by Ellen Dugan
At dinner.
Tonight.
I could make a fancy dinner...No scratch that. He’d know something was up. I needed to try and play this cool. “After Bran and Lexie pick up the baby would you mind running to the grocery store for me?” I said, going for a casual tone of voice. “I’ll need a few things for dinner tonight. Avocados, fresh tomatoes, that sort of thing.”
“Sure,” Duncan answered, watching the game. “Are you going to make chicken fajitas? I love your chicken fajitas.”
While Duncan focused on the football game I sat beside him and starting hatching how to pull off a romantic dinner, when I was only going to have a short time alone to prepare.
Lexie picked up Belinda right on time. She stopped short when she walked into the living room and found Belinda sitting happily on Duncan’s lap.
Lexie slanted her eyes at me. “Have him practicing, already?” she said under her breath.
“He’s been enjoying himself,” I answered softly.
Lexie rolled her eyes. “Where’s my monster?” she asked, and Belinda swung her head at her mother’s voice and held out her arms.
After a few minutes Lexie and the baby returned to the manor, and I went into the kitchen to pull the chicken breasts out of the fridge. While Duncan watched the ending of his football game, I set the table and prepped the vegetables and chicken for cooking.
Having something to do with my hands helped keep me calm, and as I washed up in the sink I saw Irene’s cookbook was out and on the counter once again. I glanced over at the cookbook as the pages started to flip, and had to muffle a snort of laughter when I saw that the recipe the book had landed on was: Go Get Your Man Guacamole.
I shook my head at her antics, briskly closed the book and tucked it back inside the cabinet. When the game was over, I handed Duncan a list of items. He gave me a quick kiss and promised he’d be back soon.
I held my breath until I saw him pull out of the driveway. I dashed upstairs and changed my clothes as fast as I could.
I tossed on a loose and flowing deep green maxi dress, fluffed my hair, touched up my makeup and sprayed on perfume. I slipped on a cute pair of flats and scrambled down the stairs, skidding to a halt when I saw that Irene was standing by the kitchen table.
“I added some candles,” she said. “If you’re going to propose to him, you need to set the mood, my girl.”
I didn’t have time to wonder how she’d known, or how she’d affected physical reality by moving the candle holders. “Thanks Irene,” I said, as I dashed to the mantle and grabbed the lighter.
Sitting on the mantle was a framed photo that I hadn’t displayed in years. It had been left in the box inside the closet. I studied the picture. It was a selfie that I’d taken of me and Duncan four years ago at the house I’d landscaped for him. “How long has this been out?” I asked Irene.
“I set it out for you, I thought it might help with the ambiance. Because, honestly Autumn,” she huffed. “Chicken fajitas, as a romantic dinner?”
I went to the table and started lighting the candles. “Duncan loves my fajitas.”
“Almost as much as your meatloaf?”
I started to glare at the ghost and found myself laughing instead. “Shut up, Irene.”
She playfully wagged a finger at me. “I think you should definitely add that recipe to the family cookbook.”
“Which reminds me.” I dashed over, grabbed my apron out of the drawer and tied it on to protect my dress. “How come most of the recipes in your cookbook have to do with love and sex?”
“Because that’s what the clients typically requested the most.”
I turned the heat on under the skillet. “You referred to them as clients?”
“Of course dear,” Irene said. “They hired me out to perform a service, in this case magick, and I always did my best for them. Whether that was to offer metaphysical advice, brew a potion, work a spell, or—”
“Pass along a magickal recipe that they could cook for their partner.”
“Precisely.”
I pulled the chicken and diced peppers out of the fridge, peeled the plastic wrap off the bowl, and dumped it into the skillet. “Isn’t that manipulation?”
“It was up to the client how they used the magick,” Irene said. “I always explained the risks. It was up to them to decide if they wanted to proceed.”
I checked the clock and stirred the chicken and peppers. “Like you did with Olivia’s sister, Jane.”
“That’s right.” Irene moved over next to me. “How are you feeling now, my dear? Are you calmer?”
