Stronger Than Blood

Warnings

Triggers: Please note this book is meant for adult audiences. It contains sexual content, sexual harassment, attempted murder, graphic violence, a brief account of torture, and a reference to rape.

Spoilers: This is the sixth novel in a larger series universe, following one overarching timeline. I’ve done my best to include appropriate backstory when necessary, but it is advised to follow the reading order as indicated below.

The Earthen Witch Chronicles

by Sarah Doughty

Just Breathe

Focus

Home

Listen

Safe

Stronger Than Blood

Enduring The Flames

Zoe*

Dream Spell**

*a prequel novella

**a standalone novella

For my dearest Saide. You breathed life into your dreams and brought them to light.

When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul lends the tongue vows.

– William Shakespeare

The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other’s life.

– Richard Bach

I was born by myself but carry the spirit and blood of my father, mother, and my ancestors. So I am really never alone. My identity is through that line.

– Ziggy Marley

Prologue

Everything around me was shrouded in darkness, but somehow, I recognized what was happening. It wasn’t the first time and I knew it wouldn’t be my last.

Although I couldn’t see much of anything through that oblivion, I never felt any unease, fear, or discomfort. Instead, a sense of calm washed over me like someone wrapped me in a cool, fuzzy blanket.

In a way, the dream felt like coming home.

Before, whenever I dreamt, the sequence of events seemed new. It wasn’t until after I awoke that the dream itself became familiar. That time, I was aware from the start. I didn’t know what to make of that.

Around me, a chilled, gentle breeze picked up, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. Soft silk brushed across my bare skin and I shivered, but it wasn’t uncomfortable to me. If anything, it was the opposite. Goosebumps bloomed across my body as if my senses began to stir from a long, deep slumber. I knew that feeling.

It was the anticipation of what was coming.

A dim, orange-yellow flame washed me in illumination. I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the sudden, low light. And that was when I saw it.

The familiar black, ornate lantern stood, emitting that warm glow from its peak like it was a lighthouse at the edge of the sea, guiding lost ships home.

Its base, wide and stout, provided a strong foundation, like an old corinthian column standing in prominence at the face of its structure. Reaching higher, the rounded middle curved as it tapered, holding the multi-faceted lantern secure at the top.

Within its hand-blown glass panes, a single flame flickered and danced, casting light outward into the night. As if it was capped with a royal crown, it angled to a point in the center. Beyond the glow, a faint mist hung in the air, only adding to the sense of otherworldliness.

As my eyes traveled across the area, I noticed something was off. The glass panes of the lantern went all the way around, yet the light pointed out in one direction. Straight at me. The mist wasn’t thick enough to block the light, so it didn’t make sense.

Something caught my eye off to the left, just outside the reach of that flickering firelight. It was too dark to focus on anything definitive, but there was just enough of an outline to know someone was there. Despite that, knowing I wasn’t alone didn’t change how I felt in those long moments.

I didn’t know how, but I could feel the person there, too. A pair of intense eyes traveled over me like I was being studied. There was no sense of vulnerability or an uncomfortable exposure. If anything, it was the opposite. Safe and exhilarating at the same time. All I wanted was to see who stood there in utter silence.

The wind picked up again, that luxurious silk rustling over me once more, and I breathed in. A hint of sweet mint registered to my nose, but beyond it, there was nothing. As if everything beyond the light — except for the stranger — was a deep nothingness. A darkened oblivion. Other than the slight breeze moving past my ears, there was no sound, either.

Something brushed across my wrist and I glanced down. I froze, eyes widening at my nightgown. Pristine, white silk hung over my body like it was made only to fit me. The hem covered my bare feet as it pooled around me on the concrete. And lacy sleeves covered my arms.

To say that it was an intricate design wouldn’t do its beauty any justice. Swirling vines and flowers, as soft as the flawless silk, traveled down from the edge of my shoulders and flared out at my wrists, ending with the curved tips of delicate petals halfway down my hands.

I never wore anything so exquisite in my life. Despite feeling the faintest sense of unworthiness to wear such a garment, somehow I knew it was a one-of-a-kind. Made for me. It probably cost more than one semester at Tulane.

That was a disturbing thought.

It wasn’t the estimated price tag. It was the fact that I was wearing it. That felt wrong, more than anything else in that dream. A wave of disappointment washed over me, and in the next instant, something moved at the top of my peripheral vision and blocked out a little of that faint illumination.

