“I was thinking of something a little more…active…than that,” I replied with a wink.
A certain warmth I recognized entered his eyes. “Well, Mrs. Wilcox, I think that sounds like a fine idea.”
“Mrs. McAllister-Wilcox, thank you very much.”
He grinned. “How about plain old ‘Angela’?”
“That works, too.”
His arms went around me, and he lifted me right off the floor without blinking an eye. And I knew that had to be harder than it used to — the baby weight was starting to come off, but I wasn’t nearly as slender as I’d been when he’d first met me. He didn’t seem to mind, though, and carried me out of the nursery and down to the master bedroom so he could set me down on the king-size bed there. A flick of his fingers ignited the gas logs in the fireplace.
Then he sank down on the bed next to me, his mouth warm and familiar on mine, the sharp tang of champagne on his tongue. Already I could feel the heat of our bond flowing through my veins, my body aching for his, even though I knew I had changed since the last time we’d made love weeks before the babies arrived, that I wasn’t quite the same Angela he was used to.
That was all right. We would adapt, just as we always had. It would still be wonderful. Perfect.
And then I heard Emily’s thin cry, followed by Ian’s more forceful wail, and it was as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over me. Connor stilled, and then let out a small sigh.
“Rain check?” he asked wearily. Poor guy. He’d had to ask for quite a lot of those lately.
I sat up, trying to get my dress more or less where it was supposed to be. From somewhere I found a smile and put it on, then kissed his cheek. I’d wanted more, but I still wanted to show him how much I loved him. He smiled in return, even as I said,
“Yes, a rain check.”
3
We didn’t have any chance to cash in that rain check, though, because the twins were up and down all night after that. By the time morning rolled around, we were too tired to do anything except make enough coffee to rouse us from our zombie-like state and more or less prepare us for the onslaught of relatives we were expecting later that day.
All right, that makes it sound as if my family members would be unwelcome, but we really did want to see everyone. I just wished we could be doing it on more than four hours of sleep.
But that was why the Goddess invented caffeine, so we each had three cups of coffee and took turns showering. Neither of us was motivated to share the shower, which would have been logistically difficult anyway. My libido felt as if it had been dunked in ice water, and besides, the clawfoot bathtub with surrounding shower curtain wasn’t really designed for romantic interludes. I had scheduled the bathroom remodel for the beginning of January, but that wasn’t going to help us in the meantime.
So we both got ready and put on our game faces, and got the crock pot of spiced cider going on the sideboard in the dining room, along with trays of Rachel’s homemade cookies. She’d left those for us in the pantry, apparently guessing that I wouldn’t have much time to bake treats. Frankly, most days Connor was lucky if he got a nuked pizza for dinner. Sooner or later I’d get it together — I hoped — and he’d done a great job of bringing home takeout, but it was too much to expect that he’d start cooking. My dear husband had many sterling qualities, but being talented in the kitchen was not one of them.
At least everyone knew not to start showing up until a little past ten-thirty. By that point the babies were awake and alert, and I’d even been able to steal enough time in the bathroom to get on some mascara and lip gloss, along with some spackle for my under-eye circles. Maybe Syd had the right idea. A midwinter tan would do a lot to hide the bruised-looking flesh next to my eyes.
Forget about it, I told myself. If a mother of newborn twins can’t sport some serious bags, there’s something wrong with the world.
Connor wasn’t looking so chipper, either, and he could have used his powers of illusion to hide the signs of weariness in his face. But I knew he wouldn’t do that to me, would wear his dark circles with pride to show solidarity.
The first ones to stop in were — not surprisingly — Allegra Moss, one of the clan elders, and her husband Daniel. I knew Allegra wouldn’t be able to stay away, since she was one of the clan’s biggest busybodies. All right, maybe that was a little too harsh. She really didn’t gossip much, but she did like to know what was going on with everyone all the time. The only person I could think of who liked to stick her nose in other people’s business even more than Allegra was my cousin Adam’s older sister Jenny. Again, I’d never caught her carrying tales, but man, if you had a question about someone, she probably knew the answer. No wonder she’d gone to work for the Cottonwood police department as a dispatcher. That way she could snoop on a bunch of civilians as well.
