Authors: Barbara Bretton
Spells & Stitches (19 page)
“MacKenzie the Troll Slayer,” I said to Dinah and Blot, who strolled in to see if there happened to be an open can of Fancy Feast lying around. “At your service.”
They didn’t get the joke. I knew only one person who would and that was my kid sister, Meghan. I had to start calling the family anyway, so why not start with the one who’d skipped the brunch?
I started the onions in the frying pan, then grabbed my phone from the counter.
She answered on the first ring, sounding more than a little crazy. “The bed’s getting cold, James, and I’m—”
Better head that conversation off at the pass. “It’s not James.”
“Oh, shit! Luke?”
“Where the hell were you today?” I demanded, pushing the onions around in the buttery pan with a plastic spatula. “Even Kevin showed up.”
“Didn’t Ma tell you? I’m snowed in.”
“I checked the weather report, Meggie. It’s clear and sunny in New Jersey.”
A slight pause. “I’m not in New Jersey.” A longer pause. “I’m in Massachusetts with a friend.”
It was my turn to pause. She had too many friends and most of those friends ended up breaking her heart. Too bad it was none of my business. “James?”
“We came up here for a long weekend and got snowed in.”
“If you’re snowed in, why isn’t he there with you?”
“Back off, Detective MacKenzie,” she said with a definite edge to her voice. “I don’t have to answer to you.”
“So where is he?” I persisted. “Splittin’ firewood out back?”
“He went out to get some supplies before they close the roads.”
“And how long have you known this Boy Scout?”
“We met last week.”
“Last week and you’re already holed up in a cozy cabin in the middle of nowhere?” This was how trusting women ended up on a slab with a toe tag fucking up their pedicure. “What the hell do you know about this guy anyway? Tell me he’s at least the friend of a friend.”
I heard the sound of a long, calming breath being sucked into her lungs. And then another. And another one after that.
“Okay,” I said as I cracked some eggs into one of Chloe’s spatterware bowls and whisked them with a fork, “I get it. You’re thirty years old. You’re not my baby sister any longer. You don’t need me to vet your boyfriends for you.”
Silence.
“C’mon, Meggie,” I said in a conciliatory tone. “Don’t you at least want to know why I’m calling?”
“I already know why. To bust my chops because I didn’t show up at the family shindig. Ma probably put you up to it.”
“Wrong,” I said, enjoying the moment. “I’m calling to tell you that you’re an aunt again.”
. . . four . . . three . . . two . . .
I was pretty sure you could hear her shriek in the Maritime Provinces.
“Oh, my God, Luke, it’s true! Ma told me she saw you with some pregnant shepherdess or something, but I half thought she was yanking my chain to rope me into showing up for some family thing where they could all—oh, God . . . a baby . . .”
There was no mistaking the sound of her crying. Hell, I felt more than a little misty myself as I relayed the baby’s vital statistics.
“Meggie,” I said, grinning like an idiot as I buttered some toast, “quit bawling. This is good news.”
“But when—how did it—I mean, did she—”
“Chloe.”
“Did Chloe give birth at brunch?”
“Pretty close.” I gave her the condensed version of the story.
“You didn’t go to a hospital afterward?”
“Why?” I countered, aware I was moving into dicey territory. “Chloe was fine; the baby was healthy. We were practically in a blizzard, Meggie. The safest thing was to drive on home.”
“But you’ve seen a doctor.”
“Two midwives were waiting for us on the front porch.”
“But you have to see a doctor,” she persisted. “Babies need all kinds of shots and stuff, don’t they?”
“And we’ll take care of everything,” I said, sidestepping her questions with what I thought was a damn fine Fred Astaire kind of move.
“Is she beautiful?” My sister sounded wistful. I wasn’t sure I had ever heard her sound wistful before.
“Silky blond hair. Can’t really tell about her eyes yet. Long skinny arms and legs. Chloe says she has my mouth, but I don’t see—” The words were trapped behind the lump that had formed suddenly in the middle of my throat.
“She sounds just like Steffie,” Meghan whispered.
“So when are you driving up to meet your niece?” I asked when I found my voice again.
“Soon,” she promised. “Send me a picture of the baby tonight, okay?”
17
A baby.
She couldn’t wrap her brain around the news.
Luke was a father again. That whole circle of life thing she’d cried over during
The Lion King
had fresh new meaning.
The Lion King
had fresh new meaning.
A baby.
She poured herself another glass of Shiraz and crawled back under the eiderdown quilt to watch the flames dance in the hearth. Steffie had been a wonderful kid. Why hadn’t she spent more time with her niece? Why hadn’t she understood that life could change forever in a heartbeat?
She started to laugh into her wine. Why hadn’t she thought to ask Luke the name of his newborn daughter?
Aunts were supposed to know things like names and birthdays and Christmas lists. She had missed Steffie’s last birthday. Greg—or was it Mark? Well, whoever it was, he had shown up one day at work with a pair of tickets to Jamaica and Meghan had run home to pack, completely forgetting the birthday party that weekend at Luke’s place.
“I’ll make it up to her next year,” she had told her angry brother. “I’ll fill her room with Barbies.”
But there hadn’t been a next year.
She polished off the glass of Shiraz, aware of the pleasant buzz moving its way through her body.
When she opened her eyes later, he was curved against her, his breath hot against the back of her neck, his body hard and ready.
