I make impatient “go on” gestures. While I wait for Mom to continue, I shift my wings away and retrieve my sweater from Anya. If I’m going to be having wings on the regular, I’m definitely going to need to talk to June about wardrobe, because my bra didn’t get along with them very well at all, not to mention the obvious issue of having to take my top off.

“Do you have any memories from when you were really little where you’re not sure if they’re real?” Mom asks. “Maybe you dreamed it, or saw something in a movie or a picture in a book but it seems like you remember it happening? But it doesn’t seem like it could have really happened?”

“There was one time at Grandma Schmidt’s cabin where I woke up in the middle of the night and came to find you, but you and dad and some of the other grown-ups were acting really weird and laughing about stuff that wasn’t funny,” I say, then frown. “It bothered me when I was little, but I hadn’t thought about it for quite a while. In retrospect, I can think of a rational explanation.”

“The thing about Aunt Kathy’s brownies is that you never know how strong they’re going to be,” Mom says sheepishly. “Anyway, Grandma Jo died when I was quite young. Mom and I went to stay with Grandpa Karl for a couple weeks while she helped him with arrangements and sorting through Grandma Jo’s things.”

Mom frowns and pauses, but then continues. “What I think I remember is that I woke up extra early one morning. Mom was still asleep. I went to the kitchen to get a drink of water. The next part I can picture so clearly, but it still seems like a dream. I was standing on the stool at the kitchen sink. The window over the sink looked out at the back yard. It was just starting to get light and and at first I thought a large bird landed in the yard, but then I saw that it was a man with wings. I wasn’t scared, because at Grandma Jo’s funeral, there was a big painting on the ceiling of the church with angels. I was sure this was an angel, even if he didn’t have white wings like in the picture.”

Mom is visibly tearing up and there’s a catch in her voice. “I went out the back door because I wanted to talk the angel, but when I got outside, Grandpa Karl was crying on the garden bench. I asked him if he saw the angel because I wanted to ask the angel to tell Grandma I loved her. Grandpa just said, ‘Me too, sweetheart.’ And we sat on the bench together.”

Nobody says anything for a minute. I put my hand on Mom’s arm. She puts her other hand on mine and squeezes gently.

“Huh,” I say finally. “Just to clarify, when you say the wings weren’t white, you mean they looked like mine?”

“I think so,” Mom says. “It wasn’t very light yet, but I remember that they were blurry at the edges, like yours. This is so unbelievable! I can’t believe my family is part angel!”

“Wait,” I say and look at Anya, who is looking at me with her head cocked to one side.

“What?” asks Mom.

“I…I thought I was a demon,” I say.

“Eh, potato, potahto,” Anya says. “I already told you that there aren’t hard classifications. Humans get freaky with beings from another dimension, then their kids get freaky with each other. People keep having sex for some reason.”

Now Mom is staring at Anya.

“Maybe we should back up the conversation a little bit?” Anya suggests. Mom nods.

“Uh, once I woke up looking hot, I didn’t know how to use any of my powers and Rob and Sam weren’t any help either.” With some additions from Anya, I fill Mom in on the rest of the night that changed my life. Mom listens attentively and is visibly emotional when I get to the part where I accepted that I’m trans.

“And then she was sobbing into my jeans,” Anya interrupts, “so we were snot bonded and things just kind of went from there and now we’re dating. I’ll never wash those jeans.”

“Ew.” I punch her arm.

“Kidding. Those went right in the laundry. Gross!” Anya says, so I punch her again.

We manage to get through Nephilim 101. “I’ve seen plenty of people with different kinds of wings, but none like that,” Anya concludes.

“I haven’t seen yours,” I pout.

“Eh, standard bat wings. I’ll show you later.” She winks at me. “It would be nice to talk to Grandpa Karl. Does he live close?”

“Anya,” Mom says in a slightly shocked tone. “My grandfather’s been dead for almost twenty-five years.”

Anya frowns. “I don’t know how to ask this delicately, but are you sure? See, my mom is a hundred and seven and still going strong. Most of the time she looks forty.”

“Magic shit,” I add helpfully.

“He had a heart attack,” Mom says. “It was very sudden and unexpected. He was in Florida with his old firefighting buddy. His friend took care of things down there and brought the ashes back up here for the funeral.”

“That’s not super definitive, is it?” I say quietly.

“But that would mean he just left us!” Mom says sharply.

“I’m sorry,” Anya says. “I should have waited for another time. But you should know that it’s possible that he’s still alive.”

“What about the friend?” I ask.

“Frank? He moved to be closer to family shortly after Grandpa died.” Mom hesitates. “Or whatever happened. I don’t know where he went and I wouldn’t expect him to still be alive.”

