“Brisk,” Ambrose said.
“Freezing,” Dorcas said. “We’d intended to use Maggie’s car, but it’s in the shop.”
“Which is silly,” Ambrose said. “I could have fixed it for her.”
Dorcas cleared her throat. “She’s probably remembering the last time, when you managed to reverse the gas- and brake-pedal functions.”
Gwen worked hard not to smile. Ambrose was something of a lovable goof, and she could easily imagine him screwing up car repair. “How’s Maggie’s baby?”
“Wonderful.” Dorcas’s eyes shone. “Little Daisy is such a joy. When Maggie comes back to work full-time in a couple of months, she’ll be bringing Daisy.”
Ambrose whipped around on the scooter seat, nearly dislodging his wife. “Daisy? In the office?”
Dorcas patted his arm. “It’ll be fine. So, Gwen, is the potted plant still healthy?”
“Yes, but it should be, protected in the house. Amazingly enough, the ones in the forest still look perky, too, even after the freeze we had last night. Are you headed out to see how they’re doing?”
“Yes,” said Dorcas. “We’ll let you know if they’re still okay. We don’t want Monsieur Chevalier to get here and see a bunch of dead plants.”
“No, we don’t.” Gwen found it intimidating to hear Marc referred to by his last name. She supposed technically he should be called Doctor Chevalier, but he’d never used his title in his e-mails, and now he was simply Marc to her. She sometimes forgot he was such a big deal to those in his field.
“Are you excited about his visit?” Ambrose asked.
“Sure.” She kept telling herself that Ambrose and Dorcas couldn’t possibly have engineered this meeting with Marc. It wasn’t as if they’d caused the plants to appear in the Whispering Forest.
But they were matchmakers, so logically they would be interested in this meeting even if they’d had nothing to do with it. She’d briefly considered consulting them for advice when Marc had announced he was coming, but she didn’t have extra money for that. Besides, she’d vowed not to manipulate the situation with Marc. Either it would work out between them or it wouldn’t.
“Frenchmen usually appreciate a fine wine,” Dorcas said. “We have an excellent vintage we brought from Sedona. Why don’t we give you a bottle to share with Monsieur Chevalier?”
Gwen had heard of this wine that the Lowells kept in their cellar. She knew of two couples in town who had each enjoyed a bottle of it and were now married. That had to be a wild coincidence, and Gwen wasn’t usually superstitious, but she decided to decline the offer.
“Thanks for being willing to share,” she said, “but I picked up a couple of bottles of good California wine in Evansville.” She’d done that on purpose, because she and Marc had gotten into this silly debate about French versus California wines, and she wanted to make sure he at least tasted some she considered decent. Assuming he seemed harmless and she invited him home to dinner.
Ambrose cleared his throat. “I don’t like to brag, but Mystic Hills wine beats any wine I’ve ever tasted. If you don’t believe me, come by tonight and we’ll give you a sample. It’ll blow you away.”
“That’s very generous, but I think I’ll stick with what I have.” She hesitated. “You know, I’m probably a fool not to hire you to help me, but I . . . want to see if things will develop naturally.”
“Do you think we’re trying to meddle in your relationship with Monsieur Chevalier?” Dorcas’s amber eyes grew wide.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t. But you might think you could help, especially because I’m not the most experienced girl when it comes to relationships.”
“Nonsense,” Dorcas said. “You’ll be fine.”
“Well, the way I figure it, either Marc and I will get along or—” She shrugged. “We won’t.”
“So it’s Marc, then?” Dorcas smiled.
Gwen felt her cheeks warm. “We’ve e-mailed quite a bit, and it seemed silly to keep using—”
“I think it’s wonderful,” Dorcas said. “Well, Ambrose, we need to be off before it really starts snowing. I felt a couple of flakes. Have a good evening.” She tapped Ambrose on the shoulder and the little scooter wobbled off, the wheels slipping on the slick road.
