11. Family. Amirite?

Hester didn't eat much, but it was something, and that made me feel better. Her gaze had been darting all around the studio while we had dinner. When it was clear she'd had her fill, I cleaned up and gave her a proper tour, including the gallery.

The building was an old cannery that had been in the family for a while. I had purchased it from Gran and began the arduous task of converting it into an art gallery with a studio. The majority of the building was the gallery-retail space. The grand opening for that was less than two weeks away.

The studio was also my apartment. I had a large work area with a small living room comprised of a couch, a coffee table, a reading chair, and an end table. The back half of the studio was a kitchenette with a restaurant-grade oven for all the baking I did. A small restroom was in the back corner. Upstairs, in the loft, was my bedroom and a full bath. And then on the other side of the studio, opposite the gallery, was the fire room where I did pottery and glass blowing.

The construction was finally done. I just needed to paint the walls in the gallery and start moving in my art. Hester loved the idea of a tea shop in the gallery, and I eventually got her to agree to stop by regularly for a muffin and a cup of tea.

I could have been wrong, but it felt like getting her out of her house—away from the grief that had saturated the furniture and sunk into the floorboards—was helping to lift her mood. Sorrow was coming second to wonder at the moment, so I pressed my advantage and took her out on the deck.

It being summer, the sunset was just now winding down, the sky pink and purple rather than gold and red. I waved her over to the railing and introduced her to Charlie and Herbert.

"Cecil," I called and a tentacle broke the surface. "This is my Aunt Hester. Can you say hello?" Three tentacles swirled at the surface and then went back under.

Hester gasped and leaned farther out. A tennis ball rolled across the deck and came to a stop directly beside my shoe. Dang. That was impressive.

"Wait right here." I ran in the studio door and grabbed the long orange plastic pole with the ball cup on the end. The gizmo was made for throwing a ball to a dog, but it worked great for playing fetch with a seal. Declan had found it for me, and I'd been using it ever since. I picked up the wet tennis ball with the scooper and then went back to the railing.

Pointing out with my free hand, I told my aunt to watch the water. I flung the ball, the plastic arm helping it go much farther than I could have managed on my own. Hester looked confused for a moment and then delighted as she watched Wilbur streak through the water after the ball.

"Was that a seal?" The sight shocked a laugh out of her, her cheeks finally losing their gray pallor.

"That was Wilbur. We've had a daily game of fetch going since I moved back to Monterey."

Shaking her head, she looked down where Cecil had broken the surface and then up at the thirty-foot tentacles that appeared to be pulling my gallery into the ocean. "How?" was all she got out.

"Has no one explained my parentage to you over the years?" I asked, twisting my hair and stuffing it down the back of my shirt, out of the wind.

At the embarrassed shake of her head, I patted her shoulder and waved her back in. "It's okay. No need to feel uncomfortable. Coreys have been looking at me sideways my whole life." I pointed to the couch, and she sat.

"They don't look at or talk to me at all," she said.

"Yeah. Some of us can be real assholes. On behalf of the Coreys," I said, "please allow me to apologize." Opening the freezer, I rattled off all the baked goods I was stockpiling for the gallery opening. One little spell and they'd be thawed and tasting like they were fresh from the oven.

"You're a baker too?"

"I'm a real Renaissance woman." At her confused look, I said, "As you know, I'm a Cassandra wicche. I've had horrible nightmares and visions my whole life. When they wake me up in the middle of the night—and they do every night—I bake. I talk with my friends in the ocean. I draw, paint, blow glass. I do whatever I can to plaster over the dark and traumatic with light and beauty."

I held up my gloved hands. "I'm not a germaphobe. Psychometry. I can read thoughts, see memories, have visions, whatever, when I touch people or things. I'm a clairvoyant and a precog. Also, while I'm a Corey wicche on my mom's side, my dad is water fae. I have no idea what kind—I've never met him—but he's responsible for my affinity for water. And probably for upping my psychic abilities.

"Cassandra wicches usually only pop up in our family every couple hundred years. I got a lot of shit, particularly from my cousins, when I was little. Unknown parentage, long crazy hair that takes on blue, green, and purple hues when I've been in the ocean, knowing what they're thinking, what they've done, being my mother's daughter, all of it made me incredibly unpopular. I'm told I asked for my first set of gloves when I was about three, after I'd told a room full of family members about Aunt Bridget and Uncle Michael's imminent deaths."

"Oh no," Hester breathed.

"Yeah. I was the family's own little harbinger of death. Made me quite the popular party guest." I shrugged a shoulder. "What are ya gonna do? Anyway, about these baked goods," I said, opening the freezer door again. "Which sounds good to you?"

I felt a No, thank you coming, so I pulled out a container of lemon bars. "These are my favorites. Can I talk you into one?"

With a little shrug, she said, "I do love lemon."

"Right?" With that hurdle cleared, I opened the refrigerator. "I have milk, beer, orange and grape sodas." I leaned on the door. "I can also make some hot chocolate, coffee, or tea."

"I don't want to be a bother," she said, clearly uncomfortable with someone trying to look after her.

"It's not even a little bit of a bother. What sounds good?" I felt what she wanted to choose, so added, "Let me make you my hot chocolate. I think you'll like it." I pulled thin rubber gloves on over my regular ones—no one wants fibers falling into their food—and then got chocolate from my pantry. I grabbed a double boiler and got to work melting dark and milk chocolate. I ran a cinnamon stick over a microplane, added vanilla, sugar, a pinch of salt, and then a hint of chili to give it a kick. Once it was melted and smoothly mixed, I added the whole milk.

