"That is not right on so many levels." I stopped at the bottom of the staircase, noting that the lamps of the night before were gone. I had forgotten to put them away, out of the kids' reach, until we needed them tonight, but Molly-the-mom wasn't forgetful. She was grinning down at me, one hand on the newel post, the other on the banister, her children on either side of her, Little Evan sitting, a thumb in his mouth, Angie wrapped around the spindles of the monkey-tail newel like a monkey herself.
The house was hot and the air was sticky, still, and dead. The widows were open, but there was no breeze. My T-shirt stuck to me and my jeans felt like a damp second skin. I started to sweat in earnest and rubbed my palms on my jeans. I needed Molly's help. "Molly, I need a favor. A witch favor." The smile slid from Mol's face, but I bulled on. "I smelled witch magic at a vamp's first rising. I need you to ask around with the local covens, see what you can find out. If there's any rumors that someone is working with the vamps."
A long silence settled on us then, Molly's face, usually so full of expression, telling me nothing. Finally she sighed, and I felt a weight roll off me. "Okay. I'll try. But the local covens aren't real agreeable since Katrina and the fluff-up about witches not doing a good enough job to ward off the storm. The press hounded them. Is still hounding them. I'll put out a few feelers and see what I get. But don't expect much."
"Thanks." Beast stared at my friend and the children through slit eyes, feeling protective and tender, feelings I echoed. Kits. Cubs. Safe, she thought at me.
"I'm hungry," I said.
"Big Cat's always hungry," Angelina said.
Molly swiveled her head to her daughter fast. "Why did you call her that?" she asked, her voice sharp.
"You call her Big Cat." Angelina looked up at her mother, her face taking on an unexpected eagerness. "Is it bad words?"
I snickered and Molly shook her head, scooping up Evan and taking Angie's hand. Together they started down the steps. "No, Angie Baby, it isn't bad words. But it is a grown-up name for Aunt Jane. Like when Aunt Jane calls me Molly, but you call me Mama. Big Cat isn't a name for little girls to use."
Angie's face scrunched up and tears glistened at the corners of her eyes. My heart melted. I had a flash of a cave roof, melting down, stalactites dripping down to stalagmites. Then it was gone and the trio reached the bottom of the steps. I took Angelina up in my arms. "I have a secret," I whispered, "just for you. Not for your mama."
"No fair," Molly said.
Angie opened her eyes, the tears miraculously stopped. "Just for me?" she stage-whispered back.
"Yep." I took Angie into the living room, away from the kitchen where Molly was going, Evan under her arm like a sack of potatoes. "A name, a secret name, for me. The name my mommy and daddy gave me when I was a baby."
"Not Aunt Jane?"
"Not Aunt Jane."
"Does Mommy know it?"
"Nope." I sat her on the couch and knelt in front of her. "You want to know what it is?" When Angie nodded, I said, "It's a very special name. You can tell your mama if you want to, but other than her, we have to keep it a secret for now. Okay?" Angie nodded again, her eyes wider. "And it's in a different language, which makes it hard to say, so we'll have to practice to get it just right."
Angie looked around me to the doorway of the kitchen, making sure her mother wasn't in range of the big secret. "Okay, Aunt Jane," she whispered. "We can tell Mama the secret after snack time. But right now I'm the only one, right?"
"Right. My Cherokee name is Dalonige i Digadoli. It means Golden Eyes."
"Biscause your eyes are yellow?" she asked, mispronouncing the word, as she often did.
"Exactly. Dalonige i Digadoli. Can you say it?"
Angie stumbled over the name several times before she got the syllables right. "Good," I said. "But say it very softly. The Cherokee people speak very quietly."
"Like everything is a secret?" she whispered.
"Yeah. Like everything is a secret and everything is special."
"Dalonige i Digadoli. Golden Eyes," she whispered.
"Perfect. Let's go eat. I'm starving."
"Me too. Mama says we can have Oreos and tea, biscause the milk is being bad biscause of the 'lectricy went off, biscause of the nasty storm." She tilted her head, her long hair falling to one side. "Mama says all your meat is getting icky too. She says you need to jerk it. Why do you have to jerk the meat, Dalonige i Digadoli?"
I took Angelina's hand and led her to the kitchen, where my best friend looked up from laying out cookies and pouring hot tea. "Jerk meat? That's a very good idea, Molly. I like it."
I oven-broiled and ate a steak so rare it ran blood when I cut it, while the kids and Molly feasted on tea and cookies and sliced fruit. Then Molly, Angelina, and I spent the rest of the morning slicing and seasoning the ten pounds of Beast's steak I had tucked into the freezer when Ada knocked off the power. I had hoped the electricity would be back on before the freezer warmed up, but that hadn't happened. When I left the house a little after noon, it was with a belly full of rare steak, pasta, and salad. The pungent aroma of cooking seasoned meat scented the house.
CHAPTER 4
We invade her territory