Suddenly Spellbound

by Erica Lucke Dean

  All of the above.

  Chapter 7

  After walking more than three miles from the bus stop—including a slight detour to the local beauty supply store—I lugged my bedraggled carcass up the steps and through the front door, kicking off my shoes before I’d made it across the threshold.

  Home. I thought I’d never make it. My poor Betseys—definitely not suited for long walks—were doomed to forced retirement. But with a little luck, I’d have my hair back to normal before Jack realized it’d turned red. Again.

  I heard his voice before I saw him step around the corner. “Ivie, is that—?”

  His startled expression froze me in place, and I shrank into myself. He’d caught me red-handed, so to speak.

  He marched toward me, his hands heading straight to my hair, his fingers weaving into the tangled strands. “What the hell happened?” He took his time roaming my face with his eyes as his hands skimmed over my shoulders and down my arms. “Are you hurt? You look like you walked for miles to get here.”

  Three point four miles, to be exact. But who’s counting? I shook my head but said nothing. I wasn’t sure what to say that wouldn’t leave me with a guiltier conscience than I already had.

  “Helena called. She was worried about you. She said your principal fired you, but your car’s still in the school parking lot. What happened?”

  I swallowed my fear and lifted my head high. No more hiding behind hair dye and misdirection. “My dad showed up during recess.”

  Jack frowned as he slipped a hand into my hair again, studying the color in the light. “I figured he had something to do with this.”

  “He—he said he needed my help.” I flinched at the steel in his gaze. “That Mom needed my help. They’re investigating her for insurance fraud. And I can’t let them arrest her, Jack. I just can’t.” I blinked, and the tears brimming in my eyes spilled over.

  Jack dropped his hand and stalked away from me. “How many times is he going to pull you into one of his crazy schemes? What happens when a spell goes so wrong it can’t be fixed?”

  “I know.” I collapsed into the supple leather of the sofa. “God, I know. You were right.”

  His head snapped up, his expression wavering between cautious optimism and outright shock.

  “Living as an animal for the past twelve years has changed him. He’s not stable. I see that now. I just wish—” I stopped myself from telling him about the spell book and the utter bliss rushing through me when I did magic, especially when I did magic with Liam. That would not go over well. At. All. “I feel like I owe him something. He’s my father.”

  “You don’t owe him anything, Ivie. If anything, he owes you for putting you through hell all those years.”

  “It was supposed to be an innocent little shield spell.” I let out a sigh. Even I didn’t believe what I’d said.

  “There’s no such thing as an ‘innocent little spell.’” Jack made air quotes then flopped into the sofa beside me. “So why’d you get fired?”

  I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and debated exactly how much of the truth I should tell him. “The, um, spell backfired. The energy must have spiked or something. I still don’t understand the mechanics involved, but whatever happened caused the car windows to blow out.”

  Jack tilted his head to the side. “W-what car windows?”

  “All of them?” I winced and waited for him to respond, but he just sat there, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “Yeah. Exactly. Every car in the parking lot.”

  Jack made a choking sound in the back of his throat, and if he hadn’t motioned me to go on, I would have stopped there.

  “The, uh, same thing happened at the science lab. A-all the glass blew up, and shards went everywhere.” My animated gestures seemed to make him uncomfortable, so I tucked my hands under my legs before continuing. “Well, it blew in at the lab, but in the parking lot, it was as if we’d attracted every car in a hundred-yard radius—like a giant glass magnet or something.”

  “You could have been killed.” He dragged me into a crushing hug.

  I burrowed my head into the crook of his neck. “Um, Liam—h-he saved me—again.”

  Jack jerked back, all his fears for my safety swirling down the proverbial drain. “Liam? He was there? Why didn’t you say that right away?”

  “I-I guess I forgot?”

  “You forgot?”

  I nodded.

  “About the six-foot-three-inch male model strutting around the parking lot like a damned prized rooster?”

