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Amelia nodded and exited the room, leaving Ben and me alone with Callum.
“Are you all right?” my uncle asked me.
“Yes.”
“When I asked Amelia to call you home, I thought it was for your own safety. I never would have put you at risk if I’d imagined you might be hurt.”
I wasn’t even sure how he knew the details of what had happened to me on the road. I hadn’t called ahead because I didn’t want to worry him. So either Wilder had spilled the beans at some point, or the driver of the van wasn’t as human as he seemed.
Sometimes I forgot how deep the roots of my uncle’s power went in this town.
“I’m fine,” I assured him, and was surprised to find it was true. In spite of how scary the ordeal on the highway had been, and the following unpleasantness of the video, I felt safer being back with my family than I had in months.
“Your room is just as you left it. I think Lina has started dinner already if you’re hungry.” When he was done, he glanced at Ben and sighed. “That will be all for now.”
I imagined he had more to discuss with my brother, but nothing he wanted to say in front of me. That could mean any number of things, but I suspected it meant he was going to read Ben the riot act for his earlier behavior towards Wilder. I excused myself and left the room. Being in Callum’s office made me feel uneasy, and I needed to go somewhere that would remind me of the comfort and security of home.
Otherwise, why had I bothered coming?
Chapter Seven
The mansion’s kitchen took up the entire back half of the first floor. Huge picture windows let in all the warm, yellow afternoon light, giving the creamy-white walls and cupboards a homey, inviting feel.
Two large islands sat in the center of the room, one with two glass stovetops and the other a large butcher block for cutting food and preparing meals. All the appliances were restaurant quality, and there were two of almost everything. Two fridges, two double range ovens and two huge basin sinks. The only solitary appliances were the microwave and the dishwasher, both of which were hardly ever used.
Catalina Flores had her back to me when I entered the kitchen, but it would take more than quiet footsteps to get by her keen ears. Lina was a plump, cheerful woman in her early sixties, and she’d been with the pack since my grandfather Elmore’s era. She wasn’t a werewolf—necessity demanded someone human be around to make food for after pack runs—but she wasn’t altogether normal, either. I hadn’t yet sussed out what she was, and it seemed rude to ask, so I’d spent much of my life around Lina in a state of mystery.
What I knew with a hundred percent certainty was she was the best cook within two hundred miles of New Orleans, and that was saying something.
The smell of roasting meat hit me as soon as I was through the door. Herbs and lemon mingled with the distinctive aroma of chicken. Given the appetite of the pack members, she must have been roasting at least four whole birds.
She turned towards me, carrying a huge metal soup pot filled with water, and beamed at me. Her once-dark hair was streaked through with silver, and there were lines around her eyes and mouth, but it was easy to see what a knockout she’d been in her youth.
“Genie, my beautiful darlin’. You’ve been gone too long.” She set the pot on an already red element and pointed me towards a jar on the counter filled with ladles, spatulas and spoons. “Get yourself something to stir with and you can mind my grits while I start the bread.” Lina refused to let Callum buy a bread machine for her. She firmly believed everything tasted better fresh and made by hand.
I obeyed her directions and grabbed a wooden spoon from the jar, returning to the island to stand next to her. Werewolves didn’t wear perfume because our sense of smell was too strong, and we’d be overwhelmed by the scent all day long. But for as long as I’d known her, Lina wore a perfume that smelled of lemons and sugar. I leaned against her, breathing her in, and planted a kiss on her cheek.
For a little girl growing up with no mother and only Amelia to turn to inside the pack, having Lina around had been a godsend. She was the mother I’d never had, kissing my scrapes better before I had werewolf healing power, making sure I ate right—her number-one priority for everyone in the pack—and helping me grow up to be a good woman.
I owed a lot of what was normal about me to Lina.
Passing me a heavy bag of corn grits, she held up four fingers to indicate four cups needed to be added to the pot. I fumbled around for the one-cup measure, then waited for the water to start bubbling. All the while Lina was moving around with the grace of a much smaller, much younger woman. She added flour and a half dozen other ingredients to an old ceramic bowl and mixed them until they were dough, then set about kneading the bread on the big slab counter. As she worked she hummed old show tunes from Singin’ in the Rain and Damn Yankees. “Whatever Lola Wants (Lola Gets)” had been our unofficial theme song when I was younger, when I had no idea what the suggestive lyrics meant.
The pot began to steam and bubble, reminding me of a very different maternal figure, my great-grandmother. I wondered if she was out in the bayou right now cooking up some sort of potion. Seemed like her idea of a fun weeknight activity.
“How’s that handsome man of yours?” Lina asked as she punched the bread dough.
I spilled four cupfuls of grits into the pot and immediately began to stir as the water hissed around them. I hadn’t discussed Cash much with anyone in the pack except Lina and Magnolia, Amelia’s daughter. Magnolia and I were about the same age, and I was fairly certain she had her eye set on Ben, but my clueless brother hadn’t noticed.
Magnolia was interested in gossip about living with a guy, because her life was the epitome of sheltered here with the pack. Lina wanted to know about Cash for entirely different reasons.
“He’s good,” I replied, not really sure what to say. For the briefest flicker of a moment I wanted to ask Lina what she knew about Wilder, but the older woman was far too astute, and she’d start asking questions I didn’t want to answer. I was only curious.
Right.
“Good?” Lina snorted and flipped her dough. “Good is how we describe the weather. Good is a word for a book you liked but kept forgetting to finish. It’s not how you talk about a beautiful man you’re in love with.”
I’d once shown her a photo of Cash and me on my phone, and she hadn’t stopped calling him handsome since. I was starting to think Lina had a crush on my boyfriend.
