Raven Cursed

I stood in the doorway to the café when I arrived, sniffing out the place. The café was decorated in mountain country chic, with scuffed hardwood floors, bundles of herbs hanging against the back brick wall, a dozen tables and several tall-backed booths, seats upholstered with burgundy faux-leather and the tables covered with burgundy and navy blue check cloths. Today there were ten patrons at various stages of breakfast, not as many as usual. The kitchen was visible through a serving window, proving that Evangelina wasn’t in today, which relieved me immensely, restoring and sharpening my appetite. Not that much ever

dulled it. I strode in.

Carmen Miranda Everhart Newton, an air witch, newly widowed and with a baby in one of those portable car-seat thingies resting on the counter by the register, squealed, rushed around the counter, and threw herself at me, hugging me. She smelled of milk and talcum powder and other people’s cash. And baby. I couldn’t help my smile. Beast purred deep down inside. Kitssss, she thought at me. We had saved Carmen’s life and, by extension, the baby’s life, before it was born. Of all the sisters except Molly, she liked me best. I patted her back, feeling like a giant next to the tiny woman.

The wholly human sisters, Regan and Amelia, and two other witch sisters, twins Boadacia and Elizabeth, ran the herb store, which wasn’t open yet, worked at the café as waitstaff, and doubled as cooks when Evangelina was off. The witch twins were the babies of the family, fearless, gorgeous, and always getting into trouble trying spells they shouldn’t have. Dual screams announced Cia and Liz just before they tackled me. All four of us staggered back against the door, laughing. Which left me in the middle of a giggling, chattering pack of females. It made me feel all mushy inside. The hugging felt weird. I wasn’t a hugger. I patted shoulders knowing I should be doing something else. Something more. I met Molly’s eyes over her sisters’ heads, and was surprised to see tears. Molly was happy I was here. The mushy feeling spread through me, unaccustomed, unfamiliar, alien. And wonderful.

The witches smelled of bread and cooked meat and herbs. Despite the Mickie D’s, my belly rumbled. The girls laughed at the sound and pulled me to the family’s corner booth near the kitchen. I usually avoided booths from an ingrained security standpoint, but I didn’t say no. The Everharts were the closest thing I had to a family, the group of sisters having practically adopted me when I brought Carmen out of a vamp’s lair alive and well. They had hair in various shades of red, eyes of blue or green, and names with character, strength, and something like poetry.

Feeling warm and content, I allowed myself to be pushed into the booth next to Molly and took Little Evan on my lap where he stood, squealing. His sneakered feet bounced on my thighs and he tried to climb onto the table, his little denim-covered bottom up in the air.

“He’s into everything,” Molly said over the ruckus. “Ten times worse than Angelina ever was.” At my inquiring look, she said, “Angie’s in school.”

“Which feels so strange,” one sister said as they all tried to cram into the booth with us, all talking at once, and over each other until I couldn’t follow who was saying what, not while trying to hold on to Little Evan.

“Angie Baby’s so grown up.”

“The next generation of Everharts is going to be huge.”

“Cia’s boyfriend wants six kids.”

“I’m trying to talk him down.”

“We’ll take better care of this batch.”

“No deaths with ours. Never again.”

“No runaways, no losses, no disappearances.”

“Good health and happiness. From now on,” Molly said. It sounded like a blessing, and when the others repeated the phrase in unison, “Good health and happiness!” I knew it was—a blessing for family, in the ancient way of blessings, words spoken with purpose and power.

“Amen to that,” one sister said. The ones with mugs clinked them together.

“Janie, you want the usual?”

I craned around looking for the speaker and said, “Yes, please,” in my best Christian schoolgirl’s manners, figuring I’d never be heard. But a rasher of black-pepper maple bacon, cut thick, fried crisp, and a half loaf of seven grain bread appeared on the table as if by witches’ conjure. A pot of fresh tea followed. One sister took Little Evan, and I started eating, knowing I wore a goofy smile, as much because of my feelings as for the food. Everhart sisters’ hips crushed against mine; the chatter was almost deafening. Six eggs scrambled hard and a stack of pancakes with blueberry syrup found places between the arms and hands and mugs, the two sisters on duty keeping food and drinks flowing to customers seated around the café, too.

“Anyone figure out what Angie’s dreams mean yet?” Cia asked, pouring tea into my cup and topping off the four other mugs.

“Deer could be some sort of anthropological, Celtic, mass-memory.”

“Dead deer in a big pile. Blood and bones. No horned ones. Not a Celtic thing.”

“A warning?”

