Page 45 of Big Little Spells

I consider this. “Are you going to retroactively rat me out? See if you can get me grounded? This really does feel like senior year.”

She scowls at me. “First of all, I never tried to get you in trouble. You did that all by yourself.”

I accept that. “Fair.”

“Second of all, I just... I only wondered...”

Is she...blushing?

Then I laugh, because it finally occurs to me what this is about. “You want to sneak out and go have a traditional pre-Beltane make-out session with your boyfriend, don’t you?”

She bristles, but her flushed cheeks turn pink, then deepen to red when I laugh even harder.

“I am going to marry Jacob so he’s not my boyfriend, and since I’m not a teenager, it’s hardly ‘a make-out session,’ Rebekah.” She’s going for a little of Mom’s ice but can’t quite get there with all the pinks and reds and, you know, the fact she actually has a functioning heart.

“Okay, I hear you.” I’m possibly enjoying this way too much. I offer her a bland smile that I can see makes her instantly suspicious. That and my sweet tone. “You want to sneak out and have sex with your fiancé. I get it. I support it. Do you need me to give you the talk?”

She closes her eyes briefly as if envisioning me delivering any form of the talk horrifies her unto her soul, as it was meant to. “I’m an adult. It’s not sneaking.”

I grin at her. “Uh-huh. If it wasn’t sneaking, surely you would simply leave the house when you felt like it. The way adults do.”

“I would do that, happily, if it wasn’t their first night home and if it wasn’t the Beltane prom tomorrow,” she insists, then wrinkles her nose. “It’s all too high school, and the only thing worse than feeling that way would be having to explain to Dad why I’m breaking whatever curfew he imposed back then.”

“You don’t actually know, do you?” I shake my head.

“The curfew wasn’t instituted for me, Rebekah, and I think we both know that. The point is, I want to leave the house without them knowing. I can feel the curfew spell again. It clearly came back when they did. But I don’t intend to discuss my private life with our parents, now or ever, so how did you get around it back then?”

Still laughing, I take her through the specifics. “There are shadows in that curfew spell,” I say, and together, we murmur a few words so we can see the boundary my father put up years ago. “See?”

She nods, and I lead her through the work-arounds. The magic we do together is bright and sweet, and we grin at each other almost involuntarily as we look at the decades-old spellwork before us. Emerson is nodding within seconds.

“They’re looking for bodies in bedrooms, not necessarily you,” she says.

“Ellowyn was fond of raccoons, charmed to build things while we were out. I preferred cat friends for Smudge. As long as you make sure something’s in your room, you’re good.”

I have no friends, Smudge informs me. I am the night.

Of course you are, I coo at her.

Emerson produces her planner and waves a finger so that it writes everything down as she mutters to herself.

“Just don’t come back drunk. Drunk spells are sloppy and they can always tell.”

“I’m not going to go drink.”

“Oh, right, just have hot Healer sex.”

She huffs out a sigh. “This is ridiculous. You were right. I’m going to walk out the front door because I’m an adult and I’m not hiding anything. I’m nearly thirty. I’m engaged. I also lived here and took care of myself, by myself, for years.”

“Sure.” But my money’s on her sneaking out. Because who among us doesn’t get her surly teenager on when forced to head back to high school? Complete with the return of our prodigal parents?

She crouches down and runs her hands over Smudge’s luxurious black fur, which Smudge allows—clawless, the jerk. When she straightens, her expression is serious once again. Because heaven forbid she just go enjoy herself. “Whatever Frost wants to do tomorrow—”

“I can handle Nicholas Frost.”

She stares at me for the longest time. “You know, it’s weird. I remember everything now. Carol’s obliviscor spell isn’t smothering me anymore. But ever since you’ve come back, it feels like there are things I still don’t know.”

It would be an accusation from anyone else, but roundabout isn’t my sister’s style. She’d come out and ask directly if she had a specific question. That means she’s being honest here, and, obviously, I should be honest in return. Because we’re not actually teenagers anymore. We’ve spent years apart, and the gift of that is that I’m not choking on all the family dynamics that made things between us so complicated back then. That’s not to say said dynamics don’t sting, but I know better. And I can also see who she is, not just who she is in comparison to me as seen by our parents.

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