"Are you a whipped cream or marshmallow person?" I asked, pouring the hot chocolate into two mugs. I could feel her hesitating. "Just say it."

"Marshmallow."

"A woman after my own heart." I went back to the freezer for a couple of homemade marshmallow squares, did the thawing spell, and dropped them in our mugs. I brought over a plate of bars and some napkins first and then our mugs before peeling off the second set of gloves.

Hester took a sip and then paused, her eyes fluttering closed. "Oh my goodness," she murmured before taking another sip. Her reaction made me feel bright and bubbly inside.

Mmm, the hot chocolate was good. Maybe a pinch more cinnamon next time. I took my chopsticks out of my pocket. Moved a lemon square to a napkin and then plucked off a piece and ate it.

Hester was watching me, but not in a wary way, which was nice. "You're quite good with those."

I held up the chopsticks. "Finger foods are hard, so utensils are my friends. If I'd brought over plates, I'd be using a fork. Since I brought napkins, I'm using chopsticks. When I cook or eat something tricky, like the burgers we had for dinner, I wear the latex gloves. They get hot, though, so I try to work around them when I can. I'd prefer not to live my life encased in rubber."

She took a bite of her lemon bar. "Oh, my—how? These are incredible."

Smiling, I nodded my thanks. "Like anything, I got good with practice. Mom says she started to hear me puttering around in the kitchen in the middle of the night when I was around six. I think I colored in my room before that. You do anything every day for twenty-two years, you're going to get good at it."

"What I don't understand," she said, "is I married into this family about that long ago and I didn't know any of this about you. I knew you were Sybil's daughter, a gorgeous child with a fairytale-like mane of hair that should be hanging out a tower window—"

I laughed.

"—who kept to herself, had eyes a brighter green that the rest of the Coreys, and was the only one who would check on my girl at family get-togethers."

I took a sip, trying to figure out how to explain my family. "Coreys, like Goodes, are an ancient wicche family."

"A very powerful one," Hester added.

"Yes. And because of that, there's a certain arrogance. Unlike your family, there is a darkness in mine. Yes, we're very powerful, but we also have quite the reputation for sorcery."

"That was the main reason my parents didn't want me to marry Roger," she said.

"That and he's kind of a dick," I said, making her smile.

Nodding, she took another bite of lemon bar. "I was young," she said, which honestly is explanation enough.

"Now, what you also have to remember is that although most of my cousins made my life a misery and many of the aunts and uncles either turned a blind eye to what was happening or joined in on the shit-talking their kids were doing, I was still my mother's daughter and a Corey. Half a Corey is still more Corey than a Goode who happened to marry a Corey."

I rolled my eyes. "Most of them suck, with a few notable exceptions. Aunts Sylvia and Bridget were wonderfully kind women. Amongst the living, Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Robert? Salt of the earth. Uncle John?" I shook my head, suddenly emotional. "He and Sylvia were like parents to me. They loved me not for what I could do or how powerful I was, just for me."

Hester patted my knee in comfort. "I was so sorry to hear about Sylvia's passing. She was my favorite and the only one who treated me like family."

I nodded, wiping away the sudden tears. "She didn't pass gently into that good night either. Her daughter Calliope is a sorcerer and she and her demon killed Sylvia."

Hester put down her cup. "What? No one told me that."

"We're all about secrets in this family." I put down the rest of the lemon bar. "I'm sure it's been difficult to feel shunned, but as someone who exiled herself, it's probably been better for you both."

Hester picked up her mug and took another sip. "Maybe so," she said, stifling a yawn.

"I have an idea." I flicked my fingers, locking the windows and doors and closing the shutters. I hadn't forgotten that vision during the Council meeting of a demon lurking around my gallery. Fricking Calliope. "How about if you stay here tonight. Maybe being in a different environment will help you sleep."

"Oh, no. I've taken up enough of your time."

When she started to get up, I motioned her back down. "I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it. I usually end up sleeping on this couch, anyway. The bed in the loft is ridiculously comfortable. And in the morning, you can have a muffin and tea before you head back."

She glanced up the stairs to my loft. "You're sure?"

"I absolutely am. Someone should sleep in that bed, as I never seem to." I pointed up again. "There's a bathroom up there and extra blankets if you get cold."

Looking completely wrung out, she stood and took her empty cup and napkin to the kitchen before trudging up the stairs.

I saw movement in the skylight and had a mini heart attack. Three sets of eyes stared back at me. Otis had brought friends. Pointing to the back porch, I flicked my fingers, making the glass opaque. Hester needed sleep, not furry voyeurs.

Grabbing three muffins, I quietly went out onto the deck. The empty deck. "Otis," I whisper-called. Three little raccoon heads popped out from the roofline. I held up the muffins and heard claws scrabbling on the roof.

Sitting on a bench, I considered how they might get down and decided the scaffolding was probably the safest route. I turned that way, to watch them come around the corner. After what felt like too long, something touched my leg. Otis and his siblings sat in a semicircle around me.

"How'd you do that?" The roof of the cannery was about forty feet high. If they didn't use the scaffolding, how had they done it? Tricky little scamps.

I placed a muffin in front of each raccoon and then sat back, assuming they'd grab them and scamper off. Nope. Each one picked up the muffin and then plopped their butt down and began to eat.

Letting out a breath, I watched my new friends and eventually shook off the day. I had a lot to do tomorrow, so I waved goodbye and went in to sleep. Unfortunately, the day wasn't done with me yet.