Chapter 4
I HAD NOT PLANNED ON spending my afternoon in an emergency therapy session, but Zelda received one too many angry phone calls from drenched Shifters after brunch.
So, I’d promised I would drop by and see Roger.
I’d also promised her a double batch of low-fat pawpaw doodles.
Glinda had helped me perfect the recipe after we’d duked it out and made amends a few summers back.
Thinking of my cousin lit up Roger’s office window with a silent streak of lightning.
“Carrot for your thoughts?” Roger asked, folding his hands over his desk. His mood seemed sullen today too, but it could have been the weather. My weather. It was spoiling vibes left and right.
I sighed and clutched one of the cream sofa pillows to my chest. Sure, it was comforting. But it also kept Professor Horny Hops from ogling my engorged breasts.
“My parents got divorced,” I said, sounding like an angsty teenager dwelling over a broken home.
“And my father is thinking about putting me back in the West family will,” I added before he could offer any unnecessary condolences.
“And now Glinda wants me to invite her terror of a sister to my baby shower, thinking it will give her a foot in the door with the estranged fam, too.”
“I know,” Roger admitted with a sheepish smile. “Glinda told me when I called to check on her this morning. By the way, she mentioned you have my wicker ride?”
“Yeah.” I crinkled my nose, trying not to think about all the ways they likely used the basket to get their jollies. “It’s at the house. I hadn’t planned on seeing you again until our usual session.”
“I’ll just hop by later tonight and grab that before my dinner date with your cousin.”
“Super.” I pressed the pillow up over my face and groaned as the rain outside momentarily turned into sleet. “Is Glinda going to hate me forever if I don’t invite her sister to the baby shower?”
“It’s a possibility,” Roger acknowledged, his nose twitching thoughtfully.
“But you also have to ask, will you hate—or resent—your cousin for pressuring you into this? Either option runs the risk of damaging your relationship, but I believe only one offers a sincere chance of preserving, nay, strengthening your bond.”
I squinted at him. “How do I know you’re not just saying this to earn kinky brownie points with Glinda?”
“I would never.” He pressed a hand over his heart in hurt offense. “I’m a professional, Mrs. Hernández. And I have all the kinky brownie points I need inside that wicker basket.”
“My apologies.” I ignored the basket remark, lest I gagged and insulted him again. “She told you what her sister did to me, right? To us?”
“I assume you’re referring to the acne?” Roger said. I bit my tongue, squashing the temptation to tell him about Glinda’s whiskery woes. “We all have growing pains,” Roger continued. “I dealt with explosive diarrhea as a kit.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head, trying to keep the images out of my head. “I don’t think this is helping.”
“Not enough fiber,” he explained, as if I’d asked.
Thankfully, a roll of thunder stopped him from divulging any more details.
“All to say,” he concluded in a higher octave, “if I can forgive my mother for her less-than-adequate nurturing, surely you can find it in your heart to give Emmy a chance to apologize and prove she’s grown as well? ”
“Or a chance to hex my unborn child,” I countered, squeezing the pillow tighter as the wittle witch kicked me in the ribs.
“Won’t Zelda be in attendance?” Roger rapped his knuckles on the desk.
“Your daughter will have Shifter blood too, so Zelda will surely undo any potential ill intent. And if Emmy has become, shall we say, less wicked, wouldn’t it be nice to mend another familial bond, like you’ve done with Glinda?
What a healthy example it would set for your daughter. ”
A spattering of hail pelted his window, and his face flushed sheepishly at the unspoken accusation.
“You sure about those brownie points, doc?” I asked, annoyed that he was aggravating rather than alleviating my stormy condition. “I think maybe you’re too invested in this to see the garden for the carrots.”
“I admit, inviting your cousin to the baby shower would afford me certain opportunity to charm her—and by proxy, your cousin. But I most sincerely would not make the suggestion if I thought she meant you or your unborn batling any harm.”
As much as Roger annoyed me, I knew he was being honest. At least, about his intentions. But he didn’t know the West witches the way I did. His taste of wicked from Glinda was harmless weekend kink. For the rest of the family? It was a lifestyle.
Was it possible Emmy had outgrown her despicable ways?
Sure.
Was it likely?
About as likely as the Wizard starting a side hustle waxing brooms.
Roger stared expectantly, waiting for a conclusion. I didn’t have one.