Talk about a couple of flakes. But they were lovable flakes, and Gwen was sure they meant well. She would have been worried about their safety riding around on that ridiculous scooter, but traffic was nonexistent right now. Traffic was nonexistent most of the time in Big Knob, which was why they had no stoplight in town.
Gazing after the departing couple, she sighed. They might have given up for the time being, but it was increasingly obvious they were dying to step in and demonstrate their matchmaking skills. She didn’t plan to let them. Once Marc arrived, she’d closely monitor his interaction with Dorcas and Ambrose Lowell.
Chapter 2
Dorcas leaned forward and spoke into Ambrose’s ear so he could hear her over the noise of the scooter. “So much for that wine maneuver.”
“We’ll think of something else,” Ambrose said over his shoulder.
She didn’t know what, and time was running short, but more conversation with Ambrose was a bad idea. That one over-the-shoulder comment had resulted in another skid. She held her breath as he brought them out of it.
Stupid scooter. She’d never liked the thing, not from the day he’d brought it home more than a year ago. But they couldn’t risk traveling on her broom in broad daylight, and walking all the way to the Whispering Forest in the winter was even less fun than riding on the scooter. She was ready for a car, except the terms of their banishment forbade traveling more than five miles away from Big Knob, so a car seemed like an unnecessary expense.
Fortunately it had stopped snowing. The big storm wasn’t due until sometime tomorrow, maybe after Jean-Marc Chevalier had hit town. Dorcas hadn’t ever tried to mess with the weather. Weather changes had more far-reaching consequences than she wanted to be responsible for. The snowstorm, if it should strand Jean-Marc in Big Knob, would be a happy accident.
As they passed Sean and Maggie’s stately Victorian on the way out of town, Dorcas glanced over with a sense of pride. She and Ambrose had engineered that match, and now the house seemed to glow with happiness. She pictured little Daisy inside, sleeping or nursing, and wished there was time to stop.
But it would be dark soon. They needed to revitalize the plants and get them ready for another freeze tonight, plus see if they could make contact with George. She’d been so encouraged by the New Year’s resolutions he’d dictated to Ambrose on January first. She pulled the list from her pocket.
Stop playing poker with the raccoons.
Patrol the forest at least once every eight hours.
Stop scaring people with the disembodied eyes trick.
Stop whining that life is unfair. Until about a week ago, he’d kept those resolutions.
Then recently she and Ambrose had found evidence of late-night poker games, although George insisted he’d been asleep by nine. Just yesterday Jeff Brady, owner of the Big Knobian Bar, had snowshoed into the forest and claimed to have seen a pair of eyes floating in the trees. That was classic George.
The dragon had denied all knowledge of that, too, and he’d compounded his transgression by complaining that life was completely unfair. When he forgot to patrol every eight hours, he blamed his supposed case of ADD. Dorcas was at her wit’s end with him.
If George failed to earn his golden scales, the Wizarding Council would require Dorcas and Ambrose to stay in Big Knob indefinitely to monitor his progress. That was no longer Dorcas’s biggest concern, though. Primarily, she wanted George to grow up and accept his duties as Guardian of the Forest, because his refusal to do so was disrupting the natural order of things. She hated when that happened.
Ambrose swung the scooter left into the snow-covered dirt road leading into the forest. At once the scooter’s front tire plowed into a drift and the motorized part of the journe
y came to an end. Ever since the first snowfall, they’d been parking the scooter at the end of the road and walking in.
Yes, they could have melted a roadway through the snow if they’d wanted to, but that seemed like a selfish and unnecessary use of magic. The plants they’d introduced into the forest were enough interference with nature, but they hadn’t been able to figure out any other way to get Monsieur Chevalier to Big Knob.
Last summer, their scrying had revealed him as Gwen’s soul mate, but his place of residence had presented quite a challenge to the matchmaking. They’d caught a break when he accepted the invitation to the Chicago conference, and they’d leaped on the opportunity.
Ambrose turned off the motor and lowered the stand before climbing off and helping Dorcas down. “Did you remember your wand?”
