The Wedding Witch: a paranormal cozy mystery (The Fairyvale Mysteries)

by Sofia Belle

“That was a long time ago.”

  “Still, we were the best of friends.” She shook her head then caught me eyeing her. “Except for you and Layla, of course. I meant he was my third-best friend.”

  “Good,” I growled. “I was getting worried I'd have to remind you where your loyalties lie.”

  She laughed. “I don't know! One day we were playing together, trying to solve little mysteries together—he'd catch the bad guys, and then I'd write pages of stories about his daring bravery, his dashing looks, his glowing accomplishments.”

  “You two are meant to be,” I said. “At least you were focused. I didn't start trying to play matchmaker until I was at least thirteen.”

  Rosie gave a smile, one that this time didn't reach her eyes. “Then we got into middle school, and things just became...I don't know, awkward. He didn't pretend to solve mysteries anymore, and I stopped writing about him.”

  “Lies. You never stopped writing. We've seen your journals.”

  “True,” she admitted. “But I stopped showing him the things I'd written and just talked about how dumb he was being in my journals.”

  “Young love.” I gave an exaggerated sigh. “So angsty.”

  “It wasn't love,” she snapped.

  “Ah, adult love.” I gave an overexaggerated sigh again. “Still so angsty.”

  “It's not love!”

  “What is it then? And don't say hate. I know you two don't hate each other.”

  Rosie raised a finger and tapped her lip in thought. “Disdain.”

  “Love and disdain are separated by a fine line,” I teased. “Are you sure you're not confusing the two?”

  Rosie pointed a finger at me and muttered a curse. I suddenly convulsed in a series of unrelenting sneezes, one after the next after the next. So many sneezes I fell right off my stool and crumpled into the fetal position on the floor.

  “You...(achoo)...are going...(achoo)...to pay...(hiccup)...for this.” I pulled myself to a sitting position, pointed a finger right back at Rosie, and murmured the hex for incurable tickles. “Haaa.......choo.”

  Rosie jerked under the hex, suddenly giggling and scratching her body all over the place. She wiggled so hard she fell right out of the chair and landed on the floor next to me. She laughed, I sneezed, and the pattern continued over and over again, both of us so occupied with our ailments we couldn't stop either of them.

  “Ha-ha-ha-choo. Haha, achoo!”

  “Girls, girls, girls.” A flash of light, a small bang, and the distinct odor of campfire along with a wisp of smoke announced an arrival in my kitchen. “Stop it, girls!”

  I could hardly see through the tears pooling in my eyes and the tickle in my nose. “Madrina?”

  “I can't believe you two.” Madrina waved her wand, and the tickles and sneezes subsided as she dissolved the charms. “It appears that maturity stalled when you were around the age of four.”

  My chest heaved with the exertion of just having sneezed nine hundred and eighty-four times, while Rosie gasped for breath, her shoulders rising and falling against the floor in the aftermath of uncontrollable tickles.

  “Did you come here specifically to lecture us?” I sat up, scooting away from Rosie.

  Madrina, our fairy godmother, was six hundred and eighty-two years old but in actuality looked closer to a spry seventy-four, though she moved with the agility of a gymnast in her prime. She was dressed in big, luscious robes of deep black, and Madrina had sprinkled just enough glitter on the fabric so that it shone like starlight.

  “You dragged me out of bed.” Madrina lowered the hood of her robe and pointed at the curlers on her head. Her hair was a silvery color that made her look as foxy as one could at seventy, and when her locks weren't wrapped around curlers, they sat in a puffy afro around her face, sort of like George Washington with his wig. “I don't appreciate getting dragged out of bed. But since I'm here, isn't it lasagna night?”

  I pulled myself to my feet and walked over to the fridge. Pulling out a pan of prepared lasagna, I showed it to my guests. “Popping it in the oven now. Sit down, behave, and you'll get a piece.”

  “I'm hungry now.” Madrina pointed to the pan. “Let's eat.”

  “I need to bake it first...” But I trailed off in mid-sentence. I looked down at the pan of lasagna, noting with dismay that Madrina had zapped the pasta with a hex so that it was cooked to perfection. “Hey! Why did you do that?”

