The unusual thing about the production side of Wardens of Wisteria is that I've been working on it for much longer than usual. Typically, I plan a book, write it, revise it, then edit and publish it, working on it continuously (some might say obsessively) until it's finished. With this one, I planned the book, along with a couple others, then put the stories on ice while I wrote the two City Hall books featuring Zinnia Riddle. That means I've had this story about Bentley in my head, in that shaky, dream-like, foggy form all stories have before they're fully turned into books, for over a year. Even now that Wardens of Wisteria has been written, I have the "phantom limb" of the unfinished book in my head. I have to keep checking that it is, indeed, entirely written. (I probably shouldn't tell you these things; I sound like a nut.)
While writing this book, I found myself relating to Zara's desire to keep the ghosts from taking over. In regular, non-witch life, we don't have to worry about ghosts possessing our bodies, but we do face the challenges of allowing people into our hearts, and the messes they make.
During the writing of this book, I faced a couple of challenging situations, with a family member and then with a friend. I'll have to stick it out with the family member, since I'm stuck with them for life, but I cut the ties on the friendship because I could. It's still difficult, though. I always wonder if I'm doing the right thing by people and by myself. It actually does help when the person you're kicking out of your life lashes out and tried to hurt you, unwittingly proving you made the right decision.
I wish things didn't have to be so dramatic, but I tend to put up with crap for a long time until one day I finally snap and kick people out. If I were better at boundaries, perhaps some of my failed relationships wouldn't have reached that point of toxicity, but, honestly, I suck at boundaries. I'm too open, too willing to give away emotional intimacy in the hope of being known/understood/loved. "Come on in! I have so much to give, and I want to share. Sure, just go ahead and wreck whatever you see that triggers your envy. Heaven forbid you experience an uncomfortable emotion during the experience of getting to know another human being who isn't you." Sigh. Maybe in the next book, Zara will work out some boundaries with her ghosts. Maybe she'll teach me something.
On a more positive note, I also relate to the positive aspects of Zara's life. She is settling into Wisteria, and is surrounded by so many wonderful people who are on their way to being her "old friends" in a few years. I'm fortunate to be in a similar situation. My husband and I just enjoyed our third summer in our new home, which is in a semi-rural area near a resort town. We are blessed to have landed in the perfect neighborhood. Shortly after we arrived here in 2016, several houses nearby changed hands, and a whole bunch of us newcomers have arrived and bonded with each other. One couple has since turned into a family of four, and I delight in seeing the little ones grow up before my eyes. The group enjoys potluck dinners and summer barbecues. If I want some company for a hike to the nearby lake, a hiking partner is just a few text messages away. Now that I think about it, I might be even deeper into my new community than Zara is. But, to be fair, she's only been there less than a year in story time. Also, it's not a competition.
Today is a special day. It's my and my husband's anniversary. We've been married fourteen years. He tells me the traditional gift was ivory, but the modern one is gold jewelry. I tell him to save his money, since the band of white gold I wear on my ring finger is all the gold I need.
You might guess, based on our late-October wedding date, that we are both Halloween lovers. The truth behind the unusual date is that it was a lark. We had been engaged for two years already, and were so busy running our new business at the time that we laughingly said we'd probably just stay engaged forever. But then my father announced he'd be in town on his way to an overseas vacation, so we figured, since one of the parents was going to be around anyway, maybe we should throw together a little ceremony to make it official.
And so we whipped together a wedding that turned out so much nicer than what I deserved, given my lack of planning. We rented a small boat, the type that does booze cruises, and got the dinner and a DJ as a package deal. I had seen the boat during the daytime only, and it had not been terribly pretty. You get what you pay for, I reminded myself, and we were on a budget. However, when I arrived the evening of my wedding, what I saw took my breath away. The Costco folding tables were completely transformed, covered in crisp white tablecloths and decorated with jade plants in terra cotta pots, and miniature pumpkins. As for the boat itself, the boat operators had recently sprung for new carpet, a deep burgundy. That simple upgrade, combined with the decorations, plus the twinkling white lights twining all over the low ceiling, gave the impression of opulence. Plus all my favorite people were there, dressed up and ready to have fun.
