Utterly Charming by Kristine Grayson

Author:Kristine Grayson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: SOURCEBOOKS
Published: 2011-09-30T14:30:00+00:00

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Chapter 7

When Nora got home, she found her mother and Emma in the living room, deep in conversation. Emma looked calmer. Darnell was on her lap. Nora felt a twinge of jealousy—even the cats thought Emma was the be-all and end-all of women—and then put it aside. Nora stood for a moment, taking in the scene before her.

Apparently, Emma had gotten used to Nora’s mother. And a few other things. Emma was holding the television remote as if it were the Holy Grail and occasionally, she would point it at the TV. She kept turning to the Home Shopping Network. After a moment, Nora’s mother would change the channel to CNN, and after a while, Emma would change it back.

It was going to be a long night.

As Nora came inside, carrying her Saks bag and her briefcase, her mother waved gaily. “I have dinner in the refrigerator,” Amanda said. “Emma helped.”

Emma smiled at her, as if she had completed the greatest accomplishment of her life. “I like the stove,” she said. “It is so easy. Even if food is strange here.”

Amanda patted Emma on the shoulder and stood up. She walked to Nora, took her bag, and said, “Let me help you put your new clothes away.”

“They’re old clothes,” Nora said. “I’m wearing the new ones.”

“So you are.” Amanda brushed imaginary lint off her shoulder. “They’ll need to be dry-cleaned.”

“Mother.”

Amanda shrugged. “Come along.”

And Nora let Amanda lead her into her own bedroom at the top of the stairs.

“Good,” Amanda said. “Now—”

“It’s not that private here,” Nora whispered.

Amanda took her arm and led her into the upstairs bathroom, pulling the door closed. Nora had remodeled the room with the rest of the loft, making the bathroom her own private sanctuary. There was a separate area for the toilet, double sinks because the designer had insisted, a fancy shower with its own stall, and The Tub. The Tub was on a raised platform with windows that opened to the city. The shades were down now, and the room was dark. Nora flipped on a light. Amanda blinked as if unaccustomed to such brightness.

“The problem is worse than you know,” Amanda said, keeping her voice low.

“I doubt that,” Nora said.

“Emma believes she is a witch.”

“I know,” Nora said.

“A witch without powers.”

“I know that too,” Nora said, wishing that she had been able to convince Emma to lie.

“A witch without powers from the Middle Ages.”

“The Dark Ages, Mother,” Nora said.

“I thought there was no difference.”

“There is quite a difference,” Nora said. “The Middle Ages were modern compared to the Dark Ages.”

“Oh, dear,” Amanda said. Then she slapped Nora’s arm. “You knew this.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me.”

“Yes.”

“Why not?”

“Because I thought it might bother you.”

“It does bother me. Does her psychiatrist know?”

Nora didn’t know how to answer that. So she tried the indirect approach. “Everyone knows who needs to know.”

Amanda’s mouth formed a thin line. “Emma says you’re protecting her.”

“Yes,” Nora said.

“She says her mother and her boyfriend are after her.”

“More or less.”

“You’re not equipped to handle that.

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