Page 53 of Truly Madly Magically

Then again, the normal rules seem to be out the door tonight.

And how.

I look down at Azrael, the newel post with its gleaming onyx eyes. I remember then that his occasional comments are a result of some old enchantment, according to Georgie. An enchantment that was probably enacted by one of the witches currently milling around the entry hall before us. Of course tonight is the sort of night that enchanted objects decide to come out to play.

Elizabeth is waving a hand. “Never mind that. The ascension bell is tolling. You must go.” She makes a shooing motion at us.

“Go where?” Zander asks, scowling.

“To the Undine,” Zachariah intones.

Zander turns that scowl on his ancestor. “The statue?”

He looks to me and I shrug, because I don’t know what else they could mean. The only Undine I’ve ever heard of is the big statue down by the riverfront. It’s a woman so intricately sculpted in marble it’s hard to tell if she’s wearing some kind of gown or emerging from the water. She’s placed to gaze off toward the confluence, her hands raised as if calling the power of the three rivers to her.

Or possibly drunkenly dancing off a long night, as I heard a group of humans say once.

“There’s so much you don’t yet know,” Zachariah says darkly.

“Aren’t you glad we didn’t abandon you?” Elizabeth adds.

Then they sail through us—the both of them—holding hands.

“Ghosts can’t...?” Zander trails off.

“Can’t what? Be annoying? I think they have that down.”

Then it dawns on me. The shift in their demeanor, their appearance. The general dishevelment. A physical altercation, maybe, but not a fight—

“No,” I say, shaking my head, because it’s like thinking about my parents going at it, and no one ever needs to be that mature, surely. “Is that even physically possible?”

Zander’s gray eyes gleam. “They’re ghosts. What makes you think it has to be physical to be...physical?”

The truth is that witches don’t know what goes on beyond the veil. Not really. The fact we can contact our lost ones doesn’t mean we have a handle on their experiences. We only get bits and pieces. Messages from the universe. The odd haunting.

Knowing more than humans do doesn’t mean we know it all. Even Summoners. Or Revelares or whatever the hell I am. Still, the idea that the sad moment upstairs led to any kind of reconciliation between these two ghosts of ours makes me feel...softer than I like.

That has to be secondary at the moment. The crowd in the foyer begins to spill out the front door, and we follow, almost as if something is compelling us. I would object to that, but it doesn’t feel frightening. It’s definitely not any oily Joywood sort of magic.

It’s very clear all the same. It gets us moving, taking us out onto Main Street with everyone else.

Because outside, there are even more people. Witches I know. Witches I’ve only seen pictures of. Witches I know perfectly well don’t even live in St. Cyprian. Everyone is talking to someone else as we all move, together, down toward the river.

It takes a lot longer than it should to dawn on me that anyone can see I’m visibly pregnant. I’m not ready for that. I try to handle a glamour myself, but my magic is nothing more than a few sparks. Still recovering, no matter how strong I feel. I need help.

I look around for Rebekah to give me a hand, but I still can’t find her in the crowd. I think I see Emerson up ahead, but she’s talking animatedly to a group of older witches I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. I can hear Georgie behind me, but she’s doing that airy act of hers while surrounded by a crowd of witches I know are her relatives, though she is the only one with red hair, bright like flame in the night.

Zander hasn’t left my side. His hand is on the small of my back, like he’s not only guiding me through the crowd but is prepared to fight our way through if necessary.

“This is weird,” he says when he feels me looking at him. “Why are all my Rivers cousins here? They have their own rivers to watch over.”

I clear my throat, wishing there was another way, because asking for help from anyone makes me feel itchy. Especially when it’s him.

Our baby girl is more important than anything though. Even my pride.

“Hey. Can you help me with this?” I dip my chin toward my belly. “My magic is still recovering, and I’m not ready to make a baby announcement.”

He looks down at me. I don’t know if it’s the whole me asking for help thing that makes him look so stricken then, but he swallows. Nods.

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