9. Nine
NINE
Iassumed the barbecue would be held on the back patio. I was wrong. The grilling was done there. The neighborhood residents brought chairs and camped out in the street and driveway to eat. Everyone who came brought a dish to pass as well.
We’re talking crusty French bread, grits, coleslaw, rice, roasted vegetables, and barbecued shrimp.
Knox’s father Craig’s grill wasn’t a normal-sized grill. It was actually three grills that had been welded together so he could cook three different things at a time. They were situated in a U shape, leaving just enough room for the cook to enter and exit on the fourth side.
On one grill Craig was cooking ribs. He coated them with sauce every five minutes.
Another grill had shrimp, along with crawfish.
He’d put some seasoning on the crawfish that I wasn’t familiar with, but it smelled delicious.
The last grill had chicken, not a staple of New Orleans barbecue, but the Cullens didn’t seem to care.
In addition to collard greens, some of the neighbors brought gumbo, and others brought potato salad. I even saw some baked beans, a hodgepodge of southern and northern dishes.
I opened my mouth and pointed at the chicken, determined to ask Knox about it, but Craig answered.
“We’re not beholden to one thing in this family,” he said, giving me a solid look up and down. He’d nodded when Knox had reminded him who I was, but he hadn’t been outwardly enthusiastic like his wife when told I’d been invited to the barbecue. “My wife loves chicken, so we always have chicken.”
“I like it.” My smile was quick and maybe a little shy. “My parents barbecued when we were younger. My father didn’t eat any of the food, but he loved to take control of the grill.”
Craig grinned. “It’s a man thing. My wife gets angry when I won’t let her help, but this is my setup.” He gestured between the grills.
“Must be a man thing,” I agreed.
“But he still does it?”
My smile slipped before I determinedly slapped it back in place. “No. We haven’t barbecued in twenty years.”
Craig was about to ask why before his eyes were pulled to the spot behind me. Knox was there. I’d felt him move in a little closer. I didn’t have to look to know that he was sending his father a warning.
Uncomfortable, I took a step back. “It smells great. I can’t wait to eat. Your wife said I should help, but I’m in the way here. I’m going to see if I can help with all the dishes being brought in.”
Knox caught my wrist before I could take more than one step. “If you leave now, my mother will hold it against you forever,” he said in a low voice, ignoring the sharp look Craig sent him. “I’m serious. She will track you down.” He paused. “She will track down your parents.”
I tried to picture Alice meeting my mother and father, and almost choked on a bitter laugh. “If she wants to shame them for how rude I am, it would be a waste of time. My father thinks I’m too soft-hearted.”
“There’s no such thing,” Craig interjected, catching me off guard. “Come here.” He motioned for me to enter his grilling fiefdom.
Knox looked flabbergasted at the invitation.
“What?” we said in unison.
“Come on.” Craig’s smile widened. “I’m going to teach you to barbecue.”
“You never taught me,” Knox lamented as I edged into the space.
This felt somehow wrong but I couldn’t contain my excitement.
It was like being picked first for dodgeball, which I never was.
When you went to school with a bunch of shifters and other paranormals, being at the top of the athletic heap for a witch was unheard of.
Yes, I had my vampire genes to fall back on, but those hadn’t really kicked in and become prominent until I was an adult.
“Now, the key is to cook the chicken for four minutes on each side,” Craig said, pointing at the grill with his tongs.
“It was marinated overnight. Alice creates her own marinade, and she won’t tell me what she puts in it.
She’s an untrusting soul, and it’s frustrating. I’m her husband, for crying out loud.”
I burst out laughing. This man loved his wife. He cherished his entire family. This was a man who would never try to accumulate resurrection stones on the sly to bring back a child, potentially without a soul.
That thought was fleeting. My father had recently done just that.
The resurrection stones he’d accumulated had been targeted by other factions, and my parents had almost been killed because of it.
My nephew had been traumatized during the fight.
My father had been defiant in the aftermath, unbothered by the frustration I aimed at him.
Craig Cullen would never do that to his children.
If Craig picked up on my momentary melancholy, he didn’t show it. He chattered on. “What’s your favorite?” he asked.
I forced myself to focus on the here and now. Spending too much time thinking about how my parents had failed me was a recipe for disaster. “What do you mean?”
“Everyone has a favorite everything,” Craig replied. He wasn’t feigning patience. He really had it. “What’s your favorite? Do you prefer cornbread or French bread?”