My eyes snapped up and I gaped. The man stood there, shrouded in darkness. As if the flickering light slid around his form, not daring to touch him. Despite that, I could see his outline.

I recognized his shape. Like I knew him from somewhere. But I couldn’t pinpoint it. Whoever he was, he sent heat through my veins, and it made my mouth water.

In the next instant, a sudden noise disrupted my thoughts and my dream ended.

Chapter 1

I opened my bleary eyes to glare at the offending sound that woke me.

Wake up, a little hand tugged at my frayed sleeve with the holes in the seams. Come on, Marcy! It’s time to get up, Sylvie giggled when I pulled the sheet over my head and huffed. Watching her through the thin material, my lips twitched as she leaned down and put her hand against her face to tell me a secret.

I started the coffee for you, she whispered like she admitted to stealing from the cookie jar — if we had one. Even though she was ten years old, she was still my favorite cousin. It didn’t matter that she was the baby of the family. By a few minutes, anyway.

I grinned and tossed the warm sheet away. Smiling up at her, I said, You, little bug, are a saint. As I finished, I blew air out of my mouth and up toward my nose in a feeble attempt to cool my blazing cheeks.

Sylvie straightened, plugging her nose for effect, and said, Ew, Marcy, your breath smells like death. She tried to keep a straight face but failed as she started grinning.

By the time she squealed with laughter, my arms already shot out and grabbed her to pull her closer. As I started tickling her, I angled my face toward hers, cried, Oh it does, huh? and pushed all of the air in my lungs at her at the same time.

Her thrashing increased in her efforts to escape my tickling as she grunted, Ew!

The bunk above me creaked in protest as my teenage cousin grumbled at the offending noise.

Sorry, Ethan, I said, letting Sylvie go.

She backed away, still laughing as I stood up and stretched, trying to ignore the tacky feel of sweat on the back of my neck. When I finished, my cousin was watching me and I rolled my eyes. I get it. I’m going to go get cleaned up.

With a yawn, I rummaged through the three-drawer dresser I shared with Ethan, grabbing my clothes and my little bathroom bag before I padded past Sylvie’s twin brother Theo, climbing down the ladder of the bunk they shared. Snatching my towel from the hook beside the door, I crossed the hall to the house’s only bathroom.

The building I shared with my family seemed more like a dormitory than a house. To be honest, the dorms at Tulane felt downright spacious in comparison. It was far from easy, but we made it work.

I set my towel and bag on the tank of the toilet and turned on the shower, leaving it mostly cold, just the way I liked. It meant I could shower and no one would have to worry if I was stealing hot water. There was barely enough of it for one person, let alone a house of twelve people.

Once I removed my panties and old, oversized short-sleeve shirt with more holes than should be legal, I moved fast. Holding each piece of clothing under the spray, I scrubbed them with a little soap in my hands before rinsing and wringing them out. Then I tossed them over the shower rod furthest away from the water before stepping in the tub.

I moved right under the spray and turned my face up into it. The cool water hit my flaming cheeks and rolled down my skin. I shivered at the initial shock of the water’s temperature but then sighed as it cooled my body.

That was one of the worst parts of living in a place like New Orleans. It was always too warm for me. Summers were the worst. Stifling. All the time.

Seriously.

If such a thing as the devil existed, he’d feel right at home in a New Orleans August.

The winters, on the other hand, were mild, which made everything slightly more tolerable. With the end of the year days away, the windows in the house were cracked — it was too chilly for the rest of my family for anything more — I still woke up feeling like I slept in a sauna. Every morning. And I hated it.

Once my cheeks cooled, I finished getting ready. Around ten minutes later, I was done. Stuffing everything back in my little bag, I grabbed the rest of my things and crossed back to the tiny bedroom I shared with my three youngest cousins.

I hung the clean, wet clothes from hooks attached to my bunk and put everything else away, shoving the straps of my old bra back on my shoulders in the process. Then I glanced at the mirror mounted on the back of the bedroom door.

My long, black tunic looked more like a linen sack with armholes cut in it than a respectable shirt over my thin frame, but there were no tears that I could see. Standing at just over five-and-a-half feet, my distressed boot-cut jeans fell a bit too short for my taste, but at least it was snug enough around my hips to stay in place.

Not great, but it would do.

With damp straight hair hanging in loose, messy waves down to the base of my shoulder blades, it looked almost black in the limited light. Hints of bluish undertones peeked through. And, under direct light, bits of chestnut hues were visible as well.