“You’ve been staying with me, keeping me talking so I wouldn’t be so nervous, haven’t you?”
“Of course.” Irene reached out, and I actually felt her rest a hand on my shoulder. “I promised Arthur, when you were an infant that I’d watch out for you.”
I dropped the spatula, it clattered to the stovetop. “My father asked you to watch over me?”
“He did.” Irene nodded. “Your father would have approved of Duncan, by the way. I thought you should know that.”
Tears welled up and I struggled not to cry. “Thank you for telling me,” I said sincerely. “Now do me a favor will you?”
“Of course.”
“Make yourself scarce for the rest of the night.”
“Done. Blessed be, dear.” Irene winked and vanished.
The chicken and peppers were simmering when Duncan walked back in the door. “Smells great,” he said, letting the door shut behind him. “The table is pretty fancy, what’s the occasion?”
My stomach gave a good hard leap. “Does there have to be one?” I asked lightly.
“No.” Duncan reached in the bag and pulled out a little bouquet of fall flowers. “No, there doesn’t have to be any reason.”
I leaned over and gave him a kiss. “Thank you, they’re beautiful.”
We worked side by side, with me arranging the flowers and Duncan chopping up the tomatoes and avocados. I set the flowers on the table, and Duncan placed the small bowls of the diced vegetables along with grated cheese and lettuce.
When the chicken was finished I slid it into a serving bowl, Duncan carried it to the table, and I brought over the warm tortillas.
I tried to keep up with the conversation over dinner, and Luna sat under the table and lay on my feet. I wondered if she was trying to lend support, like a good familiar would. I struggled hard to hold my energetic shields in place, so Duncan wouldn’t pick up on any stray thoughts.
I kept wondering when the perfect moment would be to tell him that I loved him. And how exactly should I propose? Say it straight out, or try and be romantic? Back and forth my mind went, and I was so nervous that I could feel beads of sweat running down my back.
Oh my goddess, I thought. This is horrible. Do men suffer through all this when they plan to propose? Breaking out in a nervous sweat? Butterflies in the belly, and shaking hands? Maybe I should just say it and get it over with...
“Should say what?” Duncan asked.
I could feel the blood drain from my face. “What?” I asked, horrified.
“You said, ‘maybe I should just say it and get it over with’.” Duncan tilted his head. “Something on your mind?”
“Ah...” I stammered. “Well, I was wondering...that is I wanted to tell you...” I caught myself rambling, and shut my eyes.
“Are you okay?” Duncan asked.
I opened my eyes and looked directly into his. “I love you, and I was wondering...will you marry me?”
Duncan said nothing. He simply sat there while a big grin slowly spread over his face.
Nervously, I started talking. “I was thinking we could get married next year in a garden...The month of May would be a good for an outdoor ceremony.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but I kept on going, speaking faster and faster. “We could have Candice make cakepops, and Violet would do our flowers...We’d have Lexie, Ivy and Holly as bridesmaids. I’d want a bu
nch of different colors though, all mixed together, in a rainbow of soft pastels...”
“Sounds like you’ve thought about this a little bit,” Duncan said.
“Actually I saw it in a precognitive dream—the color scheme of our wedding,” I tried to explain. “I didn’t realize till a second ago, that that’s what I’d seen. Kind of a Beltane theme...But anyway, afterwards. After the wedding, I mean, we could live here in the bungalow, and have a family. You said you were ready to have kids whenever I was. So...I’m ready.”
“Right this second?”
His dry question had my mouth slamming shut.
“Well finally, you’ve wound down.” Duncan rested his arms on the table. “If we could backtrack for a moment? Did you say that you loved me?”
I twisted my hands in my lap and tried not to get sick, or pass out. “I did.”
“Took you long enough.” His tone of voice was very male, very satisfied.
I wasn’t sure what to make of him, or his reaction. “I guess all this...” I waved my hands. “Babbling, sort of took you by surprise.”