We had a wonderful wedding, and remember it fondly fourteen years later. I associate it with pumpkins, so I get a full month of reminders.
Tonight, we were going to celebrate quietly at home. We've had a lot of social events lately, and we're both introverts, so a chill night in with a movie sounded perfect. But then we realized there wasn't much food in the fridge, so we had to go out. I wore my dressiest hoodie sweatshirt, the red one with the Flash logo on the front. I'm not a big comic book nerd; I just like the sweatshirt.
We went to a small restaurant that specializes in farm-to-table cooking, with many gluten-free options. (Yes, we've become those people, the gluten-free ones. We quit sugar ten months ago, and then, since weren't irritating enough to the rest of society, we also went gluten-free. It's hard to say which food elimination had the bigger impact, but several health issues have cleared up. My husband used to get such dry skin on his hands and feet--dry to the point of cracking and bleeding--and now his skin is amazing.)
We arrived at the restaurant around dusk, the same time we had been on the boat's upper deck, getting married while our friends and family shivered patiently while curious seals surfaced around us to witness the vows.
We sipped single-shot Americanos by the window while the world outside the cozy cafe went dark. Behind me, a loud woman talked about riding a horse. It wasn't the sort of thing I mind hearing. Horses are lovely. In the corner, a table of four twenty-somethings were laughing joyously. The cafe's walls were covered in interesting artwork and handmade objects. Our food came, and both meals were beautiful--the sort of Instagram-worthy meals people take photos of. My husband's meal came on a wooden board decorated with swirls of sauce, seeds, and pink flower petals. I'd never ordered their rice bowl before, and now I kicked myself for wasting two years' worth of opportunity to order it. There was so much yummy stuff on top that it took a while to find the steamed rice at the bottom. We noted that this was in stark contrast to the meal we'd had at a noodle-themed restaurant last month, when I'd had to dig through a mountain of cheap salted noodles to find a single sprig of vegetable. This time, I got all my veggies, along with delicious braised pork and a variety of sauces, including a heavenly turmeric aioli.
As we were finishing, I looked across the table at my favorite person in the world, who also happens to be the World's Best Husband and Handsomest Man, and I became overwhelmed with emotion. I believe it's what people call happiness, but I always experience that feeling with a bit of pain. I told him how sad I was that we couldn't live inside that perfect moment forever. He leaned across the table and kissed me. He's used to me being odd about emotions.
We went home and put on a movie, which we stopped twenty minutes in so we could grab a laundry load from the dryer. I'd started the laundry process around lunch time, but there was a lot of it, and it would take us until bed time to finish folding all the loads. We had to put the movie on pause twice for laundry breaks.
I'm finishing up this note the following day, so I know how the day ended, and I'll share it with you.
As we climbed into bed, I commented, "That was a lot of laundry."
"But a nice anniversary," he said. Another kiss. "Happy launder-versary."
&nb
sp; Cheers,
Angela Pepper
WISTERIA WARNED
WISTERIA WITCHES MYSTERIES - BOOK 9
Angela Pepper
WWW.ANGELAPEPPER.COM
Chapter 1
ZARA RIDDLE
WISTERIA PUBLIC LIBRARY
MONDAY MORNING
I set my second birthday cake next to the coffee maker in the staff room.
I’d been the first to arrive at work that Monday morning, and the building was comfortably quiet around me. I loved the library at all times, but especially in the morning, before we opened.
I heard keys jingling on the other side of the back door, which opened directly into the break room, then the door creaked open. My coworker, Frank Wonder, walked in slowly, his head down. The children’s librarian was in his mid-fifties, and extremely fit, with wiry arms, a svelte torso, and skinny legs. Frank dressed to be noticed, often in vintage cords and paisley shirts. His skin was naturally pale, but he tanned outdoors during the summer, often on the beach in a Speedo.
