.:In Which the Guardian Needs Guarding:.
She had put Addie to bed that night after one final fitting in her Halloween costume. Addie had decided that she wanted to be a snail and held to that decision firmly, so Quinn made it happen. She was pretty sure that her sewing machine was the best $200 she ever spent, what with all the altering she had to do with Addie's and her own clothes so their tails could pop through. She'd gone to bed herself, a few hours later, having put the finishing touches on her own costume -- a leaf for the Addie snail to ride on.
She had awoken suddenly in the night, a vague sense of dread and wrongness disturbing her from her slumber. Her bedside lamp wouldn't light and the room was darker than she had ever known it. Briefly, she noted what she assumed was a power outage, and then she couldn't breathe and little stars began to dance before her eyes. She thought she might still be dreaming. But then Addie began to cry, a keening wail that pierced through her delirium and she fumbled for her inhaler, taking a quick puff as she bounced out of bed.
She stumbled towards the toddler's room in the dark, stubbing her toe on her door frame and bumping into a table in the hallway. And though the way she had come from was dark as death, Addie's room was lit up like a Christmas tree. The kangaroo-lizard had turned on every light in her room, including any toys that emitted even the faintest glow, and she was staring daggers at the door, wailing as loud as she could.
"Baby, what is it? What's wrong?" She moved unsteadily towards her charge, still dizzy from lack of oxygen. Addie didn't take her eyes from the door, only pointed emphatically at her bed and ordered, "Sit, momma."
"But... Addie, what's..." Quinn babbled.
"SIT!" Adelaide bounced on her toes and spared only a quick glance to make sure her edict had been obeyed, before turning her attention back to the door.
From her perch on the edge of Addie's bed, Quinn noticed that the darkness had crept closer, completely outlining the door, but something was keeping it from entering the room. She was too addled to stop and consider just what that something was, but she thought she heard Addie mutter, "Bad black. Bad dreams."
Not knowing why, really, just knowing that it felt right, she started humming "This Little Light of Mine." Addie looked at her over her shoulder and the corners of her mouth quirked into a smile. "Good, momma. Sing. It doesn't like it when you sing."
"Addie," she questioned, "what is 'it'?"
Instead of answering, Addie began to sing instead. And so Quinn joined her, perplexed as to why, but feeling strangely compelled. And the darkness receded. Just a bit. And Addie closed the door. The child stared at it for a moment and then turned around, smiling. "Is OK now, momma. You sleep here. Dreams be safe now."
Quinn thought she saw the child fingering a slip of paper, but when she looked again, it was gone. "Yes. I think I will sleep here," and she laid down on Addie's bed, still not entirely convinced that she was actually awake.
Adelaide snuggled in next to her and placed one chubby hand on the side of Quinn's face. "Is OK, momma. I be here." And Quinn fell asleep, comforted by those words. Addie spent a long time staring at the door, guarding her guardian, before she too succumbed to sleep. In the morning, Quinn would find a slip of paper balled in the girl's hand, but for now, they were safe. Though she didn't quite understand how, Adelaide had seen to it.
