“I have quite the busy schedule,” I said, glancing at the calendar that Gareth had hung on the wall for me. “Makes you wonder how I found time to fall in love.”
“You always make time for the important things,” Gareth said. He stopped and sniffed the air. “Why do you smell like cat vomit?”
“As much as I’d love to blame Magpie, it’s Raisa’s fault. She made me bathe in some gross liquid she cooked in her cauldron. For my own protection, of course.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I’m glad I was at the library earlier.”
“How do you have a sense of smell?” I asked. “You’re dead. Shouldn’t your nostrils be for show only?”
“I don’t have a working body the way you do,” he said. “But I have certain abilities thanks to Lyra Grey.”
“Who’s that?”
“One of the Grey sisters.” He made a dismissive gesture. “Not to worry. You’ll see them at the wedding.”
Assuming there was a wedding.
“If you intend to go to harp therapy tonight,” Gareth said, “then you should bake biscuits. You haven’t brought a snack in weeks. The others will talk.”
I jerked upright. “I bake?” That didn’t sound like me.
“Not well.”
Okay, that sounded like me. “Biscuits? Like with gravy?”
He rolled his eyes. “Cookies. I mean cookies.”
Oh. “Are biscuits a Scottish thing?”
He ignored my question. “Use the recipe book. You have your flaws, but you’re capable of following simple directions.” He hesitated. “Most of the time.”
“Where can I find this wonderful invention called a recipe book?” I asked.
He pointed to the pantry. “I’m heading to the gym at the country club. I’ll see you later.”
“You exercise?” What was the point of a ghost working out?
“No, but some rather handsome lads do,” Gareth said.
Ah. “Enjoy!”
Once he disappeared, I flipped through the pages of the recipe book. Speedy Star Cookies. Perfect, since I didn’t have a lot of time. I scanned the ingredient list and then rummaged through the pantry to see whether I had everything. It was easy since all the contents were color-coded and alphabetized. Gareth’s perfectionism came in handy on occasion.
I rolled up my sleeves and set to work.
“I go to church first?” I stared at the beautiful gothic-style building in front of me.
“No,” Britta said. “Harp therapy is in the basement of the church. Steer clear of Myra, the gnome inside. She’s the worst gossip in town. We don’t want her to know about your memory loss.”
It seemed to be a lost cause since half the town knew, but it was worth a shot.
“I’ll do my best.” I straightened my shoulders and headed inside. “Hello, Myra.” I greeted the woman seated at the end of the pew.
Britta smacked her forehead. “That’s Sheena. She’s a troll, not a gnome.”
Sheena craned her neck to see us. “Drunk already, Emma? We’re not hitting the Horned Owl until after class.”
“Are you coming to class?” Britta asked.
Sheena pushed herself to her wide, flat feet. “On my way. Just wanted to stop for a little chat with the higher-ups.”
“Everything okay?” I asked.
Sheena nodded. “Oh, yes. Only a special request for your big day to go off without a hitch.”
I halted mid-stride. “You were praying for me?”
“Of course I was,” Sheena said. “If anyone deserves a nice wedding, it’s you and Daniel. You’ve both given so much to the community. We all want you to have an amazing day.”
I blinked back tears. I thought trolls were meant to be horrible, but this one seemed nice. “That’s so sweet. Thank you.” How many bake sales had I organized to warrant this outpouring of goodwill?
We took the staircase to the basement where a group was already strumming away on their harps. A table at the back of the room was loaded with plates of brownies and other treats.
“Emma brought cookies,” someone exclaimed.
Thank you, Gareth. I set the container on the table.
“They’re edible, right?” an older woman asked as she approached the table. “You’re not always consistent.” Her voice was scratchy and her eyes were beady but bright.
“Phoebe, don’t give her a hard time,” Sheena said. “It’s almost her wedding day.”
“Your bachelorette party was a surprisingly good time,” Phoebe said. “I danced until dawn. Can’t remember the last time I did that.”
“And your hip held up?” Sheena asked, impressed.
