I nearly sank to the floor, breaking into a feverish sweat. I shouldn’t have done that, especially after healing Sébastien.
Worth the recoil. Totally worth the recoil.
I teetered to the kitchen, brewed a fresh pot of coffee—extra chicory—drank a cup before pouring it into the carafe, and then put on another pot for the rest of the fam. It was going to be a long night. I wolfed down a handful of granola and filled the tray with some orange-blossom cookies, my great-grandad’s fav.
As I entered Ritha’s spiritual room with the tray, the hairs on the back of my neck rose, just like they had when I wandered in for the first time at four years old and every time since. That first time had been with Remi and Manon, who were both older but had run screaming at the sight of the wingspread owl affixed at the top of our ancestral altar. But I was enamored with it. When I’d discovered Ritha standing in the door, I thought for sure I was dead meat. But she picked me up to get a better view. I touched its talons and beak and feathers, and Ritha told me that its eyes were always open, watching over our family both dead and alive, seeing things for us that we might not be privy to in the present. Of course, I didn’t know what that meant and just thought we had an owl as a guard, the way the bars on Bourbon had big fat men standing in front of them.
She went on to explain who each of the people were in the photos: generations of Earth witches. When I went to kindergarten the following year, I’d wanted to know what animals guarded each of my classmates’ families and had been stunned to find out that none of them had altar rooms in their houses. I’d felt sorry for them.
I brushed the ashes from the seashells, swept the altar clean, and replaced the cloth with a fresh scarf. A bright red silk for the aggression pounding through the magical streets of the city. After replenishing the vases with fresh cuttings, I plated the cookies, poured the coffee, and spiked it with spiced rum. I said a devotion to my great-gran and gramps, and to Marassa and Makandal, and to all the generations in between. The exhaustion crept up on me, and I was yawning hard and trying not to fall asleep when a coconut bowl filled with fish bones rattled. I blinked, staring at the dozens of tiny bones shaking inside the bowl, sure I was hallucinating.
Heat crept up my arms, and the bowl shook more violently. I reached out to calm it, but the coconut tumbled to the floor, spilling the fish bones. “Shit!” Now they had to be cleansed.
They were oracle bones, kind of like runes, used to communicate with the dead. Ritha always promised she’d teach me to use them. I picked them up, placed them into a bowl of Florida Water, gave it a few swirls, focusing my intention, and then put them back into the coconut shell to dry.
Warmth snaked up my spine, and I slowly turned my head, ready to flatten that guy if he had followed me into this sacred space. I’d have to cleanse the whole room again. But no one was there.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
When I looked back, the coconut bowl was knocking against the altar. The bones rattling. “Not again!” I reached out for it, but white flashed across my eyes. Shit. All I could do was brace myself as I hit the floor. Cheek resting against the rug, I saw the bones gliding over its leaf pattern.
I blinked, trying to focus. I couldn’t sit up. All I could read was . . .
H E L
M I S S
S P I
“Gran,” I moaned, torn between alerting her and not wanting her to know that I’d ignored her warnings. I tried to call out again, but it didn’t matter. Darkness took me.
I woke up to my phone vibrating against the wooden floor.
I sat up quickly, my arm accidentally sliding over the fish bones, scattering them everywhere as I slid open a text message from Isaac: SOS. HQ. ASAP.
It was just to me and Codi. Weird. Adele must be with him already.
I gathered the bones back up and swirled them with the smoke of dried lemon balm, more concerned about Isaac’s SOS. That’ll do for now.
I texted Ritha that our ancestors were well taken care of and snuck out of the house for HQ.
CHAPTER 5
Intervention
“The Afterworld?” Gabriel gave me a patronizing glare, and the room fell silent, kicking my confidence into a downward spiral.
Even Nicco didn’t say anything. Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for after divulging my plan.
“I mean, I’m going to the Afterworld. I’d never ask anyone else to do something so unpredictable.”
Nicco’s brows pressed even tighter.
The doorbell rang, and Emilio turned to me. “Who is that?”
“How would I know?”
“We don’t get visitors.”
Nicco bolted out of the room and down the stairs while the rest of us hurried to the landing, squinting down as he opened the door. Could Callisto have sent a messenger?
He turned back to look up at me, and my stomach lurched: I knew it was Isaac.
I swept down the stairs, the anger from our fight boiling back up, but then Nicco opened the door wider. “Oh,” I said, simmering down.
“Addie!” It was Chatham, with Edgar in tow.
Shit. Did they already find my IOU? Does Chatham know I took the ghoststick?
“There you are!” He reached out but hesitated to cross the threshold.
Nicco wasn’t exactly moving to give him passage.
Knuckles cracked, and I glanced back up at the landing. Everyone was gone except Gabriel, who was now perched on the top step, eyeing the Daures like a protective older brother. After the way the Hexennacht party had gone down, I understood his position, but he didn’t have anything to worry about.
I passed in front of Nicco to the front steps. “Chatham, you’re back!”
He pulled me into his arms. “Darling, you had me for a scare. All of us.”
He squeezed my ribs, and I tried not to cringe. I didn’t want to freak him out with the bruises. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re safe and sound.”
His hand slipped into mine. “No, I’m sorry. Don’t get me started on that fool’s errand.” And without further discussion, he turned to leave, pulling me with him. I sensed Nicco’s pulse.
“No!” I let go of his hand. Codi’s two brothers waited out on the street. Were they supposed to be backup? This suddenly felt like an intervention.
“What’s wrong?” Chatham asked. “Did you forget something inside?”
“I understand your concern, but I’m fine here, merci.”
Chatham leaned closer. “Adele,” he said in a hushed voice, “you cannot stay here.”
“Yes, I can.”
His eyes grew with surprise. “But there’s no need to impose when we already have everything you need at home.”
“It’s no imposition,” Nicco said flatly from the door.
“It’s safest at the tearoom behind the coven’s protection wards.” Chatham’s expression pleaded with Nicco for help. He got none.
“Then Nicco and his family should be there too,” I said.
“Oh, I don’t think that’s . . .” Edgar started to say.
Nicco glared at him. “You don’t think that’s what?”
“We can’t endanger our family or the rest of our coven,” Chatham said, resolute. “Adele, you do realize that a member of this household killed your mother. Your father would—”