letting us know he was still talking to Bedelia, “part a my territory and land. Let my enemies burn with the sun.”
Bedelia laughed again, less cackle and more knowing. Yeah. These two had a history I wanted to know about. She asked, “Molly, have you heard from the twins? Are your sisters safe?”
Boadacia and Elizabeth, aka Cia and Liz, were the youngest witches, the most adventurous of the Everhart clan, and I was suddenly worried. “No. I’ll call. But we need to maintain an open line of communication. Okay if I give Shaddock your number?”
“I’ve got Bedelia’s number,” Lincoln said, “I’ll call.”
The local MOC had the number of the Everhart Clan mother? I so needed to hear this story. Once my friends were done being attacked. “Lincoln Shaddock will call and keep the lines open.” I pressed END and called Cia’s number. She answered.
“It better be good, Yellowrock,” she said, crabby.
I chuckled sourly and said, “Does a vamp attack at Seven Sassy Sisters and a vamp attack at your mom’s sound good enough?”
“Son of a witch on a switch,” Cia said. “Calling Liz on the laptop line and checking the perimeters.” A moment later Cia said, “My place is safe so far, but on the security cams at Seven, I count two vamps, dead, or nearly so, and three more still active on low-light. And I see two humans sneaking up in back. Liz, your wards up? Because I see two vamps on your back deck.”
Over the connection, I heard Liz say, “I see ’em. Take that, you thrice-damned bloodsucker.”
“Oh. Nice work, sis,” Cia said. To us she added, “She just tossed a magical frag and singed two vamps so bad they aren’t getting up.”
“Magical frag? Singed?” I asked.
“A magic bomb we’ve been working on. And singed as in burned them to charcoal.”
Shaddock chuckled softly and muttered, “I do love the Everhart women.”
“Ah hell,” Cia said. “Tell Molly her place is getting dinged.”
“I felt it,” Moll said. “No fanghead is getting through our wards. Not to worry.”
Cassy burped, a soft, sweet sound, and Thema’s eyes landed on the diaper-covered baby in Molly’s arms. For half a second or so, a faint human smile appeared on her face; then her expression returned to vamp-scornful. If I had blinked, I’d have missed it. As if she were patting a baby, she patted Ed’s head. “All is well, young one. You are safe,” she said, though I wasn’t sure if she was speaking to the baby or to my primo. Or both. “There are humans here now, Edmund Hartley. Feed.” She stepped away from the tub and a human woman pulled off her shirt and climbed in. She was wearing a halter top under the shirt, giving him access to a broad expanse of human flesh.
“My people are approaching the restaurant,” Lincoln said. “They’ll take down the human attackers first and then the Mithrans. Try not to shoot my people,” he added wryly. The information was passed along. Then everything went silent. Minutes crawled by.
Lincoln’s cell dinged. “Yes?” he answered. Smile wrinkles creased his face. “Good work, Holly, Gerald. See about making the building secure from the storm. Then if the women want to go home, you will provide escort. Or keep watch there. Whichever the ladies decide to do.” He stopped and listened. “Of a certainty. I’ll make sure that Molly knows you are present.”
Before he could hang up, Molly called out, “Holly! Gerald! Thank you! And tell my sisters about the teapot. They’ll know who you are then.”
“Teapot?” I asked.
No one answered. All the callers had signed off. I inspected Edmund, whose flesh was showing signs of regenerating, a pale white membrane covering muscle and tendons.
Molly, whose baby had clearly done a stinky in her diaper, patted Cassy’s back and said, “I’m heading back to the main house. This cottage is too small for all the humans and paras.”
I was about to assign her an escort, when Alex buzzed through the cottage’s modern-day version of an intercom. “Janie,” he said. “Trouble in New Orleans. Get in here.”
“Well, dang,” I muttered. I had to go back into the storm and I had just gotten the snowballs under my toenail pads thawed. I glanced down. At some point I had chipped my pretty toe-claw polish.
“The responsibilities of leadership,” Lincoln said. “I sympathize.” But his tone said he didn’t, at all.
I trudged from the relative warmth of the cottage, Molly at my side, to the back door and mudroom of the inn. I kept