Witch's Diary: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 4) (6 page)

It wasn’t like her mom didn’t knit. Kenna had the scarves, tea cozies, and other miscellaneous knitted items to prove it. The decoupage light switch she’d received for her birthday—gorgeous—was proof of yet another skill her mom had mastered. And it wasn’t like her mom didn’t quilt. Kenna had a gorgeous multicolored quilt on her bed to prove that. Or did she? She stared at the phone and tried to get her blood pressure ratcheted down to a low simmer. Had her mom bought all that stuff?

She picked up her phone, set it down, and picked it up again. She dialed before she could change her mind.

Lizzie answered the phone on the second ring. “Hi, Kenna.”

“I’m only calling you because I’m having a crisis of faith concerning my mom. I’m still mad.”

“I get it. I’d be mad at me, too.” Lizzie’s voice was more subdued than usual.

Kenna knew this whole situation had to be stressful for Lizzie, too. She should still be basking in the glow of her recent engagement. She’d only gotten engaged to John a few weeks ago. Great. Now Kenna felt guilty for putting the kibosh on her friend’s joyful moment. Dammit.

“So…” Kenna picked up the teapot and carried it to kitchen table, stalling. “All the hobbies, the knitting, the quilting—massive smokescreen or real?”

“Ah, really?” Lizzie sounded surprised. “That’s your crisis? You’re not sure if Gwen really likes to knit or not?”

“Hey, you’re still on probation. Give me your best guess.”

“Um, okay. Yeah. I’m pretty sure Gwen likes to knit. You could ask her, if you want to be sure.”

“Not gonna happen. I’m too pissed right now. She’s heading out to some knitting convention tomorrow. Two days after she finds out I’m knocked up and while she should be teaching me how not to set stuff on fire.”

“Oh.” Lizzie sighed. “Oh.”

“Yeah, exactly. So—what do you think?”

“I think your mom is probably not going to a gathering of knitting lovers.” Lizzie sounded resigned. Perking up, she said, “But she hasn’t really had a chance to fill you in on all the details of the witchy side of her life. It’s not like her traveling is a new secret. It’s just an old one that she hasn’t had time to fill you in on.”

“She’s always been this sweet lady. Normal, motherly. With normal, motherly hobbies. Now it looks like that’s not who she is.”

“Hmm. I think you’re wrong. That’s exactly who she is—with a little extra kick added in. And really, she had to tell you something about where she was going. Besides, didn’t she try to teach you how to knit when you were a kid?”

“Yeah. I forgot about that.” A small laugh slipped out. “It drove me nuts, because I had to sit still to do it. No thanks.” Kenna wrapped her hands around the mug of tea she’d poured. “I just needed someone to tell me how silly I’m being. Calling my mom in this state, she doesn’t deserve that. I know she’s doing the very best she can, because that’s what she’s always done. But I’m a little off my game right now, so reassurance of that is helpful.”

Which reminded Kenna to take a sip of her tea.

After a moment of silence, Lizzie said, “So does this mean we’re talking again?”

“Of course. You knew I wouldn’t be mad for long.”

“Sure, but I also knew how hurt you’d be. I told Gwen, but she insisted on my silence. And you know—the whole ‘who’s a magic-user’ thing is so crazy tricky already. Outing someone is a huge taboo. So I couldn’t tell you without outing Gwen—ugh.” Lizzie groaned. “It was horrible.”

“Yeah, I can see that. And she definitely had her reasons—that’s a story for a rainy day when you really want to be depressed. So, um, what about you? How’s the engagement progressing? You know, the planning, with your mom.” Hint, hint. Kenna wanted to ask the big question, but it seemed indelicate given they’d just gotten back on even footing.

Apparently, hinting was enough, because horror tinged Lizzie’s voice. “Kenna—I can’t tell them. I have no idea how to do it. I mean—it’s not like I can just say, ‘I’m marrying a werewolf. You guys are cool with that, right?’ Because I also have to tell them that I’m a spell caster, which means, ta-dah, one of you comes from a caster family. Oh, by the way, Dad, it’s probably you.”

Kenna was laughing outright by the time Lizzie finished. The kind of laugh that makes your stomach hurt. Man, she needed that today.

Lizzie laughed, but with a lot less gusto. “Glad to provide your daily entertainment. But seriously, I don’t have a clue.”