“I need more time to think things over,” I said, noting the way his nose twitched despite his best effort to hide his disappointment. “I’ll obviously have to discuss this with Dylan first.”
“Of course, of course.” Roger cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “I’ll see you later about that basket, my dear.”
He seemed less enthused than before, leaving me to wonder if Glinda had promised something crude on the condition that he convinced me to do her bidding. My skin crawled at the idea, but I pushed it away as I replaced the smooshed pillow on Roger’s sofa and hurried out of his office.
It was still sprinkling outside, but it wouldn’t be for much longer. Unresolved as I was about inviting Emmy, talking to Roger had at least zapped some of my safety concerns.
He was right. Zelda would be at the baby shower.
And if Emmy so much as breathed the wrong way, she’d be Baba Yaga-ed to the ends of the earth. That thought alone put a little skip in my step. The clouds apart, and golden sunshine dappled the sidewalk ahead of me, leading the way home.
* * *
“HOW DID IT GO?” DYLAN asked, greeting me at the front door with a kiss and a cautious peek at the sky. It was a bit overcast, but the worst had passed.
“Fine, I guess.” I shrugged and beelined for our bedroom, eager to get out of my dress and into my painting clothes.
The custom colors I’d ordered for the nursery had come in the day before Halloween, but I’d been too busy with party planning, and I’d promised Dylan I’d wait for Mama Hermosa.
She was impressed with the painting I’d done in the rest of the house, and she wasn’t as skittish as she’d first been about brujas and their brujería.
She wanted to see my domestic magic in action, which was more than anyone in my family had ever requested.
“Do I dare ask what triggered you?” Dylan gently inquired as he followed me into the bedroom. “Or should I wait a day or two until you’ve had more time to process?”
“Definitely gonna need a day to process. Maybe tomorrow?”
We were committed to Roger’s communication techniques. My cousin’s fluffy hump buddy knew how to get couples on the same page. Which I guessed was how he had kept my flighty cousin so grounded all this time.
“Asher and Mama are already upstairs,” Dylan said as he unzipped the back of my dress. “I left a pair of my coveralls on the bathroom counter.”
“You don’t want to help me into them?” I shot a sly look over my shoulder and batted my lashes. Maybe a better distraction would chase away the lingering clouds. Dylan gave me a crooked grin and kissed my neck before sliding the sleeves of my dress down my arms.
“How about I help you out of them after we’re finished painting the nursery? Mama has plans to take Asher out for ice cream after.”
“Even better,” I agreed, squinting against the sudden sunlight that flooded our bedroom window. Alone time with my honeybat always did the trick. There was a rainbow in the forecast, after all.
Dylan left me to finish changing and headed upstairs.
I had my own coveralls, but they no longer fit over the baby bump.
Even Dylan’s were tight, and I had to roll up the legs.
But this would very likely be my last home improvement project until after the baby arrived—even if she did spend another four months baking in my cauldron.
Witch-Shifter hybrids were rare territory, so no one could give a definitive answer as to how long gestation would last. Mama Ellie, Dylan’s witchy great-great-grandmother, had given birth to Dylan’s great-grandfather Matteo in 1919.
From the few clues I’d found in her sex ritual grimoire, she’d been pregnant for either six or seven months.
But Matteo also hadn’t inherited any of her witchy ways. Though that still technically made Dylan one-sixteenth wizard. And our baby would be the first girl born in the Hernández family since Mama Ellie’s accidental curse...
There were a lot of variables to consider. This was definitely a horse of a different color. Which I supposed was why DeeDee had instructed us to put together an emergency birth kit a month ago.
She’d also recommended that we have the baby shower sooner rather than later. It was set for two weeks from today. I’d already sent out the invitations, but there were a few extras tucked inside the old rolltop desk in the foyer. Just in case I’d forgotten anyone—accidentally.
They were so not for bully cousins I’d hoped to never see again.
After I finished pinning up my dark curls and applying a fresh coat of mascara, I exited the bedroom to find Broomzilla waiting at the foot of the stairs. Her handle drooped sheepishly when she noticed me.
Crap. She’d overheard the excuse I’d given Dylan yesterday morning for my bruised condition. Sometimes, having an anthropomorphic huskcycle was a real drag. Navigating my own emotions and moods was challenge enough, thank you very much.
“It’s not your fault I fell on the front steps last week,” I assured Broomzilla. “It’s just that time of year. No one expects you to keep them leaf-free around the clock.”
