“What do you mean?”

She tapped a long finger to her lips. “It’s the nature of the werewolf she’s trying to harness for some reason.”

“His nature? To become a beast?”

“His lust for blood.”

I stood with Z in my hands. “That makes no sense.”

“Not to us.” She spun to face me. “But it does to her. Or him. Whoever they are.” Spinning toward her wall of shelves, she pulled one drawer out and flipped through several little envelopes the size of seed packets before lifting out one and handing it over. It was one of her many herbal concoctions she put together. “I take it you’ll be doing a hex-breaking spell soon.”

“We tried already, but it didn’t work.”

She stopped, glared over her shoulder, then went back to flipping through her packets.

I continued, “We need to know more about the witch sign, the spell put on him. Jules is on it, and we’ll be asking Clarissa at the Coven Summit.”

“Good.” She found what she was looking for and turned back to press the packet into my palm. “Take it with a cup of hot tea. It won’t remove the bitter taste, but it will mute it.”

“Thanks.” I stared at the small white packet with barely a bump inside filled with her powdered concoction. “I don’t think he’s a tea drinker, but he’ll do it if I ask him.”

“It’s not for him. It’s for you.”

“Why for me?”

“I don’t know. Spirit is telling me to give it to you.”

“To drink it now?”

“No. Spirit says you’ll know when to take it.”

I stared down at the packet. “What’s it do?”

She cupped my face in her hands, gazing at me with more kindness than was her norm, something she hadn’t done since I was a little girl. “It will take away the fear and give you the focus you need.”

Clearing my throat, I whispered, “Okay.”

That told me absolutely nothing. But no matter. Whenever the time was right, I’d know. Strange, but I felt it in my bones.

Beryl leaned forward and gave me as tight a hug as she could manage with Z in my arms. “Take care, love.”

I pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I will, Beryl. Don’t worry about me.”

I slipped the packet in the outside pocket of my backpack as I walked to her screen door and opened it. With a glance back and seeing the concern etched in the tight lines of her face, I repeated, “Don’t worry. It’ll all be fine.”

But as I plopped Z in the pillow-lined box on the passenger seat, then drove back toward Magazine Street, I wondered if it would be.

After that day, I was feeling a little protective about Z, staying close to the house, and helping Jules catch up in the kitchen as we got closer to Thanksgiving, which was a huge deal for Jules. Mateo had been holed up in his workshop every day, finishing up his commission for his artist friend, Sandra. He managed to come by for dinner and a drink in my section a few nights. He behaved like a gentleman. Far too much for my liking, quite frankly.

For some reason, he’d been able to handle Alpha much easier lately, and I couldn’t figure out why. When I asked him, he just shrugged and smiled that secret smile that made me all melty. We were still waiting on Ruben to find us a copy of that book, but we weren’t worried. If anyone could find it, it would be Ruben.

Then before I knew it, Thanksgiving Day had arrived. I’d been slaving in the kitchen doing meal prep alongside Clara the day before and all morning. I wasn’t lying when I said Thanksgiving was a big fucking deal to Jules. I think it had more to do with a holiday surrounding a decadent meal than it did being thankful. But that’s how Jules showed her love. She wasn’t an openly affectionate person, even with me and the rest of our family, but I knew she’d kill or die for us. For her, cooking a fantastic meal was like giving the biggest, best hug she could manage. So Thanksgiving meal was like a ginormous, lovey, snuggle-fest hug.

Clara and Violet had pushed all the round-top tables to the wall and brought in the portable tables that we shoved together to make one long one to fit all our guests. The long table was draped in white tablecloths and decorated with orange and yellow gourds, silver candlesticks, and Clara’s cute little turkeys made out of tissue paper along with the silver stemware and crisp, burgundy napkins. The table was splashed with the colors of autumn.

“Wow,” said Mateo when he walked in the door and stared at the pretty table.

I hooked an arm through his, thankful for one thing more than anything else this year. “Just wait till you see the menu.”

Jules always outdid herself in the kitchen for this day, experimenting with all the new recipes she discovered or created herself.

“Oh, really?” He cocked a brow. “Let me hear it.”

I grinned. Actually, we were both grinning like complete idiots. I’d missed him, and I couldn’t control my mouth muscles not to smile so insanely because I was so damn happy he was here.