  I choked back a giggle. Liam didn’t strut. Well, not much.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t like it. I don’t like him. And I sure as hell don’t like the idea of my fiancée spending time with a man who has an obvious crush on her. He wants you, Ivie. He’s made no secret of that. And when you do magic…” Jack huffed out a breath then pushed a hand through his hair as a horrified expression took over his features. He raked his eyes over me as if he were searching for something in my disheveled appearance. “Geezus. You didn’t…?”

  “Didn’t what?” I studied Jack’s face until his meaning sank in. “What! Of course not. How could you even—I wouldn’t do that. Jack, I love you.” Even as I protested, my skin tingled at the thought of it.

  He wrapped his arms around me. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. He just makes me crazy. And it’s not just the sexual energy. After what we went through last time, I worry about you doing magic. I’m afraid you’ll end up like your dad. Who’s going to change you back if you transform into a cat?”

  “I won’t turn into a cat.” I melted into his chest. I wanted to tell him Liam meant nothing to me, but I couldn’t. “Everything’ll be okay. You’ll see.”

  “I can’t bear to think of anything happening to you. Please promise—”

  “You don’t even have to say it. I know. My father has problems, but I can’t help him with his issues anymore. I’m done. He’s managed to almost get me arrested enough times in my life. I’m finished.”

  “Do you mean it?”

  “I do. I promise.” I only hoped I wouldn’t have to go back on another promise.

  Bright and early Monday morning, I jumped at the honking of a horn outside. “That’s my ride!” I smoothed my hands over my gray pencil skirt and matching silk blouse then snatched my purse and keys from the coffee table. Before I reached the door, Jack caught me, wrapping his arms around me from behind.

  He spun me around, dipping me toward the floor as he pressed his lips to the pulse point in my neck. “Have fun. But don’t stress over finding the perfect dress.” He yanked me upright again and cupped my face in his hands to lock his eyes with mine. “Just remember, I’d marry you in a towel if it came to that.”

  A rush of emotion hit me, and I blinked back the tears. After a weekend spent in bed with Jack, I looked forward to shopping for wedding gowns with Chloe, Mom, and Helena, but I almost dreaded leaving the sanctuary of our home. “I love you, Jack.”

  “I love you, too, sweetheart.” His lips captured mine in a toe-curling kiss as the horn blew for a second time. Jack gave me a few more light pecks before releasing me. “Now go before Chloe wakes up the entire neighborhood.”

  I grabbed my things and bounded out the door and down the front steps. Cyndi Lauper’s feminist anthem blared from the bright-blue rented convertible idling at the curb. I laughed at Chloe dancing in the driver’s seat, singing along with the rousing lyrics.

  “Hey, shopaholic!” I shouted as I rounded the vehicle and hopped into the passenger seat with a giggle.

  “Ivie!” Chloe squealed, pulling me into a hug. “Are you ready to shop?”

  Ready or not, a-shopping we would go. “Of course I am. Lay on, Macduff.”

 
“You’re so weird.” Chloe gunned the engine as she left the neighborhood. “Your mom and Helena are meeting us at Colette’s.”

  I sucked in a huge gulp of air and choked on my own saliva. “Colette’s? In Buckhead?” My pulse jumped. “I can’t afford a garter from there, let alone a dress.”

  Chloe glanced at me then back to the road as she zigzagged through the morning traffic. “Oh, please. You’re marrying a Blake. That family is made of money. And Jack is the baby. You know his mother would rather give up her weekly manicures than see her son get married in anything less than style.”

  My heart nearly stopped at the mention of Jack’s mother. I’d only met her once, and the thought of her accompanying us sent ice through my veins. Thank heavens she was still in Europe for the season. “Well, my family isn’t made of money. And I certainly can’t afford anything from Colette’s, especially now.” My stomach twisted into a knot as I did a quick mental calculation of everything in my combined bank accounts. Even with one last paycheck coming in, the money would disappear before I knew it. A fleeting thought of the money my mom had stashed in the spell room came and went. “Can’t we just go to the Bridal Outlet?”

