A Barrel of Whiskey - (An Urban Fantasy Whiskey Witches Novel) (4 page)

L
eslie offered Paige a hopeful smile and leaned in. “Stay. For real. Please.”

Paige breathed past the knot of wild emotions that were all across the board.

Reaching up, Leslie brushed a strand of hair out of Paige’s face. “I miss my baby sister. Just… ” She dropped her hand, “think about it.”

Paige wished she could. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Leslie was the only person in the house she could talk to, who knew the full story. “Dexx? The treaty?” She raised her eyebrows. “The war?”

“The war? Really. Today? Not likely. It’ll probably boil down to a few tweets and you’ll be banned from her Facebook page.”

Oh, if only it would be that simple. “Les, this is serious.”

“How will she ever find out?”

“She’s
here.
”

The color drained from Leslie’s face. “Why is she here?”

“I don’t know.”

“We’ll figure something out,” she said in a soft voice.

“No, Les. We won’t.”

Leslie opened her mouth.

“You have kids. Children you have to think about.”

Leslie clamped her lips shut.

“I’ve seen…” The images of the past few days streamed through Paige’s mind. Shifters bloodied after the mini-bombs in their brains went off. Shifters tearing at each other. Bodies with their entrails—

Kamden shook his tiny fists, whacking Paige in the chin.

Leslie took her son’s fist, her expression somber. “You’ve seen things. I get it. But you said it yourself. The shifters aren’t bad.”

Why wasn’t she getting it? “They’re not the ones I’m concerned about, Les.”

“You really think the Merry-witch is that bad?”

“What do we know about her?”

Leslie’s gaze flitted left, then right, then left again.

“Exactly. We don’t know how big their coven is. We don’t know how powerful they are. How many of the other witch families are with them?”

Leslie blinked, her gaze distant. “We’re on our own.”

Well, maybe. Or maybe not. After all,
Paige
had an animal spirit. She’d been
chosen
to be part of the shifter community by a force the witches obviously didn’t even understand. And there was the fact that the regional alpha seemed pretty interested in Dexx. Concerned for his territory? Sure. But what happened when he understood that Dexx had no interest in taking over the pack? Could they count on them as allies?

Something inside her said yes. Though, was that based off of what she’d seen? What she hoped? Or was it Cawli’s influence working on her?

“All right.” Leslie pushed herself off the couch. “We’re not getting anywhere and when Grandma offers cookies, you take them or else.”

“Right.” Paige struggled to get off the couch. She had forgotten how much coordination it took to get up while carrying children.

“Blessed Mother, you wouldn’t believe how lovely it is to be able to stand up again.” Leslie led the way around the furniture to the kitchen. “I can tie my shoes. I can get out of bed. I can lie on my back.”

The strain around Leslie’s eyes said she was just brushing the subject under the rug. She was thinking, pondering, deciding what they could do. Lady bless! She’d missed Leslie.

Dexx entered the front door and set down their two bags. He raised his eyebrows, his expression wide in question.

Paige took in a deep breath and nodded her head to the side.

He shrugged. “Cookies?”

“Yup.”

He flapped his hands, letting them fall against his legs and walked down the hall to the kitchen, forgoing the maze of the living room.

The kitchen was huge, a country kitchen with an island in the middle, granite counter tops, a brand new stove, and a side-by-side refrigerator. The dining room was the other half of it, but it only housed a table big enough for a large family.

It was the largest room in the house, second only to the attic, but Paige didn’t consider that to be an actual room. Though, she supposed, it could be. It was more storage space for the accumulated junk Alma just couldn’t seem to part with. Most of Paige’s toughest moments had been spent inside this kitchen.

Like the time Jeffery Keaser had kissed another girl in front of her and everyone else in school.

Or when she’d lost her virginity and freaked out because she thought she might be pregnant.

Or the time Mark took her on a special trip and didn’t propose to her like she thought he would.

When someone else had been promoted instead of her.

When Mark had been killed.

When she’d brought her baby girl home without a father.

When she’d nearly lost her job.

When Leah had been taken from her.

Yeah. A lot of time had been spent in this kitchen, baking everything from cookies to pies to breads. Therapy happened with an oven.

Alma dumped ingredients into a large, glass bowl. She didn’t use measuring cups. She was so experienced, measuring cups were unnecessary.

