Chapter Three

  “What… is… that?” My customer pointed a shaky finger at the wad of electronics cluttering my worktable.

  “Oh, it’s nothing.” I snatched a large piece of corduroy from my scrap bin and tossed it over Henner’s unsightly contraption. “Let’s get going with your fitting, Gemma.”

  I was impatient today and Gemma McClain was a time waster and then some. But, she was an important time waster and that’s why I was allowing her to do just that. Gemma was the editor of a high-profile wedding magazine and she was writing an article on Wanda’s Witchery because she was also getting her dress designed and enchanted by me.

  She strode over to the big mirrors next to the changing cubicles, looking like a queen coming to greet her subjects. Her hips swayed in time with her arms and her head was held high in the air, her nose even higher. Her entourage of bridesmaids already crowded the bench and overflowed the available seating, gawking up at her like baby birds expecting a meal.

  “My wedding dress has to be the nicest dress of the season,” she said as she stared at her reflection. She was an attractive woman, tall and narrow except for a set of fake boobs. She was probably in her late thirties.

  “Yeah, she needs to stand out like the diva she is,” one of the entourage chirped from the bench. I wasn’t sure which one because they all looked the same: dark hair, nondescript features, and overall round, and doughy. Gemma stood out among them like a sore thumb with her long, golden hair and her bright blue eyes. Yes, she was attractive and yes, she knew it.

  Gemma turned to me and nodded. “I brought pictures of Heidi Richfield’s dress and Sabrina Marchiano’s. If my dress doesn’t leave theirs in the dust, I’ll get someone else to make it.”

  Yeah, good luck finding someone to enchant it the way I can, I grumbled to myself. I was in a mood, owing to the fact that I still wasn’t any closer to finding out who was responsible for the break-ins of late. That, and Gemma wasn’t easy on one’s nerves.

  “So, why did you drive all the way here from Medford,” I pointed out. “I’m sure you could have found someone to make your dress in Portland? Haven Hollow isn’t exactly on the beaten track.”

  Gemma turned around to glare at me. “I’m not here because you’re the greatest dressmaker on the planet,” she snapped, hands on hips. “I’m here for the enchantments.” She shook her head. “Anyone can make a dress.”

  While that wasn’t true, I didn’t correct her.

  “And, might I remind you, I could either make or break you with the article I’m working on,” she sneered the last words and I felt like stabbing her with the pin I was currently holding.

  “So… you heard about my magical enchantments then?” I asked, wanting to quickly domesticate this woman because she was pissing me off. And I really really wasn’t in the mood to be pissed off, fashion article be damned. I took a step nearer her so we wouldn’t be overheard by the others.

  “If magical enchantments are what you want to call them,” she sniped.

  “What would you call them?” I asked, offering her an innocent smile.

  She shrugged. “I guess ‘magic enchantments’ is fine.”

  “So… if we both agree my enchantments are some form of magic… wouldn’t it follow that I’m a witch?”

  I knew I was trudging dangerously close to admitting things I wasn’t supposed to admit to humans, per Council regulations, but there were two reasons why this didn’t concern me. First, I didn’t believe Gemma would fully believe me (humans are naturally doubting creatures) and second, I didn’t care about rules at the moment. And as to the article Gemma was working on… I figured it would be good for business if news got out that I was a witch, or that I called myself one. Magical enchantments from someone who considered herself a witch would probably sell better than those from someone who didn’t.

  “A witch?” she snickered.

  I shrugged. “Who else would be able to enchant clothing to make it do whatever the wearer intends?”

  “You can call yourself a witch then, I guess,” she answered on an uninterested sigh. “It makes no difference to me, just as long as your magic works.” She laughed but now there was something… uncomfortable about the sound.

  “Okay, so playing devil’s advocate, let’s just say I am a witch...” I continued, waving the pin around in my hand as Gemma’s attention fell to it and she blanched. It was a fairly large pin.

  “Okay.”

  “Do you really think it’s a good idea to piss me off?” I finished, narrowing my eyes at her as I brandished the pin once more.

