“Hi, I’m Calliope, and welcome to our home. You hungry?”
The young woman blinked at me and nodded. “Sorry for crashing the party, but it’s taken me so long to find Sallie and once I had your address I couldn’t wait and also, your cell phone reception bites.”
“Yes, it does,” I agreed, bending forward and searching the road to either side for a parked vehicle. “Did you drive?”
“Ferried from Swartz Bay, bussed into town from the terminal, then hitched a ride with a random dude. I could really use a bathroom.”
“C’mon, then. You’re just in time for lasagna and garlic bread. And don’t forget your luggage.”
Sallie hefted both suitcases and led Azura toward the house. I waved them off and headed to the feast. Jasper pressed his hind paws against me. When I let him go, he bounded straight for Rowan.
“What are the chances we can have one uninterrupted meal?” I directed my question to the assembled guests and family members within earshot while helping myself to a slab of James’s casserole. Melted cheese oozed between layers of noodles, grilled red peppers and onions, and other ingredients.
“I think the odds are eighty-seven percent in our favor that Sallie’s friend is the last surprise Magical to cross the wards onto the property tonight,” said Wes. The druid was Tanner’s best friend and appeared to be getting very cozy with Rowan. He balanced his plate in his lap while he leaned against the red-haired doctor. “River said he finished your tattoo. Care to let us see it, Calli?”
I swallowed and wiped my mouth. “Soon, I promise.”
Thatcher made a show of clearing his throat and tapping his fork against the side of his glass of lemonade. He raised his arm and acknowledged the gathering of adults, teenagers, and one special feline. “I would like to propose a toast,” he began.
“Wait for us!” Sallie waved, her other hand entwined with Azura’s as they ran down the incline to join us. “Thank you, Thatch,” she said, catching her breath and accepting the two glasses Christoph offered. I gave silent thanks for the timing of her girlfriend’s arrival.
“I would like to acknowledge my great-aunt, Noémi.” Thatcher closed his eyes for a moment and pointed in the direction of the house. When he opened his eyes, there was a clarity to the hazel coloring. “Noémi kept this house and this land intact against one of the greatest odds imaginable.” He looked at me quickly. “Mom, I’ve been doing some research, and I wanted to tell you this when I knew more but tonight seems as good a time as any.”
He cleared his throat. “Like my mom, Noémi was a witch. She also trained to become a shaman. When she was young, she became partially separated from her animal familiar. But her daemon—a bear—stuck around. I never told you, Mom,” he said, tipping his glass toward me, “but I felt Bear’s presence, too. That’s how I knew which animal trails to follow and how I learned to communicate with raccoons and squirrels. Bear taught me all of that.”
He wiped at the tears streaming down his face. “I miss her. Here’s to Noémi and Bear, and to the spirits that watch over us.”
I swallowed back my own tears, shared what little I remembered of my aunt, then finished with, “A toast, then, to Noémi Virginie du Sang.” I spoke my aunt’s complete name for the first time in memory. Every long-forgotten syllable resonated within my bones, from my bare feet up to the crown of my skull.
Du Sang. Of the blood.
I refrained from smacking my forehead in front of everyone.
Noémi Virginie du Sang.
Genevieve Valentina du Sang.
Calliope Viridis du Sang.
“So mote it be,” Rowan and Wes said in unison. Christoph rose and spread his arms—and his magnificent wings—and took Thatcher into his embrace.
“So mote it be.” The rest of our motley crew lifted their glasses to the house, to Noémi’s memory, and to Thatcher, and drank.
“Where the hell did I get the name Jones?” Shocked, I muttered the question to myself, maybe in my head.
“Jones is such a common surname, at least along the Eastern seaboard, Calliope. Your mother’s parents thought it would protect your identities when you moved west.” Christoph’s voice, booming in my ear, sent my head spinning. Literally spinning, as I looked left and right and left again at the concerned faces around me. I tossed back the sweetly delicious dessert wine and plunked my butt on the quilt.
“Why would Mom and I need protection?” I asked, posing the question for the second time that day as I stared up at my grandfather’s winged form.
Christoph was poised to respond, when Thatcher interrupted. “Mom, Mom, wait a sec.” He finished his lemonade and set the glass aside. Threading his fingers through his hair, he squeezed his scalp, then patted his palms at the air. “If your last name is really du Sang and Dad’s last name is Flechette, then technically Harper and I could call ourselves Flechettes du Sang. Blades of Blood. Dude, that is so cool.” He rolled to one side and fist-bumped his brother.
Malvyn interjected. “Mmm, technically Flechettes du Sang would be more like blood darts. I create them on occasion for clients, and if you two are interested I could show you what they look like and how they are used.”
My face must have registered more than shock because Mal quickly amended his offer with, “But first you need training. Lots of intensive training.”
“Mal!” James smacked his husband’s forearm. “These are children we’re talking about.”
“Some of these children have seen a lot of bad things.” Sallie rocked forward onto her knees and straightened her legs. She stepped closer to where Mal and James were sitting. The two men tensed, then eased up when she said, “I have a favor to ask.”
“What is it, Sallie?”
“Could you make one of those for me?” She touched a fingertip to Malvyn’s collar, the one I had never seen him without. The pounded gold pieces rested on his collarbones and
