Casino Witch Mysteries Box Set 2

by Nikki Haverstock

  Behind us was an ice sculpture of Tiffany at least twice as big as she was in real life. Or at least it had been that big, but since the party started, it had shrunk. In her icy outstretched arms had been an ice basket full of fruit. As the lattice basket melted, the grapes, bananas, and plums had fallen onto the base of the design. All that remained in the basket were a few apples.

  It had been hard to miss when we arrived. It had looked to be a perfect replica, even down to her chilly manner and icy personality, but as time progressed, her head had melted down to a honeydew–shaped lump, and her curvy features had turned to a blob. Now the sculpture looked more like a wicked witch from a fairytale, who was trying to tempt a young maiden with apples.

  There was a burst of static over the sound system, and a voice started speaking.

  “Hello? Oh good. I’m on.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Tiffany’s mother stood behind the microphone and tapped her foot until the room was fully quiet.

  I had taken an instant dislike to Mixie Homes, probably because she looked exactly like her daughter. She spoke in a childlike, breathy Southern voice that was a put-on. I knew because a waiter had bumped into her, and she had thoroughly chewed him out in a deeper, more aggressive voice with a New Jersey accent until she noticed people watching her.

  She was built much like Tiffany, which meant a lot of breast, butt, makeup, and hair. Her face was pulled so tight that I wasn’t sure if she could fully close her eyes, and her lips swelled out so far that they probably affected her center of gravity. She had stood next to her husband, an ancient man with the head of a turtle, who was confined to a wheelchair.

  I wasn’t sure if he even knew where he was. He had vacant eyes, and the one minute I had been up close with him, he had incessantly licked his lips and worked his dentures in his mouth with a clacking noise while his eyes stared off into the distance.

  Mixie had spoken for both of them, insisting on how excited they were and how they never thought Tiffany would settle down. The old man, who I was never formally introduced to but whose name I later discovered was William Alexander Homes III, barely responded to anything that was said, even when Mixie playfully swatted him on the shoulder and said, “I hope Tiffany has as wonderful a honeymoon as I did. Isn’t that right, Daddy?”

  I wasn’t sure which was more revolting, her referring to her own sexual escapades or her casual reference to her daughter’s.

  The room didn’t settle down as quickly as Mixie had hoped, and she shouted into the microphone. “Shut! Up!”

  Gasps went up, and heads swiveled to face her.

  She paused to fix her hair and wipe a finger in the corners of her mouth. When she spoke, her sickly sweet accent had returned. “Daddy and I are just so happy that you all could be here tonight to celebrate our little girl’s upcoming nuptials. I know that it is difficult to believe that I am old enough to have a daughter getting married, but it’s true.” She paused, waiting for laughter or perhaps someone to shout out that it wasn’t possible, but the room was silent.

  I realized with a start that not once that evening had I heard a single person refer to Vin. Every speech, announcement, or event had been about Tiffany or the wedding or even her mother, but not once was the groom mentioned. I knew that weddings were usually about the bride, but certainly he was important too?

  Mixie finished her speech, which had included a long list of events that “the girls” would be attending to prepare Tiffany for “her big day,” but I had tuned out since it had nothing to do with me. She then welcomed Tiffany to the stage.

  Tiffany attempted to smile sweetly at the crowd, but it looked to me like the grin of a shark about ready to attack.

  “We are so glad you will be able to make it to my wedding. They are saying it will be the event of the year, and I know you are really going to enjoy it. In order for everything to go as planned, we have a few dress requirements for the wedding. I am giving them to you now so you have plenty of time to go shopping. The information will be in your gift bags by the door that you can pick up at the end of the party.”

  She started flipping through papers.

  I mumbled under my breath, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  A voice behind me gave me a start. “Unfortunately not.”

  I spun around to face Vin. I blushed a little at being caught, but before I could say anything, Tiffany started speaking, and I turned back around as Vin came to stand by my side.

