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  “Yes, but I really need to—”

  “Ana, I have a better idea.” The sound of Boone’s voice from just down the hall had everyone lapsing into silence. “Why don’t we—” Shirtless, barefoot and rumpled, he walked into the room, then stopped dead.

  “Whoops,” Mel said, and grinned into her glass.

  “Succinctly put.” Her husband studied Boone through narrowed eyes. “Dropping by for a neighborly visit, are we?”

  “Shut up, Sebastian.” This from Morgana, who rested both hands on her tummy and smiled. “We seem to have interrupted.”

  “I think we would have if we’d been any earlier,” Nash murmured into Mel’s ear, and made her choke back a chuckle.

  Ana aimed one withering glance at him before she turned to Boone. “My family’s brought along a little party, and they’re all quite amused at the idea that I might have a private life”—she looked over her shoulder meaningfully—“that doesn’t concern them.”

  “She always was cranky when you got her out of bed,” Sebastian said, resigned to accepting Boone. For now. “Mel, it appears we’ll need another glass of champagne.”

  “Already got it covered.” Smiling, she stepped forward and offered it to Boone. “If you can’t beat ’em,” she said under her breath, and he nodded.

  “Well.” He took a long sip and sighed. It was obvious that his plans for the rest of the day would have to be adjusted. “Anybody bring cake?”

  With a delighted laugh, Morgana gestured toward a large bakery box. “Get Ana a knife, Nash, so she can cut the first piece. I think we’ll dispense with candles. She appears to have gotten her wish already.”

  Chapter 8

  Ana was much too accustomed to her family to be annoyed with or embarrassed by them for long. And she was simply too happy with Boone to hold a grudge. As the days passed, they moved slowly, cautiously, toward cementing their relationship.

  If she had come to trust him with her heart, with her body, she had not yet come to trust him with her secrets.

  Though his feelings for her had ripened, deepened into a love he had never expected to experience again, he was as wary as she of taking that final step that would join their lives.

  At the center was a child neither would have harmed by putting their own needs first.

  If they stole a few hours on bright afternoons or rainy mornings, they were theirs to steal. At night Ana would lie alone and wonder how long this magic interlude would last.

  As Halloween approached, she and Boone were caught up in their own preparations. Now and again her nerves would jump out at the idea of her lover meeting the whole of her family on the holiday. Then she would laugh at herself for acting like a girl on the point of introducing a first date.

  By noon on the thirty-first, she was already at Morgana’s, helping her now greatly pregnant cousin with preparations for the Halloween feast.

  “I could have made Nash do this.” Morgana pressed a hand against the ache in the small of her back before she sat down to knead bread dough from a more comfortable position at the kitchen table.

  “You could make Nash do anything simply by asking.” Ana cubed lamb for the traditional Irish stew. “But he’s having such fun setting up his special effects.”

  “Just like a layman to think he can outdo the professionals.” She winced and moaned, and had Ana’s immediate attention.

  “Honey?”

  “No, no, it’s not labor, though I damn well wish it was. I’m just so bloody uncomfortable all the time now.” Hearing the petulance in her own voice, she winced again. “And I hate whiners.”

  “You whine all you like. It’s just you and me. Here.” Always prepared, Ana poured some liquid into a cup. “Drink it down.”

  “I already feel like I’m going to float away—like Cleopatra’s barge. By the goddess, I’m big enough.” But she drank, fingering the crystal around her neck.

  “And you already have a crew of two.”

  That did the trick of making her laugh. “Talk to me about something else,” she begged, and went back to her kneading. “Anything to take my mind off the fact that I’m fat and grumpy.”

  “You’re not fat, and you’re only a little grumpy.” But Ana cast her mind around for a distraction. “Did you know that Sebastian and Mel are working on another case together?”

  “No, I didn’t.” And it served to pique her interest. “I’m surprised. Mel’s very territorial about her private investigation business.”

  “Well, she’s lowered the gate on this one. A runaway, only twelve years old. The parents are frantic. When I talked to her last night, she said they had a lead, and she was sorry she couldn’t take this afternoon off to give you a hand.”

  “When Mel’s in the kitchen, it’s more like giving me a foot.” There was affection for her new in-law in every syllable. “She’s wonderful with Sebastian, isn’t she?”

  “Yes.” Smiling to herself, Ana layered the lamb with potatoes and onions in Morgana’s big Dutch oven. “Tough-minded, hardheaded, softhearted. She’s exactly what he needs.”

  “And have you found what you need?”

