Casual Hex

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  He thought through his options. He could e-mail the organizers his notes for his talk and have someone else deliver it. They would be unhappy about that, but Marc was in the process of rearranging his priorities.

  One of those was still his sister. From his new perspective of nearly dying from magic the night before, he could see how relatively unimportant a university degree was. He’d been overbearing and overprotective with Josette, and he needed to tell her that, but he wanted to do it in person.

  He also wanted Gwen to come to Paris. That was another whole discussion they needed to have. He loved her, and he knew she loved him. But that would not make the next steps either easy or simple.

  As plans began to swirl in his head, he was unable to lie there another moment. Gwen seemed to be sound asleep, so he slipped out of bed, grabbed the clothes he had worn the night before, and walked into the kitchen.

  On his way he searched for the dent in the floor where he had found the paperweight after breaking into the house. Dorcas had fixed that, too, and had set the paperweight back on the kitchen counter. The kitchen window looked perfect.

  Marc supposed it was second nature for Dorcas to go around doing these things so the nonmagical people of Big Knob would not suspect a thing. He wished she had been less thorough this time, though. The bromeliad he had knocked over was back in its pot.

  Then he remembered what he had seen when he knocked it over. The roots had glowed. They could still be glowing. He could show that to Gwen when she woke up. Then again, maybe it would be unnecessary. Maybe she would be more open to the idea of magic this morning.

  He was dressed, had coffee brewing, and was rummaging in the refrigerator when she came into the kitchen. He glanced up and his heart ached at how beautiful she looked all rumpled from sleep. He loved the way the furry bathrobe and slippers hid all her curves, making her look like a package ready to be unwrapped.

  Her tousled hair fell in thick, shiny layers, stopping just below her chin. Her cheeks were still rosy from sleep and her mouth looked so kissable that he closed the refrigerator door and walked over to avail himself of the opportunity.

  She kissed him back with enough enthusiasm that he reconsidered his ambitious morning plans. Maybe staying in bed until noon was a good idea.

  He lifted his head and gazed into her eyes. “I hope I did not wake you.”

  She shook her head. “I was awake. I was just . . . thinking.”

  “Pretending to sleep, were you?” He smiled.

  She did not smile back. “Marc, I had a really weird dream last night. There was a dragon living in Whispering Forest, and a fairy prince tried to kill you.” She watched him quietly, obviously waiting for his reaction.

  He knew the safe route. If he laughed and said that sounded like the result of too much wine and too little food, she would relax and they could go on from there. They could talk about his sister and maybe even about the trip to Paris.

  He took a deep breath and continued to hold her. “That was not a dream, cherie. Big Knob is filled with many magical happenings.”

  Her pupils widened. “You’re scaring me, Marc. Either I’m crazy or you are. There are no such things as dragons and fairy princes.”

  “Yesterday I would have agreed with you. Today I cannot.” He rubbed her back, hoping to ease the tension he felt there. “Have some coffee. We will talk.”

  She perched on the edge of a kitchen chair while he poured her a mug of coffee. She looked like a wild animal ready to bolt at any moment.

  Maybe he should start with the easy subjects first. “I have been considering what you said about Josette.” He set the mug of coffee in front of her and poured one for himself.

  She looked blank for a moment.

  He could understand if she needed prompting. So much had happened since then. “You advised me to let her find her own way and not worry that she has dropped out of school.”

  “Oh, right.” Some of the tension eased out of her expression, as if she appreciated the normal topic. “You can’t force someone into living the life you want for them.”

  He wondered if she meant that to cover his behavior with her, too. Was he forcing her to be someone she was not, pushing her so far out of her comfort zone that she would run from him in fear?

  “You are correct about Josie,” he said. “When I return to Paris, I will tell her that I will support her decisions, however she chooses to handle her future.”

  “Good.”

  “Which brings up the question of our future.” And that made the difference, he thought. Josie had only herself to consider. If he and Gwen loved each other, they had to consider each other and what a shared future would look like.

