"I didn't realize you'd be attending as well," Bentley said.
"The artist is a friend of mine," he said. "I promised to show my support." He glanced at me. "It might also be an opportunity for Miss Rose to get to know more people in town. It's always a plus for the paper to have access to more sources."
“I’m tapped in to the cultural scene,” Bentley whined.
“There’s no harm in including Miss Rose,” Alec assured him. “I have no doubt her aunt will be pleased with the decision.”
“Good point,” I said. “So, what do I wear to an art shindig?”
"Clothes," Bentley quipped. "Unlike Milo Jarvis."
We laughed and Alec gave us a quizzical look.
“Ember was just telling us about something that happened at the Rose Foundation board meeting," Bentley said, and relayed the story.
"How odd," Alec said.
“Milo was a good sport,” I said. “He got through the rest of his presentation like a champ.”
“Let’s hope everyone manages to retain their clothes this evening,” Alec said.
“Except Bentley,” I said. “We want his date to go well.”
The tips of Bentley’s pointed ears burned bright red. “Please don’t embarrass me in front of her.”
I patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll leave that part to you.”
Marigold, the coven’s Mistress-of-Psychic Skills, decided that our next lesson should take place in the woods behind the cottage.
"Is this a witch thing?" I asked. "Is this because we’re supposed to love nature and all that?"
Marigold looked slightly amused. "Yes, and all that. Also, it's practical. There's plenty of space and no one to interrupt. Psychic skills take a lot of concentration and focus."
She wasn't wrong there. I seemed to feel more exhausted after a psychic skills lesson than after listening to Bentley drone on for an hour about the history of journalism.
"So what's on the agenda today?" I asked, rubbing my hands together. "Am I going to uproot a tree with my mind?" Telekinesis was apparently one of my strengths, so Marigold was tasked with helping me hone my skill.
"Why on earth would you want to uproot a tree?"
I shrugged. "Maybe if I’m being chased by an ogre?" I held up a finger. "Or a giant. Are they real?"
"Yes, ogres and giants are real. They tend to live in more rural areas, rather than a highly populated town like Starry Hollow."
I laughed. "You think this is highly populated? You haven't seen the Cherry Hill Mall at Christmastime."
Marigold ignored my comment. "Why don't you have a seat on that log and we'll get started?"
I did as instructed and folded my hands primly in my lap.
"We’re going to try astral projection today. Do you remember what that is?"
I pressed my lips together. "It's when my consciousness leaves my body, right? So I can Casper my way around town?”
“Casper?” she queried.
“Like a ghost,” I said.
“Yes, something like that," Marigold said. "Observe." She sat on the ground in front of me in a cross-legged position. Her eyes closed and she began to breathe deeply. The simple act of observing her stillness put me in a trancelike state. It was like getting lost in the face of a ticking clock. After a moment, she rose to her feet.
"What happened?" I asked. "You're giving up already? Not for nothin’, Marigold, but that's not a very good lesson."
Marigold looked at me. Although her mouth moved, I couldn't hear any of the words. She moved to the left and it was then that I saw the figure slumped on the ground in front of me. Two Marigolds. Her brown corkscrew curls bounced like a Slinky as her body drifted to the side, finally toppling over. Ghost Marigold turned to look at her shell. Her mouth moved again, and I was pretty sure I saw her lips form an obscenity. She began to move around the woods, demonstrating her ability to move through objects like trees and bushes. She was impervious to Spanish moss. She really was like a ghost.
"My turn, my turn," I said, waving my hand in the air like an eager student. No teacher ever saw me behave like this in the classroom. School was the last place I’d wanted to be. That was one reason it was so difficult to wrap my head around the fact that I had an academic child like Marley. School was her favorite place in the world. A rocket launcher shot that apple as far from the tree as possible.
Ghost Marigold moved back toward her body and I watched as the apparitional form was sucked back into its case. Marigold sat up and opened her eyes. She wiped the dirt from her cheek.
"I was hoping to stay upright," she said. "Sometimes it doesn't quite work out."
