Secret North: Book 4 of The Wishes Series

by G. J. Walker-Smith

  His wonderful deep laugh echoed in the vast space. “Tu aimes tout.”

  “Yes I just do!” she shouted, making Adam and Charli laugh.

  Putting her wings on wasn’t simple. Ryan spun her around so she was facing her audience. It was the perfect distraction. She couldn’t see that he was trussing her up with more than wings.

  “Are you sure about this, Ryan?” asked Adam cautiously.

  I could understand his nervousness. From what I could make out, his daughter was being connected to a pulley system.

  “I didn’t rig it,” he replied. “It was done professionally.”

  “She’ll be fine,” whispered Charli, leaning in to him. “There are no rules in magic.”

  “There are rules in safety, Charlotte,” Adam muttered back.

  “Are you ready, Bridge?” asked Ryan.

  She stumbled back as he tugged the cable. “What for?”

  Ryan crouched in front of her. “I want to tell you something,” he began. “These wings are magic.”

  “I know. I love them.”

  “They’re going to make you fly.”

  Bridget’s big blue eyes grew enormous. “Really?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “They’re super special. The only time you can fly is if you’re wearing these wings. Do you understand?”

  She nodded at a rate of knots. “Okay.”

  “I mean it, Bridget,” he warned sternly. “You mustn’t ever try flying without these wings.”

  “I won’t,” she promised, getting impatient. “Make me fly now, please.”

  He took a step back and held both hands up. “I can’t make you fly,” he told her. You have to wish for it.”

  The curtain at the back fluttered and a man appeared from behind the stage as if cued. He walked to Bridget and began fussing with her back. The little girl was so keyed up she didn’t even notice. I could feel the relief wafting off Adam. If there was a chance that Ryan hadn’t hooked her up safely, she was definitely good to go now.

  The man gave someone out of view a thumbs up.

  The uncle-of-the-millennium stepped aside. “Ready?” he asked.

  “Born ready!”

  “Wish hard, Bridge,” called Charli, between fits of giggles.

  The little girl squeezed her eyes shut as if wishing took a mammoth effort. Perhaps it did. Wishes certainly couldn’t be seen. Maybe they could be felt.

  The pulley above Bridget started turning and the girl with the ambition to fly lifted off. If that didn’t make a believer out of her, nothing would. By the time she opened her eyes, she was already a couple of feet off the floor.

  “Get me higher to the sky, please.” She asked politely but it was definitely a demand.

  “Wish harder then,” Ryan urged.

  The more height Bridget gained, the more she moved. Her body swayed from side to side, ten feet off the ground. Her legs flailed and her arms waved as if she was treading water. It was impossible not to laugh – at least, that’s what Adam and I were doing. Charli was clinging to Adam, racked by silent sobs. I expected no less from her. For her, the moment would’ve been huge.

  It was a big moment for Ryan too. I studied him as he stood looking up at the girl butterfly. He looked completely victorious, and rightly so. He’d just pulled off the impossible and given Bridget her wings back.

  73. SWEET NOTHINGS

  Ryan

  If beauty sleep was an integral part of a bride’s preparations on the night before her wedding, Bente was screwed. I woke just after five to find her trashing the bedroom.

  “What are you doing?” I mumbled.

  Clothes were flying thick and fast as she pulled them out of the pink drawers and tossed them over her shoulder. “I can’t find your tie. I need to find it.”

  “It’s hanging up with my suit.” I closed my eyes and pointed blindly at the closet. “Right where we left it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The absolute panic in her voice woke me properly.

  “Positive.” I propped myself on my elbow. “Come back to bed,” I suggested with a jerk of my head.

  “I can’t,” she replied. “I have stuff to do.”

  I looked at the clock and quickly did some mental math. “We’re getting married in ten hours. You can spare a minute.”

  After a bit more coaxing, Bente reluctantly crawled into my arms. She was so stiff that trying to mould her into a decent cuddling position was akin to bending wire.

  “Do you think we’re ready for this, Ryan?” she asked. I slid my hands down her legs. “What are you doing?”

  “Checking the temperature of your feet,” I teased, grabbing them.

  Finally she laughed and the effect was immediate. Tension slipped away and her body melted against mine.

  “No cold feet,” she assured me, curling against my side. “I just don’t know if I’m ready for today. This wedding is going to be a big deal.”

  “It’s one day, sweetheart.” I’d used that line a million times lately. Even to my ears it was wearing thin.

  “I get stage fright,” she admitted. “It’s horrible. I can’t even breathe it’s so bad.”

  I pulled her in closer, tucking her head under my chin. “You’ll be fine.”

  “I hope so,” she uttered. “That’s why I don’t sing in front of people. Big crowds freak me out. It never used to bother me as a kid.”