  Was it his imagination, or did she tighten up again? He became less sure of himself. “At least, I hope we have a future,” he said softly.

  She met his gaze. “I would like that, but . . . I can’t figure out how it would work.”

  “You have said that you love France.” Now that he was about to suggest his solution, anxiety twisted in his gut. “Move there with me.”

  Her expression was still troubled.

  “I did not say that correctly.” He grasped both her hands. “Please marry me and live with me in Paris.”

  The anguish he was feeling seemed reflected in her eyes. “Oh, Marc, this isn’t easy.”

  “It could be very easy. Marry me, move to France, have babies with me, grow old with me.”

  Her deep sigh seemed to come all the way from her toes. “I can’t imagine living in Paris. I can’t imagine giving up Beaucoup Bouquets and the cozy security of this little town.” Defiance flashed in her gaze, as if she were daring him to contradict her image of Big Knob.

  He could not argue with her. Even with all the magic going on, Big Knob was still cozy and secure. Dorcas and Ambrose saw to that. Now that George was a True Guardian, he would be a legitimate part of the security system instead of an accidental one.

  Navigating this discussion without stepping on a land mine would require care. “I am certain you have strong ties to this town,” he said.

  “I didn’t realize how strong until I listened to you describe life in Paris.”

  That was discouraging. He had been trying to excite her about the city. “I might not have described it well. You would love Paris, Gwen. Come see for yourself. Do not reject the idea without giving it a chance. You could certainly have a flower shop there.”

  She watched the coffee swirl as she rotated the mug in both hands. Then she glanced up at him. “But mine wouldn’t be the only flower shop.”

  “No. No, it would not.” But you would be with me. We could be together. He could not say that. He refused to pressure her into this, refused to treat her in the heavy-handed way he had apparently treated Josette.

  “I know better than to ask you to relocate to Big Knob.”

  He could not imagine it, either. But he would be willing to spend more time here if he could interact with the magical elements while he was in town. Under those circumstances he could see staying two or three months.

  But he hesitated to suggest that kind of compromise as long as she denied the existence of all they had seen and heard in the past twenty-four hours. He was not going to spend months here sneaking out to the forest or over to see the Lowells.

  Finally he decided to tackle the big issue. “Gwen, are you thoroughly convinced that nothing strange or magical happened last night?”

  A pulse beat in her throat. “Yes.”

  “You are unwilling to believe that Leo Atwood was able to invade your dreams because he is a fairy prince?”

  “Yes, I am. That’s ludicrous.”

  “D’accord.” He pushed back his chair and walked over to the bromeliad. “What if I could prove to you that this plant has magical properties?”

  “I can’t imagine how you’d do that.”

  He glanced at a door on the far wall. “Is that a pantry?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”
>
  “Come in the pantry with me.” He picked up the pot and walked over to the door, but she had not moved. “Please.”

  She looked frightened, but she put down her mug, stood and came to stand beside him.

  “Watch.” Marc opened the pantry door, went inside and pulled Gwen in with him. “This will prove that the magic exists.” Once they were enclosed in darkness, he reached down and yanked the plant out by the roots.

  “How?”

  “Perhaps it takes a few seconds.” He waited, but nothing happened. The roots were just roots. “I do not understand.”

  “Marc, what’s going on?” Gwen sounded very nervous.

  “Last night, when I tipped this pot over, the roots were glowing. I thought if you saw that . . .”

  “But they’re not glowing now, are they?”

  “There must be an explanation,” Marc said. “Perhaps it is a nighttime phenomenon. Perhaps—”

  “Perhaps you dreamed about the glowing roots, and now it’s daytime and you’re not dreaming.” Gwen pushed open the pantry door. “There’s no magic, Marc. I know it and you know it.”

  “I do not!” He walked out of the pantry, holding the plant in one hand and the pot in the other. He trailed dirt on her hardwood floor.

