Page 27 of Wicche Hunt

I felt aNo, thank youcoming, so I pulled out a container of lemon bars. “These are my favorites. Can I talk you into one?”

With a little shrug, she said, “Idolove lemon.”

“Right?” With that hurdle cleared, I opened the refrigerator. “I have milk, beer, orange and grape sodas.” I leaned on the door. “I can also make some hot chocolate, coffee, or tea.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” she said, clearly uncomfortable with someone trying to look after her.

“It’s not even a little bit of a bother. What sounds good?” I felt what she wanted to choose, so added, “Let me make you my hot chocolate. I think you’ll like it.” I pulled thin rubber gloves on over my regular ones—no one wants fibers falling into their food—and then got chocolate from my pantry. I grabbed a double boiler and got to work melting dark and milk chocolate. I ran a cinnamon stick over a microplane, added vanilla, sugar, a pinch of salt, and then a hint of chili to give it a kick. Once it was melted and smoothly mixed, I added the whole milk.

“Are you a whipped cream or marshmallow person?” I asked, pouring the hot chocolate into two mugs. I could feel her hesitating. “Just say it.”

“Marshmallow.”

“A woman after my own heart.” I went back to the freezer for a couple of homemade marshmallow squares, did the thawing spell, and dropped them in our mugs. I brought over a plate of bars and some napkins first and then our mugs before peeling off the second set of gloves.

Hester took a sip and then paused, her eyes fluttering closed. “Oh my goodness,” she murmured before taking another sip. Her reaction made me feel bright and bubbly inside.

Mmm, the hot chocolate was good. Maybe a pinch more cinnamon next time. I took my chopsticks out of my pocket. Moved a lemon square to a napkin and then plucked off a piece and ate it.

Hester was watching me, but not in a wary way, which was nice. “You’re quite good with those.”

I held up the chopsticks. “Finger foods are hard, so utensils are my friends. If I’d brought over plates, I’d be using a fork. Since I brought napkins, I’m using chopsticks. When I cook or eat something tricky, like the burgers we had for dinner, I wear the latex gloves. They get hot, though, so I try to work around them when I can. I’d prefer not to live my life encased in rubber.”

She took a bite of her lemon bar. “Oh, my—how? These are incredible.”

Smiling, I nodded my thanks. “Like anything, I got good with practice. Mom says she started to hear me puttering around in the kitchen in the middle of the night when I was around six. I think I colored in my room before that. You do anything every day for twenty-two years, you’re going to get good at it.”

“What I don’t understand,” she said, “is I married into this family about that long ago and I didn’t know any of this about you. I knew you were Sybil’s daughter, a gorgeous child with a fairytale-like mane of hair that should be hanging out a tower window—”

I laughed.

“—who kept to herself, had eyes a brighter green that the rest of the Coreys, and was the only one who would check on my girl at family get-togethers.”

I took a sip, trying to figure out how to explain my family. “Coreys, like Goodes, are an ancient wicche family.”

“A very powerful one,” Hester added.

“Yes. And because of that, there’s a certain arrogance. Unlike your family, there is a darkness in mine. Yes, we’re very powerful, but we also have quite the reputation for sorcery.”

“That was the main reason my parents didn’t want me to marry Roger,” she said.

“That and he’s kind of a dick,” I said, making her smile.

Nodding, she took another bite of lemon bar. “I was young,” she said, which honestly is explanation enough.

“Now, what you also have to remember is that although most of my cousins made my life a misery and many of the aunts and uncles either turned a blind eye to what was happening or joined in on the shit-talking their kids were doing, I was still my mother’s daughter and a Corey. Half a Corey is still more Corey than a Goode who happened to marry a Corey.”

I rolled my eyes. “Most of them suck, with a few notable exceptions. Aunts Sylvia and Bridget were wonderfully kind women. Amongst the living, Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Robert? Salt of the earth. Uncle John?” I shook my head, suddenly emotional. “He and Sylvia were like parents to me. They loved me not for what I could do or how powerful I was, just for me.”

Hester patted my knee in comfort. “I was so sorry to hear about Sylvia’s passing. She was my favorite and the only one who treated me like family.”

I nodded, wiping away the sudden tears. “She didn’t pass gently into that good night either. Her daughter Calliope is a sorcerer and she and her demon killed Sylvia.”

Hester put down her cup. “What? No one told me that.”

“We’re all about secrets in this family.” I put down the rest of the lemon bar. “I’m sure it’s been difficult to feel shunned, but as someone who exiled herself, it’s probably been better for you both.”

Hester picked up her mug and took another sip. “Maybe so,” she said, stifling a yawn.

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