Kenna smothered the last of her laughter. “Sure you do. Remove the sarcasm and the snark, and you’ve got it.”

Lizzie groaned.

“Lizzie, you cannot hide under the covers. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell Max he knocked me up, if you tell your parents the magical particulars of your engagement.” Before Lizzie could agree to those ambiguous terms, Kenna added, “Within twenty-four hours. You have to tell your parents within twenty-four hours if I tell Max.”

“Uh, does that mean you’re admitting you’re pregnant and that Max is the father?”

“The little stick doesn’t lie twice, or so I’m told.” Kenna snorted. “And who else but Max would it be? It’s not like I’m Jack, with a list of people to scroll through every time I’ve checked someone off my to-do list.”

“Jack doesn’t have a to-do list of women.” A brief pause followed, then Lizzie whispered in an appalled tone, “Does he?”

“Probably not. Hell, maybe. The point is, I don’t. So what about it? I tell Max, you tell your parents?”

“Done,” Lizzie announced with authority. “You’re even more of a chicken about that kind of stuff than I am. I’m totally safe. Oh—but you should totally tell Max.”

“Sucker. I’ve already been hyper-managed by Jack. I have a confessional lunch with Max later today.”

“Oh my God, you are so evil!”

“Gotta go. Talk to you soon. Love ya.” And Kenna hung up before Lizzie could renege.

There. She’d done her good deed for the day. Lizzie would feel infinitely better once she told her parents. Because, really, what were they going to say? It was their messed-up genes that got Lizzie into her current situation—and thereby introduced to the company she was keeping. And Kenna knew Lizzie’s parents. A little overprotective, sure. And likely not believers in the supernatural of any flavor. But they loved their daughter. Besides, it went completely against Lizzie’s nature to keep important things from her family, so Kenna was merely righting the natural order.

Now she needed to think about righting her own world. Shitdamnfuck. Well, if she was doing this, she was going to look hot. She gulped down the rest of her lukewarm tea, poured another cup from the pot, and carried it up the stairs, intent on raiding her closet for appropriate “meeting an ex-lover” clothes. Halfway up the stairs, she paused. Meeting an ex-lover: “I’m still hot even though we’re not together”? Or meeting an ex-lover: “You’re my baby’s daddy”? Shit. Well, she didn’t even know what the second one looked like, so that made it an easy decision. Continuing up the stairs, she mentally flipped through her “daytime hot” options.

~*~

Damn. She looked hot. Max stood up to greet Kenna. He’d arrived a few minutes early and gotten on the list. Lunch could be busy, and he’d prefer to avoid the awkwardness of them standing around waiting in the cramped lobby or on the porch. And he’d specifically asked for a quiet table.

She smiled, looking shy. Kenna shy? What was going on with her? Possession by ghostly spirits? Mental note: ask John if ghost possession was a thing.

“Hi,” he said, pausing, undecided whether to hug, shake hands, or cheek-kiss.

She made the decision for him by quickly seating herself and skipping all three options. “Hi.” She offered him a close-lipped, tense smile.

The waiter handed them menus, took their drink orders—beer for him and water for her—and left.

After a brief and—to him, at least—incredibly awkward silence, he started the ball rolling. “I have to ask, especially after you didn’t return my calls, why am I here? I thought we had something. Or at least the possibility of something, but you clearly didn’t agree. So why now?” He kept his body language relaxed. “Lizzie and John announced their engagement a few weeks ago, so that can’t be it.”

“Um, no. But you’re right. I should have called.” Her eyes didn’t lift above the water she was stirring with her straw. Glancing up, she said, “I’m sorry about that.”

He leaned back in his chair and waited. She’d called this meeting.

Kenna took a breath. “I have some news.” She stopped abruptly when the waiter came by to get their orders. After the waiter took their order and left, she fiddled with her napkin, delaying. “I have some news, and I—well, I thought you should hear it in person.”

“Okay.” He contained his annoyance, barely. She seemed to want something from him, but he’d be damned if he knew what.

She met his eyes for the first time since she’d been seated. Firmly, clearly, she said, “I’m pregnant.”

His mind raced, skittering from thought to thought. How? Broken condom. How long ago? Seven weeks? Nine? Would she keep it—yes, or they wouldn’t be talking. What was he going to do? Jesus, man. Get your shit together.

