Instead of regular chairs like you’d see at most weddings, long benches with high backs and velvet cushions filled the room, looking like church pews. Flowers bedecked the entire room—there were so many of them, it almost looked like we were sitting outside. Speaking of sitting, there must have been enough seating for two hundred or so people and there were video cameramen set up in either rear corner of the room. There were numerous photographers. I had to wonder if Gemma was planning on doing a piece on her wedding for the magazine.

  “Hmm, not bad in presentation,” Lorcan commented.

  I didn’t respond. I was still too captured by my own envy. Not that I wanted to get married, I didn’t. But, it would have been nice to have the money to command a place like this.

  The sounds of a piano suddenly echoed through the room, drowning out the orchestra in the lobby. The piano was a baby grand, set into the corner of the far side of the room, beside the altar. A skeletal old man played it, without lifting his eyes from the keys.

  That was when I realized I wasn’t feeling so hot. My hands started to feel clammy and my stomach slightly… nauseous. As the seconds ticked by, the feeling increased and I started to break out in a cold sweat because I felt like I was going to… vomit.

  “I don’t feel so good, Lorcan,” I whispered.

  “What is wrong with you, my dear?” he answered, turning to face me as he lifted his hand to my forehead. “You do feel hot.”

  “I don’t know… I just feel… sick.”

  As I tried to catch my breath, more and more people filtered into the room, seating themselves on the pews and after a few seconds, each of them started to appear piqued. I watched one woman hold her stomach while another man excused himself from his party and hurried out of the room, probably on his way to the restroom.

  “It appears you aren’t the only one to feel sick, dearest,” Lorcan said as he turned to take in the rest of the room.

  As I turned with him, I noticed he was right—it seemed like everyone was fine when they entered the room but as soon as they sat down, they looked ill. Just like what I was experiencing.

  “What do you suppose it is?” Lorcan asked.

  I shook my head. I didn’t have an answer for him. Of course, my first thought was that there was some sort of sickness charm on the seats but that seemed impossible, owing to the fact that this was a human wedding and, besides, I hadn’t caught the hum of supernatural energy anywhere.

  Hardly anyone bothered to turn around to look as the priest, who would presumably be marrying Gemma and Watson, entered the room. Even he didn’t look very good. Instead, he stalked down the aisle, puffing out his cheeks in big breaths. His cheeks and forehead flushed bright red and he scowled at anyone who dared to make eye contact with him.

  “Would you like to go outside?” Lorcan offered as he placed his hand on my back.

  “It’s too late,” I barked, motioning to the parade of bridesmaids and groom’s men who appeared at the rear of the room in pairs. Not one of them smiled—all of them seemed to be battling with their own upset stomachs—their faces were pasty white and shiny with sweat. The first pair looked in opposite directions from each other as they walked down the aisle and met the priest at the back of the room. When it was the second set’s turn to walk, the bridesmaid suddenly stopped walking and hunched over, grabbing her middle. She compressed her lips as though holding back the urge to be sick on the carpet.

  “What’s going on?” I whispered, but was interrupted by the third pair who were in the middle of walking up the aisle, each of them looking like they were ready to empty the contents of their stomachs all over the white, velvet floor runner. What in the world was going on?

  Next came Ronda and a guy I could only assume was the best man. These two behaved the most appropriately, but anyone could see they weren’t doing well, either. The best man looked pale and breathed in short, shallow gasps. Ronda seemed okay, other than her concern for the best man.

  The eight separated at the altar. The bridesmaids lined up on one side and the groom’s men on the other. The priest paced around on the platform, bending over a few times as if he were going to vomit, but thankfully, nothing came up.

  “My word!” Lorcan whispered. “This is shaping up to be a corker, isn’t it?”