"That was pretty cool," I said. "Why can't you talk?"
"It's your consciousness that you separated from your physical form," Marigold explained. "Your body has a voice, but not your astral plane form."
"Do you have to stay close to your body? What if you get lost and can't find your way back to it?" Something that would likely happen to me.
"There’s an invisible link between the forms," Marigold said. "Your body will keep you within a certain range. You'll feel the tug on the psychic rope, if you will. If you do stray out of range, your body will snap you back. You need to be careful of that because it can really hurt." She rubbed her lower back, as though remembering such a time.
"And I’ll be like a ghost? People will be able to see me, but not hear me?"
"That’s correct," Marigold said. "But you also have the potential to interact with the physical world in your spiritual form."
I frowned. "How's that possible? I watched you walk through trees and moss."
"Because I willed it to be so," Marigold said. "You have telekinetic ability. You use your will to control objects. Essentially, it’s your will walking around outside of your body."
I tried to comprehend her words. "So if I want to pick up a stick in my ghost body, I can do that?"
"Or your wand,” she said. "In the event that you’re defending yourself."
"Wouldn't it just make more sense to defend myself in my physical body?" I asked. "Aren't I leaving it vulnerable if it's just slumped on the ground somewhere with no protection?"
Marigold smiled. "That’s an excellent question, Ember. It is true that your body is very vulnerable when you’re no longer occupying it. Some witches perform a protective spell in the body before projecting. It all depends on the situation."
"What's the point of it?" I asked. "You said I might want to use my wand in my defense, but I can't picture a situation where this would come in handy."
Marigold's expression turned grim. "And let's hope you never encounter one. Many of these skills are antiquated. They are simply abilities passed down from one generation to the next.”
Another thought occurred to me. “When will I be able to get a wand of my own?” I didn’t mention that I’d been practicing with Linnea’s childhood wand over at Palmetto House. No need to throw my cousin under the bus.
Marigold studied me. “Do you think you’re ready for a wand? You’re taking on a lot as it is.”
“I won’t know if I’m ready until I try,” I said.
“I’ll speak to your aunt,” Marigold said finally. “It’s her decision.”
“So if she says yes, will you bring me a starter wand for the next lesson?”
Marigold laughed softly. “Not me. I’m the Mistress-of-Psychic Skills. It will be Wren Stanton-Summer, the Master-of-Incantation.”
Right. The hot wizard from my first coven meeting. No surprise he was adept with a wand.
“Are you ready to try astral projection?” Marigold inquired.
“I guess so,” I said. Truth be told, I was a little nervous about splitting my body into two parts. What if I couldn’t rejoin them?
“You’ll do great,” Marigold assured me in her typical peppy fashion.
I glared at her. “Stay out of my head, please.”
She crouched beside me. “Focus on your breathing first. That’s the
key. Then relax your body, one muscle at a time.”
I squinted. “That’s a lot of muscles.”
She gave an exasperated sigh. “Just focus on the ones you know.”
My body softened and I focused inward, willing my consciousness to shed its skin. I felt something shift inside me, and before I realized what was happening, the ghostly version of me was looking down at my physical body. It was…unnerving.
I glanced at Marigold, who gave me an eager thumbs up. I didn’t know what to do next. She gestured for me to walk around and pointed to one of the live oaks. Ah, she wanted me to walk through it.
I took an imaginary breath and headed for the base of the tree. As my body moved through it, a gust of air seemed to fill me. It was a strange sensation, like a fan blowing inside me. I reached the other side of the tree and peered around the bend to see Marigold jumping up and down with excitement. She wasn’t the most poised witch you’d ever met.
She gestured for me to return to my body. I was only too happy to oblige. The whole experience felt unsettling. Hopefully, it wasn’t a skill I’d need to display on a regular basis.
I rejoined my body and opened my eyes. “I feel stiff.”
“Completely normal.” Marigold pulled me to my feet and enveloped me in a hug. “You did it. Aren’t you proud?”