  She opened her mouth to say something but just as quickly closed it. Then she cleared her throat and looked at me in doubt.

  “Great, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way…” I continued. “Why don’t we start this little soiree again with much less attitude, hmm?”

  “Fine,” Gemma whispered.

  “Very good,” I responded. “Now, why don’t you try on your dress and we’ll see where we need to take it in.”

  She nodded and took a position next to one of her hens as I walked up to the display rack and pulled out her dress from the plastic garment bag, carrying it over to her. I didn’t like to throw the term ‘bridezilla’ around lightly, but this harpy was definitely shaping up to be a doozy.

  Taking the dress, she walked over to the changing rooms and took ten minutes or so to get it on. When she emerged, her maid-of-honor, whose name was Ronda, and Gemma’s mother made an unholy fuss over the bride-to-be. Gemma’s mother hovered around her like a UFO over the Pentagon as Ronda flapped around Gemma like one of the animals dressing Cinderella for the ball.

  Gemma stood up straighter and carried herself with dignity as she approached the three-way mirror. Smoothing the tight waist around her curves, she just stood there for a few seconds, admiring herself. Meanwhile, I swooped in with my tape measure and waited for her to tell me if she wanted it altered yet again. This was the third time she’d been here in the last two weeks.

  At this point, I usually snowed the customer with compliments about how well the item fit them (even if it didn’t) and told them how fabulous they looked wearing it. In this case, I didn’t have to because Ronda and Gemma’s mother did it for me.

  They fluttered around Gemma, laying the compliments on three feet thick.

  “You look stunning, Gemma!”

  “That bodice is absolutely magnificent.”

  “Does the bust fit okay? Can you raise your arms over your head?”

  “What about the train? How easy is it to turn around?”

  “Oh my gosh, you look like royalty!”

  The rest of the bridesmaids all nodded, beaming at Gemma from the bench.

  “What do you think, Gemma?” her mother asked.

  The other three bridesmaids hung back, looking uncertain. I’d never understand why they ALL had to come along to this fitting and they probably couldn’t understand it, either.

  Of all the clucking, cooing, and twittering that was going on between the group, there was one person in the party who made no effort at all to hide how she really felt. That was Ronda’s mother. She perched on a chair, separated from the others by about three feet, nearest the fitting rooms, and glared at Gemma with unvarnished loathing.

  Clasping her fingers together around one knee and kicking her foot in obvious annoyance at everything the bride said, she appeared miserable. A venomous scowl seemed to permanently crease her mouth in an ugly grimace and she never once made any attempt to participate.

  Of the whole lot, she was quickly proving to be my favorite.

  As I awaited Gemma’s verdict regarding the fit of the gown, I couldn’t help wondering at this whole lunatic scene—and really, the subject of marriage, in general. I hadn’t come across many brides since I’d opened my store in Haven Hollow. Just a handful of them, really. And I wasn’t very good with them, mainly because I just didn’t understand a woman’s desire to subjugate herself to a man in the name of the law. Witches almost never married. In fact, a recent scandal rocked the witching world when a Jersey witch married a mob boss. She’d lived monogamously with him until his death at the absolute scorn of the rest of the covens, near and far.

  Anyway, I couldn’t fathom the appeal of marriage—of bonding yourself to one penis for the rest of your life. Not only that, but weddings were so completely and totally unnecessary. Pomp and circumstance had certainly ruined what used to be a simple ritual—a simple intention to unite yourself with another person so long as you both still wanted to be united—and then if you didn’t? You just walked away. None of this legal stuff.

  Gemma looked down at her reflection and frowned. “I think it’s still too big.”

  The dress wasn’t too big—it fit her perfectly, but I wasn’t going to argue. She turned her back on Ronda, which brought her face to face with Ronda’s vile mother. Gemma immediately looked in a different direction and it was fairly clear she didn’t like the old woman—maybe as much as the old woman didn’t like her. Hmm, interesting.