  I couldn’t appreciate the so-called entertainment, but luckily, I was starting to feel better. At least, I didn’t feel like I was going to roll over and die any longer. The moment the wedding party got into position, the best man veered toward one of the flower arrangements. He seized the pot stand and bending over, hurled into it as the audience looked on in horror. The sounds of shocked voices quickly followed. I had no idea what was going on. Someone started crying. A few others rushed out of the hall on a bee line for the bathroom. Several more people hunkered over to hide or lower their heads or whatever they had to do to hold in their own queasiness.

  Next came a young man escorting Gemma’s mother, followed by Winston, the pitiful groom. He looked just as spineless and beaten-down as I imagined he would. His eyes darted around the room, as if in search of a monster about to leap out and eat him alive.

  He made it to the altar and took his place in front of the best man, who wiped his mouth on his sleeve. The best man shook his head, like he was afraid he was about to go through round number two. But, the groom, Winston, didn’t notice. He shuffled his feet, wrung his hands, and had to remove his glasses more than once to wipe steam off the lenses.

  What was wrong with everyone? At that moment, everyone turned around as the bride entered on her father’s arm. Gemma looked smashing in her dress and I would have felt quite proud if my sickness hadn’t decided to resurrect itself at that exact moment.

  The moment I laid eyes on her, I had to fight down the urge to vomit right then and there. A few brave souls dashed from the room, but at least they waited until Gemma passed before they made their escape. Others turned and vomited on the floor below the pews.

  And that was when I realized the reason why—there was a sickness enchantment emanating from Gemma. I could feel it in the torrents of energy ricocheting off her and more specifically, her dress.

  “Oh no,” I whispered, shaking my head because I couldn’t understand how this had happened. There was no way I’d mixed up my potions and accidentally anointed her dress with a sickness hex, was there? But, no, when she’d come into the store to pick up the dress, it was just fine. And I hadn’t seen it since then so there was no way I could have done this…

  As she walked by, a stale stench wafted to my nose and I had to hold my breath to keep from vomiting right there. As she passed, everyone faced front and I got another view of the wedding party. The groom’s men looked even sicker and one of them was physically helping the best man to a seat in the front row.

  Winston didn’t look at Gemma once. In fact, he looked completely oblivious to everything that was going on. He continually rubbed his palms, knit his fingers, fidgeted, and looked around at everyone in the room without really seeing anything.

  When Gemma reached the altar, things went downhill fast. Her father handed her over to Winston, but in the process, tripped over her train. It jerked her veil from her head and Gemma angrily smacked her father in his chest with her bouquet, which then exploded into a million white petals. They scattered over the carpet and left her holding a collection of stalks, tied together with wire.

  It seemed to take her a few seconds to realize what had just happened. Then she flung her ruined bouquet on the floor with a few loud expletives. There was something clearly… off about her. She was almost raging with anger, judging by the wild expression in her eyes and I could see angry and hateful energy ricocheting off her in wavy lines of energy.

  Something was… definitely wrong.

  Gemma shoved her father toward the front pew where he sat down, out of sight. Then she stalked over to Ronda and barked another order. Ronda cowered before her and handed over her own bouquet. Gemma snatched it and slotted into her place at the altar.

  “Let’s get this over with,” she snapped at the priest.

  Gemma faced Winston who, attracted by the commotion, finally managed to look at her for the first time since she’d entered the room. And when he did, his expression wasn’t one of adoration or excitement or even love. Instead, he gaped at her, his mouth wide and circular. An expression of abject grotesque horror transformed his formerly placid face.

  Gemma narrowed her eyes at him. Venomous hostility radiated from her. It filled the whole room, reverberating around us. I could almost feel the anger of her aura sinking into me and had to fortify my own witchly defenses.

  “Goodness, she really is quite the shrew, isn’t she?” Lorcan whispered. “I feel as if I’m watching an episode of 90-Day-Fiance!”

  I would have responded if I hadn’t suddenly experienced another bout of overwhelming nausea.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Gemma barked at her groom and future husband.

  The priest migrated around the altar. He took up a position between Gemma and Winston. Then he took a deep breath and raised his voice to address everyone in the room.