“It’s inside my parka.” Last week she’d managed to forget it, and the trip had been wasted. She hadn’t been able to bolster the plants’ immunity to cold or charge George’s iPod. The plants had survived, but George had been p.o.’d about his iPod. She hoped he wasn’t so childish that he’d used that as an excuse for breaking his resolutions.
“I’m worried about this meeting between Gwen and Jean-Marc,” Ambrose said as he began trudging along the path their boots had created in the past few days.
“At least they’re on a first-name basis. And being soul mates should count for something, even if we haven’t been able to work with Gwen. I just wish she’d do something with her hair.”
“Actually, she’s going in for a haircut tomorrow at four. I heard her tell Jeremy that while I was in Click-or-Treat yesterday. She talks to him more than anybody, I think.”
“I’m not surprised. They’re a lot alike, both on the geeky side.” Dorcas caught a flutter of wings from the corner of her eye. She turned, but didn’t see a bird. There were only a few this time of year, mostly blue jays and cardinals.
“And they both miss Annie,” Ambrose said. “Jeremy’s not one to complain, but he and Annie are still almost newlyweds. I’m sure it’s tough to be separated.”
“Sure. And Gwen doesn’t have any other close girl-friends besides Annie.” Dorcas heard the rustle of wings but still couldn’t spot a bird. Strange, because with the leaves gone and snow blanketing the evergreens, a blue jay or cardinal would stand out. Dorcas shook her head and continued walking. Maybe she was imagining things.
“Speaking of Annie,” Ambrose said, “we’ve been at a major disadvantage with her off researching the Loch Ness Monster. I’ll bet she could have convinced Gwen to come and see us before Jean-Marc hits town.”
“I think so, too.” Dorcas sighed. “Bad timing.”
“If only Gwen had agreed to take the wine. That would have been something to jump-start things.”
“You know, Ambrose, I’m afraid word is getting out about that wine.”
“But we’ve only used it twice.”
“And that’s a lot in a town this size,” Dorcas said. “The wine now has a reputation, and Gwen hasn’t cultivated her spirit of adventure. But there has to be a way to influence that first meeting.”
Ambrose shook his head. “I don’t know how. I’m running out of ideas. I don’t have much faith in the Bob and Weave’s ability to transform her, either.”
“Darling, you’re a genius! That’s it!”
Ambrose stopped in his tracks. “What?”
“The hair appointment! I’ll see if I can book one at the same time as Gwen’s.”
Ambrose gazed at her in horror. “You’re not actually going to let them do your hair, are you?”
“Why not?”
“When the shop owner’s hair is four different colors, I’d say you’d better watch out. I like your hair the way you do it.”
Knowing how men felt about a woman changing her hairstyle, Dorcas didn’t comment. But the casual brunette bob she’d worn for years had recently begun boring her to tears.
“You won’t let them do anything drastic, will you?” Ambrose looked worried.
“Of course not.” Which in woman-speak meant that anything short of shaving her head was okay with her. “But if I get an appointment, I won’t be around to remind you to turn on the exit sign. You won’t forget, will you?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll remember.”
“Maybe I should set a timer.”
“Dorcas, I’ll remember, okay?”
“If you say so.” But she worried about it, anyway. When they’d first moved to town Ambrose had decided to bespell the exit sign on the interstate to control access to the town. With the sign off, no one could find the exit, and Ambrose had loved that concept. He’d insisted they didn’t want surprise visitors when they were trying to rehabilitate a problem dragon.
In a town as small as Big Knob, they usually heard when friends and relatives were expected, and Ambrose would turn the sign back on. At least he would most of the time. Once he’d forgotten and a belly dancer hadn’t showed up for a bachelor party, but that had worked out. Tomorrow night, though, it was critical that the sign be on for Jean-Marc.
The road into the forest became more clogged with drifts, which slowed their progress. Finally they reached a small trail leading off to the right. Glancing around to make sure they hadn’t been followed, Dorcas started through the trees. They’d chosen a remote spot for the plants with the hope that no one besides Gwen would be able to find them. The local belief that the forest was haunted helped the cause.
