community’s answer to the BlackBerry and iPhone but instead of a tiny screen we used life-sized holograms to communicate. “I knew she was out there having lunch with her hotsy-totsy human harp friends and didn’t have time for her mother.”
Even eternally sweet Lilith, our township librarian/historian, was foursquare on the side of maternal indignation. “You’re right, Renate. According to studies done by the Institute of Magick and Alchemy, blueflame is the most reliable form of communication in the dimension. There’s no excuse.”
“Of course there isn’t,” Renate said. It wasn’t easy to strike fear in a daughter’s heart when you were currently the size of a field mouse, but Renate gave it her all as she glared over at her eldest, Bettina.
“Fair warning, Chloe: if human mothers are anything like the Fae, then poor Luke is toast,” Bettina deadpanned as she fitted her harp into its travel case.
“Bunny will get over the dropped call,” I said as I retrieved another used paper plate, “but she’s never going to forgive Luke for not telling her about the baby.”
“His family’s old-school?” Lynette asked as she wiped at a smudge on the display counter.
I nodded. “The MacKenzies are an until-death-do-us-part clan. They still can’t believe two of their kids are divorced.”
“Luke’s superstitious,” Verna Griggs said as she settled down on one of the sofas with the log cabin afghan she’d been knitting for the last six months. “Paul said he knocks wood every time he talks about the baby. That’s why he didn’t tell his family. He wants to wait until she’s here and he can count all the fingers and toes.”
Luke had struggled to make peace with his daughter’s death and he had finally achieved his goal not long before we found out we were pregnant. He claimed he wasn’t superstitious, but I knew he wouldn’t relax until our baby girl was born.
Which was all well and good for us, but families didn’t think that way. When it came to babies, nothing less than full disclosure would do.
Lilith nodded vigorously. “Archie saw him throw salt over his shoulder at Fully Caffeinated when someone asked when you were due.”
“And gods forbid a black cat crosses his path,” Midge said with a cackle. “He turned paler than my last customer.”
Midge and her husband, George, owned the town’s only (and rarely used) funeral home and she never missed a chance for a little mortuary humor.
“Hey!” I protested. “There’s nothing wrong with a little charm to keep the evil forces from your doorstep, is there?”
“That’s exactly what’s so puzzling about humans,” Lynette said. “They have no trouble believing in magick when it suits their purposes, but parade the truth right in front of their eyes and they’re blind as bats.”
Which sounded like a very good thing to me. Sugar Maple’s existence was predicated on our ability to hide our magick in plain sight.
Midge frowned at Lynette. “Dumpling, I really wish you’d stop bringing bats into the conversation. You know how I feel about those cranky old stereotypes. This is the twenty-first century.”
“Not everything is a vampire reference,” Lynette shot back. “I can talk about bats without you getting your Spanx in a twist.”
We all pretended not to hear the rogue giggle that erupted from somewhere in the room. There wasn’t a pair of Spanx in the universe big enough to accommodate Midge Stallworth’s double-wide butt.
“Are there any more cupcakes left?” I asked Janice. This seemed as good a time as any to change the subject.
“At least a dozen,” she said. Not to mention some cranberry muffins and blueberry scones.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked.
“Baked goods get stale so quickly,” Janice said with a straight face.
Lilith winked at me. “I’d say their shelf life is pretty limited.”
“Minutes,” I agreed. “I’d hate to see them go to waste.”
“I’ll brew