  “I can’t find the page with all the instructions, so I’ll just tell you what I remember, but you must follow the rules, or you’ll be turned away at the door until you change. It would be a shame if only your gift was able to attend.” She pouted to indicate how sad it would be. “First off, no prints! Solid colors except black or white, obviously. Jewel tones are preferred, but pastels will be allowed if they are better suited to your coloring. Women must wear heels but no higher than three inches. We aren’t on a stage, ladies. No wedges, boots, or flats. Your dress can be floor length though tea length is preferred. Nothing above the knee. Strapless is not allowed. If your strap is thinner than two inches, you must wear a shawl or coat over your dress. You can wear a hat, but the brim cannot extend more than four inches at any point, and the height must be under six inches. If you do plan to wear a hat, there will be special seating for you at the ceremony, so please arrive forty-five minutes early, unlike everyone else, who needs to be there thirty minutes early. This dress code will be in effect for all wedding-related events. Now for the men…”

  I couldn’t suppress a giggle. It was such a Tiffany thing to do. Maybe if I wore my flowery print dress that was above the knees with boots I wouldn’t have to attend the wedding.

  Vin grunted next to me and shifted his weight. “I’ve negotiated with hostage takers that had fewer demands. This wedding is driving her nuts. I hope—” He cut himself off with a snap of his jaw.

  We hadn’t really spoken much over the past year, especially once I chewed him out for his lack of respect six months earlier. Oddly enough, he had shown me more respect when I had seen him every few weeks after that. Then, as the wedding planning had heated up, I had bumped into him more often. It was like we were starting over, having never met previously. He was always polite, and we exchanged surface-level small talk that was surprisingly pleasant.

  He no longer bossed me around like he still did his sister. The whole thing drove Tiffany mad as a hatter, which was an added bonus. Once I had let down my guard, I had started to enjoy our encounters where we often made each other laugh. Maybe it was my preoccupation with Thomas that helped me to keep my emotions out of the interactions, but whatever it was, I was finding it fun to talk to Vin.

  But he seemed different right then, and when I spotted two empty beer mugs in his hands, I guessed the reason. His eyes did seem slightly glazed as he gestured to a waiter, who swapped out his empties for two fresh beers.

  Without turning to look at me, he handed me a beer. “You’re going to need this.”

  Tiffany was on stage, still talking. “Now jewelry. Obviously I would never say anything about your wedding rings, but for all other jewelry, there are some rules. No precious stones over five carats, no semiprecious over ten carats. Now the combined weights of all your jewelry can’t be over fifty carats. I know that may mean some tough decisions. Certain stones are banned altogether. No jet, no pearls, I will allow sapphires, but no aquamarines…”

  The general atmosphere of the room was turning. I could sense the emotions: anger, frustration, annoyance, and disbelief. Not exactly joyous wedding emotions. Someone in the crowd said, “Apparently fun is banned too,” just loud enough to carry over the silence when Tiffany paused. The crowd tittered in response.

  Vin couldn’t read others’ emotions as far as I knew, but he could read body language. “She’s going to start a riot here.” He waved a hand over his head and made an exaggerated “Wrap it up” motion to Tiffany.

  Her smile faltered. “Uh, you can re
ad the rest at your leisure. Enjoy the rest of the evening.” She stepped away from the mic to weak applause.

  Colleen came over to stand by me. She looked at the beer in my hand but said nothing with either her eyes or mouth.

  I was unsure. Do Monzas drink? I handed the beer to Vin. “Vin, have you met Monza Colleen? She is visiting. This is Vin Russo. It’s his wedding to Tiffany that is being celebrated.”

  Vin extended a hand. “Pleased to meet you. Are you friends of Tiffany’s family?”

  “Please, just Colleen. And no, I am afraid I do not know your bride-to-be, and in fact, I have crashed your party uninvited.” But she didn’t look bothered or embarrassed. She gave him a smile that lit up her face.