Frank’s eyes were wide-set, small, and hooded. His face had a triangular shape due to his narrow, slightly crooked jaw. He had an odd way of talking out of the side of his mouth, but this was a trait most people didn’t notice because they were usually staring up at his hair, which he dyed bright pink.
“Good morning, Mr. Wonderful,” I called out, using one of his many nicknames.
He gasped and stepped backward, bumping against the closed door. “Zara! I didn’t see you hiding over there in the gloom.”
I glanced up at the bright lights overhead. What gloom? I looked at Frank more closely. He was typically slow-moving upon arrival, before he got his fix of coffee, but that Monday he was moving less like a former Olympic gymnast and more like a sea turtle. I noticed his hooded eyes were downright wrinkly. He actually looked his age, which was not typical for Frank.
“I brought cake,” I said, using a cheerful tone even though “I brought cake” was not a statement in need of embellishment.
He blinked at me a couple times before smiling and saying, “Bless your heart, Zara Riddle. You are a fine woman.” His fake Southern accent that he used when he was joking around was back, so he couldn’t have been that bothered.
“It’s Black Forest cake,” I said. “From Gingerbread House. My daughter arranged everything with Chloe, and she customized two cakes, just for me.”
Frank dawdled over to the cake and sniffed deeply. “What’s that aroma? It’s not kirsch.”
“It’s not kirsch,” I agreed. “Chloe made it with orange liqueur, since my enthusiasm for cherry desserts hasn’t been as strong lately.” Not since the cherry cheesecake at my early birthday party down in the DWM cafeteria. And the subsequent battle to the death.
“Orange liqueur is nice, too,” he said. “But can you still call it Black Forest cake without the kirsch?”
“I don’t see any pastry police around to stop us.”
Frank rubbed his hands. “We should probably wait until coffee break to dig in.” He opened the cupboard that held the plates. He had no intention of waiting until coffee break.
“It’s a pretty big cake,” I said. “We could always have some now, and still have plenty left for later.”
“If you insist.” Frank’s sleepy eyes brightened.
“Just a sliver for me.”
“I’ll cut you a piece so thin you can see through it.” He plated two pieces and handed me a serving, along with a fork.
“Oh, Frank. Do I need to buy you a ruler? This is hardly what I would call see-through.”
“Oh? I can see through mine. Your eyes must be going, due to your advanced age.” He washed down a mouthful of cake with a slurp of coffee, swished his tongue over the front of his teeth, and gave me a small but bright grin. Frank’s teeth were supernaturally white, in defiance of all the coffee he consumed. “Happy birthday, by the way.”
“Thanks,” I said. “And thank you for not making me cram thirty-three candles onto this innocent cake. It’s a real fire hazard after a certain age.”
“Wait until you get to be my age, and you need a special candle permit from City Hall,” he said. We both chuckled, then he asked, “How did your family party go yesterday? I heard some sirens. It must have been the fire department on their way to put out the flames.”
“Ha ha.” I dug into my slice, careful to take the perfect ratio of chocolate cake and creamy white filling. “No fire, but there were a few drops of blood shed.”
Frank grunted and nodded, as though he wasn’t listening. I expected him to ask whose blood had been shed, being the gossip hound he was, but he didn’t.
“What’s going on with you?” I asked. “You seem distracted.”
Frank sighed. “My sister is coming to visit.”
That explained his distraction. Frank had only one sister, so I knew exactly who he was talking about. Bellatrix Wonder. She sounded like a colorful woman, but then again, Frank did like to embellish stories.
“All the way from London?”
He nodded.
“I’d love to meet her,” I said. “Does she know about your big surprise?”
“You mean this one?” Frank set down his plate, winked at me, and shifted into flamingo form.
“Show-off,” I said, waving my finger at him while also taking a step back. Sometimes when Frank shifted, he reeked of anchovies, whether he’d eaten them recently or not. It was not his most endearing feature.
Frank-Flamingo let out a loud squawk. Some shifters could speak in human voices while in animal form, but Frank didn’t have that ability.
