Part 23 (1/2)

Matyas and I shared a look. My mother glanced up the stairs. ”What's going on up there? Glen? Are you trespa.s.sing?”

My dad came loping down the stairs. In his hand he had a Tupperware container I recognized as holding all our bandages and antibiotic salves. ”Jesus Christ, Estelle, there's a supernatural battle going on upstairs.”

Standing up and holding out her hand for the container, my mother shook her head. ”What are you going on about?”

”You remember those floating lights in Poltergeist? It's like that, except real. And here in this house. ” My dad sounded genuinely freaked out.

”Benjamin is mostly harmless,” I was quick to add. I wiggled my stocking toes closer to the fire.

”Except when someone messes with Vivian's room,” Matyas said.

”Who's Vivian? Who's Benjamin?” my dad asked. ”How many people do you have living here, anyway?”

”Vivian's dead, and so is Benjamin. I told you about him,” I said, but they swore they didn't remember, so I explained the whole axe-murder thing to them. Matyas interjected a few points, mostly designed to help make it a good ghost story. Just as we were wrapping things up, Sebastian came downstairs, and the oven timer dinged.

”Who's up for spinach gateaux?” My father announced. Then to me, he asked, ”You are still an herbivore, aren't you?”

I nodded. Even though my stomach growled in antic.i.p.ation, I tried to catch Sebastian 's eye. He briefly met my glance but looked away. I held back while the others made their way to the kitchen so I could walk beside him. ”Are you okay?” I asked.

He continued to avoid looking at me when he said, ”Tereza is sleeping in our bed.” Sebastian cringed like he antic.i.p.ated a bad reaction. When I didn't say anything, he added, ”It's temporary. Benjamin decided to be stubborn. Well, I'm sure you heard.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything yet.

”I promise she'll go into the sunroom after dinner,” he continued. ”I would've put her there right away, but it's not well-heated, and, frankly, if she wakes up, I didn't want her to have that much access to all my alchemical work and magic books.”

Everyone had gone into the kitchen but us.

His eyes searched mine with a hint of desperation. ”You're mad, aren't you?”

”A little,” I admitted. ”That's our bed.”

”I know. G.o.dd.a.m.n Benjamin, anyway.”

A cold, unnatural breeze tickled the back of my neck. I turned instinctively, sensing a presence behind me. I saw nothing, of course. ”Don't d.a.m.n him, okay? He's grumpy enough.”

Sebastian snarled a little. ”I'll fix this after dinner.”

My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn't eaten all day. ”I know we invited her in, but my dad's right. This is a full house as it is. She can't stay.” ”I know. I know,” Sebastian said with a worried glance toward the top of the stairs. ”I don't like her being here any more than you do.”

The savory smells coming from the kitchen made my mouth water. I was really ready to go in and eat, but I paused with my hand on the swinging door. ”Do you think she'll wake up soon?”

Sebastian frowned. ”I'd be surprised. Breaking the blood bond seemed to really suck the life out of her. Honestly, for a moment there, I started to believe that it really was going to kill her.”

”It-” I started to tell him that it nearly had, but my mother interrupted by pulling the door open to stare curiously at us.

”We're about to say grace. Come sit down.”

Grace? Sebastian and I glanced at each other and then followed my mother in. ”We need to talk about this later,” I whispered.

My father had laid out a great-looking spread. The spinach cake, which seemed to be spinach and mushroom-stuffed crepes, sat steaming in a gla.s.s pan in the center of the table. There were fresh, homemade popovers in a basket, and tall, cold gla.s.ses of milk set out at everyone's spot. Matyas sat at the head of the table nearest the back door. He looked a little incongruous among the white china and linen napkins my mother had set out. His hair was still wet and mussed from our adventures. It hung limply in front of his eyes, which twinkled above a twisted, sarcastic smile.

”Come say grace,” Matyas echoed. ”Really, let's have a little happy family, shall we?”

”Matyas,” Sebastian growled warningly. ”Behave.”

”Oh, yes, of course, Papa, I wouldn't dream of anything else. How is Mom? Resting?”

”She's fine,” Sebastian said rigidly.

My father cleared his throat. My mother hovered at our elbows. ”Now, Sebastian, you sit over here by me, and Garnet, have a seat over there,” my mom pointed to a three-legged milking stool that usually sat in the corner.

Great. I got the kid's seat.

”Sorry, honey,” my mom said, no doubt noticing my look. ”It was all I could find at short notice.”

”It's fine. Really,” I said, avoiding Matyas's deepening smirk.

Once everyone was seated, my dad bowed his head. Sebastian, Matyas, and I all shared an ”are you going to?” glance.

Sebastian shrugged and joined in. That left Matyas and me staring at each other. My mother, who was sitting next to me, gave me a little poke with her elbow. So I laced my fingers and dutifully dropped my eyes. In his usual quick, barely devotional way, my father sped through, ”Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest, and let this food for us be blessed. Amen.”

Everyone said ”Amen” in chorus but me. I muttered, ”Blessed Be,” the traditional Wiccan closing. My mom gave me a sharp look, but I wasn't going to be cowed. Wicca was my religion; I had a G.o.ddess piggybacking in my body to prove it.

My dad started dis.h.i.+ng out the crepes. Mom pa.s.sed the popovers. No one really talked. Instead, there was a lot of clinking of plates and silverware.

With the evening's blackness reflected outside the windows, the small kitchen felt even more snug and close. The overhead light was an antique bowl of frosted gla.s.s. The Formica countertops gleamed dully.

I could feel my toes starting to tap nervously. I stuffed crepe in my mouth to keep from blurting out one of my usual inappropriate conversation starters. The food, at least, was delicious. My father was a good cook, and he'd unearthed one of my favorite cookbooks, The Ovens of Brittany, which was a restaurant started here in Madison in 1970-something by a group of naturalistic, hippy types who considered themselves ”flour children.” Now, in the days of organic, shade-grown coffee, their approach seems like nothing special, but it was an early attempt to move away with cooking from cans and frozen foods.

”Yum,” I said, figuring that was a pretty safe thing to say.

”Hmmm,” Sebastian agreed around a mouthful of popover.

”You're an excellent chef, Mr. Lacey,” Matyas said without managing to sound too sarcastic, although I felt a stab of weirdness. Luckily, I knew it wouldn't last.

”So, your mother is a vampire too?” My mother softly asked Matyas.

It hadn't. Matyas actually looked to me for direction, so I answered for him, ”Well, she is now. She used to be mostly dead, remember?”

”Your father and I were trying to figure out how this works. I mean, well, that is, we thought maybe there won 't be grandchildren if you married a vampire.”

It was Sebastian's turn to choke. He nearly spat up the milk he'd been drinking at that moment.

Matyas laughed. ”Perfect timing, Mrs. Lacey.”

My mother ignored Matyas. ”You are going to give me grandchildren, aren't you?”

I looked at Sebastian. Sebastian struggled to recover his composure. It wasn't working. If anything, he looked greener around the gills. ”Sebastian and I haven't really talked about it.”