“Today, we’ll be having herb and citrus butter-roasted turkey, apple, walnut, and chicken stuffing, oyster dressing, roasted acorn squash with maple bacon drizzle, green bean casserole with fried shallots, roasted sweet potatoes with goat cheese and scallions, tangerine-cranberry jam, cracked pepper and marble rye dinner rolls, brussels sprouts, red pepper, and avocado salad.” I took a deep breath. “Then finally for dessert, we’ll have pumpkin bread pudding with whiskey cream sauce and chocolate-chunk pecan pie.”

“Damn,” came the velvety voice behind Mateo. “Now, I’m starving.”

Nico stepped in with a hand to his stomach. I offered my hand to shake. “Welcome to the best Thanksgiving meal you’ll ever have.”

Nico’s mouth tipped up on one side, looking a lot like his cousin for a second.

“Unless you happen to come back next year, that is,” I added. “In which case, she’ll top this. She always finds a way. It’s kind of ridiculous. Y’all come on in.”

“Everybody,” I said to the crowd still at the bar where JJ was mixing drinks. “This is Mateo and Nico. Guys, that’s JJ, our bartender who you know, his friend Charlie, Elsie and Sam, two of our awesome line cooks, our new sous chef, Mitchell, and my fellow girl in the trenches, Belinda, who you’ve seen working tables with me, I’m sure.” Belinda waved a flirty hello. Then I swiveled to my sisters, exiting the kitchen, carrying the last of the trays of food to put on the sideboard table set out so we could serve buffet style. “And you know my sisters Jules, Clara, and Violet.”

Violet’s eyes widened in surprise since I hadn’t warned her Nico was coming. I mean, Jules always says we should invite whoever we want who might not have a family table to go to on Thanksgiving. Nico fit this description. I could’ve warned Violet, but I didn’t. She was evil and deserved some payback.

“Welcome, everyone,” said Jules. “Why don’t you all put your drinks wherever you want.” She gestured to the table. “Then fill up your plates. We’ve made plenty.”

Mitchell, who’d been working overtime to make up for his first-day blunder, eased to the sideboard behind Elsie and Sam who were positively gleeful at the aromatic spread. He was a handsome guy with clean-cut dark hair and a trimmed beard. Sidling close to Jules, he said, “I wish you would’ve let us help you cook the meal. This”—he gestured with one hand, shaking his head—“was an enormous amount of work in the kitchen.”

Jules smiled, her arms crossed but loosely and relaxed. “That would defeat the point, Mitch. This is my day to give back to those who work so hard for us. For the Cauldron family.”

“Yeah,” said Violet, setting her glass of something whiskey-colored on the table. Probably straight whiskey, now that I thought about it, her shifty eyes flicking at Nico. “She’s got us for slave labor, so don’t you worry your pretty head.”

Mitch nodded, his cheeks flushing pink, then took his plate and started to serve himself. “Well, I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” said Jules. “You just moved into town, and we consider our employees as family. Glad to have you.”

He nodded, using the tongs to pick up a slice of turkey. “Where’s Finnie and Barb?” Finnie was our dishwasher and Barb was our third line cook.

“With their families,” said Jules. “Finnie’s grandmother would kill him if he didn’t go to her place, and Barb always has a gathering with her family in Metairie. But we’ll still need to fix some to-go plates with leftovers.”

Sam took a seat at the table. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

“I don’t know,” said Nico, getting in line. “I can eat a whole lot.”

“Hungry guy, are you?” I asked.

He winked, then slid his gaze to Violet. “Very.”

I rolled my eyes. Werewolves.

“Oh, Mrs. Ferriday!” Clara squealed and rushed to the door. “I’m so glad you came.” She hooked her arm around the elbow of one of the older ladies I recognized from her book club. “Everyone, this is Mrs. Ferriday, who will be joining us today.”

“Please, just call me Miriam.” She was a vibrant-looking woman in her seventies, wearing a dress that matched the fall décor and a shimmery gold scarf around her neck.

“Come on in, Miriam,” said JJ. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Can you make a Tom Collins?”

“Coming right up.”

She raised a warning finger to JJ. “Don’t skimp on the gin, son.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Heading over to the bar, he flashed one of his pretty smiles, which made her withdraw her hand and flutter with her scarf. Looked like JJ found another admirer. Not shocking at all.

“Where’s Clara going?” asked Mateo, frowning as my sister left the bar and skipped across the street. His plate was piled so high I was afraid he’d have an upset stomach after he ate it all.