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Jocko snorts. “And

I’m felt tears begin to rain down my cheeks, which is mortifying, but I knew I was crying out of joy. Etienne held me close, and Mom came around the island to put her hand on my back. Even Jocko was quiet, watching us with his weird little bug eyes.

“You’re not mad?” I asked Etienne, voice muffled against his shirt. “We didn’t plan for this.”

“Mad?” he said, incredulous. “Chérie, I have never been happier in all my days. Not since meeting you. Not since Hugo and Lisette came into the world. This—this is a miracle.”

Violet wiped her eyes and sniffed, then grinned. “I always wanted to be an aunt.”

Tristan moved to place an arm around his emotional wife, although he beamed with happiness. “And I can’t wait to be an uncle again.”

“Better start learning to knit,” my mom said. “But this grandbaby is not calling me Granny.”

JR came over from where he’d been quietly watching. “This is the very best news.” He slipped an arm around my mom. “We cannot wait to meet our amazing grandchild. Right, Granny?”

My mom playfully elbowed him. He chuckled merrily and left Mom to materialize a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator. He raised it in the air. “This calls for a toast.”

JR popped the cork with great flourish and poured five glasses. And a thimble of whiskey for Jocko. Etienne got me a fresh glass of ice water.

Mom raised her glass. “To Mally, Etienne and the newest impending member of our wonderful family. This baby will be something so, so special.”

We clinked. I swallowed, feeling complete joy replace my nausea.

“A Rougarou, witch and fey baby,” Violet said, shaking her head with bemusement. “I’m sure there is no baby ever born with that lineage.”

That was true. What would a baby with all those different kinds of magic be like? A bit of nausea returned. Would the baby be okay?

I must have started turning green again, because Etienne gently pulled me back against him, his tall, muscular frame surrounding me instantly making me feel better.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

I nodded, feeling better. Well, a little better.

I raised my ice water, and said with more confidence than I was feeling, “To the weirdest, wildest baby in Louisiana.”

Everyone cheered.

I just hoped the baby wouldn’t be too weird.

Chapter Three

After the champagne and bread pudding—which my mother insisted on serving despite the carbonized crust and the distinct aroma of despair—Etienne and I made our way back to St. James Bayou. By the time we reached our house, the evening heat had thickened to a sticky velvet. The stars hung close and bright as if they were crowding in to hear all the details of the new baby, too.

Our house glowed like a lantern against the moss-draped trees. I used to think the turreted structure looked haunted—Victorian, three stories, with a porch wide enough for a family of twelve to rock away their troubles. But now it was just home. Inside, the air was cool from the ancient ceiling fans, and the familiar smell of citrus and bay leaf greeted us at the door.

The first thing I did was toe off my boots and flop onto the fainting couch in the front parlor. Etienne, on the other hand, immediately kicked into caretaker mode. He circled me like a beautiful satellite, plumping pillows and bringing me a glass of water before I even thought to ask.

“Mon ange, are you really feeling better?” he asked, crouching in front of me and searching my face for signs ofdistress. Etienne’s concern was so pure it sometimes bordered on the ridiculous, but I could never be mad about it. Not when he looked at me like that.

I waved a limp hand. “I need a new stomach, but otherwise, all good. You can go back to being broody in the library—or whatever handsome princes do.”

He grinned, taking my sarcasm as a sign that I was feeling better. “If I am to be broody, it’s only because I worry for you,chérie.” He brushed a knuckle along my jaw, gentle as a feather.

I pretended to gag. I could always be counted on to ruin a tender moment. “The only thing brooding in this house should be the ghost in the third-floor guest room.”

“There is no ghost,” Etienne said, almost offended. “Just poor insulation and the sound of the bayou at night.

“Tell that to your brother. I’ve seen Tristan talking with ghosts in this house.”