  “Where would you like me to bring it in?” I asked, growing more and more irritated with this whole thing. No wonder Ronda’s mother was in such an ill humor. Gemma wasn’t exactly easy to be around.

  “I think the whole thing needs to be tighter,” Gemma complained as she turned around to look at me. “Might I remind you that I came here because a few of the brides I featured in my magazine raved about your work.” Then she held her nose up in the air. “So far, I’m not impressed.”

  Ronda hovered over to us, which was a good thing because I was about to slap the attitude right off this foul cretin. Ronda gave me a little, embarrassed smile.

  “I think the dress is really lovely,” she whispered as I gave her an appreciative nod.

  Ten minutes later, I’d marked the areas where Gemma wanted the dress taken in and luckily, Ronda had taken over. She steered Gemma to the changing rooms so Gemma could change out of the dress again. Then Ronda turned to face me and gave me another embarrassed, apologetic smile.

  “She’s not… usually like this,” she offered.

  “It’s okay,” I answered with a quick smile. “Weddings are stressful.”

  Ronda nodded.

  By that point, I’d already made up my mind that I was going to have a bit of fun. I just… was too stressed out about the intruder and Gemma was making my day even worse. Besides, I’d warned her about my being a witch and she clearly hadn’t listened so whatever followed was on her.

  I neared the stall, pretending to look for my tape measure, and fired a few curses under the door. As I muttered the choice words underneath my breath, I glanced to the side and caught sight of the fact that Ronda’s mom was staring at me. And I could swear she was smiling, the expression of understanding in her eyes—as if she knew what I was doing. Hmm… was Ronda’s mom a…

  A shriek coming from inside the changing room startled everyone.

  “What’s wrong, Gemma?” Ronda cried through the door. “Is everything all right?”

  The door exploded off its hinges, nearly taking Ronda out, and Gemma emerged in all her glory. Her once beautiful satin hair was now frizzed straight out from her head and her jeans had split down one leg. They hung by the other leg to reveal Gemma’s granny panties underneath. She wobbled on one high heel because the other had snapped off.

  Hmm, maybe I’d overdone the curses a teeny-weeny bit.

  The girls screeched in horror.

  “Gemma!” Ronda screamed. “What happened to you?”

  “How the hell should I know!” Gemma bellowed as she turned her rage on me. “Ask her! She’s the witch around here!”

  “Witch?” Ronda asked nervously, before laughing as if to say the accusation was absurd. But, Gemma didn’t share the sentiment. She jabbed a finger in my direction and looked like she was ready to cry as the others shot suspicious glances at me over their shoulders.

  “A witch?” Ronda’s mother laughed. It was the first thing she’d said since walking in. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “There are no such things as witches, Gemma,” Ronda whispered to her before looking at me with another remorseful smile.

  I drew myself up and put on my most innocent expression, shaking my head as if to say I had no idea what had happened to Gemma, nor why she was blaming me.

  It was then that Ronda took charge again. She took Gemma’s elbow and guided her back into the stall. “Come on and we’ll fix up your hair.”

  “I have a date with Winston tonight!” Gemma bellowed as she looked down at herself. “I can’t go looking like this.”

  “Don’t worry about him,” Ronda soothed. “Winston will still want to marry you even if your hair isn’t perfect.”

  The way Ronda said the words made her seem… sad? Or maybe I was just imagining it. Not that I really cared—the sooner this circus was on its way out my door again, the better. The change-room door closed and everyone looked at each other.

  A steady hum of conversation came from inside the cubicle. After another few minutes, Gemma and Ronda reappeared. Ronda had combed Gemma’s hair back into a tidy bun and bound it with a hair band. But, there really wasn’t anything she could do about Gemma’s jeans.

  “What am I going to wear home?” she snapped as she looked down at herself. “These jeans are ruined!”

  Gemma’s mother pounced. “I’ll buy you a pair of new jeans, darling.”

  She hurried over to the nearest rack which showcased a variety of pants and started to take a pair of jeans down when I stopped her. “Oh, I wouldn’t take those.”

  “Why not?” Gemma demanded.

