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.
“Am 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 now, 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.”
Connor was frowning slightly. “But don’t we all do the same thing to our primas and primuses? I mean, it’s not like we were able to escape that birthright.”
I hadn’t really thought about it that way. On the other hand, elders were chosen. They weren’t born to their position the way a prima was — or a primus, although the Wilcoxes were the only clan I knew of to have a man at their head, rather than a woman. At least being a prima meant you inherited certain powers…and were more or less guaranteed your perfect soul mate, whereas elders served in those positions because of the duty they felt toward their clan.
“Maybe,” I said slowly. “I suppose I’ll need to think about it some more. Obviously, I’m not going to be making any sweeping changes anytime soon.” I glanced over at my sleeping children and smiled. “I’ve got enough on my plate at the moment.”
“But you’re still going ahead with more remodeling?” Rachel asked, looking a little skeptical. She was probably thinking that I’d already done enough to the house.
“It’s just a little bathroom remodel,” I told her. “It won’t disrupt anything because we won’t even be here while it’s going on. Besides, Connor’s threatened to divorce me if I don’t get rid of that clawfoot bathtub.”
Far from being offended by my remark, he grinned. “It’s true. That thing has got to go.”
Rachel rolled her eyes, while Tobias appeared to stifle a chuckle. But at least I knew she wouldn’t argue the point, because I told her sometime back that all my remodels on the house had my late great-aunt’s blessing. At least, Jocelyn Riggs, the McAllister clan’s strongest medium, had told me that Great-Aunt Ruby was fine with anything I did with the place, and I had to be content with that. One good thing about being a member of a family of witches; no one really batted an eye at messages from beyond the grave.
The twins started fussing as Rachel got up to bring in dessert — Black Forest cake — so I took Ian while Connor held Emily, and Tobias cleared the dinner plates and the leftover food off the table. The babies didn’t seem hungry, or in need of a change, and I supposed they just wanted to be held.
Which was fine by me. I snuggled Ian up against me, marveling for probably the thousandth time at his long dark lashes and bowed little mouth and tiny grasping hands.
“Happy?” Connor murmured.
“Deliriously. You?”
“Just about the same.”
We exchanged smiles, and once again I could feel the need for him pulsing through my veins. Well, I’d just have to see what happened.
In the meantime, there was cake, and small cordial glasses of port for everyone. I’d been careful with dinner, drinking only one glass of wine, so I thought it was okay to have a small bit of that port. And it did taste divine with the Black Forest cake, even if I did have to manage the whole procedure of eating it one-handed because of holding Ian with my left arm.
He fell asleep partway through dessert, but I didn’t really feel like putting him back in his basket. Somehow it felt right to have him there next to me, as if he was getting to participate in Christmas Eve dinner even though he couldn’t actually eat any of it.
Rachel and Tobias seemed to view the sleeping twins as their signal to depart. They rose from the table and took out the dessert plates. When they returned, my aunt said, “We’ll be heading home now. But we’ll see you tomorrow at Spook Hall.”
Was there ever a more inappropriate name for a place to hold a family Christmas dinner? Oh, well. I knew that was one tradition the McAllister witches would never abandon.
“Absolutely,” I promised, then extricated myself from my seat so I could walk them to the door. Connor followed right behind, Emily pillowed on his shoulder. She was making little bubbling sounds and had left a damp patch on his shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind too much.
And when we
opened the front door so Tobias and Rachel could head out, we saw that the universe had granted us one last gift this Christmas Eve — fine white flakes had begun to fall from the heavy skies, leaving a dusting of dry, powdery snow all over the front yard.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” I breathed.
Tobias nodded, but my aunt said, “Beautiful, yes, but we’re going to have a slippery walk if we don’t get going.”
“I wouldn’t let you slip,” Tobias told her, and slid his arm through hers.
A faint smile touched her mouth. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” Her gaze moved toward me, and she added, “Now close that door, Angela. It’s far too cold out here for those babies.”
I supposed it was. We’d have to go to the living room window and watch the snow falling from there.
After waving goodbye with my free hand, I shut the front door. Connor seemed to have guessed what I wanted to do next, because he headed into the living room, Emily still completely conked out. Ian shifted in my arms, but I could tell he wasn’t ready to wake up.
We hadn’t closed the draperies, so we had a clear view of the quiet street and the snow falling gently in the darkness. Our house had Christmas lights, and several houses down, so did the big Victorian where my cousin Adam had lived before he moved out, first to his own apartment down on Main Street, and then more lately to Flagstaff to be with his Wilcox bride. Adam’s mother was a civilian, so it didn’t surprise me too much that she’d want Christmas lights. Then again, Jerome was half witch, and more than half the witch population followed some form of Wicca, and yet they all liked to put up holiday lights as well. Just another form of self-expression, from the giant “Ho”s you’d see all over town — an allusion to the mining town’s former red-light district — to the giant peace sign on the side of a wall right off Main Street.
Even with the holiday light display, Jerome was a dark town; we didn’t have a lot of street lights. So I couldn’t see exactly how quickly the snow piled up, although it seemed to me a gentle, drifting kind of snowfall. I only hoped it would stick long enough that we’d have a white Christmas when we woke up the next morning.
Alphas for the Holidays Page 91