My clear, warm, olive complexion didn’t require makeup to look presentable. Long, dark lashes framed brown eyes that could either look black or more like milk chocolate depending on the lighting. Full but soft lips, slightly pinker than my skin, rounded out my features. A small brown mole on my right cheek wasn’t too noticeable, but it wasn’t something I liked.

Needless to say, I felt inadequate.

Good enough.

Frowning, I grabbed my wallet, keys, and two other items I always kept with me off the shelf and stuffed them into my pockets. Then I stepped into my black flats and made my way to the kitchen.

Theo and Sylvie were finishing their bowls of cereal while Aunt Jenny and two of my older cousins, Amber and Kylie each nursed steaming cups of coffee with reddish, sleepy eyes. One glance at the coffee pot told me I would have to wait five minutes before I could enjoy some of my own.

Before my shoulders could fall, Sylvie looked up and grinned, sliding a mug that she’d poured and guarded toward me. Ugh, I huffed and flashed her a grateful smile. You really are a saint, little bug. Thank you. She nodded in response and watched me take my first sip. The bitter taste exploded on my tongue and my eyes slid closed as I savored it.

Fuck me, I needed this.

Despite how I looked, I didn’t like my coffee without cream and sugar. Since we were out of both more often than not, I learned to embrace it. Whenever I was able to indulge in a cup the way I liked, I treated it like a special occasion.

Because it was.

I opened my eyes and caught Sylvie studying me. Her long braid curved around the back of her head and rested in front of her shoulder in the iconic hairstyle from The Hunger Games.

Though she looked more like the heroine’s little sister, Primrose, with her light brown hair, warm skin, and hazel eyes, I didn’t mind that she saw Katniss as a role model — she was smart, headstrong, and capable. And she didn’t need a guy to rescue her.

Theo looked more like a young Peeta with his fair hair slightly flopping over his forehead. He shared similar features with his twin sister, but I wouldn’t dare say that to his face. The boy embraced his individuality to an unnatural degree. I bit my cheek to stifle a grin.

As I was about to take another sip, Sylvie shook her head.

What? I asked before my eyes widened in mock horror. Do I have a booger on my face?

She snorted. No. I don’t know how you can drink that stuff.

It’s not very good like this, but when it’s just right, it is smooth and sweet.

Like hot chocolate?

I grinned at her. Exactly.

So why do you look like you’re so happy when you drink it if you don’t like it?

For a ten-year-old, she was observant. Well, I began, you may not understand this, but it’s more about how the coffee will make me feel.

She looked at me like I spoke a foreign language.

I set the cup down on the counter between us. Think of it this way. If I handed you a big cup of hot chocolate — with marshmallows, whipped cream, sprinkles — all the good stuff, and then gave you candy, how do you think you’d feel after a little while?

She chewed on her lip while she thought about it. The hot chocolate would feel warm and the rest would probably make me hyper.

I nodded, With coffee, it’s pretty similar, but you feel more awake and alert rather than hyper. As you age, sometimes you need an extra boost to get you moving in the morning. Nodding toward Sylvie’s mother and her two oldest siblings, I dipped my head toward her, lowering my voice. Sometimes you need a lot.

Though she did try to stifle her laugh, she wasn’t successful. It was a combination of a snort and a giggle.

Straightening, I picked up the mug and gave her a sly grin. Bless you, I muttered as if she sneezed, but we weren’t fooling anyone. The three coffee drinkers behind me were still too tired to worry about what we were saying.

Ten minutes later, Sylvie, Theo, Amber — the only one of the trio that joined us in the land of the living — and I walked out of the house, heading toward the French Quarter. It was still a little early to open the shop, but I needed to stock some shelves first.

Along the way, several blackbirds were perched on rooftops and power lines, cawing as we passed. At the same time, we all tried to ignore the hostile stares from some of the locals. Though it wasn’t uncommon for that to happen here and there, that began to change shortly before Christmas. The frequency of those hungry, hate-filled stares increased with every passing day.

Once we were inside Toil and Trouble — an oxymoronic name for a kitschy Voodoo shop, if there ever was one — Sylvie and Theo ran to the back room and settled at the table to work on their school projects due after the new year.

Amber sat at the counter, trying to pay attention as I rattled off the new inventory so she could mark it in the accounting book. I shook my head when she yawned again. Though she was only two years older than me at twenty-five, her weariness in the low light of the space made her look more middle-aged.