“You were gone so long,” she whispered as he moved against her. “I was worried.”
“You were asleep.” She wasn’t sure if he sounded angry or amused. He could shift moods like a magician.
She had been worried, although maybe not about him. She remembered a dark feeling of unease that had swept over her as she sank into sleep. Guilt, that’s what it was. Punishment for being a lousy aunt, for blowing off the family get-together and opting to spend another day in bed with a man she barely knew. For being who she was.
He whispered something in her ear and instantly she was on fire.
“No,” she said. “Not that.”
He said it again, but this time he didn’t whisper and a thrill of fear tore through her like a virus.
She tried to pull away, but his arms were like iron bands around her middle.
“I can’t,” she said.
“You will.”
He rolled her over, pinning her to the bed. “My game,” he said. “My rules.”
She didn’t like rules, his or anyone else’s. She tried again to pull away, but he overpowered her.
“See?” he whispered against the curve of her ear. “I always win.”
She liked that in a man.
18
“She’s gone,” I said as I settled the bed tray across Chloe’s lap.
Her sleepy eyes widened. “Elspeth?”
I snapped my fingers, then winced as the baby whimpered softly. “Just like that,” I said, in a whisper. “I’m hoping it was something I said.”
“She may not be really gone,” Chloe reminded me. “You know she’s always doing that cloaking thing.”
“I think she’s gone. No more waffle stink.”
Chloe let out a long, luxurious sigh. “It’s been so long since we had the cottage to ourselves. I mean, really to ourselves.”
I gestured toward our sleeping infant. “We’re not exactly alone anymore.”
“She’s family,” Chloe said, her smile lighting the room. “That’s different.” She took a sip of orange juice. “Speaking of families, have you told yours that the baby’s here?”
I grinned and reached for my coffee. “The screams blew out my right eardrum.”
“They’re excited.”
“You could say that. Bunny went into question-machine mode. My old man got choked up. I asked them to spread the word.” I took another sip of coffee. “I had to convince my mother that we didn’t need visitors tonight.”
“Or tomorrow,” Chloe said, eyes wide. “You did tell her that, didn’t you?”
“I said we needed a week.”
“A week is good,” Chloe said. “Two weeks would be better.”
“There’s no way they’ll wait two weeks to see their newest grandchild.”
“Next weekend is the Presentation ceremony.”
I went blank and it showed.
“We take the baby to the green, where she’s welcomed into the magick community.”
“That’s it?”
“Well, there’s some singing involved and a little bit of speechifying, but that’s pretty much it.”
“Nothing weird?”
“Maybe a little weird,” she admitted. “Midge will probably read ‘Desiderata’ while George accompanies her on the recorder. That’s when our equivalent of a godmother is chosen.”
“Now you’re getting a little too
Rosemary’s Baby
for me.”
Rosemary’s Baby
for me.”
She grinned and ate some more toast. “There’s cupcakes.”
“No presents?”
“Hello,” she said. “Remember the baby shower on Halloween?”
“So when is this singing cupcake party going to happen?”
“Sunday.” She paused for a moment. “Oh, no! Don’t tell me. That’s the day your family is coming.”
“You guessed it.”
“When?”
“Around noon.”
I could see the wheels spinning inside her head. “That should work out. The Presentation is always at sunrise. We should be finished by then.”
“Sunrise is around seven,” I said. “How the hell long is the Presentation anyway?”
“You don’t want to know,” she said with a quick smile. “Let’s just make sure we keep our worlds from colliding.”
But I think we both knew that collision was coming at us fast.
I told her about my conversation with Meghan.
“I wouldn’t be too hard on her if I were you,” she said, sipping at her hot, sweet tea. “Your family can be overwhelming.”
“To an outsider,” I said. “Meg should be used to it by now.”
“Give her a break,” Chloe persisted. “From what you’ve told me, she isn’t very happy.”
“Not happy?” I started to laugh. “I love her, but Meggie does what she wants, when she wants to do it, and expects everyone else to stop everything and pick up the pieces.”
“Okay.” Chloe shrugged. “Forget I said anything, but I still think you need to cut her some slack. She’s a grown woman.”
“Who said I lectured her?”
“Lucky guess.”
We ate for a while in silence. I’d already scarfed up a half dozen slices of toast while I was putting together the meal so I paced myself while Chloe devoured a heaping plate of scrambled eggs with hash browns and toast.
“The family wants to know her name.”
Chloe finished a piece of buttered toast with blueberry jam and gave me a quizzical look. “It’s Laria. How could you forget?”
“I thought we agreed on Sarah.”
“Too common,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “As soon as I saw her, I knew she was definitely Laria.”
She pronounced it “Mariah” but with an
L
.
L
.
“Is there some kind of . . . magical significance to the name?”
“Nope.” She took another bite of toast. “I just like it.”
“Do I get any say in this?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Laria.” I let it linger in the air, then said it again. “Laria.”
“It’s uncommon,” she said.
“You’ve got that right.”
She poked me in the side with the back of her fork. “Uncommon in a good way.”
I looked down at the six-pound, twelve-ounce, nineteen inch bundle of controversy sleeping contentedly in the middle of our bed and felt myself melt. A name as uncommon as our sorceress/mortal child. Maybe there was something to it after all.
“Laria,” I said again as a grin spread across my face. “I could get used to it.”
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