Page 69 of Truly Madly Magically

I know I’m not the only one who feels her now, right here with us.

We sip at our tea for a few minutes, all grinning at each other until my cheeks start to ache from such unnatural activity, and then Zack puts his mug down on the counter.

“Hold on one second,” he says, before disappearing down the hallway he originally appeared from.

I mean to scowl when I look at Zander, but that grin seems stuck on my face. Maybe that’s why he grins back. “Told you, baby.”

I tell myself to file that away so I can be mad about it later. The told you so as well as yet another baby. I get the feeling Zander knows exactly what I’m doing and doesn’t much care.

When Zack returns, he’s holding something in his hand. As he comes closer, I see it’s a necklace—a lot like the one I’ve been wearing since Zander gave me his for protection. It has the same design, though it’s smaller and the chain more feminine than a band of leather.

“I know you’re wearing Zander’s right now for all that coven garbage,” Zack says, holding it out to me. “Take this one instead. It was Zelda’s.”

I try to step back, to refuse, but the Rivers men have me surrounded. “I don’t think I’m the right one—”

“That baby you’re carrying is part Rivers, which means so are you. She’d want you to have it. You know she would.” Zack sounds definitive. Without waiting for me to agree, he places the necklace over my head with his own two hands. Then he mutters a few words that magic Zander’s back to his own neck.

“It has Zelda’s magic in it,” Zack says to me, putting his hands on my shoulders and giving me a little squeeze. “When the baby is born, it can be hers.”

To my horror, I realize I’m going to cry again.

I could stop it this time. I could zap myself back to my stock room, but I don’t. This feels like the kind of moment that deserves tears.

As if tears aren’t always a sign of unbearable weakness, like they are when you’re half human in a world of full witches. As if maybe, sometimes, they’re no more and no less than a sign of too many things to feel at once and no words for them.

I sniffle as I look up at Zack, who is already so excited to be my baby girl’s grandpa that it makes everything in me feel...different.

“I hope you know, I loved her too,” I manage to choke out.

“Who didn’t? No one worth a damn.” Then he pulls me into a kind of one-armed side-hug, because he’s using his other arm to pull Zander in. He squeezes us tight to him—something I don’t think would have happened if Zelda was here. Or maybe she would have pulled him right in too.

“Oh, she’d be so happy,” he says, his voice cracking.

I hate crying, I do, but these tears aren’t so bad. “She is,” I tell him, not even caring that someone is hugging me against my will. “She’s delighted.”

Because I feel it. Because I know.

When my gaze meets Zander’s, I know we all do.

Zack holds us close a moment longer, then huffs out a breath. “Well. Enough of this.” He releases us, wiping at his face. “I’ve got to tell everyone I know I’m going to be a grandpa. You two probably have work to do. Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself—and my granddaughter—while you kick some Joywood ass.”

I nod, but then it occurs to me what this moment needs. I close my eyes, think of what I want, and when I open them I hold out the mug Zack was using. With its new design.

#1 Grandpa

He barks out a laugh. “I’ll use it every morning.” He beams at me, holding that mug like it’s a pile of precious jewels. Then he does that thing men do when they clear their throats of emotion. Or try to. “We’re proud of you,” he tells me, his voice raspy.

He and Zander share a hug. A real one, not just a manly approximation of fist bumps.

“See you soon, Dad,” Zander murmurs.

Then he leads me back outside, his fingers threaded through mine.

I know as we hit the fresh air, the dark with autumn crisp on the breeze, that everything is changing. It has been for a while, I guess, but it keeps shifting on me. There’s no sturdy ground.

Except Zander’s hand in mine. Except the way he keeps to my side, matching his athletic stride to mine. This thing between us like steel girders, the architecture beneath everything else, no matter what I usually tell myself three hundred sixty-four days of each year.

I should freak out about that. I’m sure I will—but maybe tonight is not the night. Maybe tonight I can just...hold on.

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