Maura kneeled by Hazel’s head and whispered an incantation to calm her before taking away her voice to stop the sound of her screams. It didn’t stop her pain, but it kept the cries from echoing.
“Who are you?” Ida asked. “A witch?”
“Warlock, actually,” Maura answered. Hazel stared at her with dazed eyes. “Maura MacGregor.”
“She’s a friend,” Curtis assured the women. “A good spirit.”
“I’d give anything for an attending and an epidural,” Maura mumbled to herself as she touched Hazel’s head.
“I have the caudle,” the woman offered her bowl of liquid.
Ida stared at Curtis’s clothes. “Where you from, boy?”
“We came across a ghost army marching backward. It carried us from the future and led us here,” Curtis answered.
Maura arched a brow at him, unsure more honesty was the best policy at the moment.
He shrugged.
“I think I know how all those old ghost stories ya heard as a child got started.” Maura placed her hands on Hazel’s stomach. She had no clue what she was doing, but she focused her magick and hoped for the best. She concentrated on easing Hazel’s suffering.
Suddenly bright lights burst from Maura’s fingertips. She gasped, surprised by the surge of power flowing through her. The stomach lost its firmness. A baby began to cry.
“Blessed!” Ida exclaimed, falling back in surprise. She’d caught the baby in her arms.
Curtis quickly darted forward to take the baby as Ida rolled onto her back. He lifted the child from her arms. Maura stood, reaching to examine the baby.
“Is she—”
A bright light flashed like a camera strobe the second she bumped Curtis’s arm.
“Maura? What’s going on? What are ya doing here so early?”
Maura blinked in confusion. “Ma?”
They stood in the front reception hall of the MacGregor mansion. White marble floors, a wide staircase with a hand-carved oak railing, and the giant crystal chandelier could not have contrasted the small cabin more. This mansion had never been Maura’s home. The family had only owned it for a handful of years. Though beautiful, it seemed ostentatious, like a Georgian-style palace that would be better suited as a museum.
“Who’s your friends?” Cait MacGregor had the annoying habit of never looking out of sorts. By the light coming in the window, dawn peeked over the horizon. Somehow her mother still managed to be dressed like the cover of a 1950s high-end catalog, pearls and all, at the early hour. Not a single hair was out of its perfect place.
Maura glanced down. Her t-shirt was dirty, and she smelled of sweat and horse. Any makeup that hadn’t rubbed off was probably smeared.
Curtis stood next to her. He looked exhausted and more than a little confused. He’d wrapped the edge of his shirt over the naked baby as she cried in his arms.
“Maura?” her ma insisted. “Manners. Introduce me.”
“Oh, uh, Curtis, this is my ma, Cait MacGregor,” Maura introduced. “Ma, this is Curtis Jefferson, owner of Crimson Tavern, and this is his grandmother.”
“Very droll, my daughter.” Cait swiped her hand to direct Maura to stand aside. Her welcoming smile dropped when she came closer to the baby. “This is a fresh, sweet one. Maura, did ya—?”
“Easy, ma, you’re not a grandmother yet,” Maura answered.
“Where’s her mother?” Cait asked.
“1864, thereabouts,” Curtis said.
Cait frowned as she waited for the punchline.
“Och, there’s a wee bairn!” Raibeart MacGregor stood on the balcony above the front hall, looking down on them. He was dressed like a member of King Louis XIV’s royal court in bouffant breeches, a white silk shirt, white gloves, and a plumed hat. The feather bounced as he sauntered toward the steps.
“Maura Mary Margareta MacGregor! What kind of wicked magick have ya been dabbling in?” Cait demanded as she reached for the newborn. She paused, looking at the back of Curtis’s hand before taking the baby.
The red heels of Raibeart’s buckled shoes clacked on the marble floor. One of his silk stockings had fallen off his calf and pooled around his ankle.
“I didn’t do anything,” Maura protested. “It was done to us.”
Cait cradled the baby in her arms, not seeming to care that the baby ruined her silk blouse. “Nothing? Ya show up with a baby out of time, and this one,” she nodded at Curtis, “reeks of vampire ash.”
“Maura had nothing to do with that.” Curtis stepped forward as if he meant to protect her. “I killed the vampire. Any fate that comes of it is mine. Not hers.”
Cait hummed softly, and Maura saw her mother hide a small smile. She started walking away with the baby.
“Um, Maura? Did your mother just confiscate my mawmaw?” Curtis asked, moving to follow Cait.
Maura touched his arm to stop him.
“She’s a healer. Better than a doctor. She knows what she’s doing.” Maura watched Abigail’s tiny arms flail. “Ma, we need ya to check the baby. I didn’t know what to do.”
Cait hummed softly as she carried the baby toward the dining room.
Raibeart tried to intercede. “I got her.”
Cait dodged his hands as he attempted to take the baby from her. “First things, first. Raibeart, we need supplies—clothes, formula, and diapers. This baby is counting on ya.”
“Aye.” Raibeart nodded, taking on the mission.
“What’s this sweet one’s name?” Cait asked.
“Abigail,” Curtis said.
“Formula, diapers, unicorn onesie, tricycle.” Raibeart strode for the front door.
“Clothes, formula, diapers, no contraptions,” Cait yelled from the dining room. “She’s a newborn, not a toy.”
Raibeart scoffed and said to Maura, “The tricycle is for Bridgette.” Then, as he touched the doorknob, he yelled, “Euann, I’m taking your car!”
“Is your uncle going to go out like that?” Curtis pointed after Raibeart.
“At least he’s wearing clothes,” Maura said, unconcerned.
“Who’s Bridgette?” he asked.
“No clue.” Maura suppressed a yawn. “I don’t know about ya, but I’m exhausted. That was one hell of a night. My family will make sure Abigail is safe.”
“She is my family, my responsibility,” Curtis rubbed his eye and yawned. “I’ll take care of her.”
“We need rest if we’re going even to begin to unpack what happened last night. My ma is better than a doctor. Abigail is in good hands.” Maura pointed toward the dining room. “They have plenty of room for guests. We’ll be safe here.”
“I have a cot at the restaurant. I can crash there,” Curtis said. “I need to make sure the restaurant got locked up.”
Maura didn’t want him to leave. “This house is magickally protected. Vampires and their minions wouldn’t dare come here looking for ya.”
Curtis looked too tired to protest. He suppressed another yawn. “It won’t be an imposition?”
Maura smiled. She went through the dining room, past the long wood dining table. The sound of running water and her mother singing came from the kitchen beyond. “Ma, it’s been a long night. We’re going to take a room.”