  Chloe gasped, swerving into oncoming traffic then jerking the car back into our lane. “Bite. Your. Tongue.” She shot me a death glare. “I refuse to allow my best friend to buy an off-the-rack gown. Besides, you owe me.”

  I wracked my brain to remember a lost bet or promise made but came up empty. “How do I owe you?”

  She looked at me and rolled her eyes. “You know how badly I wanted my Big Fat Chic Wedding.” A horn blast brought her to her senses, and she turned back to the road. “But instead, I got married by a big fat freak Elvis in a chapel off the strip.”

  And oh, what a wedding it was! I wasn’t there, but I’d watched the video on YouTube. Jon even had some Hollywood mega movie star as his best man. “So? You eloped. How is that my fault?”

  “Fault, schmalt. You’re my BFF. My dreams are your dreams. And if I couldn’t live the fantasy myself, I should at least get to live it vicariously through you.”

  Despite her faulty logic, I sort of understood her point. “Fine. Colette’s it is. But I’m telling you right now, I can’t afford the sales tax on a dress from there.”

  Chloe’s face lit up in a wide grin. “Let me worry about the dress. You just worry about looking amazing in it.”

  When Chloe had told me to “dress the part,” she wasn’t kidding. She hopped out of the rented Mustang and smoothed the wrinkles in her pleated Gucci dress. She stuck her chin in the air and flipped her blond hair over her shoulder like a vanilla cape over the dark-orange silk. “Come on, Sabrina. It’s show time.”

  I followed her through the glass front doors as if part of a royal procession. All she was missing was the tiara. No one would dare argue Chloe’s princess status when she put her mind to it. She sidled up to the reception desk and put on her serious shopping face. “We have a nine o’clock appointment with Françoise.”

  The bored stick figure behind the dainty French table flipped through a red leather ledger. “Oui.” Her French accent was about as authentic as my Scottish one. “Françoise is in zee Chocolat Salon today.”

  The Chocolate Salon? I inched forward and dared speak to her haughtiness. “How many salons are there?”

  Stick Figure sighed, fanning out her fingers to inspect her harlot-red nail polish before holding up three fingers. “Zere are trois: zee Chocolat Salon, zee Aubergine Salon, and zee Rouge Salon. You are in zee Chocolat Salon.” She pointed to a mahogany door with swirly brown letters spelling it out for me.

  “Come on, Ivie.” Chloe hooked her arm with mine and giggled. “Let’s head to zee Chocolat salon.”

  As Chloe reached for the handle, the door swung open, and a stunning older woman greeted us from the other side. She wore a body-hugging black sheath and had a sleek black bob with matching streaks of platinum blond framing her narrow face. She was just one spotted-fur coat away from being Cruella DeVille.

  “Ah, bonjour, ladies! Come in.” She leaned in and kissed the air to each side of my cheek as I held my breath to keep from choking on her cloying perfume. “I am Françoise, your stylist.” Her accent, at least, sounded authentic.

  “Bonjour, Françoise.” Chloe gave her air kisses while I soaked up the scenery like a tourist.

  I’d driven past Colette Bridal Couture more times than I could count, but I’d never stepped foot inside the door. As I twirled around, taking in the lavish surroundings, I had to swallow back the urge to squeal like a kid in Chuck E. Cheese. From the shimmering lights dancing across the shiny black ceiling to the gleaming mahogany floors, the place oozed glamour. Glossy chocolate walls and sparkling crystal chandeliers added to the opulence. Two matching button-tufted settees upholstered in brown velvet floated like islands in the center of the room.

  But nothing could compete with the rows of satin and lace. Rich brown velvet curtains framed the dresses, and a glass display case housed an array of glittering headpieces like diamonds in a jewelry store. The polished finish on the floor reflected everything like a mirror. The grandeur locked me in a stunned silence.

  A chorus of shrieks interrupted the quiet as my mother and Helena bounded into the salon like a pair of giddy schoolgirls.