  Gwen stood gazing at him. “It’s been an intense couple of days.”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe we both need some perspective.”

  No, he needed her, as a lover and a life’s companion, one who shared his new belief in the power of magic. But he would not force her to admit something she did not want to see. And he would not let her know she was breaking his heart in pieces that no magic spell could restore.

  “Perhaps we do,” he said quietly. “I must leave for Chicago soon, anyway.”

  “And I should be getting ready to open the shop.”

  “Yes. I will . . . call you.”

  Last night she had been sobbing at the thought of leaving him to go with Prince Leo. This morning she was dry-eyed at the idea they might never see each other again. “Just remember cell phone reception is terrible here,” she said.

  “I will remember.” He wondered if she had ever considered why that was so. There was no logical reason for it. But there could be a magical one.

  Chapter 25

  In the days that followed, Gwen took refuge in a comforting routine of tending her plants, her shop, and her little French cottage. She was biding her time until Annie Dunstan came home. Annie would help her figure this out. Gwen desperately needed someone to talk to, someone she could trust.

  Marc had been gone five days when Annie came home. Her friend had actually arrived the night before, but Gwen wasn’t about to interfere with the homecoming celebration between Annie and Jeremy. Jeremy had promised Annie would come by Beaucoup Bouquets first thing this morning.

  Other than dropping by Click-or-Treat to ask if Annie could come to see her, Gwen had avoided the Internet caf’. She was still so conflicted about Marc that she had no idea what she’d say to him in an e-mail.

  She was almost willing to believe he’d been part of the dream, too, except several people had asked her about him and whether he was back in Paris. They wanted to know if he had plans to visit Big Knob again, or if she’d be going over to see him.

  They made it all sound so simple. They didn’t know that Marc was asking her to uproot her life. But more than that, he wanted her to go along with the whole dragon-and-fairy scenario. He’d obviously been very disappointed when she’d refused to accept the possibility of magical events in Big Knob.

  Yet every morning when she woke up and looked out at the town of Big Knob from the windows of her cottage, she couldn’t imagine how those things had been real. No one else believed in that kind of thing, so why should she?

  Eventually she’d had to admit to herself that something had happened that night. She wondered if Dorcas and Ambrose had cooked up the entire elaborate show as part of the matchmaking scheme. That seemed extreme and not a little bizarre, but maybe they had Hollywood connections.

  Annie would have some ideas. She’d been on the trail of the Loch Ness Monster. Maybe she’d exposed that particular myth as a hoax. Now she could work on one closer to home. How she’d laugh to think that someone was trying to pretend there was a dragon in the Whispering Forest.

  Two minutes after Gwen opened the shop, Annie came through the door looking her usual blond, gorgeous self, smiling that Miss Dairy Queen smile. She was wearing her hair short these days to make travel easier and the style suited her. Of course, any style would look good on Annie.

  She hurried toward the counter. “That haircut and color looks fabo, girlfriend! And where are your glasses?”

  “I got contacts.” Gwen ran around the counter to give her a hug.

  “I go away for a couple of weeks and you transform yourself! Jeremy said I missed all the fun.”

  “You have no idea. Listen, since no customers are here yet, I’m going to put up the BE BACK SOON sign so we can go over to the house for coffee.”

  “Works for me.” Annie held up a small bag. “Brought you a present.”

  “Hey, you didn’t have to do that.” But she was thrilled, although the moment reminded her of Marc and his gift of a paperweight. Of course, nearly everything reminded her of Marc these days. Couldn’t be helped.

  “It’s just a touristy thing, but I thought you’d get a kick out of it.”

  Gwen opened the bag and took out a small stuffed version of Nessie. “Cute!” She glanced up. “Did you debunk that ridiculous myth?”

  “Uh, not exactly.” Annie avoided her gaze.

  “Come on, Annie. You and I both know there’s no such thing.” She needed her friend to agree with her on this before they moved on to dragons and fairies in the Whispering Forest.