That didn’t always bode well. Sometimes, the cookies were heavy. Sometimes, the bread didn’t rise. Meh. Things happened.

“So,” Leslie said, digging around in a bottom cupboard. “What happened?”

“Broad question,” Paige said. “Restate, please.”

Leslie came up with a bag of chocolate chips and another one of nuts. “When’d you get so formal?”

“When she started binge watching
Bones
,” Dexx said, entering the kitchen from the hallway door.

Paige rocked Kamden. “No. It’s just a broad question.”

“Okay.” Leslie poured the chocolate chips into the bowl. “Well, we know what happened in Louisiana.”

Mostly because Alma had been there for the first part.

“So, what happened once you got back to Denver?”

A lot, but she didn’t really want to recap it all. She needed to let her grandmother know the danger Paige and Dexx posed and be done with it.

A hot bundle of hooting hotness slid across the tile floor in the form of a ten-year-old boy, his red cape fluttering with the breeze he created. He skidded to a stop and hop-ran the next few steps to the island. “Cookies?”

Leslie huffed. “What did Grandma tell you about sliding into the kitchen?”

“Not to do it.” Tyler had grown several feet since the last time Paige had seen him. Granted, she’d seen pictures, but they didn’t do the boy justice. He was tall for a ten-year-old and gangly like he hadn’t eaten enough for his latest growth spurt. “But I didn’t slide. Tile won’t let me. I hopped. Cookies?”

Alma took a wooden spoon out of the large cup on the counter and whacked him on his outstretched hand. “Not yet.”

He glared at her and nursed his hand.

“What are you doing down here, anyway?” Leslie took the tea kettle from the stove and filled it with water.

“Kammy told us it was safe,” Mandy said, walking into the room. She’d grown a lot, too. She was filling out at the top already and her face had lost all of the softness of babyhood. She was blossoming into a young woman.

She was the same age as Leah. If Mandy was becoming a young woman, Leah was, too. Paige took in a breath around the lump in her throat. “Kammy told you?”

Leslie quirked her lips. “Telepath. And safe?”

“No yelling.” Mandy leaned against the island. “Need any help?”

“I could use a dish washer.” Alma dropped spoonfuls of dough on a cookie sheet.

“Ah, man.”

“You asked,” Leslie said. “’Scuse me, Grandma. Kettle.”

Alma waved her off and continued to work.

Leslie scooted around Alma’s wide backside to place the kettle on the stove.

“We could get a real dishwasher.” Mandy walked around the island and moved the dishes out of the sink, onto the counter.

“And waste all that good money?” Alma demanded. “Oven.”

Leslie stepped aside and opened the oven door. “Ready.”

“Excellent, love. Thirteen minutes, if you please.”

“Done.” Leslie closed the door to the oven and programmed the timer.

“Can’t figure that damned thing out,” Alma said, preparing a second cookie sheet. “I keep tryin’. Just can’t get it figured out to save my life.”

“This is the exact stove you wanted.”

Last week, Mandy had set fire to the stove in a fit after Tyler had thrown a temper tantrum, breaking glass over her head. Then, Alma had dug in her heels on the oven replacement, stressing exactly which one she’d wanted. How Leslie hadn’t killed the whole lot of them was beyond Paige.

“Okay.” Leslie turned and leaned against the counter, folding her arms over her chest. “Spill. What happened in Denver?”

Paige bounced Kammy, trying to figure out where to start. Leslie knew some of the big stuff. She, however, was giving Paige the chance to fill Alma in. Tactful.

Alma’s silence pissed Paige off. Alma had known—about the shifters, about the treaty—but hadn’t told anyone, leaving Paige to stumble through what could have been a
very
deadly situation all the while looking like a complete dumbass.

“Well,” Dexx said, pulling out a chair at the table and sitting, “let’s start with the fun stuff first. Vampires. They’re real.”

Alma froze.

“And shapeshifters,” Paige continued, watching her grandmother.

Alma didn’t blink.

Leslie frowned, a worried frown on her face as she watched Alma. She kept her tone perky. “Seriously. They’re real.”

“Very real,” Paige said.

Dexx grimaced, oblivious to the tension building between the Whiskey women.