“I guess it’s not like anything’s really changed, so there’s no hurry to figure things out,” I say and Mom nods uncertainly. “Anyway, seems like there aren’t any solid leads without potentially traumatizing Grandma Schmidt. Unless…”

Mom and Anya are both looking at me.

“Last night, when I was playing June’s guitar, I was getting, like, flashes of her memories. I think I do want Grandpa Karl’s violin after all.”

“Sure,” Mom says, as if it all makes sense to her. “Who’s ready for cake?”

By unspoken agreement the conversation moves on to less fraught subjects, and after a while the mood has lightened considerably.

“Oh! Present!” Anya says and produces a small box wrapped in rainbow glitter wrapping paper. She hands it to me and it feels satisfyingly weighty.

“This is a collaborative gift from me and June and Kelly,” Anya explains. “Which will make more sense when you open it.”

I eagerly unwrap the box, which turns out to be the synth pedal that I’d been eyeing lustfully at the music store for months.

“I thought we should get you a music thing, June said you were a pedal nerd, and Kelly knew which ones you’ve been drooling over,” Anya continues. “I spent quite a while on the phone with June and Kelly yesterday while you were teaching.”

“It’s exactly the one I…well, I can’t honestly say I needed it,”—I gesture at my full pedalboard in the corner—“but I will absolutely enjoy using it. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome! I’ll be back.” Anya gets up and heads for the bathroom.

“Are you doing okay, Mom?” I ask.

“I think so. I’ve sure got a lot to think about, but it makes sense in a way, you know? You being trans surprised me, but it explained a lot. Finding out about the whole angel thing is kind of the same way. I had no explanation for what happened at Grandpa Karl’s house, but I’ve never doubted that it did happen. I imagine it will take me a little while to work through the implications though.” Mom gives me a half smile.

“Yeah, I’ve had longer to think about it, and I’m still trying to figure out what it means for me.”

“You’ve changed, Lark.” Mom’s smile gets bigger. “It’s good, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re more open and genuine than you’ve been since you were very little. I’m used to you hiding everything you’re feeling behind sarcasm and humor. You weren’t mean, just…spiky.”

I shrug. “Sounds accurate.”

“I imagine that being yourself is a big part of it, but I think Anya’s good for you too.”

I hear Anya coming back from the bathroom, so I raise my voice a little for her benefit. “Anya’s pretty okay. I mean, she picks on me, but she’s hot, so I guess it works out.”

Mom and Anya laugh.

“Yeah, you like it,” Anya says and mouths the word “bitch.” Mom pretends not to notice. I redden.

“I should head out pretty soon,” Mom says. “You keep the leftovers.”

I start putting food away in the kitchen, fending off Zatanna’s assistance. Anya and Mom are talking quietly at the table, so I take my time and make sure Zatanna gets plenty of pets and a little ham, as a treat.

Eventually Mom stands up and Anya follows suit. Mom pulls Anya in for a hug. Anya gives me a surprised, but happy, look over Mom’s shoulder.

“She’s a hugger. I thought we established this the other day,” I say.

“Your turn!” Mom walks over for a hug, then stretches up to kiss my cheek. “I’m leaving now. Be good. Since Grandpa Anderson isn’t here to threaten the birthday tradition, maybe Anya can take care of that for you.”

“Oh my god, Mom!” I laugh. “Go away!”

Mom winks at Anya and leaves.

“What was that about?” Anya asks.

“Grandpa Anderson says that it is traditional for the birthday person to get spanked once for each year old they are. It never actually happens, but he brings it up every birthday.”

“Maybe it’s time to embrace tradition?”

“My mom is a terrible influence on you.”

*****

A while later, I’m lying on the couch with my head in Anya’s lap, responding to the birthday felicitations in the group chat. I upload a video I just took of me playing around with the new pedal, which is well received.

Somehow this turns into making out with Anya on top of me.

“We could take this to your bedroom,” she murmurs in my ear between nibbles.

“You make a compelling argument.”

“Go ahead; I’ll be along in a minute. I left something on the bed for you, but no pressure.” Anya rolls off me and helps me stand up. I give her what I hope is a smoldering look over my shoulder as I go up the stairs. The way Anya bites her lip suggests that I had the desired effect.

The something in question turns out to be a black lace babydoll with matching panties that are so skimpy they barely earn the name. It feels a little weird to have someone giving me lingerie, but it’s not a bad weird. I take off my skirt and sweater.