“Every time we come I expect them to be dead,” Ambrose said, following behind her.
“They only have to last for a couple more days. The catalogue said they could be maintained in a hostile climate for up to a month, so I think we’ll make it.” She rounded a bend in the path and there were the tropical plants, five of them. With their waxy leaves, they looked fake, as if someone had stuck plastic luau decorations in the snow as a joke.
Each one was about two feet high, with dark green outer leaves and a red spiky center. The wizarding catalogue had described them as a magical bromeliad copy that will fool the most dedicated gardener into thinking a winter miracle has taken place.
The plants were supposed to be a practical joke, but one that only a witch or wizard would appreciate. Jean-Marc wouldn’t know what they were, and while he was busy analyzing them, he would be spending time with Gwen. Now, if only Dorcas could work a little miracle of her own in the beauty salon tomorrow, she’d—
“This dragon was born to dance!” In a swirl of smoke, George appeared in the clearing, all two thousand pounds of him. “What Georgey-Porgy needs is a partner!”
Before Dorcas could protest, the green-scaled dragon had snatched her up and spun her around in time to the music he heard through the earbuds of his white iPod. She gasped and opened her mouth to complain, but Ambrose beat her to it.
“George, put her down.”
Dorcas thought he sounded irritatingly calm, but then he wasn’t the one being held eight feet in the air, legs dangling. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, George,” she said, “but one of your claws is poking me in the back.”
“And besides that,” Ambrose added, “you’re about to trample the—oops, there goes one now.”
“The bromeliads!” Dorcas rapped him on his snout. “Stop dancing. You’re squishing the bromeliads.”
“The whosit?”
“The plants we put in to attract Gwen’s soul mate!”
“But he’s coming, right?” George twirled her around again. “So the bromo-whatsis don’t matter now.”
“Yes, they do.” Dorcas managed to extract her wand from under her parka and tap the iPod. “If you want that thing recharged, you’d better cool it.”
“So you’ve decided to be Dorcas Downer today.” Rolling his eyes, George set her on her feet again. “I was gonna show you the move I learned from the raccoons. They’ve been watching Dancing with the Stars.”
“How?” Dorcas had an image of several extension cords strung together and hooked up to the nearest house, which w
ould be Maggie and Sean’s. The raccoons weren’t above stealing a TV and jerry-rigging an antenna, either.
“The same way they watch anything,” George said. “They set up a bench outside somebody’s window so they can peek in. It’s not fair that they can do that and I’m stuck here in the forest.”
Dorcas held up four fingers. “And what resolution did you just break?”
“I can’t help it! It’s not fair. The raccoons have it so easy.”
“But they don’t have a duty to guard the forest, and you do. I wish you’d—”
“Dorcas, you’d better bring your wand over,” Ambrose said. “We’ll need a spell to repair this plant.”
She turned to find Ambrose crouched beside a flattened bromeliad. “Bacchus’s britches,” she swore softly.
“What’s the big problemo?” George lowered his head and peered at the plant. “Just dig it up and toss it. You still got four.”
“Yes, but Gwen saw five this morning.” Dorcas blew out a breath. “If one’s suddenly gone, we’ll have to explain it.” She searched her memory for a spell that would revive a crushed magical plant. Nothing was coming to her.
“I can handle this.” George cleared his throat. “Stand back.”
Ambrose looked up. “What are you—yikes!” He leaped out of the way as George torched the bromeliad.
“There you go.” The dragon brushed his claws together and gazed at the smoldering and blackened leaves. “You can start the praise any time now.”
“What’s to praise?” Dorcas glared at him. “You burned it to a crisp. I might have been able to uncrush it, but there’s no way I can bring it back now.”
George continued to look smug. “Yeah, but you can blame it on lightning.”
“Except that there’s been no storm.” Dorcas stared at the blackened plant.
“You could make one.” George sounded excited by the prospect.
“No. I don’t like fooling with weather.”
Casual Hex Page 2
