The group in front of us is loud, their conversation being carried out at a level approaching yelling, their laughter raucous. I meet Trace’s eyes, and we both make faces.
“You like chocolate?” he asks.
“I love chocolate.”
Two of the boys in front of us start jostling each other. “You dumb fucker,” one of them says.
“Shut the fuck up, fuckface.”
Trace’s face tightens. He glances around.
It’s late, so there aren’t any children waiting in line, but still, their loud swearing is kind of douchey.
Then one of the guys gets shoved right into me. I stumble back, almost stepping on the person behind me.
“Hey!” I cry.
Without a second’s pause, Trace grabs the guy by his shirt and yanks him away from me. “Dude,” he clips out. “Watch out.” He holds on to him as the kid regains his balance, then tries to pull away from him. His friends make concerned noises. Trace looks at me. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just startled.”
“You could have hurt her,” Trace continues in a low, authoritative voice, his face grim. “Apologize.”
“Sorry,” the kid mumbles.
“You guys are out of line,” Trace says to them all, releasing the boy. “Settle down. You wanna wrestle, go to the park over there.” He jerks his head.
The kids all shuffle back into line, muttering but chastened.
“You sure you’re okay?” Trace asks me quietly.
“Yes.” I press my lips together briefly. “Thanks.” I’m fine, and I’m brimming with admiration for how he handled that situation and how quickly he subdued those rowdy kids.
The teenagers move up to the counter to order, and then it’s our turn.
When we have our ice cream, we walk to the small area next door with picnic benches arranged among shrubs and flowers. I take a seat and tip my head back. From here, I can see the moon, which I love. Ever since I was a kid, I found the moon comforting, so far away but lit up so brightly by the sun.
Trace sits beside me on the bench, straddling it to face me, his elbow resting on the table, and digs his spoon into his ice-cream-and-cookie concoction. For the first time I notice that he’s left-handed. I have no idea why, but I’ve always found that sexy.
I first take the tiny ice cream cone off the top of mine. It’s called Big Little Chocolate Cone because the big cone, filled with chocolate soft ice cream, dipped in chocolate and rolled in crushed chocolate cookies, is garnished with a tiny cone prepared the same way. I always eat it first.
When I try to bite it, it slips out of my fingers and lands on the ground. “Oh no!”
Trace glances down. But when I blink again, my little cone is perched on top of the big cone. I shake my head, frowning. “Um… what just happened?”
Trace lifts his eyebrows. “What?”
“I dropped my ice cream… I think…” Wow, I’m pretty sure I’m not drunk from those beers earlier. What the…?
“It’s fine.” He gestures at my cone.
“Yeah. It is.” I stare at it, confused.
“Eat it before it melts,” he says gently.
“Er. Right.” This time I’m successful. “Mmmm. So good.”
“Have I taken your mind off your bad day?”
I tilt my head. “I had a bad day?”
He laughs. “Good.”
I sigh, remembering my messages with Felise Candler earlier. I’ve apparently found my biological father, but I’ve also caused an uproar in the Candler family, and I hate that. That was never what I wanted on this bizarre quest.
“But it hasn’t gone away.” He studies my face.
“No. It hasn’t gone away.” I take a bite of my big cone. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
He smiles. “You’re wearing chocolate cookie crumbs.”
“I know. Can’t be helped.” It’s not like this is a real first date where I’m trying to make a good impression. Might as well dive in and not worry about the mess. “How did you learn to waltz?”
“Oh. Uh. I practiced with my sisters when they were graduating.”
“How many sisters?”
“Two.”
I nod. “That’s nice.”
He grins, and I can see the affection warm his eyes. “They’re okay. Nutty little witches. They’re a lot younger than me, so I kind of feel I need to look out for them.”
I like that. A lot. After another mouthful of ice cream, I ask, “So… why do you think your real date didn’t show up tonight?”
He stares at me. “Wait, what? You’re not Garrett and Julie’s friend?”