Phoebe wiggled her narrow hips. “I was sore and tired, but nothing snapped. I consider that a success.” She reached for a cookie. “I’m not going to break a tooth, am I? I only went to the dentist last week.”
“Shove one in your beak and quit griping, birdbrain,” Britta said. She took a cookie and bit off a huge chunk. I refrained from offering her a plate or a napkin since she seemed to have her own way of doing things.
Phoebe chewed hers slowly, maybe to avoid chipping a tooth. “They’re soft and chewy.” She began to chew a little faster. “You’re finally getting the hang of baking, Hart. Well done.”
I felt a surge of pride. “Thanks.”
Phoebe fixed a sharp eye on me. “I bet Gareth helped you, didn’t he? Even from the grave, that vampire is a control freak.”
Haha. At least Gareth’s reputation was well known.
Sheena bit into a cookie. “You’ll have to share the recipe. This is delicious.”
Before I knew it, paranormals had left their harps in order to grab a cookie. Everyone rushed back to their harps after eating and began to play in a frenzy.
“Are we always this excited about playing the harp?” I asked.
Britta worked her fingers over the strings at a rapid pace. “We find it relaxing.”
It didn’t look relaxing. In fact, the frenetic movement and sound was giving me heart palpitations.
A few seats down, a man smiled as he plucked the strings with a confident air. Whatever he was doing to that harp, it was working. The music from his instrument was far superior to anyone else’s.
“Ramon, why do you always have to show off?” Sheena called.
“I’m practicing for Emma’s wedding,” Ramon said. “Something we should all be doing right now if we don’t want to embarrass ourselves.”
Wait, what? They were playing harps at my wedding? Whose crazy idea was that?
“Pick up the pace over there,” Phoebe called to no one in particular. “You’re too slow.”
One extremely tall woman picked up the harp and began playing it like an electric guitar, which made it all the more alarming when the instrument began to smoke.
“Marilee, you’re going to catch fire,” Britta said. Under her breath, she muttered, “Amazons.”
Sheena plucked so quickly that her fingertips began to burn. One of the strings broke and drooped to the floor. “They don’t make harps like they used to.”
“They don’t make men like they used to, either,” Phoebe said. “That’s why I’m still single.”
“Yes, that’s why,” Britta said, her voice laced with sarcasm.
“Listen, if I wanted to be put in my place, I’d be home with my mother,” Phoebe said.
Phoebe’s mother was still alive? Given that Phoebe looked like Death’s older sister, how old was her mother?
“Why don’t you play the song for my wedding?” I yelled over the din. That way I could decide whether I needed to cancel their appearance right now.
They played the music with such gusto that I barely had time to process the song. The tune would be pretty, if they could manage to slow it down.
“We’re still going to the Horned Owl after this, right?” Phoebe asked. “I feel like I could sprint there.”
“Don’t do that,” Sheena warned. “Feeling capable and actually being capable are two dif
ferent things.”
“That’s true,” Britta said. “I feel capable of drinking a barrel of ale, but I’m actually capable of only drinking half of one.”
“Half a barrel?” Sheena queried, her fingers still working overtime on the harp. “That’s still impressive.”
“Maybe we should go to the Spotted Owl for a change,” Phoebe suggested. “Mix things up.”
“Or both,” Ramon said. “I’m in the mood to stay out all night.”
A bell signaled the end of class and everyone rushed to snatch the remaining treats on the snack table. They moved remarkably fast for older folks. Maybe it was a paranormal thing. They lived longer and avoided pain like arthritis. Then again, Phoebe had mentioned a hip problem.
The group poured out of the church and headed in the direction of town. As the youngest in the group, I was embarrassed that I could barely keep up. Our group reminded me of an angry mob with pitchforks, except everyone was happy and yammering about how drunk they planned to get. A joyful mob?
“Why don’t you fly, Phoebe?” Sheena asked. “Then you could carry me.”
Odd. I didn’t notice any wings on the older woman.