He pecked at the cake on his plate with his comically large beak.
Just then, there was the sound of the back door being unlocked. Uh-oh.
Frank-Flamingo squawked, “KA-KAAAAAA?” The stench of partially digested anchovies hung in the air.
“Yes, it’s probably Kathy,” I said, trying not to choke on Frank’s breath.
The head librarian wasn’t scheduled to start her shift until later in the day, yet she was about to walk in and find me sharing not-quite-Black-Forest cake with a giant pink bird that reeked of anchovies.
I waved a hand to direct my magic, and pushed the door shut before Kathy could see us.
“Change back,” I whisper-yelled at Frank. “Change back right now, you silly birdbrain.”
Frank-Flamingo let out a low squawk, sounding like a kazoo.
“I know, I know,” I said soothingly. “You can’t shift back when you’re nervous.” I waited, tapping my foot, keeping the magic pressure on the door.
Frank-Flamingo flapped his enormous wings and flew upward. He landed on the break-room table, his claws scratching for purchase. He knocked an acoustic ceiling tile off its metal grid with the top of his head. The ceiling tile landed on the table next to him, which caused even more panicked wing flapping. He was supposed to have his full human faculties in shifted form, but he sure didn’t act like it.
On the other side of the back door, Kathy demanded, “Whoooo is pushing on this door?”
“Nobody is!” I called out. “I think the hinges are stiff!”
She asked, “Should I come around to the front?” Then she immediately answered her own question. “No. I am not coming in through the front. I’ve been at this long enough to know better.”
We all knew better. Before the library was open for the day, a librarian couldn’t be seen entering. To be spotted would lead to the front door being banged on, and a member of the public demanding to be let in at once, citing facts about whose taxes pay for whose salaries. We librarians loved the public and adored serving them, but not before coffee.
The door rattled with force. Kathy was stronger than she looked. .
I ran over to the door, braced it shut with my body, and tried to calculate a way to solve the current dilemma. What came to mind first were two spells that would only make things worse, but then finally I remembered the calming spell my aunt had used on me a few times.
I cast the spell at the pink bird. “Be calm,” I said. To my witch ears, the spell made a sound halfway between a whistle and a hum. The spell worked better if you were holding the person’s hand. However, in his current state, my coworker didn’t even have hands.
Frank-Flamingo undulated his long neck into a complex curve. He folded his wings against his sides. He seemed less agitated, yet not calm enough to shift back to human form.
I was hit with a sense of déjà vu.
The same thing had happened to us once before, in that break room.
That time, I hadn’t been as familiar with shifter magic, so I’d called the local secret agency to help. Three DWM agents had come to our rescue. Two of the agents were bird shifters. They took Frank on his first flight, and had since become his friends.
“Should I call Rob and Knox?” I asked.
Frank let out a long kazoo sound, then the room crackled with energy and he finally melted down into human form. He sat cross-legged on top of the table. His clothes were the same ones he’d arrived in, except his figure-hugging paisley shirt was on inside out.
“No need to call the guys,” Frank said, uncrossing his legs and jumping down from the table. “And please don’t breathe a word to them about what happened. It’s so embarrassing.” He waved at the door. “You can let her in now.”
“Your shirt’s inside out.”
Frank looked down and muttered, “What’s that all about?” He unbuttoned the shirt and put it back on correctly.
“Magic has a mind of its own,” I said.
“She certainly does,” he agreed.
While he retucked his shirt, I released the door for Kathy.
The door flew open, and the head librarian appeared in the doorway like the physical embodiment of an accusation.
Kathy Carmichael was short and sturdy, with dark skin, and brown hair that coiled in ringlets. She always dressed in shades of brown, gold, and red, like autumn leaves. She’d been the head librarian since long before I had started working there, and was forty-four, midway between my age and Frank’s. That Monday, her round, dark face was shiny from exertion and her light brown eyes were active, flitting left and right, and up and down behind her gold, wire-rimmed glasses.
Wisteria Witches Mysteries Box Set 3 Page 59