“You certainly manage to keep things interesting,” Duncan said.
“I probably sounded like an idiot. Jabbering on about weddings when you haven’t even answered my proposal.” Mortified, I dropped my eyes to my lap.
“No you didn’t sound like an idiot. It was adorable.” Duncan lifted my chin with a gentle finger. He smiled. “You surprised me, that’s all.”
“I managed to surprise a telepath?”
He took my hands in his. “You sure as hell did.”
I searched his eyes, and what I saw there made me smile. “I love you Duncan,” I said deliberately.
“I love you, Autumn.” Duncan leaned across the table and kissed me. “Yes, I will marry you.” He kissed me a second time. “Yes, we can get married in May in a garden.” He kissed me a third time. “Yes, I want to live here in the bungalow, and absolutely I want to start a family.”
“Right this minute?” I teased him.
Duncan stood, scooped me up and carried me towards the stairs. “We can sure as hell practice making that baby—right now.”
I laughed and wound my arms around his neck. “I really love you.”
“I love you too,” he said. “We can go shopping for a ring tomorrow.”
I kissed his neck as he went up the stairs. “Okay, I don’t want a diamond though. I’d like something with color.”
Duncan nudged the bedroom door open with his hip and carried me over to the bed. He set me gently on the quilt, and began unbuttoning his shirt. “I might have a little something in mind.”
“Me too,” I said, yanking him down to the bed.
He fell forward with a laugh. “I meant about the ring.”
EPILOGUE
I stood unseen in the kitchen with the little calico familiar at my side, smiling at the couple as Duncan swept my great niece Autumn into his arms and carried her up the stairs and to the bedroom. I heard the couple’s laughter drift down the stairs, and with a sentimental sigh, I wished them the happily ever after they so deserved. I focused my powers on the candles they’d left on the table, and one by one they snuffed out.
After years where I’d gone unnoticed, unheard and unacknowledged, the opportunity to help one of my own was indeed a magickal thing. I had watched, waited, and wandered the rooms of the bungalow, fading in and out for decades. I’d seemed to simply exist, stuck between the realm of spirit and the world of the living.
But the first time Autumn had walked back in the bungalow, I’d felt it. The magick had rekindled. My own bloodline had reignited the wards I’d managed to set on my last corporeal day on this earth.
For the first time in decades, I, Irene Bishop, had a purpose, and it had been very satisfying to help my great niece learn to trust, to love again, and to live her dream. It was the least I could do for her. Because now, thanks to Autumn and Duncan, my granddaughter and her child were coming back to William’s Ford.
I had a few months to set things in motion for my Maggie. I actually had someone specific in mind for her, but for now I had to be patient. Once my girls were home and settled, I could begin to weave my magick, and then all the spells of the heart would be set right.
The End
Irene Bishop’s granddaughter, Magnolia (Maggie) Parrish is coming to William’s Ford!
Turn the page for a sneak peek at Maggie’s story!
Magick & Magnolias
Coming 2018
***
Magick & Magnolias
“Mama, are we there yet?”
I’d lost count of the number of times I’d heard that question over the past two days. Gripping the steering wheel tighter, I resisted the urge to scream. “No, sugar pie, we’re not. But we’re close.”
“We are?” My daughter, Willow, bounced in her booster seat and I flashed my eyes to the review mirror in time to see her kick her snow boot clad feet in the air.
With relief I checked the GPS. “We should be arriving in less than a half hour.” A massive double bridge came into view, and I counted five lanes heading west and five heading in the opposite direction. “See that bridge?” I desperately pointed out. “Once we cross that we’ll be almost at our new house.”
“Will I get to use my snow boots?” It was her second favorite question.
“I’m sure you will.” I smiled when I said it, but internally I was thankful our trip up North had not included me driving through a snow storm—for the very first time.
“Can I see the pictures of our house, again?”
“Sure.” I patted around, found my cell by touch and handed her my phone without taking my eyes off the road. With a terrifying skill she opened up the photo app and began to scroll through. “Do you see the pictures of the cottage?” I eased over in the far right lane of the bridge. Everyone was driving so fast, it was more than a little intimidating.