I couldn’t help with dream interpretation. If I dreamed of dead deer, Beast would be eating them. I grinned wider and dug in as one sister upended a canister of whipped cream, squirting a mountain on top of the pancakes and another poured on blueberry syrup. The New Orleans French Quarter had nothing on the Sassy Sisters’ menu. The chatter grew as customers departed and the sisters settled in for a visit. The baby’s car seat landed in the middle of the table, the baby asleep, and cute in a drooling-snoring-bald-toothless way. And my heart expanded until it might explode. Yeah. If I’d grown up with a family, this was what I would have wanted it to be like: noisy and loving and demonstrative.

And then, right in the middle of the meal, the chatter, the girlish exuberance, something changed. I felt it, like a heated breeze across my skin, a warm, rosy intensity from the doorway. Crap. Fork in hand, I half rose and craned to the entrance.

Evangelina stood there, outlined by morning sunlight. She was wearing jeans and boots, a tee with a long purple scarf, a stylish cotton jacket. And a murderous expression. Beast rose and hit my bloodstream with her energy. I leaped over the table. Landed. No weapon but the fork.

Evangelina’s face instantly morphed into a beautiful smile. I stopped, blinked. Had I seen that—that whatever it was? She advanced, arms out to me. She looked happy to see me, which was a stunner. Evangelina had seldom been happy to see me. She also looked pretty, slender, as if she had lost twenty pounds, and, more important, she looked twenty years younger. Kill, Beast hissed. Danger. I tensed, confused by Beast’s reaction, not sure why I was standing there holding a fork. Evangelina pulled me into a hug. Her rosy glow covered me, damping my worry.

It’s okay. This is good. Feeling foolish, I lowered my fork and hugged her back. Hugging felt fine. Good. Normal. She released me and pulled me to the table, my left hand in hers. I went with her. Retook my place as the sisters reorganized for me, and started eating, my left hand still over my head, lifted back over the booth seat behind me, clasped in hers. The pancakes were so good. I stuffed several mouthfuls in at once. Sweet. Fruity. Fabulous. Oh. My. God. Flavor flooded my mouth and exploded inside me.

Evangelina let go of my hand.

Beast’s claws tore through me. The rosy glow ripped away, slashed with a claw-strike. I gasped, heart racing, and started to sit up. Beast held me still, pulling the fork to my mouth. The food in my mouth was suddenly just . . . food. I chewed and swallowed. Again. Eating. Eyes on my plates. Not looking up. Not letting Evangelina notice that the spell she was using was no longer working on me.

Crap. Spelling people without their knowledge was against witch-law, but the dang witch had spelled me again, using the same freaking rosy glow spell she had used before, the time I had nearly ended up having wild, crazy, hot, out-of-control sex with Bruiser in my shower. This time, instead of sex, I felt hunger, flavor, and the intense joy of family. I looked around, chewing. The girls were all watching Evil Evie, over my shoulder, behind the booth, laughing, hanging on her every word. Evangelina was telling about the cookie baking class she was planning. Spelling us.

Little Evan, who had been passed from sister to sister during my meal, crawled across the table to me. No one stopped him. They were all too entranced by Evangelina, who was listing the cookies she wanted to teach the locals how to bake: sugar, lemon-lavender, snickerdoodle. Evan Jr. pushed my dishes out of the way and crawled into my lap. Moving with the clumsy, belly-and-diaper-in-the-way motor skills of a child, he stood on my thighs and stared into my eyes, forcing me to sit upright. I had never noticed that his were bluer than a Carolina sky after rain. I had never noticed his hair was more fiery than either of his parents’. I had, in fact, never noticed Little Evan except as a funny little kid. And if it was possible for a toddler to be worried, he was.

“Aun’ Jane,” he whispered, putting his cheek against mine. Though Little Evan had been talking for months, I had heard him say less than ten words. And he had never said my name before. Never. “Aun’ Jane!” He grabbed my braid and yanked, insistent. The last of the rosy glow dissipated from my mind. “Aun’ Jane! He’p!” I put my arms around the kid and he wound his around my neck holding on for dear life. Choking me. He wasn’t spelled. And he knew I wasn’t spelled. And he knew his mother and aunts were. “Heee-yup! Pwease.”

This was bad. Evangelina had ensorcelled her sisters. She was putting out some kind of whacky energy that spelled nearly everyone she met. She was spelling herself. Beast’s claws pushed into me, painful. I tightened my arms around Little Evan and whispered in his ear, “I know. It’s okay. I’ll fix it.” Somehow. He nodded fiercely; his cheek was wet against mine. Little Evan was crying. Oh crap. I hugged him hard and passed him to Molly. She took him absently, never looking at him. Little Evan looked over his shoulder at me, straining against Mol’s hold. Beast settled her claws into my psyche, painful, sharp. I saw a vision of a doe, tall grass between us. And the feeling of sudden, violent movement. The taste of hot blood. Yeah. Gotcha, I thought. Ambush. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">