  “That’s because you had wings back then.” I grimaced, unable to believe that I’d actually said that out loud.

  “I wish I still had them,” she whispered.

  “You sang at the club,” I reminded, drawing a lazy pattern down her spine with my fingertips. “You had an audience then.”

  “I kept my eyes shut,” she confessed. “I didn’t see any of them.”

  I thought back to the night in question, picturing my little red firecracker up on the dusty stage. Her body was moving, her hands were drifting – and her eyes were welded shut. “I thought you were just in the zone.”

  “I was in the zone, Ry,” she agreed. “The zone between peeing my pants and collapsing. I got through it by closing my eyes.”

  I tried not to laugh, but failed. “Do the same thing at the church then,” I suggested.

  “You want me to walk down the aisle with my eyes closed?”

  “Yeah. We’ll attach a lead to Malibu and she can guide you, like one of those Labradors that assist the blind.”

  Tightening my hold on her as she tried wriggling free was only effective for a few seconds. The sharp elbow she delivered to my ribs ended the battle quickly. Bente leapt off the bed and stood too far out of my reach for me to make another grab for her. “You are not funny, Ryan Décarie!”

  “Look,” I contritely began, “all you have to do is make it to the end of the runway without peeing your pants – and if by chance you do pee your pants, I’ll still marry you.”

  “Wonderful.” She slapped her hands down on her sides. “You’re all heart.”

  “I’m only half hearted these days, Miss Denison,” I corrected. “You have the other half.”

  Her scowl slipped in an instant. Even I was impressed by the impromptu sentiment. Until then I hadn’t realised I was capable of sweet nothings.

  “I got your heart?” she asked in the tiniest of voices.

  “Yeah,” I confirmed. “Just like you promised you would.”

  The second she threw herself across the bed and back into my arms where she belonged, I knew that for now the crisis had been averted. All we had to do was make it through the next ten hours. If we could pull that off, the rest of our lives would be a cinch.

  74. BAD OMENS

  Bente

  The instructional phone calls from the queen began just after eight. I was sitting at the counter trying to eat the breakfast Ryan had insisted on cooking when she rang for the third time.

  “One more thing, darling. You need to be at Charli’s no later than ten,” she told me. “The hair and makeup team will be there a
t quarter past.”

  “There’s a team?” I asked, horrified. “We need a team?”

  “It’s a figure of speech, darling,” she soothed. “As far as I know there are only three.”

  I only had one head. How I was supposed to cope with three people pawing at me at once was beyond me, but like the good bride I was trying to be, I promised to be there on time. As a reward, Fiona ended the call. “I have to go, darling,” she crooned. “Much to do.”

  I went back to pushing eggs around my plate “You’ve got to eat something,” Ryan told me. “You might not get chance again for a while.” He made it sound as if I was gearing up for battle, which did nothing for my appetite.

  I slid the plate away. “What are your plans for the day?”

  He glanced at his watch. “Well, I’m getting married at three.”

  “What about before three?”

  He smiled at me, and it was perfect. “I’ll probably get dressed, watch The Little Mermaid for the last time as a single man and then wait for Adam to get here.”

  “Sounds like an easy day.” I felt jealous.

  “I need to take it easy,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “I have a long night ahead of me.”

  I hung my head to hide my smile. He needed no encouragement. I could never have predicted three months ago that the arrogant man with the smart mouth and painful sting would turn out to be the best thing that had ever happened to me. I was just about to tell him so when my phone rang again.

  “I’ll get it,” offered Ryan.

  I pushed his hand away. “It’s okay. It’s Ivy.”

  He swiped it off the counter anyway. “Ivy.”

  As hard as I tried, I couldn’t make head or tail of the conversation. Ivy was doing most of the talking. Ryan’s responses were grunts, but his eyes never left mine, which was my biggest hint that the conversation wasn’t pleasant.

  As soon as he ended the short call, I demanded an explanation.

  He walked around the counter. I knew it was terrible news. All I could do was brace myself.

  “There’s been a slight change of plans,” he said, easing into it.

  Working quickly to offload the drama, he explained in a jumbled rush.

  Ivy, Fabergé and Malibu were sick.

  “She thinks it’s food poisoning,” he told me. “It’s pretty bad. They’re not going to be able to make it to the wedding.”

  “But I need them, Ry,” I replied.

  Ryan didn’t speak. He just stood there, giving me time to let the news sink in.

  “They have to be there,” I whispered desperately. “Do something.”

  I don’t know what I was expecting him to do. He might’ve been a recent convert to magic, but we needed a miracle to sort this mess out.

  “You know Ivy would give anything to be able to make it,” he said quietly. “They’re really ill.”