  “Dearly beloved….”

  “Stop!” Winston shrieked, raising his hands. “Stop the ceremony!”

  “What are you doing?!” Gemma hissed as she faced him with an expression of abject fear laced with intense rage. “Don’t you dare!”

  “I… I can’t marry you!” Winston blurted out, shaking his head and looking like he was ready to cry. “I don’t… I don’t love you!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Oh, I am so grateful you invited me to this most disturbing of weddings,” Lorcan said as he patted my thigh and smiled broadly. And he wasn’t being facetious. He was actually… enjoying the proceedings.

  Before I could react, Winston grabbed my attention as he plunged his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out the ring. Then, as if afraid Gemma would grab it from him and put it on herself, he darted around Gemma and paused for two seconds or so before taking a deep breath and rushing over to Ronda. She simply looked at him with wide eyes as he dropped onto one knee. Then her mouth dropped open.

  Winston seized Ronda’s hand, and fumbled to slide the ring onto her finger. “I can’t marry her, Ronda, not when I’ve never stopped loving you.”

  “Oh,” she started, her eyes going even rounder. “Oh, my…”

  “Goddess,” I finished for her.

  Lorcan squealed with delight beside me, clapping his hands together as a huge smile spread across his face. At least one of us was enjoying this disaster.

  “Marry me, Ronda!” Winston practically sang to her. “I love you. I always have and I always will. Tell me you still love me too?”

  Ronda didn’t answer right away. Instead, she sat there in stunned silence, her mouth still doing a good imitation of a fish out of water.

  “Do you care for me still, Ronda?” Winston almost whispered. “Do you still love me?”

  Ronda swallowed hard. “I… you know I do.”

  A huge smile broke across Winston’s face. “Then marry me right now!”

  The whole room sat shocked into silence. Gemma stared at them, frozen stiff, even as I could see the anger mounting within her. I had a feeling when she finally burst, it would be akin to a volcano exploding. But, at this point, Gemma’s shock took precedence over her anger because she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything other than just stare at the two of them, her eyes almost as wide as Ronda’s.

  “I do believe this is the most entertaining wedding I have ever attended,” Lorcan said as he gave me a jubilant smile. “Thank you so very much for inviting me.”

  I just looked at him, unable to speak—just like everyone else. Turning my attention back to the soap opera unwinding before me, I noticed the priest’s mouth was still hanging open as if he were about to make his next pronouncement.

  The entire room was silent. No one so much as coughed or sneezed. We all just sat there, each lost to our own shock and each just as paralyzed as the players before us. But, unlike the rest of the attendees, I was searching my mind, trying to understand how this could have happened. The enchantments I’d placed on Gemma’s dress…

  Had done exactly what they were meant to do—they’d insisted on Winston’s sudden loyalty and his long-term love for the one woman he truly did love. And that woman wasn’t Gemma—it was Ronda.

  “Oh. My. Goddess,” I whispered, shaking my head as my heart dropped down to my toes and I started feeling sick all over again. This time, I had a feeling my queasy stomach had nothing to do with any sickness charms.

  The enchantments were doing exactly what they promised to do, yes, but as to the rest of this dog and pony show… there was something more going on—my enchantments wouldn’t have been responsible for the sickness affecting everyone, nor Gemma’s obvious rage…

  Ronda looked down at Winston who was still kneeling before her. She glanced at the ring and then burst into tears. She pressed her wrist to her mouth and then fanned her cheeks with her fingers.

  “Please marry me, Ronda,” Winston said, his voice even lower. “Please tell me you love me.”

  “I do love you but…” she started, looking around at all the people in the room who were staring at the two of them. I noticed she wouldn’t look at Gemma and hadn’t since the moment Winston had expressed his undying love for her.

  “But?” Winston asked, and I was fairly sure it was the same question everyone in the audience had.

  “I can’t do this here… like this,” Ronda answered in a mouse voice.