I have my early transition look right now because I shifted to that for the video I sent the group chat. As shifting back and forth has started to become almost second nature, I’ve also become more comfortable just being in different shapes. It helps that Anya is into me no matter what. Nevertheless, as I pull on the babydoll, it’s clear that Anya was thinking of more generous curves when she picked it out, so I shift into my comfortable demon form. I always think that black against my human skin makes me look even more pale than I actually am, but it contrasts nicely against purple.

I sit on the edge of the bed with anticipation, my tail wrapped around my right calf. Soon I hear footsteps outside and there’s a gentle knock on the door.

“Are you decent?” Anya asks.

“No!” I laugh.

“Good.”

She opens the door and my heart skips a beat because she’s already taken her tee off and the muscles in between her sports bra and jeans are very intriguing, particularly the way they go into her jeans.

“Oh,” Anya says. “I can do demon too if you want?”

I shrug. “I like you either way.”

Anya is staring at me, but not at my face.

“Do that again,” she says quietly.

“What? Oh…” I shrug again, then roll my shoulders for extra effect. Anya’s eyes don’t leave my chest. I put my hands between my knees, my arms squishing my boobs together, and lean forward.

“Uh…” Anya says.

I smirk and stand up. “Here you’ve been getting so much fun out of teasing me and all it takes to short-circuit your gay little brain is some cleavage?” I reach out and hook a finger under the band of her bra and pull her closer, then very deliberately squish up against her chest. Our mouths meet and I slide both hands around to her back, then slip one into the back pocket of her jeans and pull her closer. As I do, I feel something unexpected pressing into me. I freeze, then pull back slightly.

“Is that okay?” Anya asks anxiously.

In answer, I brush my hand across the growing firmness in her jeans, then squeeze gently. She gasps.

“A surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one,” I whisper.

“The internet has ruined you,” she whispers back.

“Oh, it could be much, much worse,” I assure her as I unbutton her jeans and slide them down over her hips. She steps out of her pants and I give her a gentle shove toward the bed.

I’m right behind her, so as soon as Anya hits the bed, I’m on top of her and pushing her onto her back. I slowly lower myself and grind into the tent in her boxers, provoking a low moan. Rolling onto the bed next to her, I slip my hand under Anya’s waistband and run it down her shaft. As I get to the base, I find a slick wetness.

“You’re just full of surprises tonight,” I murmur, and slide a finger inside.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Anya manages to gasp. “I don’t want to trigger anything bad for you.”

“You’re very sweet, but I’m into it, see?” I say, taking her hand and guiding it between my thighs, where I’m already dripping. “Now less talking; I’m busy.”

I wriggle against Anya’s hand, but then slide off so I can pull her boxers down. I run my tongue along her shaft, then take her into my mouth, easing two fingers back inside her as I do.

Anya makes the verbal equivalent of a keysmash.

I wasn’t expecting to end the day with girldick in my mouth, but I’m enjoying it, and despite my inexperience, Anya seems to be as well. I can feel her begin to tense and I ease up.

“Don’t stop,” Anya moans, grabbing my horns, but I break her grip and stand up long enough so remove my now damp panties before I straddle her on the bed. Ever so slowly, I lower myself onto her. The feeling of fullness is incredible and it takes all my determination not to immediately begin riding her, but I settle for a little wiggle as I settle my weight on her. She responds with an involuntary twitch, which I answer with a squeeze of my own.

“This needs to come off,” I say, pulling at her sports bra. She cooperates by raising her arms and I pull it off her, then lightly run my fingers across her chest, pausing to lightly pinch her firm nipples. I put my hands, palms down on her shoulders, then draw them down, enjoying the transition from hard muscle to the modest swell of her breasts and back to the muscles of her abdomen.

I pull my gaze from Anya’s abs to look at her face. Her eyes are fixed on me, but not my face.

“You can touch if you want,” I say, leaning down to give her an eyeful of cleavage.

“This looks fantastic on you, but it’s gotta go,” Anya says, lifting the hem of my babydoll.

I pull it off, watching her face so I see her grin as I lift the babydoll over my head. She runs her palms up the softness of my belly and I lower my arms so the weight of my breasts settles into her waiting hands.

Anya pinches my nipple and writhe, reminding me in no uncertain terms that she’s still inside of me. I buck my hips and Anya groans. I can’t resist any longer and this time I don’t stop. It’s all new, so I try different angles. I lean forward, grinding into Anya, which also gives her a face full of boob. Her hands and mouth are all over my breasts.

At some point, she rolls us over and I lose myself in the rhythm. Anya’s mouth finds my nipple again and that’s enough to send me over the edge. A moment later, Anya groans, slams into me one last time, and collapses on top of me.