  Saying nothing at first, Ana added herbs. She’d known Morgana would work her way around to it before the day was over. “I’m very happy.”

  “I like him. I had a good feeling about him from the first.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “So does Sebastian—though he has some reservations.” Her brows knit, but she kept her voice light. “Particularly after he cornered Boone and picked through his brain.”

  Ana’s lips thinned as she adjusted the heat on the stove. “I haven’t forgiven him for that yet.”

  “Well.” Morgana shrugged and set the dough in a bowl to rise. “Boone didn’t know, and it soothed Sebastian’s feathers. He wasn’t exactly pleased to have walked in on your birthday and found you fresh out of bed.”

  “It’s certainly none of his business.”

  “He loves you.” She gave Ana’s arm a quick squeeze as she passed the stove. “He’ll always worry about you more because you’re the youngest—and simply because your gift makes you so vulnerable.”

  “I’m not without my defenses, Morgana, or common sense.”

  “I know. Darling, I …” She felt her eyes fill and brushed hastily at the tears. “It was your first time. I didn’t want to probe before, but … Lord, I never used to be so sentimental.”

  “You were just able to hide it better.” Abandoning her cooking for the moment, Ana crossed over to take Morgana into her arms. “It was beautiful, and he’s so gentle. I knew there was a reason I had to wait, and he was it.” She drew back, smiling. “Boone’s given me more than I ever imagined I could have.”

  With a sigh, Morgana lifted her hands to Ana’s face. “You’re in love with him.”

  “Yes. Very much in love with him.”

  “And he with you?”

  Her gaze faltered. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, Ana.”

  “I won’t link with him that way.” Her eyes leveled again, her voice firmed. “It would be dishonest when I haven’t told him what I am, and haven’t the courage to tell him how I feel myself. I know he cares for me. I need no gift to know he cares for me. And that’s enough. When there’s more, if there’s more, he’ll tell me.”

  “It never fails to surprise me how damn stubborn you are.”

  “I’m a Donovan,” Ana countered. “And this is important.”

  “I agree. You should tell him.” She gripped Ana’s arms before her cousin could turn away. “Oh, I know. I despise it when someone gives me advice I don’t want to hear. But you have to let go of the past and face the future.”

  “I am facing the future. I’d like Boone to be in it. I need more time.” Her voice broke, and she pressed her lips together until she felt she could steady it. “Morgana, I know him. He’s a good man. He has compassion and imagination and a capacity for generosity he isn’t even aware of. He also has a child.”

  W
hen Ana turned away this time, Morgana was forced to brace herself on the table. “Is that what you’re afraid of? Taking on someone else’s child?”

  “Oh, no. I love her. Who wouldn’t? Even before I loved Boone, I loved Jessie. And she’s the center of his world, as she should be. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing, I wouldn’t do for either of them.”

  “Then explain.”

  Stalling, Ana rinsed the hard-cooked eggs she was going to devil. “Do you have any fresh dill? You know how Uncle Douglas loves his deviled eggs with dill.”

  On a hiss of breath, Morgana slapped a jar on the counter. “Anastasia, explain.”

  Emotions humming, Ana jerked off the tap. “Oh, you don’t know how fortunate you are with Nash. To have someone love you that way no matter what.”

  “Of course I know,” Morgana said softly. “What does Nash have to do with this?”

  “How many other men would accept one of us so completely? How many would want marriage, or take a witch as a mother for his child?”

  “In the name of Finn, Anastasia.” The impatience in her voice was spoiled a bit by the fact that she was forced to sit again. “You talk as if we’re broomstick-riding crones, cackling while we curdle the milk in a mother’s breast.”

  She didn’t smile. “Don’t most think of us just that way? Robert—”

  “A pox on Robert.”

  “All right, forget him,” Ana agreed with a wave of her hand. “How many times through the centuries have we been hunted and persecuted, feared and ostracized, simply for being what we were born to be? I’m not ashamed of my blood. I don’t regret my gift or my heritage. But I couldn’t bear it if I told him, and he looked at me as if”—she gave a half laugh—“as if I had a smoking cauldron in the basement filled with toads and wolfsbane.”

  “If he loves you—”

  “If,” Ana repeated. “We’ll see. Now, I think you should lie down for an hour.”

  “You’re just changing the subject,” Morgana began, then looked up as Nash burst in. There were cobwebs in his hair—simulated, fortunately—and an unholy gleam in his eyes.

  “You guys have got to see this. It’s incredible. I’m so good, I scare myself.” He snatched a celery stalk from the counter and chomped. “Come on, don’t just stand there.”

