“You survived!” Harmony, my younger sister, exclaimed as I opened the front door of our condo.
I dropped my purse onto the table off to the side of the door and kicked off my shoes. Without a word, Harmony wiggled her fingers at the pumps and sent them flying in the direction of my bedroom. “Thanks,” I said, knowing I’d find them right in their designated place in my walk-in closet. I envied my sister’s magic but appreciated that she shared some of the more indulgent spells with me.
Trudging through the living room, I rolled my neck and shoulders. “What. A. Nightmare.”
Harmony cringed. “That bad?”
I flopped onto the sofa and put my feet up on the coffee table. “The florist was late, the minister got the names wrong during the ceremony rehearsal, and one of the groomsmen dared to suggest that Evan might want to take a small sedative before the real wedding, which, as you can imagine, did not go over well. Oh, and Francois threatened to quit halfway through the final menu tasting.”
Harmony cringed. “Yikes.”
“I think if Francois would have quit, I would have too.” I sighed.
“I believe it. I’ve never seen you use the coffee table as an ottoman before.”
I smiled and wiggled my toes. “I don’t know why not.”
“Well, as you explained to me, this here is an authentic Jason Partillo design,” Harmony replied, a lilt in her voice as she gently needled me with her elbow.
I laughed softly. “Are you trying to say that those of us who live in diva houses shouldn’t throw shoes?”
She barked a laugh. “No. This Evan guy sounds like he left diva in the dust a long time ago and plowed straight into narcissistic jerk land.”
“Can’t argue with that.” I closed my eyes, my head leaning against the back of the sofa. “Two days and then it’s over and they won’t be my problem anymore. I have fifteen weddings between now and June. That’s going to feel like a walk in the park compared to this nonsense.”
“And in the meantime, you get the rest of the night off to spend with me and your bestie!” Harmony said.
“Assuming I can stay awake, that is,” I replied, peeling my eyes open. “I should have left room in the schedule for a pre-dinner nap.”
Harmony laughed and sprang off the sofa to continue getting ready. “Do you think I should wear my black tights with the red sweater dress, or can I get away with jeans? Is the place we’re going fancy fancy or fancy-ish?”
I smiled at my sister’s nervous musings. She wasn’t one to ask for my fashion advice, mostly because I preferred my clothes hole-free and didn’t own anything with spikes or studs on it. While she could dress up when the situation warranted, Harmony tended toward a certain grunge-chic aesthetic with colorful streaks in her otherwise bleached-blonde hair, four piercings in each ear, and a penchant for artfully torn clothing and bomber jackets. And she’d recently added a small crystal stud to her nose.
“It’s fancy-adjacent,” I told her. “Go with the leggings and dress.”
Harmony nodded, even as her teeth worked nervously at her lower lip.
I smiled. “She’s going to love you, Harmony. Stop stressing.”
Holly Boldt, my good friend and fellow witch, was coming into the Seattle Haven to speak at a potion making conference, and we’d made plans to get together for an early dinner beforehand. Harmony was a potion witch in training—unofficially—and had been climbing the walls since I invited her to tag along. She idolized Holly’s work and was bursting with questions she wanted to ask her. I’d known Holly for well over a decade, and while I admired her skill, it was amusing to watch my younger sister fan-girling over her as though she were a legendary rock star.
“Just remember our deal,” I added, dropping my feet to the floor as I sat up.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. I won’t bombard her.” Harmony held back a full-on eye roll, but the annoyance was clear on her face.
“I don’t mean to harp on about it,” I said, rising from the sofa, “but we both know you get a little … excited about this stuff, and I don’t want to overwhelm Holly right before she goes to her speaking engagement.”
In truth, Holly was one of the most unflappable witches I knew. After everything she’d gone through in her life, it took a lot to rattle her cage. On the flip side, I also knew my sister, and if there was one word to describe Harmony, it was passionate. Which, in and of itself, wasn’t a bad thing. But when you added the other words used to describe her—relentless, impulsive, and scattered—it could be a bit much.
I loved my sister and appreciated her myriad of good qualities, but there were times when I had to fight off the urge to shake some sense into her. Though we looked like twins, granted eight years apart, our personalities couldn’t have been more opposite, and those differences had tested our bond more than ever in the year since Harmony had shown up on my doorstep, broke, lonely, and desperate.
I’d moved her into my one-bedroom condo for what was supposed to be a one or two month stay while she worked to save up enough money to get a place of her own. Somewhere along the way, that plan faded into the background and she’d turned into a permanent resident of the small condo. Space was tight—and got tighter every time one of us went out for some retail therapy—but it had been a few months since either of us had brought up the possibility of her looking for an apartment of her own. She’d held down her hostess job at Luna, an upscale eatery in the heart of the haven, and while she still borrowed-slash-stole my clothing on a routine basis, she chipped in for rent, helped with groceries, and even picked up the tab when we went out to lunch once a week.
Harmony twisted her hands together, a guilty look on her face. “I have one potion to show her and that’s it, I promise!”
I raised my eyebrows and glanced over my shoulder at her as I passed through the living room on my way to the kitchen. “Which one?”
