Alderose hugged us tight and waved as they left. Maritza spun to direct her attention at Kostya. “You have a pair of strapping brothers, don’t you? Might one or both be open to assisting us with defense, should the need arise?”
“I do,” he said, laughing, “and they shall. Although Ivan’s trekking through Iceland and Laszlo’s off brooding.”
“Brooding?” My aunt arched one delicate eyebrow.
“Our mother is on a mission to see us mated and producing heirs, and none of us is cooperating with her timeline. According to her, our approach to finding mates the old-fashioned way will see her dead before she can bounce a baby demon on her knee.”
“I would not have described your mother as the warm and fuzzy grandmotherly type.”
“No one in their right mind would. Her change of attitude is baffling,” he said.
Maritza tapped her chin. “Perhaps it has something to do with the growing number of babies being born to her competition in the other demon realms.”
“Perhaps.” He smirked. “Would you like me to see what I can do about reaching my brothers? If I can’t locate them, I’ll bring in someone I trust from my division.”
“Please do.”
Kostya had his phone plastered to his ear before he hit the stairwell.
In the quiet that followed the demon’s departure, Maritza fed herself more, examining every morsel Alabastair had laid out before putting one in her mouth and chewing slowly. When she finished, she unscrewed the cup and lid on the thermos and poured herself a fragrant herbal tea.
“And now we come to you, Beryl, and to you, Clementine.” She wiped her hands on a cloth napkin and took hold of our wrists. “I am pleased for this time alone with you two. Your sister has a hard path ahead. I sensed it the moment your mother went into labor and have seen it revealed in more than one set of tea leaves.
“Alderose is a blade-wielder, with skills that have been passed to her through both your mother’s and your father’s familial lines. Heriberto del Valle is no simple hair cutter. He is a master wielder of sharp-edged blades and if he was here—” Maritza shook her head. “If he was here, he would be guiding your sister’s hands and honing her skills. But since we have no idea where he is or when he will return, Alderose will have to gather everything she has learned to date to keep her eyes and her mind and her blades sharp.
“Her duty—should she fully accept her role—will mean it is she who will deliver the coup de grace, the stroke that ends a life. She may have discovered her gift already, she may be tasked with following its pull soon, or she may decide her connection to Atropos is a destiny she does not want.”
“You’re speaking as though there’s danger ahead.” Beryl stood taller and shook her hair away from her face. “Do you have the power of divination, Tía?”
“Danger is coming, cariña, and death. And though I am no diviner, I can take what the dead reveal to me and use that to fill in the missing pieces around what I see.” Maritza rubbed her arms. Whatever chill she was feeling brushed over my skin, and I mirrored her movements. “And what I see are my three nieces, all of you so loved by your parents that they were loath to bring you into the family businesses. For that, I feel some…discord, with my sister especially. She kept me and our brother in the dark and now, in a time of great need, her silence fosters weakness not strength.
“But the mantle your mother tried hard to keep set upon her shoulders—and her shoulders only—is now divided amongst the three of you.”
I scuffed at the rug with the toe of my boot. “It’s hard to stay angry with the dead,” I began. “What if we see this as an opportunity to embrace our heritage, solve a mystery, and maybe make a life for ourselves by starting up Mom’s business again?”
“First, we have to complete this one task, Sissy. If there’s any justice in this world, Rémy Ruisseau’s love match is a Harpy.”
I cracked a grin, adding, “A Harpy with sisters and a mother who insist on living with them.”
Maritza opened her arms. “Are you two ready?”
Beryl and I looked at her, then each other, and nodded.
“Good. Let us begin. Clementine, you must examine the threads again, this time within the safety of a circle of containment.”
Maritza aligned the front edge of Alabastair’s crocodile skin luggage with the edge of the table. She smiled as she lifted the lid. “My darling created a special salt, blended to create an enticing and welcoming environment for ghosts. Though I don’t think your mother will show up here in her ghostly form I do think you will find it easier to manage the story threads from a place of protection.”
I released a heavy sigh. “I’m relieved to hear you say that.”
My aunt quirked an eyebrow at me. “One can get lost following the threads,” she said. “Especially the master threads, and I am speaking as someone who spends most of her waking hours with one foot here”—she tapped the floor with the toe of one bright yellow boot—“and the other foot… Well, sometimes I can’t feel either foot, let alone keep track of its location.”
She withdrew a large bag from the valise. “This is the salt. Beryl, could you please take out the four candleholders—they look like chunks of pinkish quartz but they’re salt too—and place one at each of the cardinal directions?”
Beryl peered into the case, removed the holders, and set them on the table. “Which color candles should we use?”
“The pink set. The local witches on my brother’s island consider pink to be both protective and maternal and we want to generate as much of your mother’s energies as we can. Her creativity, her business acumen, and her desire
