And then, right in the middle of the meal, the chatter, the girlish exuberance, something changed. I felt it, like a heated breeze across my skin, a warm, rosy intensity from the doorway. Crap. Fork in hand, I half rose and craned to the entrance.
Evangelina stood there, outlined by morning sunlight. She was wearing jeans and boots, a tee with a long purple scarf, a stylish cotton jacket. And a murderous expression. Beast rose and hit my bloodstream with her energy. I leaped over the table. Landed. No weapon but the fork.
Evangelina’s face instantly morphed into a beautiful smile. I stopped, blinked. Had I seen that—that whatever it was? She advanced, arms out to me. She looked happy to see me, which was a stunner. Evangelina had seldom been happy to see me. She also looked pretty, slender, as if she had lost twenty pounds, and, more important, she looked twenty years younger. Kill, Beast hissed. Danger. I tensed, confused by Beast’s reaction, not sure why I was standing there holding a fork. Evangelina pulled me into a hug. Her rosy glow covered me, damping my worry.
It’s okay. This is good. Feeling foolish, I lowered my fork and hugged her back. Hugging felt fine. Good. Normal. She released me and pulled me to the table, my left hand in hers. I went with her. Retook my place as the sisters reorganized for me, and started eating, my left hand still over my head, lifted back over the booth seat behind me, clasped in hers. The pancakes were so good. I stuffed several mouthfuls in at once. Sweet. Fruity. Fabulous. Oh. My. God. Flavor flooded my mouth and exploded inside me.
Evangelina let go of my hand.
Beast’s claws tore through me. The rosy glow ripped away, slashed with a claw-strike. I gasped, heart racing, and started to sit up. Beast held me still, pulling the fork to my mouth. The food in my mouth was suddenly just . . . food. I chewed and swallowed. Again. Eating. Eyes on my plates. Not looking up. Not letting Evangelina notice that the spell she was using was no longer working on me.
Crap. Spelling people without their knowledge was against witch-law, but the dang witch had spelled me again, using the same freaking rosy glow spell she had used before, the time I had nearly ended up having wild, crazy, hot, out-of-control sex with Bruiser in my shower. This time, instead of sex, I felt hunger, flavor, and the intense joy of family. I looked around, chewing. The girls were all watching Evil Evie, over my shoulder, behind the booth, laughing, hanging on her every word. Evangelina was telling about the cookie baking class she was planning. Spelling us.
Little Evan, who had been passed from sister to sister during my meal, crawled across the table to me. No one stopped him. They were all too entranced by Evangelina, who was listing the cookies she wanted to teach the locals how to bake: sugar, lemon-lavender, snickerdoodle. Evan Jr. pushed my dishes out of the way and crawled into my lap. Moving with the clumsy, belly-and-diaper-in-the-way motor skills of a child, he stood on my thighs and stared into my eyes, forcing me to sit upright. I had never noticed that his were bluer than a Carolina sky after rain. I had never noticed his hair was more fiery than either of his parents’. I had, in fact, never noticed Little Evan except as a funny little kid. And if it was possible for a toddler to be worried, he was.
“Aun’ Jane,” he whispered, putting his cheek against mine. Though Little Evan had been talking for months, I had heard him say less than ten words. And he had never said my name before. Never. “Aun’ Jane!” He grabbed my braid and yanked, insistent. The last of the rosy glow dissipated from my mind. “Aun’ Jane! He’p!” I put my arms around the kid and he wound his around my neck holding on for dear life. Choking me. He wasn’t spelled. And he knew I wasn’t spelled. And he knew his mother and aunts were. “Heee-yup! Pwease.”