“I made it in my last workshop. I unlocked the ingredients in her newest hair growth potion and found a way to hack it so it works twice as fast!”
“And that’s a good thing?”
“It is if you’re going bald and don’t want to be,” Harmony replied with a casual shrug.
“I see. And how do you turn it off?” I asked, picturing Harmony crossed with the image of Cousin Itt.
“You stop using the potion,” Harmony said, as if it were the most obvious solution in the world.
“Right.”
I went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Holly would arrive soon fresh from Beechwood Harbor, a small beach town on the Washington coast. It was normally a three-plus hour drive to Seattle, but Holly had access to an SPA-regulated portal and could make the journey in the literal blink of an eye. With our dueling schedules, we didn’t see each other often enough, but the portal certainly made visits a lot easier than before.
My stomach rumbled as I eyed the containers of leftovers lined up on the illuminated shelves. Despite her potion prowess, Harmony was hopeless when it came to following a recipe, and I didn’t cook anything that didn’t come already prepared in a carton or box. I plucked a box of peanut noodles from the fridge, shut the door, and grabbed a fork from the dish drainer.
Yes, we were going to dinner with Holly, but I’d be chewing on my own arm before the appetizers could even be ordered if I didn’t have a little snack. I’d been too busy at the walk-through and rehearsal to sample any of Francois’s food. He was a catering friend—the best in the business, in my opinion—and had made a pared-down version of the couple’s feast so they could sample everything one last time before the wedding.
I rolled my eyes, replaying Evan’s nitpicky concerns, and stuffed a bite of noodles into my mouth. I returned to the kitchen and found Harmony kneeling on the sofa, consulting her appearance in the mirror hanging behind it. “I really need to decide what color to do next,” she mused, fingering the strands of her shoulder-length hair. “Do you think I should cut it short again?” she asked, glancing at me.
I frowned. “You
already know what I think.”
Harmony rolled her eyes. “I’m not going back to brunette,” she said. With a wave of her hand she beckoned a lipstick tube from her purse that hung over the back of one of the dining room chairs. It zoomed to her fingertips and she applied a coat of the deep velvet red.
The doorbell buzzed and Harmony squealed. “She’s here!”
I hurried to put the box of leftover noodles back in the fridge, wiped my mouth on a kitchen towel, and then scurried back to the living room just as Harmony swung the front door open. “Holly!” I exclaimed, ushering my statuesque friend inside. “You’re early.”
She smiled, her green eyes gleaming. “Is that okay?”
“Of course! Come on in.” I turned to Harmony. “Holly, this is Harmony.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you!” Holly said, offering Harmony a hand.
Harmony wasn’t blinking as she stared at Holly.
“Harmony?” I said, giving her a nudge.
“Oh, stars! Sorry. Right. You’re Harmony—I—I mean, I’m Harmony and you—” Harmony stopped herself and drew in a deep breath. “I’m really sorry. I just can’t believe you’re really here!”
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. “Harmony’s a big fan,” I told Holly, though I’d already given her a heads up when we’d made the plans over the phone a few weeks ago.
“I’m flattered,” Holly said.
Harmony took her hand and shook it vigorously. “I’ve followed your work for a while now. You’re like a celebrity in the potion world. I mean, you basically grew an empire in like eighteen months!”
Holly laughed. “I don’t know if I’d call it an empire, but I’m working on it. In fact, six weeks ago, I signed a lease for my first storefront. But that’s an insider secret for now,” she added with a wink.
Harmony slapped a hand across her own mouth.
“That’s incredible!” I said “Congratulations, Holly. I can think of no one more deserving.”
“Thank you. I’m actually supposed to meet with a potential investor tonight after the conference,” she continued, nervously toying with the end of her long, auburn hair. It hung over one shoulder, nearly falling to her hip, tied away from her face with a gold band that glittered seemingly on its own. She was more dressed up than I’d ever seen her, trading in her easy, jeans-and-t-shirt style for an A-line dress and a pair of suede booties. The dress was a flattering eggplant color that worked well with her fair complexion.
“I’m sure you’ll nail it,” I told her with a reassuring pat on her arm. “Listen, I just got back from a client thing myself. Do you mind if I change really quick?”
“Not at all,” she replied, looking to Harmony with a quirked grin. “We can talk shop while we wait.”
Harmony looked ready to die of complete happiness, so I slipped away, leaving them to chat about eye of newt and leg of spider or whatever it was witches used in potions these days. It hadn’t been my best subject in academy.
As soon as I closed my bedroom door, my cell phone rang. I scurried back to the living room, silently pleading with whatever goddess handled suppressing homicidal impulses that it wasn’t Evan Stimpton, and grabbed the phone.
“Hello?”
It was Francois. “Ana, we have a problem.”
I pulled in a deep breath and released it. “Of course we do…”
Chapter Two
Francois launched into a hysterical recantation of the events leading to his frantic phone call, and by the end of his story, his voice was bordering on a pitch that only dogs could hear. Apparently, after leaving the venue, Evan and Charlene decided they weren’t happy with the final tasting of the wedding feast and called Francois to insist he change the entire menu and have a presentation for them the following afternoon so they could have time to sample everything and agree to the changes prior to the wedding.