“I guess.”
“You guess?” She pulled back and examined me. “Ember, this is an amazing talent you have. Do you know how many witches and wizards wish they could astral project? You must embrace it.”
“I’ll do my best.”
She patted my cheek. “That’s all we ask.”
Chapter 3
I’d never been to an art gallery before. The closest I had come was a trip to the art museum in Philadelphia in seventh grade. I still remembered the enormous painting of a man getting his liver eaten by a giant bird. When I'd mentioned the painting to Marley one time, she told me it was called Prometheus Bound by Peter Paul Rubens. Prometheus was a demigod who was being punished by Zeus for introducing fire to men. It had been a disturbing image to a thirteen-year-old girl. While most of the students had been giggling over statues of naked men and women, I’d been haunted by Prometheus and his daily torture. According to Marley, the liver grew back every day and Prometheus suffered at the beak of the bird anew.
"I'm glad Aster helped you choose an outfit for tonight," Marley said, admiring my red dress.
"What are you trying to say? That your mother doesn't have good taste?"
Marley flashed me an innocent look. "I'm just saying that your idea of a nice outfit is probably not art gallery ready."
I laughed. "You’re lucky you’re so cute." I twirled around in front of the full-length mirror, appreciating the way the fabric clung to my curves. I wasn't the walking stick I used to be. I had to admit, though, I preferred this older body. It felt more womanly than the breastless beanpole I’d been before my pregnancy.
"I hope the date goes well," Marley said. "It's been such a long time since you've been on one. Maybe we should have brushed up on some articles first. Done our research on appropriate behavior.”
I placed my hands on my hips. "Marley Rose, this is not a date. This is business. Alec invited me as part of my job.”
Marley's brow lifted. “That’s right. You call him Alec now. So is he calling you Ember?"
I hesitated. "No, not yet. After tonight, maybe he will."
"What makes you think that?” Marley challenged. “Because it's a date?"
I stuck out my tongue. "You are so funny." I scooped up a pair of earrings off the ledge of the sink and stuck them in my lobes. Although I rarely wore any jewelry, the red dress cried out for accessories.
“The earrings are a nice touch,” Marley said. “Very sophisticated.”
I swatted her arm. "Mrs. Babcock should be here any minute. I'm sure she would appreciate it if you went to sleep in your own bed."
"No," she said. "I'm sure you would appreciate it if I went to sleep in my own bed. Mrs. Babcock doesn't care either way."
"She cares," I lied. "She told me. She said ten-year-olds like Marley should absolutely, always, under all circumstances sleep in their own bed. True story."
Marley folded her arms. "Then we'll just have to ask her when she gets here."
Popcorn balls. Outsmarted by my own daughter. Not that I was surprised. Marley started outsmarting me as a toddler.
The doorbell rang and we both jumped. PP3 leaped off the couch and went straight for the door.
"Do you think it’s Alec?” I asked.
Marley shook her head. "It's Mrs. Babcock."
I frowned. "How do you know?"
"Because Prescott Peabody III isn’t barking. He’d bark at a vampire, but he doesn't bark at Mrs. Babcock.”
I opened the door and, sure enough, Mrs. Babcock stood on the front step. The petite brownie’s white hair was pulled back in its usual bun and she wore her wire-rimmed glasses. Tonight she’d traded a plain brown dress for a dark green one.
"Good evening, Ember,” she said, entering the cottage. “My, aren't you a vision. An art show, is it?"
"Yes, apparently they’re fancy events. I was told to dress appropriately." I seemed to be told that a lot in Starry Hollow. I guess what was appropriate in New Jersey was deemed substandard for the paranormal town.
"Well, mark my words. You’ll be taking attention away from the artwork looking like that," Mrs. Babcock said with a wink. "Not such a bad thing." She swept into the room and began unpacking her bag. It looked like a medical bag in size and shape, and I watched in fascination as she began to pull several board games from inside.
"How would you feel about Scrabble tonight?" Mrs. Babcock asked Marley.