  And that did it, Winston pushed the ring on her finger, stood up, and extended his hand to Ronda, taking hers in his own. Then the two of them turned around and started for the aisle, Winston’s head held high while Ronda looked like she was ready to cry again. Everyone watched as the two of them marched down the aisle and out of the room, disappearing in the lobby.

  The entire room was still silent, even Lorcan. The silence lasted for maybe another ten seconds after the couple departed and then it was as if a noise bomb went off because the room suddenly was abuzz with talk, conjecture, and comments.

  “Did I just imagine that or did the groom just leave with the maid of honor?” Lorcan asked as he turned to face me.

  “The groom just left with the maid of honor,” I answered as I stared straight ahead, still in a complete daze. “And it’s all my fault.”

  “How is this your fault, my dear?”

  I turned to look at him then and shook my head. “Because the enchantments on Gemma’s dress were made to insist on Winston’s loyalty and undying love to the woman his heart truly loved…”

  “Ah, and he didn’t truly love Gemma.”

  “No.”

  “But, he did truly love Ronda.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that is hardly your fault, my dear. How were you to know the groom was secretly in love with the maid of honor?”

  “I didn’t know, but…” I couldn’t finish my thought. Instead, my attention was riveted on Gemma, where she stood frozen in shock at the altar. There was no expression on her face one second, but the next she suddenly looked like she was going to detonate. Not that I could really blame her, per se.

  Lorcan took my arm. “I think it’s time to leave, Wanda, dear. Though, I must say I will remember this wedding for a long time to come and I do wish Winston and Ronda much luck.”

  I couldn’t respond. I just allowed Lorcan to enfold my hand in his and he walked me out of the room. We crossed the lobby and headed into the valet pickup line and the entire time I was still trying to come to grips with what had just happened. And trying to remind myself it wasn’t my fault. I’d given Gemma the exact enchantments she’d asked for. Lorcan was right—I had nothing to do with the fact that Winston truly loved Ronda. Blame that on fate.

  Yet, what about the sickness hex that had most definitely been emanating from Gemma? And what about her impossible anger—exemplified by the way she’d treated her father and the angry aura emanating out of her?

  I didn’t have an answer.

  Luckily, there was no one else waiting in line so the valet returned with Lorcan’s Porsche momentarily. Lorcan handed me into the passenger seat and closed the door. I sat quietly, trying to make sense of the last half hour of my life, while he walked around to the driver’s side.

  He sat down, shut his own door, and turned to me. “Are you all right, Wanda?”

  I looked up into his bright eyes. “Did that… did that really just happen?”

  “I do believe so, though it seems unreal, doesn’t it? Like something that happens in books or movies.”

  “Right.”

  He shook his head. “But, yes, it really happened right there in front of us.”

  “Poor Gemma,” I breathed, shaking my head. “She was completely humiliated in front of all her friends and family. And Winston’s. People are going to talk about this for years.”

  And that was when I remembered the article Gemma was nearly finished writing about Wanda’s Witchery. Oh, shit.

  “Were you not the one who predicted doom and destruction for the bridal couple?”

  “I didn’t think their marriage would be doomed before they even said ‘I do’!” I answered, but my mind was still horrified by what Gemma was going to, no doubt, write about me and my enchantments that had forced her groom to run off with her maid of honor.

  “You enchanted the dress with the proper spells, correct?”

  It was the same question I’d been asking myself for the last ten minutes. Had I somehow messed up the spells? Used the wrong potions? But, no, I knew I hadn’t. I’d never made any sort of mistake like this before—I knew my witchcraft too well. There’s no way I would have made such a monumental error. “No, I didn’t get the enchantments wrong.”

  Lorcan nodded and then sighed. “Well, you knocked the wedding dress out of the park—it really was spectacular.”

  “So, why do I feel like this is my fault?”

  Lorcan gave me a concerned expression and reached over, squeezing my thigh. “It’s not your fault, my dear. You did everything you were supposed to.”