“Don’t be ridiculous, child. We’re related to his father.”
“His father?”
“My father?” Jack grabbed Auntie Jane’s sleeve. “You know my father?”
“I wouldn’t say that I know him, child, but I met him once. It was just before he disappeared. I was three and I remember my Auntie Anna insisting he was going to turn and his youngest sister, that would be Clara who died, oh sixteen years ago now, kept insisting he wouldn’t.” Patting Jack’s hand, she turned her head toward Allie. “He killed Auntie Anna when she tried to stop him. Sisters are usually fairly stupid about that sort of thing.”
“Clara,” Auntie Bea snorted as Allie backed up until her shoulder blades were pressed against Graham’s chest and his hands rested warm and grounding on her hips. “Woman was a total nut job there at the end. Eight dead, and she refused to believe her brother had done anything wrong.”
“Magnificent fruitcake recipe, though,” Auntie Muriel added. “Impossible to duplicate.” The other five made noises of varying agreement.
“Wait, wait, wait, wait!” Roland had both hands up, his eyes so wide Allie could see the whites all the way around. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, Roland, law school ruined you.” Still holding Jack’s hand, Auntie Jane moved over to one of the sofas and sat. Jack tried to pull free, had no success, and ended up sitting beside her looking just a little freaked. “Stop it,” she said as the lights began to flicker.
To no one’s surprise, they stopped.
The other aunties found seats, leaving Roland, Charlie, Katie, Allie, and Graham on their feet.
“Well, Charlotte, you’ve always been good at jumping to conclusions, what do you…?” Auntie Jane frowned up at her. Blinked. “What on earth have you done to your hair?”
Charlie tucked her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “Red’s a better color for country,” she said evenly.
“And I’m sure Reba McIntyre is thrilled you approve,” Auntie Jane sniffed. “That, however, is not a shade of red intended for hair. That is a shade intended for cheap lipstick and slutty lingerie.”
“The blue hair made her look like a Smurf,” Auntie Muriel pointed out, unrolling a long multicolored tube and starting to knit.
“I’m not saying this doesn’t look better,” Auntie Jane sniffed again.
Allie could tell by the curl to Charlie’s lip that she was about to say something they’d probably all regret, given that the aunties believed in spreading the blame. “You’re saying that Graham’s boss… ex-boss,” she corrected hurriedly as his fingers tightened, “was a Gale.”
“Was a Gale?” Auntie Jane’s gaze whipped around toward her so quickly Allie nearly felt a breeze. “No. Is a Gale.”
“Is?” Allie repeated.
“They’re too young,” Auntie Bea snapped.
“That horse is already out of the barn, Bea. Besides, the child is sitting right here, and blood always tells. Eventually, they’d have figured it out for themselves or,” Auntie Jane continued, her voice dropping into what David had always called someone’s going to get it territory, “I’d have had something to say to the lot of them about paying attention to what’s actually going on.”
Katie raised a hand. “I just got here.”
“And don’t make me regret bringing you.”
“So Alastair Bronwin,” Roland said slowly, “the sorcerer the family took out in 1973…”
“He had the brains to settle in Syria,” Auntie Kay snorted. “Never would have found him if it hadn’t been for the oil crisis.”
“… he was a Gale?”
“They’re all Gales,” Allie said, watching Auntie Jane’s face as the last few pieces fell into place. “That’s what sorcerers are. They’re Gales gone bad who got away. They don’t just use the power to gain more power, they use the power to extend their lives. Who was he?”
“He?”
“Jack’s father.”
“Before he was a sorcerer, his name was Jonathon Samuel Gale.”
Allie nodded. “That’s why we stop them, isn’t it? Because they’re Gales. They’re family. They’re our responsibility. And that’s why we’re attracted to them, it’s not the power, it’s because they’re…” With an image of Stanley Kalynchuk in her head, with Roland in the room, she couldn’t say Gale boys. “But I wasn’t…” Graham. “I wasn’t because by the time I met him, Graham and I had already connected…”
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days,” Auntie Carol snickered.
“… and I was moving into second circle. And Graham was in the room with us. What if I hadn’t… Oh.” She wouldn’t have even known there was a sorcerer in Calgary if she hadn’t seen the hexes on Graham’s chest. Not with him locked down and hiding from the Dragon Lords. Not until it was too late. Everything came back to that first meeting between her and Graham that night in the store. Just the two of them. Because Charlie’d been delayed.
She looked up to see Charlie’s gaze locked on her face and wondered how much her expression had given away. Or, with more information than the aunties had been given, whether Charlie’d arrived at the same place.
Then she took one more step.
“Jack’s a sorcerer.”
“Yes.”
Allie realized Auntie Jane hadn’t let go of Jack’s hand. “And a Gale.”
“Yes.”
They were all looking at her now—the aunties, her cousins, Jack. Jack’s eyes were gold, but Human enough for all that, and he had a curved blemish on one cheek that looked like a hockey scar. Somehow Allie doubted the Dragon Lords played hockey, but it wouldn’t be the strangest thing she’d heard. His nose was a little too big for his face and he had a smudge of lemon pie filling on his hoodie. He’d just started into the all-knees-and-elbows phase and Allie hoped that his mother’s heritage had gifted him with more grace than his Human side. He sat motionless beside Auntie Jane, breathing a little heavily, two thin lines of smoke trickling out of his nose—but then the one thing she knew about his upbringing was that he could recognize predators.
His uncles kept trying to eat him.
His aunties…
But if they truly were his aunties…
“Gale boys choose,” Allie said, straightening and squaring her shoulders. “And he’s not old enough. He’s thirteen. Fifteen’s the minimum for third circle, no matter how much of a pain in the ass the boys are about it.”
“He’s a sorcerer now,” Auntie Bea reminded her. She sounded almost gleeful about it.
“That doesn’t matter. He didn’t choose it. His abilities are innate because sorcery was used in his conception.”
“The situation is unique,” Auntie Jane agreed, dark eyes narrowed. “But that in itself suggests we find a unique solution.”
“If he’s a Gale, then what applies to the rest of the family applies to him. Either family matters, or it doesn’t. If he isn’t a Gale, then he isn’t your responsibility. And what’s more…” Allie was suddenly tired of butting heads with stubborn old women. “… like I told his uncles, he’s under my protection.”
“And that’s your last word on the matter, is it, Alysha Catherine?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that seems like a unique solution to me.” She patted Jack’s hand, released it, and stood. “Muriel?”
Auntie Muriel shoved her knitting away. “With this many people, this late in the day, it had better be chili and cornbread.”
“Three bean salad on the side?”
“None for me, dear. It repeats on me.”
“Wait!” Allie held up a hand and the sudden, purposeful bustling paused. “What just happened?”
“You just agreed to be responsible for young Jack here until he turns fifteen.”
“I what?”
“I don’t need a babysitter!” Jack protested surging up onto his feet.
Auntie Jane placed her hand in the center of his chest and pushed him back down onto the sofa. “How fortunate that Alysha has always wanted a younger brother. Perfect timing,” she added as the apartment door opened, “here’s the girls with the groceries. Chop, chop, supper isn’t going to make itself!”