“Whuh?” Shock ripples through me, my mouth hanging open as my head swivels back and forth between them like I’m watching a tennis match.
“Oh, no. Did I use the wrong term?” Aunt Irene winces. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I just assumed demon because of the hornsand wings.”
“Yeah, are they called ‘people no longer of heavenly origin’ or something?” Aunt Betty frowns. “Though I must say that’s quite a mouthful, so it’s probably not that.”
“Dragon,” I choke out. “Luke’s not a demon. He’s a dragon.”
“Ohhh.” Aunt Betty smacks her palm to her forehead.
“You can both see the fae for what they truly are? Why didn’t you say something?” I yell that last bit.
“What could we say, dear? That little blue faeries serve us pizza? People would think we’ve gone mad.”
“They’re called pixies, and you’re not mad. You’re witches! Like me!”
“Witches?” Aunt Irene leans closer. “Does that mean you can do spells? Is that why your buttercream frosting is always so fluffy?”
“I don’t have that kind of magic. I’m a book witch.” I tell them all about how I sucked myself and Luke into a book without any way to get out and how we’re researching my type of magic using his library without any success yet. “I didn’t do the spell on purpose, so it’s kind of messed up. We keep popping in and out of the book, only doing certain scenes. It’s good, because it gives us time for research, but I never know when we’ll disappear from the real world.”
“You haven’t told them about the best part of being a witch!” Princess Buttercup bounds onto my lap. “You haven’t told them about me!”
“Princess Buttercup wants you both to know that she’s my familiar—”
“Ah hem.” She taps a floofy paw to my cheek. “I think youmean that you’remywitch.”
“Correction.” I grin. “I’m her witch, and we really can talk to each other.”
The aunts ask a bunch of questions about witches and magic, which I answer as best I can. I finish up with, “I hope to keep visiting Luke’s library once we’re done with my big mix-up of a spell, so I can learn more.”
“This is fascinating,” Aunt Irene says. “But I don’t think I have magic. I certainly haven’t done anything magical.”
“Same.” Aunt Betty nods. “I feel like I would have known by now. We’re not young like you.”
“But magic only returned to Earth a few months ago, and I only just figured out my power. It could still happen for you.”
The timer goes off, pulling us back into the kitchen, where we take the cupcakes from the oven. The aunts’ batch fills the room with the scent of vanilla, and my Valentine’s batch adds the spicy note of cinnamon candy.
While they cool, we whip up our different frostings, mine embedded with crushed cinnamon candies. By the time we’ve iced our cupcakes, and I’ve decorated mine by adding a few whole cinnamon hearts to each, it’s time for one of our family traditions. Every time there’s a town meeting, we have linner dunch: a big meal at four pm that takes the place of lunch and dinner. We can never agree on whether this late-in-the-day equivalent to brunch should be called dunch or linner, so we call it both: linner dunch.
All those casserole dishes the aunts put in my fridge when they first arrived get popped into the oven. The delicious aromas of pot roast, twice-baked mashed potatoes, and green bean casserole fill the air, and I throw my armsaround my aunts. “You brought my favorites. Thank you.”
“We thought you could use a treat.” Aunt Irene presses a kiss to the top of my head. “And we were right.”
“See,” I say. “Your witch powers could be that you’re psychic.”
“Nah, we used good-old Mom intuition.” Aunt Betty squeezes me extra tight. “We know when our girl needs an emotional pick-me-up.”
Tears prickle my eyes as I hug them to me, the best mothers anyone could ever want. Even if I can’t have Luke, I’ll have this. It’s a comfort, I tell my squishy jelly heart.
It doesn’t listen.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Lukendevener
After I drop off Skye and her familiar, a restless energy fills me on the flight back to my castle. Holding her in my arms felt amazing… and excruciating. By the goddess, there’s a reason I’ve done my best to ignore emotions for several hundred years. During our flight, I locked away all my swirling thoughts in order to get through it, making myself stone.
They burst free now. I assumed she could never want me as a weredragon. Yet yesterday proved me wrong—she at least lusts after me in this form. Although monster romance is a hobby of hers, so it might have been nothing more than curiosity on her part. Then again, I made certain she enjoyed herself, bringing her to orgasm five times. Was it enough to convince her of the superiority of a dragon lover?
