The side gate was open, invitingly decorated with a bouquet of bright balloons. I veered that way, ducking under a crepe paper streamer and into the backyard where chaos reigned.

At least ten kids of varying ages and species were racing around like they were jet-propelled. Most of their attention was on the jungle gym, where there was some sort of pirate game going on. It seemed to involve chasing each other up and down the slide while shouting, “Shiver me timbers!” A dun-colored Centaur cantered around the structure, crying, “Avast ye!” and trying to grab the others whenever they came into range. Jessica was directing the action, too absorbed by her six year old’s autocracy to do more than wave distractedly at my arrival.

Cassandra was on the porch, struggling to read while children shrieked and zoomed around her. It seemed like a battle she was doomed to lose.

I walked over to sit down next to her, one eye on the wild rumpus. “Hey, puss.”

She brightened. “Aunt Birdie!” Being nineteen and highly aware of her own dignity, she took great care in putting her book down before she hugged me. “You came! Andy’s going to be thrilled.”

“Couldn’t miss the fun,” I said, returning the hug.

Cassandra was the only one of Mitch and Stacy’s kids born before my disappearance. She’s the one who originally decided my name should be “Aunt Birdie,” since she couldn’t pronounce “October.” She’s short, plump, and pretty, and has her mother’s gently pointed ears, tipped with tufts of black fur. She gets her coloring from her dad’s side of the family, though, with Mitch’s blue-gray eyes and unremarkable brown-blond hair.

It’s hard to look at her and not see my own little girl, the one I lost when Simon cast his spell on me. I’ve been working on it. Cassandra deserves better than to be judged by who Gillian might have grown up to be.