Finally looking at Kenna, seeing her, he realized she was waiting for a response. “That wasn’t what I was expecting.” He shook his head and tried to catch his breath. Tight chest, rapid heartbeat. But for his recent physical, he’d be guessing heart attack. What the hell did he say? Words came out; he hoped they made sense.

“Yeah. Uh, Max, you don’t look so good.” Kenna gave him an odd look.

Because he was having a panic attack. He’d been shot at, in a knife fight or three, beaten, clawed by a werewolf, and it took a baby to give him a panic attack? Come on.

“Sorry. It’s just a surprise. A shock, really.” Confused on one point, he lowered his voice and said, “You were on the pill. I thought that was pretty effective.”

Her jaw clenched. “Not necessarily. But I wasn’t on the pill.”

He could have sworn she said she was on birth control. But did it matter? That wasn’t really the point. At least he could breathe, but his heart was still tapping away at his ribs.

“I might have implied—”

Max held up a hand. “You don’t need to explain.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Really.”

“Yeah.” Chin thrust firmly forward, she said, “I do.”

Their food arrived as she was gearing up to tell him something he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear but that she clearly felt the need to share. Couldn’t she have given him some kind of clue, some warning on the phone? He felt like a royal dick. He gave the waiter a weak smile and nodded at some question he hadn’t even heard.

He thought he was getting a reprieve, but a determined Kenna wasn’t going to be swayed by cooling food. Or his seriously shitty response.

She eyed her plate but didn’t pick up her silverware. “I was married for ten years, and my husband divorced me after several rounds of fertility treatments failed and I refused to keep trying.”

She deliberately picked up her knife and fork and started eating.

Jesus. Well, shit. And since he didn’t know what to say to that, he picked up his fork and ate his salad.

After several minutes of shared silence, when they’d completed most of their meal, Kenna said, “I blame you.”

He blinked, startled—two to tango, and all that. And dammit, the tightness in his chest had finally let up.

She continued, “You must have the most agile super-sperm in the state of Texas.” She smiled innocently at him. “And we both know how big Texas is.”

He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Cute. At least she was trying to break some of the tension.

“Like you’ve slept with the entire state of Texas?” He didn’t try to hide his exasperation.

Kenna squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and when she opened them, she said, “I don’t suppose you have any idea how this works now?”

“Uh, no. This is a first for me, too. I don’t actually have super-sperm.”

“Shit. I almost forgot. Witch.” She glanced casually around, and in a quieter voice said, “Just found out I’m a witch. I’d have started with that, but I forgot for a few minutes.” She gave a tiny shake of her head. She looked annoyed. “Don’t ask. Being a witch and pregnant makes you crazy.”

“You seem very not crazy right now. Really not crazy. Freakishly calm, in fact. How are you not freaking out?”

“Oh, I did, and I probably will again. Right now I’m dosed up to the gills with some stuff my mom gave me. Something for the symptoms that I strongly suspect contains an illegal substance.” Her face held a look of distaste. “Or something really gross.”

Watching her expression closely, he said, “I’m guessing that’s okay to take while you’re…”

“Pregnant? Yeah, that’s what it’s for.” She paused, and a thoughtful look passed over her face. “I’m freaking out right now. I lied before.”

She still looked eerily calm. In retrospect, maybe that hadn’t been a good sign.

“We can do this.” When he realized he didn’t sound all that certain, he said it again with more conviction. “We can do this.”

She looked at him, and he finally saw the panic lurking in her eyes. He’d caught a hint when she’d first arrived, but once she sat down the uncertainty had vanished and her breezy attitude, alternating with a false calm, had masked it.

He searched for something that would direct her attention elsewhere. “So, I’m a complete idiot. Seven, eight weeks later you call after blowing me off…you’d think I might have guessed.”

She pushed away her plate and grinned. “You should have seen the look on your face. And I have no clue what you said.” She laughed. “You mumbled some gibberish like ‘what, condoms, sex ed, mama.’”

“And now you’re just full of shit.”

She held her thumb and forefinger about a quarter of an inch apart. “Maybe a little. But there was a lot of why, how, and what.” She sighed. “I can do this. I’m much happier now than I was when I was actually trying to have a baby. Mom says I’m covered under some insurance she has—how that works, I don’t know. But that’s one less worry. I won’t have to keep my job just to stay insured. I am short a husband, but he turned out to be a useless twit, so that’s all for the best.” She nodded. “Yeah, I can do this.”