Her appearance wasn’t dissimilar to mine, except she kept her hair in a messy ponytail and her complexion was a little lighter, lacking that olive tone altogether. She was still beautiful, despite having enough bags under her eyes for a three-week vacation.

I walked up to her as she began to doze off and slipped the pencil out of her hand. After I picked up the accounting book, I tucked it under my arm and helped guide her head down to rest on her arm before I moved back to the shelves.

Despite her exhaustion, Amber enjoyed her two jobs. During the day, she managed the register in our little store. And in the evenings, she poured drinks at Rousseau’s Bar a few buildings away in the quarter. But because of the new year celebrations, the bars were staying open a little later.

And she wasn’t getting enough sleep.

No matter how many times I told her to stay home and rest during busy weeks or seasons, she refused. I knew why, and I couldn’t be upset with her for that.

New Orleans was a tourist attraction. From the famous cities of the dead to the otherworldly flair, it was different. The general public didn’t believe in witches and Voodoo with actual power. And that was for the best. We let them see what we wanted them to see. In a place like that, we could play it up a little.

But behind the curtain, our little city was ruled by a powerful Voodoo queen.

While my family practiced Voodoo, it wasn’t the same as the other practitioners. They didn’t like that about us. Despite those murderous stares, we were safe. As long as we could afford to pay for it, we were tolerated within Renata Crane’s city.

Problem was, we couldn’t afford much else.

It was a self-perpetuating cycle. We paid, followed her laws, and most of us were forced to work low-paying jobs of her choosing. We were lucky she allowed us to continue running our shop. It was far from fair, and I wanted out of that city. But that wasn’t my decision to make.

I was only allowed to attend university after high school because I was offered a full ride at Tulane. Since that was within the confines of the city, I wouldn’t have to leave. To go, I agreed that Renata Crane would still control where I worked after I graduated. I went, despite knowing her cruelty. That she would never allow me to make a career out of my education.

She seemed to enjoy that part the most.

But it wasn’t just the way she and her followers treated my family. It was what they did to hold all that power that unsettled me. Voodoo wasn’t technically supernatural, but some elements could boost the otherworldly power a practitioner could access. Blood was one of them.

Vampire blood.

They were kept around — not as consorts or friends, but as prisoners.

And, though I didn’t know why, the queen preferred the older ones. As a testament to that otherworldly boost, she reigned for over a century. To my knowledge, Renata Crane was at least one-hundred-and-fifty years old, without the frail grandmotherly appearance. The first time I saw her, I thought she was in her forties.

I was sick to my stomach just thinking about how much blood she needed to not only boost her power but stay young. It didn’t matter that I never met a vampire — I wasn’t certain if I ever would — I still wanted to rescue them. No matter who or what they were, they didn’t deserve it.

Going against hundreds of her followers, not to mention the queen herself, amped up on vampire blood, would be suicide. Knowing what was happening and that I couldn’t do anything to stop it made me feel complicit.

The thought of being free from that city and its ruler was like a dream. But if any one of us left, the protection for the entire family would be revoked. Since no one else wanted to leave and I would never abandon them to face that danger, daydreams and books were my escape.

With a sigh, I tried to clear my head. Several silent minutes passed and I placed the last doll on the shelf. It looked like a poppet with its human shape. To my knowledge, witches stopped using those things well over a century before and few practitioners used Voodoo dolls, but the tourists loved them.

As soon as I marked the inventory in the book, the sound of my family’s shared cell phone rang through the silence, pulling me out of my reverie and rousing Amber from her brief nap with a jolt.

Before she answered, I felt my stomach drop.

Chapter 2

Amber picked up the cell phone and looked at the screen. She paused, not only did she recognize the number, but it scared her. She was the carefree one of the family. Always happy and smiling. I couldn’t recall a time I ever saw her afraid of anything.

To be honest, it terrified me.

I returned to the counter, set the accounting book and pencil on the scratched surface, and kept my eyes on her.

She tapped on her screen and held it to her ear. I understood why she didn’t use the speaker. Whatever she would hear, it wasn’t something the twins needed to know. Amber Webster.

A distinctive man’s voice spoke to my cousin, but I couldn’t make out his words.

He spoke in a slow, even tone and after several long moments, my cousin said, I understand. Thank you for calling. Tapping the screen, she set the phone on the counter. Her face was white, but she didn’t tell us to run for our lives.

I waited for her to gather her thoughts, and when she swallowed, I asked, Okay, what was that?