  “Amateurs,” Morgana sighed, and hauled herself to her feet.

  The two women were admiring Nash’s hologram ghosts in the foyer when Ana heard a car drive up.

  “They’re here.” Filled with delight at the prospect of seeing her family, Ana took one bounding leap toward the door. Then stopped dead. She was already whirling around when Morgana sagged against Nash.

  Instantly he went as pale as his ghosts. “Babe? Are you—? Oh, boy.”

  “It’s all right.” She let out a long breath as Ana took her other arm. “Just a twinge, really.” Leaning back against Nash, she smiled at Ana. “I guess having twins on Halloween is pretty appropriate.”

  * * *

  “Absolutely nothing to worry about.” Douglas Donovan was reassuring Nash. Like his son, he was a tall man, and his mane of raven hair was only lightly silvered. He’d chosen black tie and tails for the occasion, and had set them off with orange neon sneakers that pleased him enormously by glowing in the dark. “Childbirth. Most natural thing in the world. Perfect night for it, too.”

  “Right.” Nash swallowed the lump in his throat. His house was full of people—witches, if you wanted to get technical—and his wife was sitting on the sofa, looking as if she weren’t the least bit concerned that she’d been in labor for more than three hours. “Maybe it was a false alarm.”

  Camilla wafted by in a sequined ball gown and tapped Nash on the shoulder with her feather fan. “Leave it to Ana, dear child. She’ll take care of everything. Why, when I had Sebastian, I was in labor for thirteen hours. We joked about that—didn’t we, Douglas?”

  “After you’d stopped shouting curses at me, dear heart.”

  “Well, naturally.” She wandered toward the kitchen, thinking she’d check on the stew. Ana never used quite enough sage.

  “Would have turned me into a hedgehog if she hadn’t been otherwise occupied,” Douglas confided.

  “That makes me feel better,” Nash muttered. “Heaps.”

  Delighted to have helped, Douglas slapped him heartily on the back. “That’s what we’re here for, Dash.”

  “Nash.”

  Douglas smiled benignly. “Yes, indeed.”

  “Mama.” Morgana gave her mother’s hand a squeeze. “Go rescue poor Nash from Uncle Douglas. He’s looking a little queasy.”

  Bryna obligingly set aside her sketch pad. “Shall I have your father take him out for a walk?”

  “Wonderful.” She gave a sigh of gratitude as Ana continued to rub her shoulders. “There isn’t anything for him to do quite yet.”

  Ana’s father, Padrick, plopped down the moment Bryna vacated the seat. “How’s the girl?”

  “I’m really fine. It’s all very mild as yet, but I’m sure it’ll get rolling before too much longer.” She leaned over to kiss his plump cheek. “I’m glad you’re all here.”

  “Wouldn’t be anywhere else.” He put a pudgy hand on her belly to soothe and gave his daughter one of his elvish grins. “And my own little darling. You’re pretty as a picture. Take right after your da, don’t you?”

  “Naturally.” Ana felt the next contraction start and kept her hands steady on Morgana’s shoulders. “Long, relaxed breaths, love.”

  “Will you want to give her some blue cohosh?” he asked his daughter.

  Ana considered, then shook her head. “Not yet. She’s doing well enough. But you could get me my pouch. I’ll want some crystals.”

  “Done.” He rose, then flipped his hand over. In the palm was a sprig of bell heather in full flower. “Now, where did this come from?” he said, in the way he had since the laboring woman had been a babe herself. “Take care of this for me. I’ve business to tend to.”

  Morgana brushed the heather against her cheek. “He’s the dearest man in the world.”

  “He’ll spoil these two if you let him. Da’s a pushover for children.” With the empathic link, she knew Morgana was in more discomfort than she was letting on. “I’ll have to take you upstairs soon, Morgana.”

  “Not yet, though.” She reached over her shoulder for Ana’s hand. “It’s so nice being here with everyone. Where’s Aunt Maureen?”

  “Mama’s in the kitchen, probably arguing with Aunt Camilla over the stew by now.”

  On a little groan, Morgana shut her eyes. “Lord, I could eat a gallon of it.”

  “After,” Ana promised, and looked up as the rattle of chains and the moans of the suffering filled the room. “Somebody at the door.”

  “Poor Nash. He can’t relax long enough to appreciate his own handiwork. Is it Sebastian?”

  Ana craned her neck. “Uh-huh. He and Mel are critiquing the holograms. Whoops, there goes the smoke machine and the bats.”