That wasn’t difficult. “The cornbread has to be made just right, and most people don’t make it the way I like it, so probably French bread.”
“Ah, a pragmatist.” Craig arched an eyebrow, reminding me of a zany professor. “Your preferred foods say a lot about you. Be prepared to be read.”
“No pressure,” I said dryly.
Craig chuckled. “No pressure.” He traded his tongs for a spatula. “If you had to choose between jambalaya, gumbo, and étouffée, which would it be?”
“Between those three, étouffée. But if you throw shrimp Creole into the mix, that one.”
“Interesting.” Craig’s smile grew. “Do you know what that says about you?”
I shook my head.
“It says that you’re not afraid to order off the menu. I gave you three choices, you made sure to mention a fourth. You stand up for yourself and think outside the limits.”
“That might be a bit of a stretch,” I hedged.
Craig shook his head. “What’s your favorite part of a crawfish boil?”
I looked around, expecting to see one.
“Not today,” he said on a chuckle. “I’m just interested.”
“I prefer the corn,” I admitted. “I’ve always loved corn on the cob. Crawfish are not my favorite.” I glanced at the grill. “It’s probably their heads. I don’t like when my dinner stares back at me.”
He burst out laughing. “That’s sacrilegious in this city,” he said. “But I get it. Knox was the same as a kid. He refused to eat at crawfish boils. He called it a crawfish massacre.”
Knox harrumphed, reminding me he was still present. I was surprised he hadn’t wandered off. “You’re making that up.”
“I am not.” Craig raised his hand and snapped his fingers. “Dalton,” he barked. “Come over here and settle an argument for us.”
“He wants you to take his side whether it’s true or not,” Knox complained to his brother.
Dalton, his arm wrapped around a pretty blonde who was a solid foot shorter than him, grinned as he headed in our direction. I knew he was married. My understanding was that he’d married his childhood sweetheart right after high school. No one knew much about her.
I’d never met her, so I took the opportunity to study her. I knew her name was Kelsey. I had no idea if she was also a shifter, but that was the rumor. Once she came closer it was easy to see. She was a pureblood shifter despite her size.
She had bright blue eyes and shoulder-length wavy hair. The sort of hair that went curly in humidity, which meant by the end of the night it would be wider than it was tall. She didn’t seem to care.
Behind Dalton and Kelsey, two children whooped and hollered as they raced around the grills.
I recognized the towhead twins. Hoyt and Hayley.
I’d once spied on a lunch outing with Knox and his niece and nephew.
He was a hands-on uncle, and the kids adored him.
Once Knox had picked up on my presence, they’d insisted we all hang out together. I very much doubted they remembered me.
“Uncle Knox!” Hoyt threw himself at his uncle. Knox caught him in mid-air. “I haven’t seen you in forever. I thought you died.”
Knox chuckled. He was obviously used to dealing with dramatic five-year-olds.
“Sorry. I haven’t been around. I’ve been working on a few things.
” He darted a look to me, suggesting one of the things he’d been working on was the problem with the resurrection stones.
That had been a whole big thing, complete with wraiths, potentially evil witches, and grudges that would never be forgotten.
“I’m sad,” Hoyt announced. “You have to buy me something to make me not sad no more.”
“Anymore,” Kelsey corrected sharply. “And stop trying to blackmail your uncle into buying you something. You don’t need gifts. You’re already spoiled.”
Hoyt gave his mother a “Yeah, right” look. “He can’t just forget me. It’s mean.”
“Unreal,” Kelsey muttered. I liked her on sight. She seemed to take parenthood in stride. “You’re just like your father. He must be bribed constantly, even to take out the trash.”
Dalton slid his eyes to his wife. He’d been quiet the previous evening at the bar.
He was much more animated with his family.
He was the older brother by two years. I’d done some cursory research.
He was 36 to Knox’s 34, and he’d been married for half his life.
Yet when he looked at his wife, he reminded me of a smitten teenager.
Their flame was never in danger of being doused.
“I don’t need to be bribed,” Dalton replied, giving his wife’s middle a playful squeeze. “I simply don’t think it’s the worst thing in the world occasionally.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Kelsey pulled away from him and focused on me. I wasn’t tall among these shifters, yet I felt as if I towered over her. “I’m Kelsey.” She stuck out her hand. “You must be Freya.”
I froze, surprise coursing through me. How could she possibly know that? “Um … .”