Her bristles scratched out a nervous question mark on the hardwood floor.
“There’s nothing to forgive.” I sighed and gave her handle a stroke before beginning up the stairs. She followed close behind, protectively staving off another fall.
The nursery was on the third floor. I had to stop on the second to catch my breath. Ash and Hermosa’s animated voices carried down the stairwell.
“Papa Ernesto doesn’t like the name Yanet either,” Ash said, earning an amused snort from his abuela.
“Oh? And what name does your abuelo prefer?” Hermosa asked.
“Ernestina,” he answered without missing a beat. “We’d call her Ernie for short.”
I suppressed a snort of my own. We would not be naming my wittle witch Ernie. Sorry, Ash—I mean, Papa Ernesto.
A drill buzzed as I finished my climb, and I spotted Dylan near the dumbwaiter door, polishing the sheetrock dust off a shiny new deadbolt.
“Are you sure we can’t put an eye scanner on the other side, like in the spy movies?” Asher pouted. “Do I really have to use the stairs from now on?”
Dylan cocked his head and chuckled. “Sorry, Double-Oh Ash. Safety first. Maybe we’ll look into getting a keypad when bitty bat is a little older.”
“Safety first.” Hermosa shook her head and reached up to pat Dylan’s cheek.
“I remember when you were but a little cachorro cielo. You loved playing with the bats in the belfry and eating pawpaws in the orchard whenever you pleased. It pains me that my sweet little nieta will not know such freedom and joy.”
“She will,” I said, stopping in front of the paint buckets situated in the middle of the nursery. “She’ll just have more supervision. It’s a different world out there.” I opted to leave off the mounting concerns about my wicked family. No need to dredge up another storm.
To Hermosa’s credit, she didn’t push the issue. She was a bold woman with big opinions, but she also loved her family—which now included me. My delicate condition was not something she was willing to compromise. She was also not a fan of my moody weather.
Dylan deposited his drill in a toolbox under the new window that overlooked the backyard.
A second window mirrored it on the opposite wall.
They were energy efficient, and both featured slick combo heating and cooling units that would keep the nursery comfortable.
And the hardwood flooring looked so much better under the warm glow that spilled from the new pendant fixtures spaced throughout the room.
That dangling horror-film lightbulb had had to go.
“Are you sure we don’t need a brush or pan?
” Hermosa asked, fingering a curl that had sprung free from her chestnut bun.
“This is a lot of wall to cover on your own, and with no tape or tarp...” She frowned at the pair of gallon buckets between my feet, and then at Broomzilla who remained in the doorway.
My accuracy had greatly improved over the years, but it had only taken one mishap during my early home improvement days to traumatize my broom. She kept her bristles out of range for this part of the job.
“Is that even enough paint?” Hermosa added.
“More than,” I said, a wicked grin pulling at the corners of my mouth.
I rubbed my hands together and winked, warming up my lashes.
The unpredictable sky cauldron was relatively new magic, a rare talent that hadn’t been seen in the West family since my late gran.
But the home and hearth spells were my specialty.
I resisted the urge to start singing Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo and winked open the paint cans.
The soft lavender-gray would create a perfect backdrop for the batty night sky décor I’d picked up on my last shopping excursion with Zelda.
And the deeper plum would be a perfect accent behind the white bookshelves and around the white window trim on the adjacent walls.
Ribbons of paint spiraled up from the buckets. They danced in the air, circling one another without touching, before racing to their respective walls.
“Woah, Auntie M!” Asher clapped his hands, then reached up as if to poke one of the ribbons. Dylan gave his ribs a tickle before he could break the stream.
“Dios mío.” Hermosa crossed herself, but I didn’t take offense. It was a nervous habit of hers anytime she witnessed my magic. “And not a drop out of place,” she marveled as the ribbons finished their dance, meeting in opposite corners. “Will you do my room too, mija?”
Shifters were so easy to impress. Not that the appreciation didn’t still kick me in the feels. Even Glinda was blasé about my domestic skillset—unless she needed a cookie fix.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. “ Of course, Mama.”
“Maybe you should stop by the hardware store and pick up some paint samples after you and Asher get ice cream,” Dylan suggested, sneakily buying us more time. He lifted a suggestive eyebrow at me over the top of his mother’s head.
My clever honeybat.