Alma knew something. Paige read it in her silence, in her lack of surprise. Why wasn’t she saying anything? Paige wanted to rattle her, to get her to react. “Tony’s a vampire.”

“Tony,” Alma said finally. She flexed her hand around the spoon. “Your partner.”

Not a ruffle.

This had all been a
supreme
surprise to Paige, and this
revelation
didn’t even get so much as a frown?

Leslie nodded. “I remember you telling me that one. And you had a reaper helping, too?”

Alma blinked, surprise relaxing the wrinkles around her lips.

Paige wanted to wring Alma’s neck.
That
got a reaction? “Jack.”

“Who’s that again?”

“Special Agent Jack Scott.” Though, why
she
was sharing information when her grandmother wouldn’t, Paige didn’t quite know. She scanned the room for the playpen and spotted it. She couldn’t throttle her grandmother with a baby in her arms.

Kamden squawked at her.

Paige narrowed her eyes at the baby. Darned telepath. “FBI. He joined us on the Louisiana case because he saw people die before it happened.”

“Ah,” Leslie said, her expression wide. She shrugged, gesturing to Alma with one hand, a question on her face. Apparently,
she
didn’t understand why Alma was remaining quiet either. “That’s so
Minority Report
.”

“I wish. No.” Would asking Alma bluntly give them any answers? The woman was stubborn. Whiskey family freakin’ trait. “Reaper. Just that.”

“Huh. So, you’ve met death.” Leslie sighed quietly, leaning against the counter, a frustrated frown on her brow as she glared at Alma. “What do you think of him?”

“He’s kind of a dork.” Paige bent to lay Kamden down in the playpen on top of the thick blanket. She made sure all his limbs were covered, then stood and faced Alma. It was time to force Alma into showing at least some of her cards. “The shifters told me about the treaty.”

Dexx jerked his head up, focusing on the Whiskey women. His eyes rounded and his lips pursed as if he was just finally cluing in to what was going on.

Alma’s fingers twitched. “What were you doin’ with the shifters?”

Still so damned cool. Paige curled her stiff fingers into fists, her shoulders tight with frustration.

Mandy threw a towel at Tyler. “You want cookies, you’ll help.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Tyler said.

“I’m older’n you.”

“I’ll finish this argument for you,” Leslie said sweetly. “If you want me to.”

Tyler straightened, his expression filled with angelic innocence.

Mandy continued to wash the soapy dishes.

“Is there something you’d like to tell us, Grandma?” Paige had forgotten what it was like to have a conversation in that house. There could be three conversations going on at the same time. The kids’ banter dulled the edge of her anger. A little, but not much.

Alma clamped her lips shut and shook her head.

Holy fucking mother of—
seriously?
“For crying out loud, Grandma.”

Alma finished filling the cookie sheet and handed the bowl to Mandy.

Time to show her grandmother why she was so pissed. “Imagine my surprise when I discovered, first, that shifters were real and, second, I could start a war by trying to
save their lives
.”

Alma blinked furiously, her wrinkled lips pursed.

“Why did you keep us in the dark? Our
entire
lives?”

“There are people,” Alma said quietly, “who do not practice the Craft like we do.”

Paige frowned, trying to figure out why she gave a blessed fuck. “The Eastwoods.”

Alarm flashed across her face. “Especially the Eastwoods.”

Finally, they were getting somewhere. “So, when you met Mark?” Leah’s freakin’
father.
“You
knew
about his family?” And
still
said nothing?

Alma looked toward the ceiling then lowered her head again, meeting Paige’s gaze. “I tried to warn you off, didn’t I?”

“Off of what, Grandma?”

She clamped her lips closed.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. She was seriously
still
keeping secrets?

“The Eastwoods started the war.” Alma licked her lips and rubbed a spot on the counter. “Merry Eastwood, actually. She started it. A hundred and fifty years ago.”

Paige leaned back a little, listening. For
her,
this was old news. She’d learned this in Nederland. But for Leslie? Mandy? Tyler? Yeah. They needed to hear this.

“Imagine my surprise when I met the woman.” Alma licked her lips. “She arrived shortly after Mark did. She showed up at my door sweet as a peach and proceeded to threaten my family if I didn’t end your relationship. Then and there. Like I had some way of controllin’ you or somethin’.”