  I cocked my head to the side. “Those are enchanted and… you won’t want to wear them.”

  “Why?” Gemma’s mother asked, examining the stitching. “What are they enchanted to do?”

  I took the hanger out of her hand and put the jeans back on the rack. “They’re enchanted to give the wearer a yeast infection she’ll never forget. Here. Take these instead.”

  Gemma and the bridesmaids gasped in horror, but Ronda’s mom burst into laughter. Ronda took the jeans I gave her and hustled Gemma back into the cubicle. Everyone was so taken aback by the yeast infection jeans, they didn’t ask what the second pair were meant to do. I didn’t mention they were enchanted to taint the wearer with horrid breath. That would teach Bridezilla a lesson hopefully.

  At that moment, Gemma and Ronda came out of the cubicle. Now wearing the new jeans, Gemma approached me and spoke in a much more civilized tone which made me wonder if maybe I’d spooked her enough that she’d taken the lesson to heart. And, yes, her breath was suddenly rancid.

  I smiled in spite of myself.

  “You understand where I want the dress taken in, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “When can I come for my next fitting?”

  “I can have the alterations done in two days,” I answered as she nodded and I continued. “And we haven’t talked about what enchantments you wanted.”

  Gemma nodded. “I want the dress to have a fidelity charm to keep Winston from straying or even thinking about it.”

  “Okay,” I answered and grabbing a notepad from the front desk, scribbled the information down.

  “And something that will promise Winston’s love for the one woman of his heart,” Gemma continued, wearing a big smile. I couldn’t help but catch Ronda’s sad little smile at Gemma’s words, nor the way she dropped her attention to the floor. And I wasn’t the only one who caught it. Ronda’s mother was staring at her like a hawk spying a mouse.

  “Oh, and something to fight anxiety to get over the pre-wedding jitters,” Gemma finished.

  I put on my best customer service smile. I only had to half-pretend. She was almost out of my store and I couldn’t wait. “No problem. I’ll reinforce the dress with Eyes For Me Oil which will ensure Winston’s fidelity, Binding Love Oil which secures long-term love, and Happy Heart Oil which will help with your anxiety.”

  “Great.”

  After that, Gemma rounded up her followers and they all approached the door. Ronda’s mother was the last to leave. She scowled in Gemma’s direction and then gave me a look that I found impossible to read. Did she know what I’d done to Gemma—that I’d hexed her? And, furthermore, did she approve?

  For another instant, I wondered if she might be something supernatural, too. Otherwise, how could she have recognized a curse if she wasn’t magical, herself? Was it possible she was a witch? But, as soon as the thought birthed itself, I talked it down. My radar would have picked up another witch. Furthermore, I hadn’t noticed anything energetic or magical about Ronda at all. For all intents and purposes, she was an absolute mundane null. And yet… there was something about her mother’s energy… there was something… different about it—a certain humming in the air around her.

  It wasn’t enough to go on. Humming in the air around her could have simply meant there had been someone magical in her lineage at some point. It didn’t have to mean she was anything more than just another mundane.

  Chapter Four

  I panted for every ragged breath as Lorcan’s skin seared my own. My arms slipped over his muscled shoulders, and I pulled him closer to me, until my breasts were up against his chest. I couldn’t catch my breath and as the magic blossomed between us, I felt myself clawing my fingertips into his naked back. My chest heaved and brought me into more excruciating contact with his muscular body.

  He delivered a kiss to the side of my neck and I shivered. I was alone with him in my house yet again. We were both scantily clad—he in his boxers and me in a bra and panty set. In order to perform Betanya’s ritual, we had to be nearly naked (so as much of our skin could touch) and now we both were breathing hard.

  How easy it would be to stand up, take his hand, and lead him down the hall to my bedroom. My sixteen-year-old cousin Astrid was spending the night with Poppy and Finn. I’d asked Poppy to babysit Astrid for the night so Lorcan and I could try the spell again. And that meant Astrid wouldn’t be home until tomorrow after school.

  Lorcan kissed me.