“This is unacceptable!” Francois shrieked.
I held the phone away from my ear, wincing at the shrillness.
“It’s clear these two idiots know nothing about cooking! Do they think I pull the ingredients out of my chef’s hat as I go along?” he barked. “Even if I were catering an intimate dinner party of six, I would laugh off such a suggestion, but this … this?! It’s a wedding feast for three hundred! I have half a mind to quit and let them all starve!”
“Francois, please, take a breath,” I protested, even as my own blood pressure was rapidly skyrocketed up to match his.
I knew the two were picky and impossible, but demanding the caterer rework the entire menu in less than a day and a half? That was an unfathomable request for even the most persnickety clients.
“I’ll call Evan and explain that this simply isn’t possible,” I continued, a cold knot of dread expanding in my stomach. That was not going to be a fun phone call to make. But what other choice did I have? Francois had already ordered the groceries and had most of the dishes in various stages of completion.
“He has no idea who he’s dealing with,” Francois fumed. “He thinks he can threaten me and my business—”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “He threatened you?”
“He said, and I quote, if I don’t make it happen he would make sure ‘every friend and friend of a friend of his parents would know how unsavory the food was.”
I winced. Said by anyone else, it would sound like a hollow threat, the kind spouted off in anger, but ultimately, toothless. When the same threat came from Evan Stimpton, it not only had teeth, it had long, bloody fangs. The Stimpton family was part of the haven world’s upper echelon of society, part of a network of powerful families who held sway over the Haven Council and the SPA, all of whom made lots of money and held lots of fancy events that required a reliable caterer. If Francois’s name ended up dragged through that particular puddle of mud, the result could be catastrophic for his business.
“I’d rather walk away and forfeit the deposit and the money for the food than deal with this spoiled brat for one more moment!”
“Francois, please don’t do that,” I begged, panic flooding my veins. “What would I do if you dropped out? No one could whip up a meal for three hundred on such short notice. It’s impossible!”
“Exactly!” he boomed. He paused for a beat and then apologized. “I’m sorry, Ana. I know this isn’t your fault.”
“I’ll make it right,” I promised. “I’m going to give him the night to cool off. I’ll call first thing in the morning. In the meantime, nothing changes. Okay? The menu will go ahead as planned.”
Francois was still rattled, but when we ended the call, I was at least seventy-five percent sure he wasn’t going to back out and leave me high and dry.
“Everything all right?” Holly asked when I finally emerged from my bedroom.
I nodded but could feel the lines of tension on my face. “Let’s just say, I’m going to need one heck of a cocktail before dinner.”
“I can’t get over how much you two look alike!” Holly said. “Who do you take after? Your mom or dad?”
“Our mom,” we both said in unison, then cringed.
“People used to say all three of us looked like sisters, which, of course she loved,” I explained.
“Naturally.” Holly smiled. “Was she a potion witch?”
Harmony shook her head. “She knew some spells, though.”
I frowned. Harmony always did her best to paint our mother in a brighter light. “I don’t think she ever stuck with something long enough to master it,” I added tartly.
“Oh,” Holly replied, reaching for her wine glass.
Harmony shot me a dirty look, but I ignored her and sipped my martini. “What is the topic of your presentation tonight?” I asked Holly.
If there was one way to get the spotlight off our family, it was to throw it back onto potions. Harmony and Holly could chatter endlessly, and I could finish my martini and try to prepare myself for the unpleasant phone call I’d have to contend with in the morning.
Sure enough, Holly and Harmony spun off into their own conversation, most of which made little sense to me as it revolved around the technical side of things. I liked potions, but only the kind I could buy in the store to help with daily tasks. Potions that made my hair extra shiny, got stains out of my laundry, or helped me sleep. Holly could make all of those kinds of potions in her sleep. The stuff she was working on sounded more advanced, aimed to solve challenges well beyond my pedestrian needs.
Harmony lapped it up and I braced myself, knowing I was looking at least another week and a half of her recounting of the dinner.
“What about you, Anastasia?” Holly asked, drawing me back to the conversation. “If you could make any potion, what would it do?”
I breathed a laugh. “Right now, it would turn my clients into happy zombies for the next thirty-six hours. One drop and wham! they’d be agreeable and love everything and get married without another complaint, scowl, or pouty whine.”
Holly and Harmony laughed. “Tall order,” Holly said.
“Magic lobotomy in a bottle?” Harmony added.
I raised my martini glass. “I’d drink to that!”
Despite my best efforts, Evan Stimpton wasn’t assuaged, and on the morning of the wedding, he was still loudly complaining to anyone who would listen that he was “disappointed” that the caterer hadn’t been willing to accommodate him. Francois was, understandably, furious, and half his staff looked ready to mutiny as he brandished a serving ladle and barked out orders like an over-caffeinated drill sergeant.
“Francois!” I snapped, nabbing the ladle from his hands. He shot me a furious glare but I didn’t back down. I pinched his chef’s coat at the elbow and yanked hard. “A word, please.”
Witchy Weddings: A Magic Witch Mystery Series: The complete Touch of Magic series Page 32