  A quick shot of jealousy went through me, and I was finally able to recognize the emotion for what it was. She was all the things I had seen before, and while still beautiful, she had something far more enviable though I couldn’t exactly name it. Control perhaps. Power? Definitely confidence. She was who I wanted to be. She had an ease to her that I wanted in my life. To stop being scared and running from my feelings but rather to just be. Be real. Be honest. Be me.

  Vin returned her smile, the first I had seen from him in a few weeks. “My mother, Ann Russo, said you were coming. I know she had some questions for you. Your reputation precedes you.”

  “Your mother’s as well. I look forward to meeting her.”

  He offered her an arm. “I would love to introduce you.”

  A female voice with an edge of hysteria interrupted them. “Vin!”

  I turned to see Britney and Natasha leading the way for a few other gals, who I didn’t know but assumed were the rest of Tiffany’s bridal party, barreling toward Vin.

  Britney stabbed a finger into Vin’s chest. “You have got to get Tiffany under control.”

  Natasha shook a bundle of papers at Vin. “Look at this schedule! I can’t spend all day, every day for the whole week tending to her every need. I have a job.”

  “It’s an honor!” Tiffany shouted from behind her.

  All five girls jumped at the sound of her voice, their eyes wide and round. They looked like a herd of deer facing a hungry cougar. I’m pretty sure one of them bleated in fear.

  Tiffany’s face was red with anger. “I asked you guys because tradition dictates that the bride’s bridal party needs to be people she is physically close with. You all work at the Magia with me or at least nearby. I was the one being generous with my invitations. This is a real opportunity for you.” She narrowed her eyes at the girls.

  The three girls I hadn’t met before shrank back, but Britney and Natasha rose to the challenge.

  Natasha was fighting to gain control of her emotions. She preferred to be a happy person who made everyone feel good, but she was clearly struggling to not tear into Tiffany.

  Britney on the other hand had no such internal battle. “You are nuttier than a mage bat if you think we are going to do all this stuff. And the costs! I don’t make that much in a year, and I make good money.”

  Tiffany’s eyes narrowed into little slits. “How dare you speak to me like that. You’re out of the bridal party. You all are. Bunch of losers!” She was shouting, and heads started to swivel in our direction from all over.

  Auntie Ann and Mixie were making their way over from separate corners of the party. Colleen was next to me, and one eyebrow rose up as she seemed to be holding back a smile.

  Britney huffed in reply and threw on her most sarcastic voice. “Oh no, kicked out of the wedding. Whatever shall we do?”

  Natasha put a hand on her arm, her calming influence relaxing even me a half dozen feet away. It was her gift and one that was much needed in the moment. “You’ve made your point. Why don’t we just go.” She nodded her goodbyes to the rest of us and steered Britney and the other girls toward the exit.

  Once they were gone, Tiffany burst into tears, sobbing in place while creating a racket that couldn’t have been genuine, at least if I read her emotions correctly.

  Mixie rushed up. “Don’t make that face. You’ll get wrinkles and smear your makeup. Plus, people will think I didn’t raise you right.” She shoved a tissue into Tiffany’s face. “Now what’s wrong?”

  “Those… those cows quit the bridal party.”

  Mixie gasped. “Don’t they know what an honor it was to even be asked to be part of a Homes wedding?”

  Vin snorted, but when Mixie spun around to glare at him, he put on an innocent face and drank his beer.

  Tiffany wailed more. “I have to have a bridal party for the traditions to work.” She dragged out the last word until it had seven sobbing syllables.

  Mixie noticed the guests watching and lowered her voice. “Get some of your childhood friends to do it. They could be useful instead of drinking our champagne.”

  Tiffany simpered and sobbed though no tears actually fell down her face. Either she was pretending to cry to garner the sympathy it usually bought, or she had so much Botox that her tear ducts had stopped working. “No! The bridal party has to be at least two people who live in the area where the wedding is held and have some connection to the bride or groom. I was already scraping the bottom of the barrel with those losers, but at least they worked at the Magia, so we had a connection. There is literally no one else…”

  Her eyes rested on Vanessa and me, and she trailed off as a smirk started to appear on her face.