  Sebastian strode in. “Amateurs.”

  * * *

  “And Lydia was so scared she screamed and screamed,” Jessie said, relating the chills and thrills of the elementary school’s haunted house. “Then Frankie ate so much candy he threw up.”

  “Sounds like a red-letter day.” To forestall exactly the same eventuality, Boone had already hidden away half of the treats Jessie’d collected in her goodie bag.

  “I like my costume best of all.” As they got out of the car in front of Morgana’s, Jessie twirled so that the starry pink material floated around her. Rather pleased with himself, Boone crouched to adjust her wings of aluminum foil. It had taken him the better part of two days to figure out how to tack and baste and tie the fairy costume together. But it was worth it.

  She tapped her father’s shoulder with her cardboard wand. “Now you’re the handsome prince.”

  “What was I before?”

  “The ugly toad.” She squealed with laughter as he tweaked
her nose. “Do you think Ana’s going to be surprised? Will she recognize me?”

  “Not a chance. I’m not sure I recognize you myself.” They’d opted to dispense with a mask, and Boone had painted her cheeks with rouge, reddened her lips, and smudged her eyelids up to her eyebrows with glittery gold shadow.

  “We’re going to meet her whole family,” she reminded her father—as if he needed reminding. He’d been worrying about the event all week. “And I get to see Morgana’s cat and dog again.”

  “Right.” He tried not to be overly concerned about the dog. Pan might look like a wolf—disconcertingly so—but he’d been gentle and friendly with Jessie the last time they’d visited.

  “This is going to be the best Halloween party in the whole world.” Rising to her tiptoes, she pushed the doorbell. Her mouth fell open in a soundless gasp when the moans and clanking chains filled the air.

  A husky man with thinning hair and jolly eyes opened the door. He took one look at Jessie and spoke in his best ghoul’s voice. “Welcome to the haunted castle. Enter at your own risk.”

  Her eyes were big blue saucers. “Is it really haunted?”

  “Come in … if you dare.” He squatted down until he was at eye level with her, then pulled a fluffy stuffed bunny from up his sleeve.

  “Ooh …” Charmed, Jessie pressed it against her cheek. “Are you a magician?”

  “Certainly. Isn’t everyone?”

  “Uh-uh. I’m a fairy princess.”

  “That’s good enough. And is this your escort for the evening?” he asked, glancing up at Boone.

  “No.” Jessie laughed gaily. “He’s my daddy. I’m really Jessie.”

  “I’m really Padrick.”

  He straightened, and though his eyes remained merry, Boone was sure he was being measured. “And you’d be?”

  “Sawyer.” He offered a hand. “Boone Sawyer. We’re Anastasia’s neighbors.”

  “Neighbors, you say? Well, I doubt that’s all. But come in, come in.” He exchanged Boone’s hand for Jessie’s. “See what we have in store for you.”

  “Ghosts!” She nearly bounced out of her Mary Janes. “Daddy, ghosts!”

  “Not a bad attempt for a layman,” Padrick said kindly enough. “Oh, by the way, Ana’s just taken Nash and Morgana upstairs. We’ve having twins tonight. Maureen, my passion flower, come meet Ana’s neighbors.” He turned to Boone as a striking amazon in a scarlet turban came striding down the hall.

  “I imagine you’d like a drink, boyo,” Padrick said to Boone.

  “Yes, sir.” Boone blew out a long breath. “I believe I would.”

  * * *

  Hesitant and uneasy, Mel knocked on the door of Morgana’s bedroom, then poked her head in. She wasn’t sure whether she’d expected the clinical—and, to her mind, frightening—aura of a delivery room or the mystical glow of a magic circle. Either one she could have done without.

  Instead, there was Morgana, propped up in a big, cozy-looking bed, flowers and candles all around. Harp and flute music was drifting through the room. Morgana looked a bit flushed, Nash more than a bit pale, but the basic normality of it all reassured Mel enough to have her crossing the threshold when Ana gestured to her.

  “Come on in, Mel. You should be an expert at this now. After all, you helped Sebastian and me deliver the foal just a few months ago.”

  “I feel like a horse,” Morgana muttered, “but that doesn’t mean I appreciate the comparison.”

  “I don’t want to interrupt, or get in the way or— Oh, boy,” she whispered when Morgana threw her head back and began to puff like a steam engine.

  “Okay, okay.” Nash gripped her hand and fumbled with a stopwatch. “Here comes another one. We’re doing fine, just fine.”