“I have no idea who Garrett and Julie are.” I pause and bite my lip. “Are you mad?”
He shakes his head. “Mad? At you? Jesus.” He rubs his forehead. “Why…?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I needed a drink and company, and since it was already eight thirty, I figured she wasn’t coming so I might as well join you.”
He barks out a laugh. “Holy shit.” His mouth twitches up into a smile. “You’re really something.”
“So you’re not mad?”
“No. I have a feeling my evening turned out a lot better with you than it would have with Amy.”
“Maybe she knew that.”
“Probably.” He rolls his eyes. “Garrett and Julie have good intentions, and I don’t know Amy at all, but I have some rough edges. I was a rebellious little shit as a teenager. I suspect Amy’s not… my type.”
I hold his gaze. “Am I your type?”
“Didn’t think I had a type,” he mutters.
I lick my bottom lip, sweeping up crumbs of chocolate. Gah. This man is so hot and looking at me with smoky eyes, and my face is covered in chocolate. “I don’t have a type either.” My voice is husky. “But I like you.”
“I like you too.”
Wow, wow, wow. My impulsive decision to sit down with a stranger has turned into… I don’t even know what, but it’s exciting and exhilarating and electrifying. Quivery sensation ripples through me, tiny sparks tingling beneath my skin.
“I doubt if Amy would have wanted to visit a haunted house at midnight.”
I grin. “I’m unique.”
“That you are.”
“Also, she probably wouldn’t sit in front of you with chocolate smeared all over her face.”
His slow smile is so sexy. “I could have so much fun, licking that chocolate off your mouth.”
A warm slide of desire pools low inside me, and I gaze at him, mesmerized. Then I try to shake it off. “Why were you a rebellious little shit?”
He drops his gaze, and his smile fades. “I lost my whole family when I was sixteen. In a car crash. I had a hard time dealing with it.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” I cover his big hand with mine. “I’m sorry I asked.”
“It’s okay. I was taken in by another family. I’m grateful now, but at the time, I was pissed at the world.”
Sympathy swells my heart. “That’s understandable. Especially at that age. And it seems you turned out okay.” I’m still impressed with his command over those kids.
“Yeah. My new family didn’t give up on me, but they didn’t take my shit either.” Trace finishes his cone and wipes his fingers with a paper napkin. “I owe them a lot.”
I finish my cone too, and we toss our trash into a receptacle and walk down the sidewalk toward Trace’s car.
“I guess I should take you home,” he says.
“I guess.”
Neither of us sound enthusiastic.
I give him my address and directions, although he knows this neighborhood. “Where do you live?” I ask.
“On North Damen. Not far.”
He pulls up in front of my building and has to double park because the narrow, one-way street is lined with cars on both sides. “I’ll walk you in.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
He ignores me and jumps out. He walks with me toward my gate, wrought i
ron between tall red brick pillars that match the facade of the three-story building. The leaves of the trees on the boulevard flutter above us, dappling the moonlight onto the grass and sidewalk. In the quiet, I unlock the gate and pause.
Trace is close to me, tall and broad. He lifts a hand to my face, cupping it, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. We look at each other for a moment laden with attraction, excitement… anticipation. “I had fun tonight.”
My skin tingles and my lips part. “Me too.”
“I don’t do relationships.”
I blink. “No, me either,” I say quickly. “My life’s a little complicated right now.”
“But we could—”
A car horn blares.
Our heads jerk around to see someone stopped behind Trace’s vehicle, which is blocking the street. We look back at each other and laugh.
“Better go,” he says. But first he lowers his head and kisses me… and his lips on mine feel like magic… like hunger… like a promise of more.
But he leaves.
4
Trace
Dinner with the family on a Wednesday night isn’t usual, but it’s a meal I don’t have to make myself. Not that making meals is hard when you’re a witch. I can conjure a pretty damn fine T-bone steak, if I do say so myself.