  “We can talk about that later.” Annie walked over to the window, picked up the BE BACK SOON sign from its place on the ledge, and hung it from a suction cup. “First I want to hear all about your Frenchman. And I’m dying for some of your French roast coffee. Coffee in Scotland is . . . different.”

  “Then let’s go.” Gwen tucked the stuffed animal back in the bag and grabbed her coat and boots. She wished Annie hadn’t ducked the question like that, but she probably was curious about Marc, as everyone was.

  A few minutes later, Annie was wandering around Gwen’s kitchen while the coffee brewed. “I really love what you’ve done with this place.” She glanced at the pots hanging from the ceiling and the open shelves stacked with pottery dishes. “I want to get a house, but Jeremy says there’s no point as long as I’m traveling all the time. He’s so damned logical, but I suppose he’s right.”

  “Logic can be good.” Gwen had the uneasy feeling that Jeremy might be the one she should have talked to about the magic. He thought like her, while Annie had always been a little woo-woo.

  “Logic is wonderful, unless you’re dying for a house like this one,” Annie said. “You even have a little herb garden in the window. I would never have time to tend one, but I love the idea.”

  “And then you’d have herbs to cook with.” It was a running joke between them that Annie was pretty much at a loss in the kitchen.

  “Hey, I’m not saying I’d use the herbs. I just want an herb garden. It’s cool. It’s savvy.”

  “Oh, that would be me, no question. Ms. Cool and Savvy, right here.” Gwen glanced at the window. The bromeliad was no longer there. It had died soon after Marc left for Chicago. Gwen hadn’t gone into the forest to check on the others, but she’d bet they’d died, too. They’d served Dorcas and Ambrose’s purpose.

  “You are! The hair and contacts look great. Is that new makeup?”

  “Francine talked me into it.”

  “That’s a new necklace, too. Did your French guy bring that to you?”

  “No, Dorcas gave it to me.” Gwen rolled the smooth stone between her thumb and forefinger, something she’d been doing a lot lately. She’d told herself to put the necklace
away because it was such a poignant reminder of Marc, but she hadn’t been able to make herself do it.

  “That Dorcas has good taste. So where did this come from?” She picked up the paperweight from the counter.

  “Marc brought it from Paris.”

  “It’s gorgeous. I love the fleur-de-lis in the center. But did you know it’s cracked?”

  “Yes.” Gwen had looked at that crack a million times. She remembered having the paperweight in her pocket when she confronted Leo Atwood in her living room. It hadn’t been cracked then.

  “Must have happened on the trip over. But it’s pretty, anyway.”

  “No. I dropped it.” That was all Gwen could figure.

  “Aw. That’s too bad. So what’s with the French guy? Are you going to see him again?”

  “I don’t know.” Gwen took time out to pour their coffee.

  “Uh-oh, you two didn’t get along? Jeremy seemed to think you did.” Annie brought the paperweight with her as she came over to sit down. She took the chair Marc had used.

  Gwen hadn’t sat across this table with anyone since Marc left. “We did get along.” Gwen gazed at her friend. “Very well.”

  “Wow. The way you say that tells me we might be talking the L word.”

  Gwen nodded. No use denying it. Love wasn’t the issue. There was plenty of love, plenty of passion. “He asked me to move to Paris.”

  “Whoa.” Annie blew across her coffee and took a small sip. “I don’t see you packing.”

  “No.” Gwen looked at the paperweight and wished she could be with Marc now. Right now.

  “I totally get that. I enjoyed visiting Scotland, but I wouldn’t want to move there permanently. It’s not home.”

  “Where we’d live would be tough to work out, no question. But the more I think about it, the more I realize we could deal with it if each of us made some concessions. No, that’s not the biggest problem.”

  “He doesn’t want kids.”

  “No, actually, I think he does.” She could see those dark-haired kids so clearly. They’d grow up bilingual, something she’d never quite managed to do. She’d make sure that happened with any kids she and Marc had. . . . Except their children might never exist.