Evangelina was in the kitchen, drinking her whisky straight tonight, no ice, and humming a tune, her long red hair unbound and swinging as she danced to soft music, something Celtic and wild, with drums and trilling flute. She had lit scented candles and they fluttered as she moved, uncomfortably like the images in my dream, but much better smelling.
In the candlelight, Evangelina’s hair looked darker red than Molly’s, with streaks of rich brown in it, and she seemed to emit a soft reddish glow as she danced through the room, like a warm aura. She usually wore staid business suits but tonight Mol’s eldest sister was wearing a loose floral dress that swayed with her dancing and when she looked up at me she grinned and lifted the glass in a silent toast. The grin and the toast were surprising enough, as Evangelina didn’t exactly approve of the motorcycle mama her sister liked so much, but when she hooked her arm through mine and pulled me into her dance, I was more than surprised.
In my shock, my feet took their time finding balance and rhythm but three awkward steps later I compensated and stepped into the beat; I didn’t have a choice, it was dance or fall down. As soon as I was moving, Evangelina let go and swayed around the rectangular table and chairs. I stopped dancing but a half smile pulled at my face and some of the horror that still clung to me from the dream eased away, pushed back by her joy and her half drunkenness. Maybe it was a spell, an enchantment fashioned out of her laughter and the warm scent of whisky, but whatever it was, it eased the melancholy that was riding deep in my soul, the misery of the dream that was really much more. I didn’t like magic not my own, but this I welcomed. It was ... healing. I said, “It was a good day at the negotiations, I take it?”
When she rocked back her head and raised her arms in what might have been a victory dance, I smiled, seeing this stern, conservative woman so carefree. Evangelina was the eldest of the Everheart sisters, a decade older than I was, never married, fierce as a warrior, like Boadicea, the Celt warrior woman. She was also a businesswoman, logical, determined, judgmental, yet able to see a situation from all sides. I was scared to death of her. But I’d agreed to let her stay here because Molly had asked. I do a lot because Molly asks.
Evangelina and the council of New Orleans witches were in negotiations with a delegation from the vamp council about three things: their rights, safety, and legal compensation for the loss of their young to a nutso vamp who had killed witch children for decades as part of dark magic ceremonies, the same ones that had left me keeping a black magic, pink diamond in my safe. It made me feel good to see her so happy when she had such a dark job.
I opened the fridge and twisted the top from a golden wheat beer. Evangelina took a long slow mouthful of her whisky and smacked her lips when she finally swallowed. “Things went exceptionally well today. Yes, they did. They went well because George Dumas likes you.” I nearly dropped the bottle, a fragile laugh skittering up from my belly. My brittle calm shattering. “And I think you like him too.” She laughed at whatever she saw on my face. “A lot. And Molly agrees with me.”
But there was something dark in her eyes that said that mutual attraction—no matter that it hadn’t been acted upon—was a bad and dangerous thing.
“George is ...” I stopped, sipped my beer, thinking. “George is good. A great guy. I’d have snapped him up in a heartbeat, once upon a time. But he belongs to Leo, heart and blood, and—” I stopped and sipped again, hiding my grin. I’d almost said “and big-cats don’t share well.” I settled on, “I don’t share.” Beast huffed with laughter, rolled over in my mind, paws under her chin, and closed her eyes.
Evangelina pointed to a chair and I sat. She had found some good china, so delicate the light seemed to illuminate the plate from inside, old, if the patina didn’t lie. And real silver. The beer looked out of place on the table and I set it aside. She poured me ice water and opened the oven. An oh-my-God scent boiled out, beef and black pepper. Hot potatoes. Broccoli steamed on the stove. My three-star-chef guest put food on my plate worthy of a king. There was sour cream and cheese and bacon bits in the double-baked potatoes, hot bacon dressing on the spinach salad and poured over the broccoli, and I breathed in and sighed with total contentment. Evangelina laughed softly and sat across from me. Murmured a blessing. I didn’t think she worshipped the same god I did, but I didn’t object. I just added a silent one. And dug in.
About halfway through I looked at Evangelina’s plate. It was mostly salad, herbed eggs, and an egg custard. “What are you wearing tonight?” she asked. “I’ve seen your closet and you only have a few things.”
“You’ve seen my closet?”
“You would rather I hired a housekeeper? Or let Deon clean?”
“Oh, heck no.”
Evangelina chuckled and ate some spinach. Without bacon on it. Ick.
“I have orders to wear the one with the sparkly stuff on wide lapels.”
We indulged in girl talk over the rest of the meal, a totally weird experience to be so chatty with Molly’s dragon-lady sister. She poured a dessert tea, tiramisu flavored, and served little bowls of an iced confection with shaved mint on top. It was heaven. And it settled me some way I hadn’t expected, leaving me refreshed and calm for the night’s work.
CHAPTER 8