  She gave a shrug. “I was hungry. I wanted to eat now.”

  “Who's the four-year-old?” I grumbled. “If you could have waited just a tiny bit, we could have had a real, home-cooked meal. No magic involved.”

  Home-cooked meals were a delicacy in this house. There was nothing wrong with magical cooking or speeding up the process, but there was a certain satisfaction to doing the cooking by hand. Of waiting for the oven to ding while the smells of tomato sauce and melting cheese warmed the house. Magic was faster, but ironically...the magic of the cooking process vanished with the zap of a finger.

  “If you cheat in solitaire, you're only cheating yourself.” Madrina flounced her hands on her hips, relying on one of her age-old sayings that hardly made sense. “Same thing with cooking.”

  “That's not the point,” I said. “It's the satisfaction of cooking. Or of playing solitaire. If you cheat, you win every time.”

  “Yes, that's the point.” Madrina nodded. “I like to win.”

  I looked to Rosie for support, but she only shrugged in grudging agreement with our fairy godmother. “It's true,” Rosie said. “I like to win, too. I cheat at solitaire.”

  I threw my hands up in the air. “You people have no patience! Fine, let's eat.”

  “Is someone eating without me?” The front door to my cottage burst open, and in waltzed Layla, the third of our three musketeers. “I smell lasagna.”

  “Madrina zapped the lasagna again,” I said. “I was going to have it home-cooked, but—”

  “That's okay.” Layla waved a hand, smiling around at the crew. A bubbly, buxom blonde, she glanced around the room and patted her stomach. “I'm hungry.”

  I set out plates while Layla grabbed silverware and Rosie filled wine glasses all around. We worked in quiet understanding, having been through this ritual time after time, year after year. We knew each other's movements so well that it didn't require any talking whatsoever, a synchronized dance.

  Except for Madrina, who plopped herself down in the chair at the head of the table, tucked a napkin into her black robes, and waited expectantly for food to appear on her plate.

  I dropped a heaping slice of lasagna in front of her, the cheese oozing from the top, over the meatballs, down the sides of the well-cooked noodles. I had to give Madrina some credit; she hadn't overzapped the pasta whatsoever. Maybe it was better she hadn't let me use the oven. I was such an infrequent chef that I'd been known to start the occasional fire or two, mostly because I forgot I'd ever turned it on in the first place.

  “How was work?” I asked Layla.

  “Busy, busy, as always. Love is in the air!”

  Layla owned the most famous lingerie store in all of Fairyvale—the Witch’s Britches. Her magical abilities were out of this world; she could be powerful, a really powerful witch, but she chose to use her magic to bring couples together. We worked well together, she and I.

  She sold lingerie and accessories to people in budding relationships, and when they were looking for engagement rings, she'd send them over my way. Then for the honeymoon, I’d send them back to Layla’s strategically planned Happily Ever After section.

  We had a symbiotic relationship that'd become famous in recent years, drawing couples and customers from across the country. If I was famous for making marriages that lasted, Layla had gotten her name around making sure relationships never got boring.

  Of course we didn't cut Rosie out of the deal. She ran her blog, The Witch Weekly, out of the small office next to the Wedding Witch. The three of us lived next to each other and worked
next to each other, and that was by design. It made carpooling a heck of a lot easier, and plus, it gave me permanent options for lunch dates. Rosie covered wedding announcements, which had become a popular feature lately as the weddings I took on became higher and higher profile.

  When I had given Rosie permission to run a post with the announcement about the engagement of Hailey and Clive, her blog had nearly shut down with an onslaught of page views.

  “I hear you had a busy day.” Layla looked up from her plate of food at me. “I was busy at the shop, else I would’ve stopped over.”

  “Don’t worry, Rosie did plenty of poking her nose where it didn’t belong.” I gave an eye roll before helping myself to another glass of wine. “It’s better you didn’t come, anyway. Who told you about it?”

  Rosie coughed and looked at her plate. I glared in her direction.