  Before she could start speaking, I raised my hands. “No way. Don’t even think about it.”

  But her smile increased, the predatory grin settling onto her features. “You guys both live here. There’re two of you, and you have a connection with the groom.”

  For a moment I thought she meant the chemistry between Vin and I that had grown and ebbed over the course of knowing each other. My cheeks heated, and my protest came out a bit too loudly. “I do not!”

  “He witnessed your bonding with that annoying fleabag cat of yours. He’s responsible for your training.” She turned to face him as he started another beer. “Unless you lied to me?”

  “I was there, but it is more of an honorary title. She doesn’t need me for her training.” He looked at me with a nod.

  It was an unexpected compliment but not really at the right time to enjoy it.

  Vanessa was sputtering next to me. “Come on! No way.”

  Tiffany screwed up her face and threw herself onto her mom, who glared at us. Tiffany’s back was heaving, and pained noises came through as though she was overwhelmed with grief, but I could sense no sadness or despair from her, only smug satisfaction.

  Colleen turned to me when it was clear no one else was going to speak. “If you two meet the requirements and there is no one else… duty before comfort.”

  Vanessa groaned loudly.

  Vin snorted around his beer. “We all must suffer for duty.”

  I wanted to throw a fit and refuse to help, but I also wanted to show Colleen how mature and responsible I was. That I was a Monza who took duty seriously. “We’ll do it.”

  Vanessa just closed her eyes and shook her head. I knew she would go along with me though she would certainly make me pay even though it really was our only option.

  Tiffany spun around, her fake crying done. “I have to go make some rearrangements, but I will be in touch.” She dragged her mom off by the arm.

  Tiffany hated us, even Vanessa as her future sister-in-law. The fact that she was so pleased that we were now her entire bridal party made me worry about the week ahead.

  My stomach flipped at what I had gotten myself into, but the only benefit was that Colleen at least looked slightly pleased.

  “I’m getting myself a drink,” I said as I left the group to cut across the room to the bar. I didn’t want to ruin my noble sacrifice by staying and whining about how miserable I would be. Duty wasn’t a concept that I was particularly used to, but it was part of mage life.

  But not just duty, tradition was another thing they were obsessed with. I was used to ni
ce traditions, like a party at a birthday and exchanging gifts with loved ones at Christmas. But it seemed like most mage traditions were the opposite. Like Monzas being forced to be celibate or us having to help with Tiffany’s wedding.

  I paused in the center of the room, looking at the wet, drippy mess that was Tiffany the Ice Sculpture. One last apple was balanced in the basket. Once it fell, the party would be over, and I could go home. I was jittery from all the interactions; I wasn’t used to so many people or things to do.

  Patagonia meowed and twined through my feet. She had not been as stuck by my side the past few months. She was still always present when I worked magic, but she had started to disappear to wherever it was she went, I assumed to sleep, more and more often in my down time.

  She wrapped both her front feet around my ankle and dug in her claws as she tugged at my skin.

  “Ow!” I gave my foot a little shake. Maybe she needed more attention. “It’s almost time to go home. I’ll give you a brushing when we get there.”

  She glared up at me through narrow slits then lifted her back legs to kick at my legs. Long white lines appeared, then after a few moments, they turned red, and the blood started to roll down my leg. She grabbed my skirt and pulled back so hard that the waistband started to slide down, exposing my belly. I grabbed the fabric before she could pull it completely off.

  I leaned over to swat at her, trying to knock her off my leg. “That really hurts, Patagonia.” My pain threshold had increased quite a bit, a side effect of working so much magic, but it was still enough to bring tears to my eyes. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Ella!”

  My head shot up. Vin was barreling toward me, shoulder down, preparing for impact. He looked like a football player about to take out the opposing team. I barely had time to throw up one hand before he hit me right in the middle.

  He wrapped an arm around me and twisted in midair so that when we hit the ground, his body took most of the impact. Not that I noticed much as my body hadn’t registered the pain of him running into me yet.