“I’d only carry you if I didn’t mind my arms being ripped from their sockets,” Phoebe shot back.
Wow. Phoebe’s tongue was sharp. I’d need to avoid being on the wrong side of it.
Finally, we arrived at a bar called the Horned Owl. It looked far too adorable from the outside to be a watering hole.
Sheena nudged me with her elbow. “Your home away from home.”
Apparently, I’d become quite the drinker since I arrived in Spellbound. Maybe the alcohol here tasted more magical than the boxed wine I used to keep in my apartment.
Britta opened the door so quickly, she nearly ripped it off its hinges. “Try not to drink any weird potions tonight.”
I thought about Raisa’s protection spell. “I’m not worried.”
Britta laughed. “There’s a first time for everything.”
Chapter 12
“What happened to the Spotted Owl?” I asked, once inside.
“I decided on this one,” Phoebe said. “It has the delicious incubus.”
“Both bars have an incubus,” Sheena pointed out.
I gulped. I wasn’t sure whether delicious was meant to be interpreted literally. “What is she?” I whispered to Britta.
“A harpy,” Britta said.
Ah. That explained the hip issue. Hollow bird bones.
The harpists swarmed the bar like bees to a honey-filled hive. Hands gestured to the solo bartender and I fought the urge to help the satyr pour drinks. He was going to work up a sweat with this crew. They drained their glasses almost as quickly as he served them.
“Slow down,” I told Britta. Before harp therapy, she seemed to move like a sloth. I wasn’t sure what prompted the sudden change.
“I feel energized,” Britta said, her eyes wild. “Let me grab another drink and then it’s dance-a-thon time.”
I listened intently. “But there’s no music.”
“There is now,” someone else said. I peered over Britta’s shoulder at the witch named Paisley. She waved her wand and a pulsating beat began to play.
“Crank it up,” Phoebe cried.
Paisley twirled her wand in the air and the volume increased. The harpists moved so quickly now, they were practically a blur. I started to worry that some of the older folks might suffer a stroke.
“Emma? What’s going on?”
Begonia. She and Demetrius appeared behind me, wearing matching expressions of confusion.
“Thank goodness,” I said, delighted to see my friend. Maybe she could help me figure out what was happening. “I’m not sure. They were normal enough during class, but toward the end they began to move faster. Now they’re in hyperdrive.”
Begonia surveyed the chaotic scene. “We need to slow them down before someone gets hurt.” Her nose scrunched as she watched Phoebe gyrate to the music. “Or worse.”
“Is there a spell we can do?” I asked. Without my memories, my knowledge was even more limited than normal.
Begonia chewed her lip. “It’s not a reversal since I don’t know what spell was performed on them, but I think I can counteract the fast pace.”
“Do you just wave your wand around the room?” I asked.
“I’ll have to configure the spell carefully,” she replied. “There are a number of paranormals involved, though. I don’t know if I can generate enough magic to slow all of them.”
“Whatever you’re going to do, do it now,” Demetrius said. “If Britta moves any faster, she’s going to penetrate the space-time continuum.”
“If you tell me the spell, I can do it, too,” I said. “I have my wand. Gareth said I should carry it with me, although I don’t know what good it’ll do since I don’t remember much.”
Begonia’s face brightened. “Actually, I have a better idea. If you hold my hand, we’ll compound our magic.”
“And it’ll be powerful enough?” I queried.
Begonia nodded. “That’s how we manifested your mother’s letters. Your magic is much stronger than mine, Emma, but we’re even stronger together.”
I smiled. “Girl power.”
Begonia moved us to a quiet corner of the room and brandished her wand. “Hold my hand and focus your will.” Once she felt my hand in hers, she continued. “Those who went from slow to fast/time to go from first to last.”
The tip of her wand glowed white and I felt a rush of power flow through me. It was an amazing sensation. I sucked in a breath and waited. Sure enough, Phoebe’s movements began to slow. I watched as Sheena steadied herself on the edge of the bar. Her brow glistened with perspiration.