All day I’ve been thinking about last night. About Romy.
I think a lot about her mouth. How she felt kissing me, how she tasted. She tasted fucking incredible. I think about how much I laughed and the sizzle of awareness between us all evening. My impulsive idea to visit the Granger house at night, which isn’t like me. The pull between us as we danced to imaginary music in a dark, dusty ballroom. And the abrupt ending to our evening.
I was honest with her. I don’t do relationships. And she was on the same page… She has something going on in her life, something she wanted to be distracted from, and I sure don’t need to take on someone else’s shit. And yet I feel like it’s not over.
I pull up in front of the Candler home, a big house in Sheridan Park, lucking into a parking spot on the street. I just saw everyone on Sunday, which is when Cassie usually has everyone for dinner, so I’m not sure what this is about. I walk up to the front door and enter without knocking or ringing the bell since I lived here for years.
Inside I hear faint voices coming from the back of the house, so I head through the kitchen toward the sunroom. I glance around the kitchen. It’s spotless. Hey, what about dinner? I was promised food.
I pause in the door of the sunroom. Evening sun slants into the room through floor-to-ceiling mullioned windows. I can’t walk into this room without remembering the pane of glass I shattered with a badly hit baseball from the backyard. Joe made me fix it myself, teaching me how to do it.
Joe and Cassie sit on the wicker love seat, Felise and Magan on nearby chairs. The atmosphere in the room is thick.
Cassie sees me and jumps up. “Trace! You’re here. Come in. Sit.”
I take in her pink nose and red eyes. What the hell is going on?
I look at Felise and Magan, and they wear expressions of apprehension. I lift my brows at Felise as I take a seat. She bites her lip.
Now I look at Joe and see his tense face. He’s a good-looking, fit guy in his fifties, silver frosting the short beard on his chin and the hair at his temples. Right now his lips are a thin line, and his eyebrows are pulled down over his eyes.
“What’s going on?” I ask bluntly.
Cassie sighs. Joe scrubs a hand over his face. He speaks first.
“You’re part of the family, so we thought you should be involved in this discussion.”
I’m not really part of the family. But Joe and Cassie raised me after the car crash that killed my parents and my brother. I love them like family. I’d do anything for them.
Last night I told Romy about my real family dying. I didn’t tell her I killed them. That’s something I keep hidden way deep inside me. I’ve been searching for a way to change the past and get them back ever since I completed my Diploma of Witchcraft at the Academy. Resurrection isn’t possible. Time travel has been possible in very rare cases, but my attempts have been unsuccessful. I’ve even appealed to the Board of Elders for a special dispensation—more than once—but was denied. Much as I’ve tried, I’ve never been able to figure out a way to go back and change that day so my mom and dad and brother could still be alive.
If only I could do that… I’d feel like my life is worth something.
But I can’t. It pisses me off, and because of that I’ve basically given up on witchcraft.
I’ve tried to repay the Candlers for what they’ve done for me by working in the Candler family business, run by Joe, his brothers Chuck and Tony, and their father George. The Candler rules are that before working in the family business, everyone has to go work for another company for five years, so after college I did that. Now I work for Dream Homes Construction.
I can see so many opportunities to improve the business by modernizing our practices and using new ideas, but they’re all kind of stuck in their ways, and since I’m not really family, I don’t push very hard. It’s frustrating, but I love working there and I love the family.
Now I suck in a breath, preparing myself to hear that one of them has cancer or some other terminal illness, or they’re selling the house and the business and moving to Florida. Jesus, I can’t lose more family. Sweat breaks out on my forehead and under my arms.
“Felise has been communicating with a woman,” Joe says slowly, his voice low.
I frown. My glance slides over to her. She’s still chewing on her bottom lip. For some reason I take Joe’s words to mean she’s in love with another woman. That would be surprising since I’m pretty sure she’s straight, but you never know. But that wouldn’t be enough to have everyone sitting around, looking like they’ve just learned Cassie has a week to live. Especially considering that their cousin Wendell is marrying a man next month.