“Uh-huh. How come you don’t have any pictures of Thomas?”
I thought back to the elegant older man who’d swooped in to our lives a few months before and saved the day. “Because he didn’t send me any.” It was the most honest thing I could think to say.
“Mama, I like our cousin. He’s nice.” Willow sang as she entertained herself looking at the pictures on my phone.
He certainly was, I thought to myself. Thomas Drake was also powerful, a little intimidating, and if every story that my mother had ever told me was true, the man was a magician as well. Didn’t that beat all?
My mother Patricia had recounted a fantastical saga since I’d been a child, about how she was the secret love child of a Witch and a Magician. They’d given her up and had hidden her away, she’d said, to keep her safe. When I was little I’d been spellbound by the story, imagining my mother and me as some sort of secret princesses. But when I’d grown up I’d begun to roll my eyes at her tall tales, figuring that my mother was simply making up stories about her biological family for the entertainment value—or for attention.
So when I met her cousin Thomas, I wasn’t sure what to think of the man. The older gentleman had carried himself with a sort of dignity, or polite arrogance I supposed. Truthfully, his wardrobe, fancy car, and bank account hadn’t impressed me much. But copies of my mother’s birth certificate and her adoption papers certainly had. In the short week he’d spent in town, he had humbled me with his quiet generosity, kindness, and sincere desire to help.
“You are my family,” he’d said, and proceeded to steamroll his way through every obstacle that I had faced.
When all was said and done, he’d terrified my ex, found me an excellent relator, and had hired the best damn attorney money could buy. Now my child was safe, my mother’s house was sold, her medical bills were paid off from the sale, and I was free to get the hell out of Louisiana, and start my life over in Missouri.
Truth be told, I could work almost anywhere. As an event coordinator, or bridal consultant, I had that luxury. I’d built a solid reputation for
myself in my hometown, I’d even landed some bigger events in Shreveport. I was pretty confident that I could do the same up North. My stomach gave a nasty pitch, and even as I told myself not to worry...I did anyway.
I took the first exit after crossing the bridge and, within moments, found myself driving through the river town of William’s Ford, Missouri.
Picturesque, was the word that came first to mind, and thankfully the streets were dry and clear. I passed a smattering of restaurants, banks and stores. I spied two national chain pharmacies, a massive grocery store, and the University campus on my left.
The winter bare trees had a dusting of snow on their dark branches, and there was also a few inches on the grass. While Willow cheered over the snow, I admired the fancy decorative street lights along the roads. I cruised along with the local traffic, following the directions of the GPS. I rolled my shoulders against the tension gathered there, and drove into a gorgeous neighborhood filled with large Victorian era homes.
The brick sidewalks were also clear, and I slowed down, enjoying the view of the pretty homes and the large trees, trying to imagine what it would be like in the spring. I spotted the Drake mansion, stopped my car in the middle of the street, and sat there like a rube. “Lord mercy!”
The house really was a mansion. Three stories of gray stone, the huge house sprawled out impressively. The grounds of the estate were large, ensuring that no neighbors were particularly close—save one. Surrounded by trees, nestled a charming Tudor style cottage built from the same gray stone as the mansion.
“Willow, here’s the cottage,” I said, carefully easing into the driveway while my little girl cheered. I took a deep breath, blew it out slowly and told myself to stay calm.
My cell began to ring, and Willow answered it. “Hello?”
“Willow, give me the phone.” I held out my hand.
“Hi Cousin Thomas!” Willow said. “We just got here. You have snow!”
How had he known we’d arrived? I wondered, then gave up waiting for her to give me back my phone. I shut off the engine and climbed out of the car. The cold was a shocking slap to the senses. This Southern girl needs to thicken up her blood, I thought. Reaching quickly for my new winter coat, I zipped it up. Willow was already unbuckling herself from the car seat, and I walked around to the passenger side of the car.