  “This place is amazing.” Helena spun around. “I feel like I’m inside a treasure chest.”

  Mom eyed the gowns from a distance. “It is lovely, but it looks a bit pricey.”

  Finally, someone agreed with me. Even without checking the tags, I knew I could buy a car for what one of those dresses would cost.

  “Oh, please.” Chloe waved a dismissive hand. “A girl only gets married for the first time once.”

  “That’s horrible!” Helena swatted Chloe’s arm then accepted a bubbling champagne flute from François. “Oh, mimosas!”

  “Thank you.” Mom took her sparkling drink then plopped down on one of the settees. “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing I’ve set some money aside.”

  I coughed and sputtered at my mother’s comment. Agent Smith’s face flitted into my thoughts. If only he could hear my mom offering up the insurance money for a couture wedding gown. “Um, no thanks, Mom. I’d rather not spend that money.”

  “But a few thousand dollars won’t—”

  I shot her a stern look. I had enough to worry about without taking a dime of that money. Françoise held out a crystal glass for me, her glossy hair swinging above her shoulders like a curtain as she moved. “No thanks.” I waved her off. Any way you looked at it, champagne for breakfast was a bad idea.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Chloe snatched up the glass and shoved it into my hand without spilling a drop. “We’re celebrating, and I refuse to let you be a party pooper.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” She flashed her perfectly white teeth in a glittering smile. “Trust me, after an hour of trying on dresses, you’ll be glad I made you drink.”

  “Good point.” I gave a little salute then tossed back the contents of the glass in a single gulp, much to the delight of my party. They clapped and cheered as if we were at the bachelorette party, not the dress shop.

  Off to the side, Françoise scowled at our uncivilized display before stepping forward, one penciled-on brow arched in a comic expression. “Mrs. Blake, would you like to begin? Or shall I give your group time to settle down before bringing out your selections?”

  I flinched at the name and looked over my shoulder for Jack’s mother before remembering Chloe was actually the Mrs. Blake in question.

  Chloe flashed her far more impressive bitch brow in response. “No, I think we’re ready.” She turned to me with a smile. “Right, Sabrina?”

  I snagged a second champagne flute from the tray and brought it to my lips. “As I’ll ever be.” I poured it
down my throat with a shudder.

  “Excellent.” Chloe grabbed the empty glass from my hand and shoved me forward, forcing me to follow Cruella through an arched doorway into the bowels of the glitzy dress shop.

  Chapter 8

  Chloe was right. After an hour of trying on dresses, I’d lost track of how many mimosas I’d downed. My tongue felt like a rolled-up piece of deli ham in my mouth, but I couldn’t imagine going through the process without the benefit of alcohol, especially the horror of having a total stranger dress and undress me—all but giving me a breast exam as she shoved me into the dresses Chloe’d picked out. My nipples had been practically rubbed raw from all the action they were getting.

  My faux-Parisian stylist, Françoise—or Cruella—or Fifi, as my numb brain had renamed her, strapped me into yet another whipped-cream confection and led me into the main salon—or “Hall of Mirrors” as I’d decided to call it—like a Christian to the Coliseum.

  “Oh, I like this one!” Helena held up her glass, repeating the mantra she’d started around dress number three with the enthusiasm of a drunk woman at a male strip show. I half expected her to start shouting, “Pull out your penis!”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Don’t you think it’s a bit too…?” My mother joined in with her own favorite phrase. She wouldn’t finish the sentence until Chloe had chimed in with her opinion.

  As for Chloe, she stood silently tapping a French-tipped fingernail against her chin as she studied the dress from every angle. “No. I don’t think that’s quite right for you. I don’t mind the neckline, but with all the ruffles, we can’t even see your impressive cleavage. And while I do like the frothy skirt, I think it might be too fluffy. It makes you look like a Barbie cake.”

  Helena nodded. “Chloe’s right. Definitely a cake. Hey, do we have cake? We should order cake.”

  “Hmm.” Mom tossed back another drink. “It does remind me a little of a dessert.”