I swept all those uncharitable thoughts away, however, as I put on my “company” smile and let Allegra ooh and ah over the twins. And I found it wasn’t that hard to be friendly, really; the best way to earn points with a new mother was to tell her that her babies were the prettiest in the world.
“And such eyes!” Allegra exclaimed, as she expertly held Emily and peered down into her face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a baby with eyes so green. Even yours, Angela — they didn’t start to turn until you were about four or five months old, if I recall correctly. We were all surprised because your mo — that is, Sonya’s eyes were hazel. Pretty, but not nearly as striking as yours.”
Funny how even after all these years people found it difficult to refer to Sonya McAllister as my mother. Maybe they’d decided that she’d abrogated that right by running away when she didn’t want to be prima.
I decided it was best to brush Allegra’s little bobble aside. Getting into ancient history wouldn’t serve any real purpose. “Yes, we’re loving our little green-eyed babies. But I’m not sure what other color their eyes could be, considering that both Connor and I have green eyes, too.”
Allegra’s own eyes, a watery blue, looked uncertain. True, it was unusual for babies to have their eye color fixed so early, but I didn’t want any of my clan members reading something significant into it. They were just babies. I didn’t want them to be the chosen ones, or whatever. Connor and I had already had enough of that. We’d broken the Wilcox curse, and now we should be able to cruise along as regular garden-variety witches and warlocks.
Apparently she decided it was better not to pursue the matter, because Allegra nodded then. “Oh, yes, that you do.” Something in her manner changed then, because she shot an annoyed look over her shoulder at her husband, who was happily munching away on his third — or was it his fourth? — piece of shortbread. “Dan, try to leave some for the next people who come along.”
He didn’t look at all offended by the rebuke, but only brushed his hands against his corduroy trousers — to get the crumbs off, I assumed. Grinning he said, “Well, Allegra, you know how I feel about Rachel’s shortbread.”
She just shook her head and handed Emily back over to me. “All the more reason you should leave a little for the others. You’re not the only one who loves it.”
Still smiling, Daniel stepped away from the sideboard. “Yes, ma’am. You know I always do as my elder tells me.”
I had to keep myself from grinning as I held Emily and watched Allegra heave an exasperated sigh before saying, “Who’re you calling ‘elder,’ Dan? You’ve got a good four years on me.”
“Ah, but I was speaking of wisdom, not age.” He smiled again, blue eyes almost buried by the laugh lines that surrounded them, and added, “You all have a very merry Christmas Eve. We’ll see you at Spook Hall tomorrow.”
They went out then, Allegra still wearing an annoyed expression — although I guessed at least half of her annoyance was put on, since I’d heard them have that “elder” exchange many times before. Connor took advantage of their departure to snag a piece of shortbread with his free hand, since he held Ian in his left arm.
“A
m I going to have to lecture you about that shortbread, too?” I inquired.
“Hey,” he replied, looking wounded, “I have to keep my strength up through all these visits from your relatives.”
Right then, I had to admit he had a point. So I went and got myself some shortbread, too, and settled in for another round of social calls.
* * *
Eventually, everyone headed for home for their own private celebrations, and Rachel and Tobias came up the hill, carrying multiple shopping bags. Used to driving everywhere in Flagstaff, I wondered at their coming up on foot when they were bringing all those supplies, but I realized then that Rachel would never lower herself to drive a mere quarter-mile. Besides, they wouldn’t be carrying nearly as much on the trip back down the hill.
I’d had the kitchen remodeled in the spring — although I hadn’t had much chance to enjoy it since then — and I was glad to see my aunt exclaiming over the new Viking appliances and the shining expanses of granite countertops.
