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“How about a compromise?” I ask, catching Sherry’s eye as she enters the living room from Edmond’s small kitchen with a big bowl of popcorn in hand. “You two can hang out on the couch together for the movie, but Annabelle has to sleep on the floor by your bed, not in the bed with you, okay? Just in case she has a bad dream or something and shifts accidentally in her sleep. I think that sounds fair, don’t you girls?”
Amy scrunches her nose, clearly not pleased with this bargain, but correctly sensing this is the best she’s going to get from her safety-conscious mom.
She cocks her head Annabelle’s way, “You have to sleep on the floor, but we can snuggle during the movie, okay?”
Annabelle emits a happy yip that makes it clear she’s okay with this arrangement even before Amy gives me a thumbs-up and says, “Okay, Mommy.”
“And I’ll make sure the girls remember the deal,” Sherry says, smiling at her charges. “Now who’s ready for the movie? Nemo is one of my favorites!”
Amy and Annabelle both launch into an enthusiastic ruckus, making Sherry laugh.
“Don’t forget to grab some snacks before you join the others,” she says, as I stand, and she plops into my spot. “I obviously don’t know first-hand, but I’ve heard whipping up protection spells is hard work.”
“Will do, and thanks again,” I say, waving as I hurry to the door, allegedly on my way to meet Annie and Blaire for a long night of spell casting.
To my knowledge, my sisters are planning to work on protection spells for the estate tonight… I just won’t be joining them. They think I’m in my room resting while Sherry watches Amy because I’m dangerously worn down from a combination of potion poisoning, a hellhound attack, and an unexpectedly vigorous wedding night.
I would usually feel guilty about lying to the babysitter—and my sisters and my daughter and the dog—but this might be my last chance to be alone with Priscilla. If she’s really leaving to go fetch reinforcements for the war tomorrow morning, like Blaire told me last night after the ceremony, I don’t have the option to wait for a less dangerous time to approach her.
And I can’t afford honesty right now. If my family knew what I was up to, Edmond would chain me to a bed and Blaire would spell it into the dungeon for my own protection.
Or she might just put a spell on me to prevent me from leaving the property. The people who love me most are usually big proponents of free will, but not when it comes to letting me put my life on the line for what I know they’d both see as a losing bet.
Priscilla is an ancient vampire with full mastery of her powers, invisible bodyguards, and the advantage of her own turf. I’m a baby witch who has no idea what I’m doing, gets sick when I work magic, and can’t bring back up onto a boat without Priscilla knowing about it.
If I were making a logical pro-con list, I’d agree that this is lunacy.
But I refuse to make that list. I have to trust the fire in my gut that insists I can do this. That I must do this.
And maybe I won’t have to go it completely alone…
Downstairs on the ground floor, I wait until the guards are distracted checking the bags of a few newly arrived vampire allies and dart out the front door, assuring them I’ll be back after I check the alignment of Saturn.
One of the benefits of witches keeping their magical secrets close to the vest: most people in town have no idea how we do what we do. If I said I needed to dance naked around the willow tree by the pond covered in strawberry jam while chanting the lyrics to “Barbie Girl” to work my magic, these vampires would nod and wish me goddess speed.
Still, I can feel eyes on me as I move onto the tram platform, squinting up at the sky and pretending to type something into my cell. The Blackmores are on high alert and even friends of the clan are under increased scrutiny.
And I’m sure Edmond has threatened intense and unpleasant retribution upon anyone who allows his fiancée to be harmed while he’s off convincing the Salem vampires to lend us a hand in battle.
“Not his fiancée. His wife,” I murmur, letting the words steady my resolve.
I made promises to Edmond last night and I intend to keep them. I grew up in a home where even the sacred, intrinsic promise of mother-to-child wasn’t always kept. Mom did okay on the caretaking front when she was around, but when an opportunity for something more exciting than mothering came along, she said “hell, yes,” first, and worried who would pick up her slack never.
The day I saw that plus sign on the pregnancy test, I vowed that my own flighty, letting-the-wind-blow-me-where-it-wanted days were over. I swore on the life of my unborn child that I would be someone my family could count on—for better or worse.
Edmond is my family now, and Amy loves him as much as I do. If she were old enough to understand what’s happening, she’d want me to do everything in my power to keep Papa Ed-Ed with us.
Hopefully, if shit goes sideways tonight, someday she’ll be able to understand why I made the choices I did—and forgive me for them.
I’m sure Annie will do her best to explain things in a way that will make Amy proud to be my daughter. Annie’s an incredible mother. If I don’t come home, there’s no doubt in my mind, she’ll love Amy like her own. My sister’s love and trustworthiness make this mission possible. Without it, I couldn’t put myself at risk this way.
So, really, I’m not flying solo. I carry my family’s love with me, an invisible shield that holds fear at a distance.
It helps me maintain a calm façade until one of the bag-searching vampires finds a cattle prod in a newcomer’s luggage. An argument ensues on whether or not a cattle prod is contraband under the new “no outside weapons” clause invoked by Colin last night, and I take advantage of the distraction to drop onto my hands and knees and crawl into the underbrush by the tram platform.
The cold ground is chilly but dry beneath my palms, and there isn’t the slightest chance of rain or snow tonight. It’s an unseasonably warm November 2nd , with clear skies and a nearly full moon that lights my way as I scramble down the steep trail beside the idle tram. The maintenance path is rarely used, but once I make it through a tangle of nearly leafless blackberry vines, I make good time.
I flow over the large stones blocking my way, grateful for my long legs and years running wild in the woods, and arrive at the base of the mountain in less time than it takes the aging tram to traverse the same distance. That gives me at least half an hour to make my pit stop before heading down to the docks.
