Witches and Wedding Cakes: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 9)

by Raven Snow

  No one messed with Wyatt.

  Using the fire poker like a spear, I went to impale the fae. He spun around just before the tip would’ve sunk into his body, displaying an incredible show of speed. He may not have been able to shape shift anymore, but he was still powerful.

  Before I could readjust, he grabbed the fire poker from me, howling when it burning his skin. He dropped it like a hot potato and kicked it away from us before I could dive desperately after it.

  Stumbling back a few steps, I watched him come after me with a slow, evil smile. I could almost read his thoughts, and that was nearly more frightening than what he was thinking. He was going to kill me right in front of Gran; it was written all over his face.

  He followed me in-between two of the large bookshelves, lunging for me just as I was about to round a corner. I leaped out of the way and ended up on the ground with the fae standing over me.

  When he reached for my neck, I closed my eyes tightly, lashing out with that magic that was always inside of me. Because of the spell he’d cast, there wasn’t enough magic there to hurt him, but it was a last-ditch effort on my part.

  I heard a thundering crash that rocked the foundation of the house, and then a pained shout from the fae. My eyes flew open to see that the several ton bookshelf had fallen not inches from me. The creature was half under it, being crushed and screaming in outrage.

  He tried to claw at me, and I backed up cautiously, thankful for the first time that I had magic. Because there would’ve been no way I could’ve tipped that thing over by myself.

  After checking to make sure Wyatt was just unconscious after his last round with the fae, I moved on to Gran. She didn’t say anything as I untied her, rubbing her wrists in a way that struck me as elderly.

  It was strange. Though she looked it, I’d never really considered her old before. It’d always been more of an insult. Gran had too much power and too much angst to fall prey to something as ordinary as old age.

  “He’s not dead,” she said, walking over to the squirming fae. “Movement and breathing are usually a good indication.”

  I shrugged. “The bookcase will hold him until the police get here.”

  Gran said nothing, crossing the floor with the ease of someone who hadn’t just been tied up, and collected the fire poker. Her manner was so casual I actually thought she was just tidying house until she sunk it right into the fae’s.

  The fae, weakened, didn’t even scream. He just died.

  She handed me the iron, and I almost dropped it in surprise at being handed a murder weapon.

  “Kill your enemies, Harper,” she said. “Or they’ll keep coming back.”

  After standing there for a moment, struck dumb, a moan from Wyatt brought me back to reality. I called an ambulance, and they took us to the local hospital, so we could see all our friends. Because we were frequent fliers, they brought us immediately to our usual room, doing the check up there.

  I’d forgotten all about my burned hand until Wyatt squeezed it, and I almost passed out. That’s how the newly married couple ended up getting side-by-side bunks while the doctors worked on us.

  It was with that thought that it hit me that we really were married. Just like I’d wanted, there hadn’t been a wedding. Just paperwork filed by the state. Strangely, I felt a little sad at that, like I’d done this whole thing wrong. Which was partially true. Nothing had gone right for this wedding all week.

  I didn’t have time to dwell on whether I should feel loss over the wedding or not, because a few minutes later, Cooper and the whole Bennett crew were crowding our room. The nurses threatened to kick everybody out if they didn’t quiet down, but no one believed them. I fell asleep to the sound of Tom retelling the football game Wyatt missed.

  Epilogue

  After Wyatt and I were all healed up, settled back into our house, and everyone knew what had gone down with the fae, Jeb showed up on my doorstep, looking grave. Cooper and Wyatt were out shopping, so when he told me there'd been another puking incident at the Funky Wheel, I just sighed and put on my disco clothes that the police had recovered, following him out.

  My engagement ring was a familiar weight on my finger as I drove my bug over to the disco skate. I rarely took it off since I’d pried it off the dead finger of the fae. It felt reassuring on my finger now, like it belonged there.

  I pulled into the parking lot of the Funky Wheel and frowned. The number of cars said it was a pretty busy night, even for a Friday. In fact, I had trouble finding a parking spot in our overly big lot. We shared it with half the street, and I didn’t think there was a sudden rush to get to Hardy’s Hardware Shop.

  When I walked through the front doors, my eyes watered, and I felt the need to bawl hysterically and hug everyone in sight. They’d given me a surprise funky wedding in my home away from home.

  Rainbow streamers hung from the ceiling, catching the light of the disco ball. A huge banner that said “Congratulations Wyatt and Harper” was hanging above the rink, sparkles sprinkled on every inch of it.

  Someone—Nancy—had put roses on all the tables, putting out plate settings and jars full of pretty cocktails. There was even an altar on the dance floor.

  All the guests, wearing varying degrees of clothes, were waiting for me when I walked through the door. Wyatt, of course, was wearing a suit. He looked at me, and I didn’t feel out of place in my short shorts and see-through tank at all. I felt perfect.

  “What do you say?” he said. “Marry me in funky fashion?”

  Taking the hand he held out, I said, “I thought you’d never ask.”

  The guests crowded around the half purple wall, some of them dabbing their eyes. The priest was the only one not wearing skates, and he looked like he was making a full recovery, color returning to his cheeks.

  One by one, the couple in the wedding party skated down the aisle, joining Wyatt at the altar. Oliver looked ecstatic, and it probably had something to do with the tight, festive shorts Liam was wearing. Charles even cracked a smile as he went down, and I figured that was all the wedding present I needed.

  I was just about to take my turn when someone showed up right beside me. Hiding my surprise, I took the arm my surly grandma offered me. She didn’t say anything, barely looking at me, but it was enough.

  Firmly attached to Gran, I skated down the aisle. My skates were smooth, the disco lights danced off my skin, and they were playing that funky music. It was a perfect moment, and to my mortification, I started crying.

  Grandma handed me off at the end of the walk, and Wyatt wiped the tears from my eyes. He was grinning from ear-to-ear, radiating light and happiness. It was the sweetest thing in the whole wide world, and my tears dried right up.

  Cooper came up with the rings, slipping and sliding on his skates and almost taking the altar down with him. It seemed having people watching took his rollerblading skills back to level one. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but I just laughed, holding him upright.

  The preacher smiled at both us. He barely even smelled like smoke too. He started off his speech, but I didn’t hear any of it. I was too busy making eyes at Wyatt. Though I’d seen him in a million, I was thinking he looked pretty good in that suit.

  Wyatt nudged me, and I realized they were waiting for me to say something. “What?”

  The crowd laughed, and my husband smiled crookedly. “We’re all waiting to hear the magic words, Harper.”

  Oh. Blushing faintly, I grabbed him by his tie and kissed the hell out him. Just because I could. The guests cheered, and there were a couple of catcalls. One was most definitely from Oliver.

  “I do,” I said.

 

 

 
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