Brodeur, Malvyn. Married to Brodeur, James. One daughter, Leilani.
Brodeur, Moira (deceased). Married to Del Valle, Heriberto. Three daughters, Alderose, Beryl, and Clementine.
I had to admit I’d fantasized about experiencing something greater than a hands-on learning experience with my mentor. Maritza was one-of-a-kind, dedicated to cataloguing individual cultures the world over and their differing approaches to death and the afterlife. Her stated plan was to train necromancers like myself to become respected ambassadors for our profession, to go beyond what we’d grown up with such that we could perform death rites anywhere, without stepping on anyone’s toes—or toe bones.
I was to be her first trainee. I had come prepared to perform whatever task she set in front of me, and to excel at the undertaking.
What I had not come prepared for was a lifelong commitment that appeared to include marriage and children.
Chapter 5
My brother’s toast at the start of dinner knocked me off kilter for the rest of the meal. I couldn’t bear to look at Alabastair. I think I finished the soup course. I remember touching the tines of my fork to something covered in a fragrant brown sauce—perhaps it was one of Mama’s mole recipes. When my ears heard and my brain processed that Malvyn was suggesting a respite prior to bringing out Leilani’s dessert, I wanted to flee the room and head to the comfort of my needles and threads.
Alabastair beat me to the door. I respected the set of his clenched jaw and broad shoulders and remained in the dining room.
Malvyn, James, and my parents rejoined me around the table as Diego set to clearing the dishes. The expectant looks on everyone’s faces, coupled with the mirth in my brother’s eyes, were a giveaway I was about to be subjected to a family chat.
“Come on, out with it,” I said.
My mother interlaced her fingers underneath her chin and tilted her head to the side. “I have waited many years for this day, mija.”
“Then please, tell me what’s next? A house in the suburbs? Children?”
Mamá snorted softly. “The sooner you take this seriously, Maricita, the easier it will go.”
James leaned across the table. “Between me and Mal, and your mother and father, you have two examples of the extremes of the Demesne. For us, joining our lives was as natural a step as breathing. Once I set eyes on your brother, there was no other.”
“Abuela? Can you help me with dessert, porfa? My meringue won’t set.” Leilani’s voice broke the intense lock James had on my attention. My parents excused themselves. Mamá headed to the kitchen and Papi sought respite on the deck.
Malvyn took over. “What’s next, my dear, upright sister, is sex. Sex seals the deal. Sex sells the real estate. Sex—”
“Malvyn. Stop. She’s had enough of a shock.”
My brother laughed, pushed back his chair, and walked around the table to pull me into a hug. “You’re going to be fine,” he whispered. “Go with your instincts. Listen to your Spirits.” He released me, threaded his fingers through James’s, and led his husband outside.
Restless, I sought refuge near the fireplace and looked for answers in the unlit logs. I was forty-two years old. With the right spells and herbs, I could keep the consequences of aging at bay. I had known witches and other Magicals who’d extended their natural life expectancy to two centuries, and longer.
Why was I suddenly thinking about prolonging my life?
Because Alabastair might want marriage. I had never so much as entertained the idea.
He might want offspring. I found four nieces to be the perfect number of children in my life. I’d observed my two older siblings become partners, then parents. Having children meant always putting someone else’s needs first. Entering into marriage meant much the same. Both required—
“May I fill your glass?” Diego appeared out of nowhere, a bottle of cognac in one hand, a silver tray of balloon snifters balanced on the fingertips of the other.
“Please. Make it old and potent,” I said.
The majordomo poured a modest amount of the amber liquid into one of the glasses. “Warm it in your hands first.”
“First I have to warm my hands.”
“You could ask your guest for assistance.”
Asking Alabastair to warm my cognac would entail looking for him. My stomach plummeted at the thought of being alone with the necromancer. “And you could stop being such a busy body.”
“Might I offer an observation?” When I nodded, Diego continued, “I have been with Malvyn and James from the beginning of their life together. During these twenty years, I spent an average of two, three months per year also serving your parents.” He paused, placed the tray and the bottle of Croizet on a nearby table, and took my snifter. Tsking, he cupped the bottom of the glass in one palm. “For all their quirks, both couples are absolutely devoted to one another. I was in the room when you and Mr. Nekrosine encountered each other tonight. Time stopped. Angels sang.”
“You heard it too?” I asked, teasing the well-meaning man. And not.
“You hold the public power in this relationship, Mari. He holds the reins to the private realm.”
I sighed in annoyance. “Diego, we don’t have a relationship. We corresponded, his recommendations were off the charts, and here he is.” I was starting to lose my way in this conversation. “There is no private realm. Not yet, and possibly not ever. Thank you for seeing to my drink.”
The majordomo adjusted the front of his vest, picked up the tray, and shook his head at my protestations, which sounded weak, even to me. I settled in the chair where Alabastair had been sitting prior to dinner and breathed deeply of the cognac’s comforting nose. The velvety texture of the Croizet, with its mingled aromas of dulce de leche and orange zest, calmed