Her wide eyes met mine, the dark hazel appearing brown in the low light. Renata Crane is dead, Marcy.

My eyebrows shot up. I was wondering why those glares by certain residents were more frequent. How? When?

He didn’t give me a detailed explanation, but she was murdered. A little over a week ago, they found her by Marie Laveau’s crypt.

In New Orleans, Marie was synonymous with Voodoo. She was the original queen. Her successor denounced vampire blood, but within a few days, she was killed and Renata took the throne before Marie’s vampires were ever released.

Though I wasn’t surprised it took her closest disciples a week to notify us, it was still unnerving.

How does that affect us? I asked.

Our protection is ensured, but once a successor is crowned, we will have to pay a tribute to keep it. She sighed as her shoulders drooped.

I didn’t need to run the numbers in my head. I knew we couldn’t afford the price they would require. If we couldn’t pay, the next ruler would do one of two things. Force us into exile, or leave us to our fate. Either way, nothing would stop the other practitioners from killing us.

Keeping my voice low, I asked, Why do they hate us so much? I’ve never been able to figure that out.

They don’t like that we use a talisman, she shrugged.

So? They use vampire blood.

She shook her head, The Tarantula gives us a boost not even blood can give them.

Nothing about what she was saying made sense to me. You’re telling me they’re jealous?

She nodded. They’ve always wanted more power. Even with blood and outnumbering our family over twenty-five to one, they still see us as a threat. As long as we stay here and pay, they let us live by their rules. Her voice strengthened at her growing panic. They’ll kill all—

I held up my hands and shushed her.

She took a breath. Then in a whisper, she continued, They’ll kill all of us if we lose that protection. Whether we stay here or run.

My mind reeled. We couldn’t sell our house in enough time to get the kind of money they’d demand — not that our house would be worth much anyway. What about this shop? Can we get a loan for it or just sell it?

A flash of confusion crossed Amber’s face before it cleared. I thought you knew.

Knew what?

We don’t own this shop, Marcy. Renata made us run it for her.

I raised my hands and pressed my index fingers against my temples. Based on the way Renata controlled our lives, I wasn’t exactly surprised, but it was still difficult to process. This isn’t even our shop. Did we ever own it?

Even though I knew the answer, I wanted her to confirm it.

She shook her head.

Wow. This is unbelievable, I laughed, despite my growing unease, and dropped my hands. What do we do then? We’ll never be able to afford their tribute.

To be honest, Marcy, I don’t know. It seems like they’re looking for an excuse to back us into a corner.

I took a deep breath and tried to sort out everything she told me. Then, with a grim realization, I nodded. Then we have no choice but to run. How much time do we have?

New Years Day. We pay or the protection order is revoked.

A rush of panic washed over me.

Two days.

Chapter 3

Our family was prohibited from attending any official Voodoo gatherings, which included Renata Crane’s funeral services and succession ceremony. We didn’t know who would take her place, but it didn’t matter.

When we closed the shop for the day and the four of us walked home, it seemed as though every practitioner we passed looked at us like we were lost lambs in a field of starved wolves. Even the blackbirds perched on the rooftops seemed to gaze at us with hostility.

I reminded myself that it wasn’t any worse than the past few days. Amber and I were finally, painfully aware of why they looked so hungry. The odds of us being attacked were slim at best.

Right?

That thought made me shiver.

By the time we made it home, the family lingered with nervous expressions in the small kitchen. Some looked as terrified as I felt. They knew Renata was dead, but that was all. It took a moment, but I realized the other two coffee drinkers that morning, Kylie and Aunt Jenny weren’t home yet.

While the twins occupied themselves, Amber and I explained the impending tribute. My idea of fleeing the city was met with a resounding refusal from everyone but Ethan and Amber. My teenage cousin was old enough to understand the danger we faced, and he didn’t like what he heard any more than I did.

It didn’t make sense to me. New Orleans was home to all of us, but staying alive mattered more than doing nothing and hoping for a miracle — unless they were hiding some unknown Ace up their sleeves. In which case, that made even less sense. Defeated, I decided to come up with a plan. When the protection was revoked, maybe some of us would escape with our lives.

Directing us to continue as if nothing was happening, my other aunt, Lois glared at me. A couple of my eldest cousins didn’t bother trying to hide their disdain of me either.

Everyone was scared, I understood that much. But why did they look at me like that?

I never felt a true sense of belonging with them because I was orphaned as a baby. They inherited me. Watching Ethan and the twins growing up, I realized I was tolerated, not so much loved. I accepted it.