“Apparently through DNA testing we’ve learned this woman is related to us,” Joe continues.
Oh.
“You took a DNA test?” I ask Felise with a what-the-hell look.
“Yes. I don’t even know why.” She waves a hand, frowning. “I just… had the idea I should do it. Stop asking me why. I just don’t know.”
I give her a long look. Felise does tend to do things on a whim, but that’s kind of… random.
“Okay. So… how is she related?” I look back at Joe. She’s probably a third cousin once removed or something, but honestly, this family is so big, with aunts and uncles and cousins, why would this be so upsetting?
“I knew her mother,” Joe says, hastily adding, “before I met Cassie.”
I blink. My jaw slackens. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? “You… knew her.”
“Yes. Okay, we had a relationship. Let’s just be frank. No good will come of dancing around things.” He squeezes Cassie’s hand, and she grips it tightly, reassuringly. Okay, that’s good. “She’s not… I mean, she wasn’t… a witch. Apparently she passed away just over a year ago. I was young and foolish, and I wanted her to know the truth about who I am.”
I nod, my thoughts twisting and turning like a washing machine agitator. I get that. This is why relationships with Ruckers—regular humans who have no magical powers—are discouraged. I’m sure telling the woman that he was a witch, a member of the Orb of Night coven, shook her.
“She… didn’t handle it well,” Joe continues. “She basically accused me of being insane. When I tried to show her I wasn’t, to prove to her who I am, she was terrified. She took off. I could never get ahold of her or find her, even with a spell. Eventually I gave up, figuring it wasn’t meant to be. And…” He meets Cassie’s eyes. “It obviously wasn’t. Because then I met you.”
They share a few seconds of potent eye contact. I’ve always known these two are crazy about each other. Felise and Magan give them grief about their PDAs, but it’s loving and teasing. I’ve a
lways admired their relationship and the way they’re equal partners in life. This could certainly throw a spanner wrench into their marriage.
“So you’re saying this woman is… your daughter?” Again, I look to Felise and Magan, and they both slowly nod.
“Yes.” Joe clears his throat. “I had no idea Ilena was pregnant.” He bows his head and mutters, “Odin’s blood.”
I know this is serious when he’s using witch curses instead of Rucker language.
Cassie sets her hand on his back. “You had no way of knowing.”
“I should have known.” He lifts agonized eyes and looks around. “I should have felt it. She’s my daughter.”
Felise and Magan’s eyes are red-rimmed and damp.
“It’s okay, Dad,” Magan says softly. “She didn’t want you to know. Ilena, I mean. But it sounds like maybe this woman does want to know you.”
“That’s why we’re having this discussion.” Joe tilts his head back. “I want to make sure that you all are in agreement with meeting this young woman and possibly bringing her into the family. If she wants that.”
“She’s our sister,” Felise says. “Of course we agree.”
“What if we hate her?” Magan asks.
Solid point, in my opinion.
“We won’t hate her,” Felise says confidently. “She seems lovely.”
Magan’s mouth turns down in a doubtful dip.
“Trace?” Joe looks at me.
“I… I really don’t think I should have a say in this.”
“You’re family. What do you think?”
“I think you should meet her.” That part I’m unequivocal on. “Then you’ll have a better idea of what kind of relationship you want with her.”
Joe nods. Then he turns to his wife. “Cassie?”
Learning that her husband has a child from another relationship must have been a shock to her. But her voice is steady when she says, “I already told you… of course you must meet her. And I’d be happy to welcome her into our family.”
“I love you.” Joe kisses Cassie.
She touches his face. “I love you too.”
“Okay.” Joe looks around at all of us. “I’ll arrange to meet her myself. Maybe for lunch or something. And if she’s agreeable, I’ll invite her to meet all of you.”
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