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"Definitely with cake," he agreed. "And not your mother's cake."

"God, no," I said. "I want the baby to survive past its first trimester."

He chuckled, his arms tightening around me. "I will help you plan. We will make it a day they will remember forever."

For the first time since dinner, the knot in my stomach loosened. "Thank you," I whispered.

He kissed my forehead, then nuzzled me until I laughed. "Now, do you think you can sleep?"

I pretended to consider. "Maybe we could do a bit more to relax me.” I kissed him slowly.

"Demanding little witch," he teased, but he came up—or rather something came up—that would definitely help me sleep

And as the night deepened, and the old house settled around us with creaks and sighs that mingled with our own sighs and gasps, I finally felt the edges of real sleep approaching. Maybe tomorrow the world would still be messy and complicated and full of magical curveballs, but tonight, for a few hours, everything was exactly as it should be.

Chapter Four

My eyes snapped open. What had woken me? I turned my head to read the faint glowing numbers on my nightstand clock. Three a.m. I closed my eyes and assessed what could have startled me out of a deep sleep. Not the gentle nagging of my bladder, or even the distant hooting of one of the Great Horned owls that live in the bayou. Maybe I’d been jumped awake by a dream, although I couldn’t recall said dream.

Then I heard something. A sharp, clear sound—a single, unmistakable crack echoing through the house.

My eyes shot back open in the dark. For a long moment, I still just lay there, holding my breath. Etienne slept beside me, arm slung across my waist, his chest rising and falling in even, slow waves. He hadn’t stirred.

Maybe this was still just a dream. Or simply the old house and all the odd noises it made. Every night it settled, whined, popped, and hissed, a lullaby of structural complaints. But this sound was different. It didn’t belong.

I carefully rolled over onto my back and stared at the ceiling, waiting. Five seconds. Ten. Then another sound—a low, hollowthud from somewhere below, like a banging on the wall. Or maybe the door. Was someone here?

I nudged Etienne’s shoulder. “Wake up.”

He opened his eyes instantly. “What’s wrong?” No sleep in his voice. That’s how you knew he was a predator at heart.

I whispered, “Did you hear that?”

He listened. The house was totally silent as if it was holding its breath with us.

Then another noise. Not as loud, but eerily closer. That seemed to rule out someone knocking on the front door.

Etienne leapt out of bed in a flash, quickly pulling on his pajama pants. “Stay here,” he said, voice low and serious.

I started to argue, but he shook his head. “Please, Mally. Just this once.”

He kissed my forehead, then slipped out the bedroom door. The heavy wood panel closed with a soft click that still managed to sound like a death knell.

I stayed put for a grand total of thirty seconds before my nervous energy boiled over. I couldn’t just lay here, listening. I needed to know what was going on. Plus, Jocko was in the guest bedroom. Alone.

I grabbed the nearest weapon-like object—a crystal geode paperweight from my nightstand—and tiptoed to the door, opening it just wide enough to peer into the hallway.

Etienne hadn’t turned on any lights, but in the heavy darkness, I got no sense of movement. The air felt different though—electric, almost. As my eyes adjusted, the very shadow stretched a little too far in the watery moonlight warped by the ancient glass panes.

I crept down the hall, bare feet silent on the hallway runners. Adrenaline swished in my veins. As I neared the staircase, I heard another noise, this one higher pitched. Glass on tile? Or claws on wood?

My mind helpfully supplied a list of possible culprits: a raccoon, maybe one of Tristan’s ghost friends, hungry vampire, leftover cousin from the last family gathering. Or maybe it was The Grunch—terrifying creature that lived in the bayou. They had claws. Big claws. I knew that one firsthand. I decided to go with raccoon.

I paused at the landing and scanned the first floor. Nothing seemed amiss—until I saw the faintest glimmer of movement in the front parlor. I gripped my geode like a grenade and crept closer, heart beating so loudly I worried it would give me away.

Something scuttled across the rug.

I nearly screamed, but then the “something” muttered, “Putain de merde,” and I recognized the silhouette of my favorite crustacean.