Page 75 of The Magic We Made

“In this house,” she explains to Ash as sweetly as if she hadn’t just reduced her little sister to tears, “we hold hands when we say grace.”

“Nice,” Ash says

“Are you Catholic, Ash?” my mother asks with deceptive casualness. I duck my head because I know what’s coming... or think I do, anyway.

But Ash surprises me by saying, “Sort of, ma’am. I was raised Coptic. That’s—”

My mother needs no further explanation. Her eyes shine as bright as stars. “That’s the Egyptian orthodox church! That means you’reCatholic!”

“I guess you could say that.” Ash has slipped his other hand over mine. His fingers are warm and strong.

But instead of clasping them to my heart, like I want to, I bow my head and try to ignore his grin... and my mother’s delight over the fact that her eldest daughter has finally,finallymade her dreams come true by bringing home a good Catholic boy.

“Ma.” Thank God for Mark, who is for once the voice of reason. “The food’s getting cold. Can we say grace already?”

“Certamente!” cries Mom.

Portia wastes no more time. “Bless-us-oh-Lord-and-these-Thy-gifts-which-we-are-about-to-receive-from-Thy-bounty-through-Christ-our-Lord-amen,” she rattles off with authority. Then she raises her head and shouts, “Buon appetito!”

The usual mealtime chaos ensues. But this time it’s punctuated by Ash gushing to my mother over how much he loves her food, and her pressing more servings of it on him. By the time dessert rolls around—torta della nonna,naturally—I’m convinced she’s going to try to adopt him.

It’s as Mom is serving cake and coffee—with gelato for the kids—that the front door finally opens and Angie calls, “I’m here!”

“There’s Mommy,” Troy says, relief written all over his face. “At last.”

“Hi, guys.” Angie comes in, twisting off her scarf. “Sorry I’m so late. You’ll never guess where I—” She breaks off as her gaze falls on Ash. A sly grin spreads across her face. “Well, hello there, Ash.”

Ash grins back. He has no idea what’s behind my sister’s grin. But I do. “Hi,” he says. “Nice to see you again, Angie.”

“Nice to see you, too.” Angie reaches for an empty plate and heads to the sideboard to fill it, but not before giving me a knowing smirk. “What a surprise to see you here, and looking so...relaxed.”

“Well, it’s Sunday,” Ash replies mildly before I can grab the salad bowl and dump it over my sister’s head. “Isn’t Sunday the day of rest?”

Before Angie can reply, Portia cries, “Yeah, Sunday is the day of rest! So why were you working, Mommy?”

“Because I had to,” Angie says. “I was doing a favor for someone who really needed it.”

“Who?” her other daughter demands.

“Meg Boucher.” Angie’s eyes are glittering with excitement. “I was at the hospital cutting her hair.”

Ash

“What?”

I know it’s rude to sayWhatand notI beg your pardon. Guy drilled that into me.

But none of what Frankie’s sister is saying makes sense to me.

“You were with Meg Boucher?” I demand.

“Yes, I was.” Angie lowers her plate to the table and takes a seat, still glowing with self-importance. “Jackie called me earlier and asked if I’d to come to the hospital with my gear to see a patient. Naturally I said yes. I’m always willing to donate my services for someone with cancer or alopecia or whatever. Only this didn’t turn out to be justanypatient. It was that missing girl you and Ash found, Frankie.”

Both of Angie’s daughters gasp excitedly. Between their aunt showing up with me and their mother having met one of the long-lost witches, this might be the most thrilling dinner at Grandma’s house they’ve had in a while.

“How was she?” Frankie asks.

“Uh, not good.” Angie can’t stop glancing over at me. I can tell that it won’t be long before everyone in town knows that Frankie and I are sleeping together. Not that I care, but Frankie might. “Her hair was the least of it. Her nails are appalling. I wanted to fix them, too, but Jackie didn’t mention her nails, so I only brought my hair supplies. I guess someone cut the girl’s hair for some kind of sacrifice—”