Page 16 of Truly Madly Magically

“We’ll make an appointment with Jacob’s mother or one of his sisters,” Emerson says after a moment.

It’s a concession, but what I focus on is the we. That this isn’t a me thing any longer. It isn’t even just a me and Zander thing.

This is how Emerson would be about it even if her magic memory was still wiped and there was no unwinnable ascension looming. She’d have action items and books on her nightstand. She and Georgie would research the best baby items, Rebekah would insist on going to every appointment with me, and they’d probably fight over who gets be my birth partner or whatever else I might need. It’s just who they are.

My family, whether I like it or not, no blood required. Taking care of me and my baby because of love.

Not coven duty.

I could tell them what I told my mom last night—that I should bow out of all of this since I’m only ever going to hold them back—but I don’t want to see their looks of disappointment.

“I’m hungry,” I announce. Because I am and also because I know it will spur Emerson into action.

It does. She marches for the door. “We’ll have our ascension meeting over breakfast. Then we’ll get you an appointment with the best Healer around who isn’t Jacob.” She looks at her watch. “I’m glad it’s Monday and our shops aren’t open today, because we’re going to need to work out a schedule. No one should be alone until we get to the bottom of this attack. And counter it.”

She’s already out the door and halfway down the hall, mostly talking to herself as Georgie follows. Rebekah doesn’t move. She gives me a look.

“Did you want an apology?” I ask. Defensively.

“Do you want to give me one?” Rebekah returns with an arched brow.

I do, but that feels a lot like a slippery slope, and there are too many of those around these days. I say nothing.

She shrugs in that languid way of hers that I know is calculated to be annoying.

It works.

“Then that’s that, I guess.” She doesn’t seem particularly mad as she leaves my room. She’s not pissed at me the way she seemed last night. We’re not fighting.

But there’s a rift all the same, and I don’t know how to mend it. Or maybe I don’t want to mend it because that would require acknowledging my feelings. Feeling my feelings.

I’ll pass.

Before I follow everyone downstairs, I throw on a glamour, but not to mask the pregnancy. That ship has well and truly sailed. Just enough so I’m dressed nicely—by that I mean layers of black—and looking well-rested whether I feel it or not.

With the gleam I wish I’d been sporting last night and my knife on my hip.

I regret it immediately when I walk out into the hall and see Zander—or, you know. Maybe I don’t regret it at all.

His expression, already kind of stern, goes entirely grim at the sight of me, but he doesn’t slow down or change course. He’s clearly on a mission. To see me, I have to assume, since when he crashes here he usually does it on the couch in the study downstairs that is supposed to stand untouched unless his uncle is here to use it.

“We need to talk,” he tells me as he draws close.

It’s annoying that he clearly didn’t bother with any sort of glamour, because he never does. He looks grumpy and moody, rumpled and good.

“Yeah, but ascension meetings and Emerson’s timetables.” I wave a hand toward the stairs as if these things are set in stone, impossible to rearrange.

They’re Emerson’s plans, so that’s not entirely untrue.

I go to move around him, but he stops me. Just by stepping in front of me. I skewer him with a look, tempted to spark some magic at him that might throw him down the length of the hallway, but that would be rude.

And would result in feelings I am avoiding.

“Ellowyn,” he says. Quietly. Shit. “You have to deal with me at some point.”

“I...” A million excuses dance on my tongue, but I know I can’t get any of them out of my mouth.

If I could curse the damn curse, I would.

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