Page 7

He snorted. “He talks to ghost everywhere. Poor guy.”

I nodded, but a little of my tension drained away. Etienne had that effect on me. Even when I was on the verge of vomiting up my immortal soul, he could make me laugh.

He rose and set about locking up the house, checking every window and door twice. It was an old habit, born from a lifetime of being responsible for others. I knew he’d circle back to check on me every thirty seconds, so I tried to look as settled as possible, closing my eyes and sinking into the fainting couch.

I lasted all of fifteen seconds before the agitation gnawing at me kicked in. I sat up, walked into the dining room, and rearranged the stack of mail on the credenza. Then I fiddled with the bowl of salt that Jocko insisted I keep by the front door. He said it was to protect the house from evil spirits, but given the tiny rings I sometimes saw in the white granules, I suspected it was for salting the rim of his glass when he drank margaritas. A favorite of his in the summer.

Then I stared out the window for a solid minute, watching the moonlight break across the bayou. You would think the news of pregnancy would have knocked me clean out, but instead, my brain was running on overdrive, throwing up anxieties faster than I could swat them down.

I started as Etienne’s arms slipped around my waist from behind, and then I just melted into him. He rested his chin on my shoulder, and I felt the rise and fall of his chest, steady and calm. I wished I could just borrow his heartbeat for a while. I was sick of mine feeling as if it might pound right out of me.

“Would you like to go upstairs?” he asked, his breath warming my ear.

I nodded. “Yeah. If I stay down here, I’ll do something crazy like start alphabetizing the pantry. Or vacuuming the curtains.”

“You just need to do something to relax,” he suggested softly against my ear.

A shot him a flirty grin over my shoulder. “Any ideas what that might be?”

He laughed, the sound deep and sexy. He caught my hand and led me up the creaking staircase, our footsteps echoing in the tall, shadowy halls. The third-floor landing still sometimes made me nervous—so many empty rooms, so many eyes (paintings, but still)—but tonight I felt nothing except Etienne’s solid hand in mine.

Our bedroom was at the end of the hall, painted midnight blue with velvet curtains and a brass bed that looked like it belonged to an absinthe poet. Etienne closed the door behind us and sat me on the bed, then knelt to pull off my socks, one by one. His tenderness made my throat ache.

“I’m sorry if I’m being overattentive,” he said, sitting beside me. “But you scared me tonight.”

I stared at my lap, feeling awkward for no good reason. “You’re not overattentive. I mean, maybe a little. But it’s…nice.”

He kissed the top of my head. “Why are you so anxious? Are you afraid?”

I made a face. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them: “I keep thinking, what if the baby isn’t okay? What if he or she is not normal? I’m not even normal, Etienne.”

He took my hands in his, bringing them to his lips. “I love you because you are not normal. I would be very bored with a normal witch.”

“Yeah, but there’s not a lot of precedent for whatever’s going on in my uterus right now. Witch, fey, werewolf? That’s like putting gumbo, jambalaya, and étouffée in the same pot. What if it explodes?”

His laugh rumbled deep and soft. “Then we will clean it up together.”

I almost managed a smile. “I just—I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want our kid to feel like a freak.”

Etienne was quiet for a moment, then lifted my chin so I had to look at him. His eyes were full of something fierce and bright. “Mally. My darling. Our child will never be a freak. He or she will be loved, protected, and cherished. And besides, you have seen my family. Strange is the only thing we do well.”

“You have met my family. I see your strange and raise you full insanity.”

“Well, that proves it, we are perfectly equipped to handle our unusual child.”

That broke the last dam, and I started laughing—wet, ridiculous, ugly laughter, but it felt good. Etienne held me while I laughed and then while I cried. He didn’t try to fix anything, just let me leak all my emotions out onto his expensive shirt.

When I finally stopped snuffling, he kissed me, braving the potential of tears and snot and said, “We will all be fine. Are you ready for bed,chérie?”

I nodded, and we climbed under the blankets together, his arms curling around me, enveloping me like a protection spell. I felt calmer than I had all night, maybe in weeks. I guess I knew something was happening to me—to us, but I hadn’t once considered a baby.

As I drifted toward sleep, I heard his low voice, warm in the darkness: “You are already a wonderful mother. And our child will be so loved, they will never doubt who they are.”

For the first time since I’d heard the news, I almost believed it.

Unfortunately, one thing Etienne had said to reassure me, had slowly gotten my brain spinning again. I fought the urge to move restlessly. I was trying to sleep. I really was. But every time I closed my eyes, my brain would shift into high gear, pelting me with questions I had zero answers for. Most of them started with "what if" and ended with a slow-motion train wreck. What if the baby came out howling at the moon? What if it was the size of a Kewpie doll and glowed? What if it had crazy, unpredictable magic like me? It was a miracle my magic hadn’t injured myself or anyone else. What if it was a combination of all of the above? And what if I was actually a terrible mother and everyone figured it out right away?

"Still awake,chérie?" he murmured, his lips warm against the nape of my neck.