“So much room,” she sighed, even as she set out all the ingredients for our Christmas dinner and began working away. I’d already put out the bowls and pans I’d thought she’d need, so there wouldn’t be any time wasted.
“Well, the kitchen at Tobias’ place is a lot bigger than the one at your apartment,” I pointed out slyly. Yes, they’d gotten engaged, if somewhat unofficially, but as far as I could tell, their living arrangements hadn’t changed much. She was still in the apartment where I’d grown up, and Tobias still appeared to inhabit his combination art studio/flat. For all I knew, they intended to keep things that way indefinitely. In Jerome, people did as they liked, and convention be damned.
Rachel didn’t look up from the rib roast, which she was rubbing with a mixture of kosher salt and black pepper. “Yes, it is,” she said, her tone neutral. “But his pot and pan collection leaves something to be desired.”
“So that’s something you can put on your registry,” I suggested.
After that remark, she frowned slightly. “We haven’t even picked a date yet. It’s very casual. So don’t get your hopes up that we’re going to have a repeat of Lucas and Margot’s bash from yesterday.”
“Planning to run off to Vegas?”
“Hardly. I’ve heard the Delmonico clan isn’t too keen on foreign witches invading their territory, even if they do live in one of the world’s biggest tourist traps.”
Considering how many visitors Jerome got in a year, I didn’t think Rachel was in a position to be calling another clan’s hometown a tourist trap. Then again, Las Vegas probably got an order of magnitude more tourists than we did.
“Well, if you just go over to city hall in Prescott or something, I’m going to be sorely disappointed.” And I would. My aunt had been relentlessly single for most of my life; I didn’t want to miss out on her finally getting married, even if it had taken her decades to get there.
“We don’t know what we’re going to do yet,” she said calmly. “But in the meantime, you can start helping with that mustard sauce.”
In the kitchen, Rachel’s word was law. I almost felt like I was flashing back to the time before I was prima, before I was with Connor and had the twins. She’d taught me everything I knew about cooking, for which Connor was very grateful.
Or at least he had been, before the twins came along and I’d abandoned him to a wasteland of frozen food. Well, it hadn’t even been a month yet. I hoped I’d get back into the swing of things soon, once this feeling of being completely overwhelmed most of the time went away.
It would go away, wouldn’t it?
I really didn’t want to think about that. For now, I enjoyed being alone with my aunt and falling into the familiar rhythms, getting out the ingredients I needed and mixing them together while she popped the roast into the oven. Connor and Tobias were in the family room with the twins, and although I could hear the low murmur of their conversation from time to time, I wasn’t able to make out what they were talking about. I didn’t mind too much; right then it was enough that Ian and Emily appeared to be sleeping, or at least lying quietly in their little Moses baskets while the men talked.
As I mixed the mustard and horseradish, Rachel got out the potatoes and started peeling them at the sink. Over her shoulder, she said, “And how are you doing, Angela?”
I wouldn’t lie to her. We knew each other too well for that. “Overwhelmed.”
She set down the potato she held, then came over and gave me a quick hug. Past the pungent scent of the mustard sauce I was mixing, I smelled the sweet drift of the rose perfume my aunt wore, and that, too, felt like home.
“It’s hard at first,” she said. “Once they start sleeping through the night, you’ll start to feel a bit more like a human being.”
“How did you do it?” I asked. “I mean, at least Ian and Emily are mine, but….”
“You were mine,” she replied, her tone firm. “All right, not my own child, but still, my niece, my blood, closer than anyone else could ever be to me. I won’t say it wasn’t hard at first, especially with losing Sonya.” As her sister’s name left her lips, my Aunt Rachel’s mouth pursed, and she shook her head slightly. “But I’ve also believed that the Goddess doesn’t give us more than we have the strength to manage. I wouldn’t trade any of it, Angela. None of those times with you. So don’t you ever think anything else.”