“That was quite the workout,” the troll exclaimed. “I think I lost ten pounds.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. Everyone seemed back to normal. “Thanks, Begonia.”
“Any clue what set them off?” Begonia asked. “Is it possible someone was trying to hex you again?”
“Not unless they spiked every snack on the harp therapy table,” I said. “How could they know which square of brownie or cookie I’d eat?” I had a sweet tooth and I wasn’t afraid to use it on any confection.
“Maybe they didn’t care about the impact on anyone else,” Begonia said. “Although I’m not sure how making you move faster would be a revenge tactic. You’re fairly speedy as it is.”
I laughed. “Speedy. That’s funny. That was the name of my…” I halted as the light bulb flashed in my mind. “Great balls of stupidity.”
“What?” Begonia prompted.
“I used a recipe book in my house to bake cookies for harp therapy,” I said.
“And?”
“It was called Speedy Star Cookies. I assumed it was a timesaving recipe. You know, for busy bakers.”
Begonia’s pretty features were etched with concern. “Oh, no. Emma, the ‘Speedy’ in ‘Speedy Star Cookies’ is for the effect on the eater, not on the baker.”
My cheeks burned from embarrassment. “Oops.”
“Here, Emma,” Demetrius said. “Let me get you a drink. I think you need it more than anyone tonight.”
“Okay. What do I like?” I had a feeling boxed wine was not on the menu here.
“You like the Evergreen Blast,” Begonia said.
“It’s one of the first drinks you ever had in Spellbound,” Demetrius said. “I should know because I bought it for you.”
“It tastes like Christmas,” Begonia added.
That sounded pleasant. “Okay, I’ll have that.”
“We’ll be right back,” Begonia said.
I stood as close to a booth as I could get without invading someone’s space. Thanks to the influx of harpists, the bar was packed tonight. There was barely any standing room.
“What do we have here?” a thin young man said. “Trouble thy name is Emma.”
I took an instant dislike to him. “It’s nothing serious,” I repl
ied with a ready smile, not sure if he’d witnessed the spell. “Everything’s back to normal now.”
He studied me intently. “Is it?”
Hmm. What did he know? “As normal as it can be with a wedding this week,” I said.
He snorted. “Good luck with that.”
Okay, that was rude. I needed to find out this guy’s name.
“We don’t need luck,” I said. “We have true love.”
He made a gagging noise and staggered back to the bar, clearly on the tipsy side. I tapped Begonia on the shoulder and pointed. “Who’s he?”
Begonia made a face. “Ugh. That’s Mike. He’s a wereweasel. You went on a date with him to the Shamrock Casino, but he was a real jerk.”
Big shock. “Do you think he’s someone with a grudge against me? When I said everything was back to normal, his response was suspicious.”
Begonia observed Mike as he gesticulated wildly at the bartender. “Sophie won’t like that he’s being rude to Ty.”
“I didn’t like that he was rude to me,” I said.
“He’s certainly the type to hold a grudge,” Begonia said. “I’m just not sure whether he’s capable of pulling off a revenge stunt, especially one that involves magic.”
“And he wasn’t at my bachelorette party, was he?” It seemed unlikely.
“No, but he could have paid someone to give you the potion.” Begonia said. “He seems fairly drunk. Now might be the best time to talk to him.”
Demetrius flashed his fangs. “I’d be more than happy to take one for the team.”
Begonia giggled. “Dem, you’ll frighten him straight into weasel form. That could wreak havoc in here with all the bigger shifters.”
Demetrius glanced around. “Most of the larger shifters are over at the Spotted Owl. I think we’re safe. Besides, I have two handy magic users right here to keep him in check.”
Begonia patted his cheek. “Fine. Have your fun. We’ll stay close by so we can listen.”
We inched our way toward Mike, who stepped away from the bar with a full pint of ale. Luckily for us, there was a troll deep in conversation with a dwarf, so Begonia and I took refuge behind them. Demetrius brushed past the wereweasel, muttering to himself about fickle women.
All Spell Breaks Loose Page 10