"As long as we can play chess afterward," Marley said.
"It's a deal." Mrs. Babcock continued unloading her bags, including a plastic container of what I assumed were homemade cookies.
"Mrs. Babcock, how can you possibly fit all of that inside such a tiny bag?"
She gave me a Mona Lisa smile. "Whatever do you mean, Ember? This bag fits all my needs. I've had it since I was a young girl."
It was some kind of magic bag that seemed to have an infinite base. Women around the world could use a bag like that.
PP3 began to growl.
"Prescott Peabody, mind your manners," I scolded him.
Mrs. Babcock patted the dog on the head. "Don't worry, dear. He isn't growling at me."
A knock on the door proved her right. I opened the door and my breathing hitched. Alec Hale stood on the doorstep, looking more dashing than I'd seen him yet. You would think an evening at the art gallery would be no different for him. He was always impeccably dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. Tonight was different. Tonight, he wore a traditional tuxedo. My gaze was drawn to the green handkerchief in his pocket that matched the color of his eyes. Instead of slicked back, his golden blond hair was tousled.
"Miss Rose," he said. I noticed the twitch of his cheek. "You are…not wearing your usual clothes."
I smiled. "That's very observant for a journalist."
"I wasn't expecting a red dress," he said. "For some reason, I pictured you in black."
As I turned to fetch my bag, I felt his admiring gaze on my back.
"I did wear a lot of black in New Jersey," I said. "But Aster insisted I wear a pop of color, as she put it. I can't take any credit. She chose the red."
"It suits you," he said. His gaze lingered a beat too long and he seemed unsettled, not his usual cool and collected self. I made sure to shield my thoughts, so that he couldn't tell how handsome I thought he looked in his James Bond tuxedo.
"Shall we?" he asked, offering his arm.
I looped my arm through his and called over my shoulder, “Goodnight, ladies."
"Have fun, Mom," Marley said. "Try not to spill anything on your dress…or any of the artwork."
I closed the door behind me and was immediately confronted by a stretch limousine.
&n
bsp; "Is this your usual ride?" I asked, stopping short.
"I tend to use it for special events, yes."
“I assume this is the result of bestselling author money and not editor-in-chief of a weekly paper in a small town money,” I said. I didn't need to have worked in a newspaper office in the human world to know that they didn’t make very much money.
"I am the editor-in-chief of Vox Populi because it is my passion," he replied. “My books aside, I am a vampire, Miss Rose. I have had many years to accumulate my wealth."
Harrumph. I guess he told me.
I slid into the backseat and rubbed my hands on the soft leather. It was like sitting on a cloud. Alec moved in to sit beside me, his thigh pressed against mine. As it was spacious in the backseat, his closeness surprised me, but it felt too good to pull away. I wondered whether our physical proximity was having the same effect on him as it was on me.
We arrived in front of the art gallery too soon and I tried not to show my disappointment. The driver opened my door first, followed by Alec’s.
Despite the tuxedo, the event was even fancier than I expected, with a fully staffed bar and waiters circling the guests. Bentley was already there, hovering beside the bar. His flushed cheeks suggested he’d taken advantage of the free alcohol.
“Nice tie,” I said, flicking the blue and green striped tie with my fingers. “Any sign of your MagicMirror girlfriend yet?”
“None of your business,” he snapped.
“Should you be getting sloshed if you’re here to cover the show for the paper?”
He glared at me. “Why don’t you go climb up our editor’s butt where you clearly find it so comfortable?”
“Good one, Bentley.” I held up my palm to high-five him, but he simply blinked. I lowered my hand and sighed. “What’s the problem? Are you worried Mildew won’t show?”
“Meadow,” he corrected me. “What if she’s awful? What if she looks nothing like her photo?”
“Do you look like your photo?” I asked.
Bentley straightened, indignant. “Of course. I use the one from the paper. I’m easy enough to verify.” He peered into the crowd and stiffened. “Great goblins! I just saw a silk scarf with silver stars. She’s here.”
Magic & Mischief Page 2