Tears pricked at my eyes. Oh, sure, I was still dealing with the tidal surges of hormones that had followed the twins’ births, but my reaction stemmed from more than that. Although Rachel had always insisted that having me thrust on her hadn’t changed her life for the worse, I could never shake the idea that she would have gone on to get married and have children of her own if it weren’t for me. Now I finally was beginning to realize that wasn’t the case. We’d all come to where we were supposed to be, even if it might have taken us more time than we’d thought.
“Thanks, Rachel,” I said, sniffling a little.
Her tone became brisk. “Make sure you don’t put too much salt into that sauce if you’re going to be crying into it.”
Of course I had to laugh then, and the tears subsided. Somehow my aunt always knew the right thing to say.
* * *
While the roast was in one oven and the potatoes au gratin in the other, we all went to the living room to admire the Christmas tree and open presents. Only one each, because Rachel had told me she didn’t want us to go to any fuss. The twins slept in their baskets, near enough the hearth to enjoy some of its warmth…but not too near. Actually, we were all glad of the fire, because the day had turned cold and gray, and although I’d done a good deal of updating to the house, it was still much draftier than the big new house Connor and I shared in the Forest Highlands area of Flagstaff.
Shopping was always hard when the people you were buying for had pretty much everything they needed. Even so, I’d found some pretty amethyst earrings for Rachel — purple was her favorite color — and a plaid cashmere scarf for Tobias, who spent a lot of time going back and forth between his place and my aunt’s, and could probably use a new scarf to get him through those chilly winter evenings.
They both seemed pleased with their gifts, as I’d hoped they’d be. And Rachel had gotten me a lovely soft robe in my favorite shade of deep turquoise blue, and a new wallet for Connor, while Tobias had carved a beautiful wooden sculpture of two hands entwined for Connor and me.
The twins were far too young to know what Christmas meant, but they still had their own presents — adorable knitted booties and receiving blankets and clothes that wouldn’t fit them for a few more months but were still appreciated.
I flicked a look up at Rachel as I bent over their baskets, checking to make sure they still slept soundly. “I thought you said only one present each.”
“Oh, well,” she said, waving a hand. “They only have their first Christmas once. And they’re going to grow like weeds, so you really can’t have too many clothes.”
That was true. Even no
w, when it seemed as if I had to change what they were wearing at least three times a day, I began to wonder if the mountains of baby clothes I’d either bought or received as presents would be enough. There was always room for more, especially when they were all so adorable.
The oven timer went off then — and of course it set off the twins, too. Rachel and Tobias hurried into the kitchen, while Connor and I soothed the babies. Time for a feeding, it looked like, so I took care of that while trying to ignore all the clinking and clattering coming from the dining room and the kitchen. Thank the Goddess that I’d made sure the table was set before Tobias and Rachel came over.
But with the babies fed, they fell asleep soon afterward, and we were able to sit down to a Christmas dinner that promised to be uninterrupted. Or at least I hope so, I thought, crossing my fingers. After the last few weeks of takeout or frozen food, I wanted to be able to enjoy some home cooking.
They didn’t show any sign of waking up as Tobias carved the roast and passed it around, or as we helped ourselves to potatoes and salad and my aunt’s famous apple compote. Because of the babies, we tried not to get too loud during our conversation, which really wasn’t that difficult. Rachel talked about Tricia McAllister and how she was easing into being an elder, and whether the clan would really go for my suggestion that the elders should switch out every five years or so to avoid having anyone burn out too badly, the way Margot Emory almost had.
“I’m for it,” Tobias said. “I think it’s good to get new perspectives from time to time.”
“Maybe,” Rachel said. Both her tone and her expression were dubious. “I’m not really sure how many people would accept that kind of an arrangement. If we have a new batch of elders all the time, it would undermine the stability of the clan.”
“I don’t see why,” I argued. “It’s not like a new political administration coming in or something. They’re more here to facilitate things, make sure the town and the clan run smoothly.” I set down my half-eaten dinner roll, adding, “I guess I just don’t want anyone to ever feel the way Margot did, like she was trapped as an elder and couldn’t do anything about it, even at the cost of her own happiness.”
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