  “What?” She slid a glance my way. “We’ve agreed not to keep secrets among the three of us. Plus, I had to tell someone. Wouldn’t you rather I tell Layla than the rest of Fairyvale? You know I can’t keep secrets. They just leak out of my lips.”

  “Well, find a way to plug up the leak,” I said. “And fast. We have to keep this quiet for now.”

  “Is it true there was a murder?” Layla’s eyes widened. “I heard it was gory. Blood all over. At least ten bodies.”

  I gave an even bigger glare in Rosie’s direction. “No,” I said. “That’s not true at all. Rosie exaggerated.”

  “She exaggerated what?” Layla pounded a fist on the table. She was quite a sight, that woman, dressed to kill in a neon-green bustier and skinny jeans, with streaks of pink through her curly mane of hair. Layla didn’t just own the Witch’s Britches, she embodied it. I hoped to someday possess one third of the level of confidence she had, especially in the clothing department. “Now you must tell me what’s going on, you must!”

  “All right, relax there, Wonder Woman.” I purposely took my time slicing up the square of lasagna into eight tiny pieces before answering. I took care not to get red sauce on my much more modest uniform of the white button-down and black pencil skirt that had worked well for my professional career to date. “One of the bridesmaids ended up dead.”

  “Was it murder?” Layla’s eyes popped so far out of her head that I was worried they’d double as meatballs on her plate. “Come on, we won’t tell anyone.”

  I gave Rosie a pointed stare. “Really? Somehow, I don’t trust this one.”

  “Me?” Rosie looked aghast. “I am so trustworthy.”

  “Oh, ya are not,” Madrina said, jumping into the conversation after inhaling her entire plate of pasta. “You make my job difficult, you know. I have a boss, too, and I have to report to her. You stretch the truth more than any other person I’ve ever met. Get me in loads of trouble with my boss.”

  “See?” I pointed my fork at Rosie. “Even the fairy godmother says you’re a liar.”

  “Oh, hush up,” Madrina shot me a scathing look. “I didn’t say Rosie was a liar. And you, missy, you give me trouble, too.”

  “Me?” I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth, ignoring Rosie’s smug stare. “What did I do? I’m a good girl!”

  “We have a ‘love’ requirement on our annual review, ya know,” Madrina said. “For the past ten years, my ‘goals for improvement’ have been to get you out on a date. My raise got docked this last year thanks to you being too stubborn to go out for dinner with a romantic interest.”

  “I’ve tried!” I set my fork down. “You’ve watched all of my dates go up in flames.”

  “What about Ted?” Layla burst in. “You dated Ted for almost two months. I even gave you a special lingerie gown to wear for him.”

  “Yes, but then I came home from work one day and found him wearing it around the house, along with my high heels,” I said. “So that didn’t work out after all.”

  Layla winced. “Oops. I thought he was a bit feminine.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “A bit.”

  “What about Gaston?” Rosie piped up. “You actually liked him.”

  “Yes, I did. I liked him a lot. But so did three other women, and he had a hard time choosing among us, apparently.”

  Rosie fell silent.

  “Maybe you’re just picking all the wrong ones,” Madrina said. “Let me set you up on a date. With a man of my choosing.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Absolutely not.”

  “One date.”

  “No!”

  “What’s so bad about my taste?” Madrina frowned. “I used to be a looker back in my day. Once you pass three hundred years old, things aren’t as tight as they once were, ya know.”

  I closed my eyes as Madrina gestured first to her biceps, then to her chest. “Too much information.”

  “It’s just a fact.”

  “You’re going to set me up with a toad,” I said. “Or someone who’s fifty years older than me.”

  “Let me set you up on a date,” Madrina said. “I insist. You owe me. I couldn’t afford a new television this year because I wasn’t eligible for a promotion. A promotion requires I guide one of you successfully into a new life phase. We’re stalling out here, girls. Time to shape up and get your lives in order.”

  “It’s not our fault,” Layla grumbled. “I’m looking. I found my passion, I love my job, I have good friends...it’s not like I don’t want to find a life partner.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’ve been looking too hard, missy.” Madrina looked pointedly at Layla’s green bustier. “You don’t want a man who stands around and ogles you without buying you dinner first. You’re a whole different boat of trouble.”

