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Chapter One

“Poo Yie, you look like a gator got frisky with a bag of spinach,” Jocko called from his fishbowl. He banged his claws on the glass rim when I didn’t respond. But I was too busy repeatedly swallowing and willing myself not to toss my cookies all over my parents’ expensive Aubusson rug.

I couldn’t even move my head to look in his direction—instead I remained perfectly still, on the world’s itchiest Victorian sofa. My left cheek was mashed uncomfortably against a scratchy needlepoint pillow, and I didn’t even care. I was miserable.

My stomach churned and roiled as it had from my first whiff of dinner. My mother’s cooking was wretched on the best of times, but tonight’s offering had been particularly disgusting. She claimed the foul smelling offering was shrimp creole but never had that dish inspired terror before tonight.

Etienne knelt beside me, his brow creased with concern. It was honestly unfair for someone that pretty to get so wrinkled up about something as minor as my nausea. My stomach flipped again, and I swallowed. Or maybe this was my impending death.

“Chérie, I think I should let me call a doctor.”

Being a witch had a lot of perks, and oddly enough the fact that witch doctors still made house calls was one of them.

“Or perhaps an… exorcist,” Jocko suggested.

Normally, I appreciated my familiar’s snarky sense of humor. But not right now.

Etienne brushed a strand of my hair off my clammy forehead, and I caught the smell his cologne and also the faint lingering scent of my mother’s so-called ‘holy trinity’ seasoning mix, which contains neither holiness nor trinity, but apparently a metric ton of MSG and what I suspect is the chemical equivalent of antifreeze.

I gagged, and from Etienne’s alarmed expression, I’d turned an even brighter shade of green.

He started to stand. “I’m going to get you mother, at least.

“Don’t call my mother,” I groaned, “unless you want her to finish the job.”

Speaking that many words threatened a spectacular barf-fountain, so I fell completely still again. I closed my eyes and prayed for the sweet release of death. Or at least for a breeze from the open window behind me to neutralize the barrage of aromas in the air.

Jocko’s claws pounded his fishbowl again, punctuating the silence. “Your mother doesn’t cook, she creates public health hazards. Sacré bleu, she is a menace!”

“Can you not, Jocko?” I said, or try to, but it came out in a croak, like a toad who just choked on a fly. He wasn’t wrong, but I didn’t want to listen to it right now.

Etienne shot the crawfish a look of such withering disapproval, I half-expected a seafood boil on the spot. He turned back to me, worry still clouding his hazel eyes. “I know your mother is a truly terrible cook, but you only took one bite.”

“Sometimes,” I mumbled, “one bite is all it takes.” I buried my face in the throw pillow and burped.

Etienne rubbed my shoulder, proving not only was he a prince, but he was my true soulmate. I knew I looked—and possibly smelled—atrocious.

“Mally,” he said once the newest wave of nausea calmed. “I don’t think this is just the food. This has happened several times in the past couple weeks. I’m worried something is really wrong. You need a doctor.”

I lifted my head from the pillow, meeting his gaze. “It will pass. It’s just a weird flu or something.”

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but he nodded slightly. “Would you like some water?”

“That would be nice.” I managed a reassuring smile.

“Try holy water,” Jocko offered helpfully as Etienne left the room. “I’ll yell if she starts levitating.”

Etienne cast my familiar another warning look, then disappeared toward the kitchen.

Before I could pull myself together to make a comeback to Jocko, the front door slammed open with the subtlety of a shotgun blast, and my sister Violet rushed in, all flaming red-haired and wild-eyed, wearing her “nobody better die today” face. She spotted me and my greenish complexion before she made it halfway across the foyer.

“Dear Goddess, Mally,” she said. “You look like hell.”

Jocko—who was quickly becoming my least favorite magical creature—chuckled from his bowl.

“Thanks,” I said dryly, but managed to lever myself up onto my elbows. “Did Mom call you?”

I knew she was missing my parents’ family Sunday dinner because she and her new husband, who happened to be Etienne’s brother, had plans to go to an event for her hospital. My sister was a doctor. Not that I’d even thought to mention my recent symptoms to her. Which I guess I should have.