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She fetches a glass from the nearby shelf and shifts the spigot to the left to avoid wetting Kitty’s tentacles as she fills it. “English Breakfast all around. It’s a night for caffeine, not chamomile.”
I nod. “Got it. Kitty’s going to put out some baked goods, too. In case anyone wants sugar with their caffeine.”
Spurred into motion by my words, Kitty gives my wrist one last, loving stroke and squirms off to arrange scones, cookies, and some gooey brownies that make me wish I still had an appetite on a serving plate. Sophie rests a hand on my shoulder. “Sounds good. I’m going to read to Amy in the living room so you guys can talk.”
“Thanks, babes,” I say, my lips curving in a tight smile.
“You’re welcome.” She leans in, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek. “I love you so much. I hope you know that. You’re so, so important to me.”
A little surprised by the intensity of her tone, but warmed by her words, I wrap my arm around her waist for a hug. “Same, sweet sister. You’re the best surprise I’ve ever had.”
Her eyes shining with emotion, Sophie nods. “Same. All of you are. Finding out I had a big family and tons of sisters…” She sniffs, visibly fighting for control before she adds, “It’s such a gift, but you’re the best gift of all. I’m always going to want what’s best for you, even if it’s hard or not what everyone else thinks is the right thing. You know?”
Stomach flipping, I start to ask what she means—Has she figured out that I’m pregnant? That Baron’s the father? That I’m madly in love with him and determined to show him how good we’d be together?—when Blaire shouts from the table, “Annie, get over here. I need your French brain.”
“Coming,” I say, mentally putting a pin in the conversation with Sophie as I cross to peer over Blaire’s shoulder at the book open on the table. There will be time for all things Baron once we’ve ensured Nightfall is demon free and Casey and Amy are safe. “Um…what am I looking at?”
“French,” Blaire says, unhelpfully.
“Yes, I see that,” I say, squinting at the cramped handwriting on the page. “But what’s the book about? That might help with my translation. This is Middle French, from the late Middle Ages, not the kind I’m used to. And it looks like a local dialect.”
“It’s a memoir about the building of the town. Written by a vampire witch who helped draft the original plans for the village of Nightfall.”
My brows shoot up my forehead. “A vampire witch?”
“Most witches lose their power if they’re turned, but not all,” Darcy clarifies. “Griselda was one of the few who retained her magic.” His tone darkens as he adds, “She was a Shadowbane, but splintered from the clan when their rule grew increasingly violent and sadistic near the end of their time in power. She went into self-exile in the late 1800s and never returned, though we sent word that any Shadowbane willing to swear loyalty to the Blackmore clan was welcome to call Nightfall home.”
“Interesting, but not the point,” Blaire says. “We need to focus.”
“Context matters, little witch,” Darcy says.
Blaire sighs. “I know, I’m just bossy when I’m scared.”
“I know this about you,” Darcy agrees.
I nod and squeeze Blaire’s shoulder. “Me, too. So why are we looking at her memoir?”
“Kitty thought she remembered her grandmother saying that Griselda had a thing about demons. That she was worried about them trying to take refuge in Nightfall, but that their customs would be incompatible with the egalitarian society they were trying to create here, yada yada, so she did something to the town to make it harder for demons to get around without running into trouble.”
“Got it.” Nudging Blaire from the chair with my hip, I slide into the warm seat and pin a finger under a line about halfway down the page. “Luckily, demon is spelled pretty much the same way in modern French, middle French, and English. I’ll start skimming, make some notes, and get back to you as soon as I…”
A thumping sound in the backyard makes all three of us turn to glance at the windows and reminds me of that weird feeling by the sink. The weird, Baron-flavored feeling…
“As soon as I run to the bathroom,” I say, sliding out of the chair. “All the excitement is going straight to my bladder. The kettle should be ready soon. Sophie said everyone wants English Breakfast if you want to put a pot on to steep.”
“Will do,” Blaire says, “but hurry back. I’m also impatient when I’m scared.”
“Of course, just try to relax,” I say, backing toward the living room and stairs beyond. “We’re safe here inside the wards. As long as Casey and Amy stay home tonight, they should be completely safe.”
“Amy and Mommy safe!” Amy parrots as I pass the couch where she and Sophie are reading one of her favorite books about a baby hippo who thinks a sheep is his mother.
“That’s right, brilliant girl,” Sophie coos with a big grin. “You’re picking up new words so fast these days. I’m going to have to start a list to keep up.”
“It’s amazing,” Casey says, hurrying down the stairs in a breathless rush. “I didn’t say much of anything until I was two and a half.”
“You were a doer, not a talker,” I assure her, giving her arm a squeeze as we pass on the stairs.
Her lips curve, but I can feel the tension vibrating in the air around her.