  “Hey now, I am a free woman.” Layla flipped her hair over her shoulder and tilted her chin up. “I am an empowered, successful woman who can dress however she likes. I am an independent—”

  “You’re about to be independent of your shirt if you don’t watch out.” Madrina stood up, walked behind Layla, and began yanking the neon green top up to her neck. “I. Am. Helping. You.”

  “Ow!” Layla cried out, a new gasp with each jerk upward of the halter top. “Ow—ow—ow.”

  “I’m making sure you’re not too free,” Madrina said. “It’s my job.”

  “Enough, enough. Can’t we just have one peaceful dinner?” I tapped my clean spoon gently against the wine glass. “I’m calling for a truce. Madrina, let go of Layla. I will go out on a date with a man of your choosing if you promise not to bother me about it for the rest of the year when the date inevitably crashes and burns.”

  “Three months,” Madrina said. “I can bother you in three months. I’m gunning for a promotion this year. What if I don’t pick the winner on the first try?”

  “Six months.”

  “Deal.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll go out on a date for you and then no mentioning men for six months. So choose wisely.”

  Madrina’s eyes gleamed, and she pulled her bony fingers back from Layla’s shirt. “I have got to be going. Lots of men to stalk.”

  “No stalking!” I said. “That wasn’t part of the deal. Don’t be creepy, Madrina.”

  But our fairy godmother gave a delighted, semi-evil cackle. Then she winked, finger-waved a goodbye, and disappeared in a plume of violet smoke.

  Rosie coughed, fanning the smoke away with her hand. “That woman cares more about setting you up with a man than she does a murder.”

  “I knew it was a murder!” Layla jumped up in her seat. “Can you please fill me in, Bel? If you don’t, I’m just going to have to talk to Rosie behind your back. Wouldn’t you rather hear what we have to say to your face?”

  I exhaled a big breath of air. “I suppose. I’ll talk about it if—and I mean it, Rosie—you both agree to keep it off all records and not talk about it outside of these walls.”

  “I would never,” Layla said. “You have my word.”

  “You’re still promising that exclusive?” Rosie asked.

  “I keep my promises,” I said. �
�Now, if we’re all in agreement, put your hands in the center of the table.”

  “You are not making us do a pinky swear,” Rosie groaned. “Last time I had a wart on my nose for like three weeks.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have told everyone my secrets,” I said. “I told you in confidence that Ted and I had kissed. Next thing I know, the whole town is asking when we’re getting married.”

  “It was funny!” Despite her protests, Rosie put her neon-red nails into the center of the table. Layla rested her bright-yellow talons on top, and I set my very reasonable French-tipped nails on the very top.

  “The secrets uttered here today,

  Are things we shall not repeat or say

  To anyone outside of this bonded ring,

  The betrayer is warned, and curses will bring

  Pain and suffering to the one who lies.

  No secrets can slip beneath these skies.”

  I breathed easier once I’d finished the spell, and we each removed our hands. But that didn’t stop Rosie from grumbling a little bit about juicy news and exclusive content. We now had thirty minutes to talk freely before the spell wore off. Anything said in confidence within the next half hour would be protected by the curse, and as stated in the spell itself, the betrayer of secrets would be outed by magic.

  Usually the curse was small—a wart on the nose, a pimple the size of Olympus on the forehead, or a bad case of itching in a sensitive area. But one time, Layla had told a secret and her face turned a noxious blue for a week. Her nickname had been the Smurf for three years before it’d been (almost) forgotten. That was the joy of the curses: pure randomness. Always surprising, usually amusing, the effects lasted anywhere from a minute up to a few days.

  “So, murder?” Layla pressed.

  “They think so.” I spoke quickly, wanting to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible. If the spell evaporated and I was still talking, the secrets wouldn’t be protected. Rosie would be watching, waiting for the tiniest niblet of gossip to print on her blog. I loved the girl, I really did, but I had to watch my words around her. “Here’s the deal. One of the bridesmaids was found dead today in the stall at Mrs. Doodles’s shop.”