But was I that much of an unwanted burden?

I never felt as alone as I did at that moment. And it made my heart ache.

The following morning wasn’t much better.

After hours of pacing, I was wearing a hole in the old carpet of our living room when the sun rose.

When Aunt Lois left for her nightly walk after the twins went to bed, she saw me lingering by the front door. I thought for a moment she would slap me, but she sighed in exasperation and walked out without a word.

Though she didn’t hit me, I still felt the sting as if she did.

But what was worse, the hours ticked by and, like Aunt Jenny and Kylie, she never came home.

By the time Sylvie and Theo were awake, I was nursing my fourth cup of coffee.

I didn’t know if I was jittery from terror or if it was the caffeine. I was willing to bet it was a combination of the two.

Sylvie noticed my unease and took my hand, waiting for me to look at her. When I did, she told me to take a shower and that when I came out, I’d feel a little better. She promised me a bowl of cereal when I was finished.

I nodded and went through the motions, even washing the previous day’s clothes, feeling more like a zombie than someone that didn’t sleep due to frazzled nerves.

Dressed in a fresh pair of black cotton panties beneath jeans so faded and worn they were practically falling apart, and a tan shirt with several holes along the bottom hem with the fallen straps of my black bra peeking out, I didn’t bother to check the mirror for my appearance.

Halfway through my bowl of dry cheerios, since Theo took the last of the milk, Ethan shuffled into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee from the fresh pot Sylvie started.

The steaming liquid made his eyes bunch up at the bitter flavor. With a shudder, he forced himself to swallow and I winced, knowing he burned his mouth and throat in the process.

Standing barefoot, his navy sweater hung over his faded jeans with a tear at the elbow. Brown, side-swept hair stuck out in random places, and bags were packed under his deep, hazel eyes.

Did you sleep? I asked in a monotone voice.

He shook his head and took another gulp.

I understood how he felt and considered him.

Though he was only sixteen years old, he was already taller than me, around six feet, which would make anyone reconsider attacking him if that was what they planned. And, he knew enough about our family’s uniqueness and the severity of our new circumstances in the city. Ethan, will you do me a favor today?

What do you want, he breathed through the lingering burn of coffee going down his throat.

Stay with the twins today and walk them to Rousseau’s Bar to meet Amber at five this afternoon to grab dinner. I’ll meet you there. Can you do that for me?

He rolled his eyes, Why can’t you take them with you?

Anger flared in me for an instant before it cleared. It wasn’t his fault for being a teenager. Even for our family’s standards. This is important, Ethan. Now, will you shut up and focus?

He stood there, waiting.

Then I raised my eyebrow at him, speaking each word with care. I need to go to the library.

He knew what I meant. The twins knew we practiced Voodoo, but they didn’t know anything about the supernatural world. Going to the library meant researching things in a vault they didn’t need to know about yet.

Lowering the mug from his face, he blinked. What about the shop?

I shook my head and took a step closer. They’re not going to notice if the shop is closed on New Year’s Eve, Ethan. Then, I lowered my voice. It’s not going to matter by tomorrow anyway.

He shivered, but it wasn’t from the sting of the coffee. It was fear. I didn’t want to scare him, but our whole family was in immediate danger. Setting his mug into the sink, he crossed his arms in front of his chest. What’s the plan, then? We’re just going to line up like we’re cows to slaughter?

Shh, I hissed and put my bowl in the sink before I rested my hand on his forearm. When the twins kept talking, I said, Not if I can help it. I’m hoping I’ll be able to come up with something today. Maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll have time to run if that’s what it comes down to. Can you at least trust me for today and do as I ask?

The muscles in his jaw worked as he processed my words. Okay, he held up his finger, but only because you’re the only one doing something about it.

I sighed. I suppose I can accept that.

As I moved toward the front door, I slipped on my flats and paused, turning back to Ethan, not trying to quiet my voice. Keep them inside until you leave for Rousseau’s. Keep to the crowds as much as you can, understand?

He nodded and gave me a lopsided grin. I got it. I’m gonna be the mean babysitter today.

The twins stopped talking and started complaining right away. I smiled at him in gratitude and then opened the door. As I walked through the threshold, I called behind me, Be good. Love you guys. I hoped the twins didn’t notice that my voice cracked.

I shut the door and moved down the steps, hearing the click of the deadbolt as I hit the empty driveway. Then I walked to the