  I couldn’t believe it was happening. Apart from a few distant relatives, none of my family were going to be at my wedding.

  “It’s a bad omen,” I warned, wringing my hands. “We broke too many rules.”

  “What rules?”

  “You saw my dress.” My tone made it sound like a wicked deed. “That’s bad luck. We spent the night before the wedding together too. More bad luck.”

  “We’re not superstitious,” he pointed out; “therefore the rules don’t apply.”

  I nodded a hundred times, willing myself to accept his words as true. “We can do this,” I gritted, trying to psyche myself up.

  His hands moved to my face, holding my head still as he spoke. “Promise me you’ll be there,” Ryan demanded. “I’ll look like a total dick if you leave me standing at the altar.”

  I tried to laugh. “I’ll be there.”

  “Awesome.” He kissed me hard. It wasn’t sweet and romantic. It was more like a moral building exercise. “I’ll be there too.”

  75. STUPID MEN

  Ryan

  It wasn’t our regular driver who picked Bente up and delivered her to Charli’s apartment that morning. I knew that because I watched her leave from the front window, making sure that she got in the car instead of making a run for it. I hadn’t let on, but her nervousness had rubbed off on me. When my brother arrived a few hours later I was a wreck, and his cheery demeanour did nothing to settle me.

  “Ready?” he asked, strolling through the front door in a suit identical to mine.

  I made no attempt to get off the couch. “I’m having trouble with this,” I confessed, waving my black tie at him in surrender.

  Adam ordered me to get up. “How many times have you tied a tie in your life?” he asked, taking it from me.

  “More times than I’ve been married.”

  Adam threw the tie around my neck. “Nervous?”

  “Only because I’m not convinced that she’s going to show up.”

  “I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t,” he teased. “You’d be a lot to take on permanently.”

  “Not helping, Adam,” I told him. “Seriously.”

  He slapped my shoulders, shaking me. “She’ll be there,” he assured me. “She was getting dressed when I left.”

  That was a good sign. Other than church, I could think of no other place she could go wearing a big white dress and a veil.

  “Would it be bad manners if we got drunk now?”

  “Yeah,” he replied, finishing off the knot at my throat. “But one drink won’t hurt.”

  ***

  On a day of many firsts, drinking a glass of scotch at one in the afternoon was added to the list. I felt better for it. Without the distraction of shaking hands, explaining the drama of the morning was much easier.

  “So the whole family bailed?” Adam asked incredulously.

  In fairness, Ivy hadn’t bailed. I knew her well enough to know she would’ve moved heaven and earth to see her sister, the squealers and her sparkly dresses walk down the aisle.

  “All three of them are in a bad way. I heard puking in the background.” I shuddered at the memory. “Food poisoning.”

  “Ugh.” Adam, pulled a face. “Tough break.”

  “Bridget’s good to go, though. Right?” Bente needed the support of at least one little girl in a red dress, even if it was Bridget.

  He grinned at me, doing his best proud papa impersonation. “She looks so freaking cute, Ryan,” he boasted. “She wouldn’t lose the boots though.”

  I laughed. “Mom is going to kill someone if Bridget turns up in galoshes. It’s bad enough that she’s two bridesmaids down already.”

  Adam was shaking his head before I’d got the words out. “Mom bought the boots. She found red ones to match her dress.”

  “Huh.” I set my glass down. “She must be mellowing.”

  “Maybe,” he replied. “I wish Dad would.”

  It was probably going to be a tense day for Adam and Charli. They hadn’t seen or spoken to the king in the three weeks since Adam pulled the pin on his job. I made a mental note to be as far away as possible when they crossed paths. Even being in a church wasn’t likely to save them from his wrath. I tried to play it down. “What’s the worst he can do?”

  “Nothing,” he replied confidently. “There’s nothing he can do, which is the main reason he’s so mad.”

  I shook my head, trying to shake free of the ugly family related tension. “He’s giving Bente away.”

  “That’s nice of him.”

  “Yeah.”

  “He likes Bente, Ryan.”

  “He likes Charli too…. way down deep in his soul.”

  Adam grinned wryly. “I know he does.”

  “If she wasn’t such a fruitcake, he’d go easier on her,” I added.

  “I like that she’s a fruitcake. She’s my fruitcake,” he said proudly.

  I couldn’t help smiling. As deluded as I thought he was at times, it was really impressive that six years down the road, he still considered Charlotte his biggest coup.

  “Do you think we’ll be as hap
py?” I asked.

  Adam leaned back in the cushion, picking invisible lint off his trousers. “It’s not difficult, Ryan,” he replied. “Accept that you’re an idiot and let Bente take care of the rest.”

  I didn’t understand. He explained carefully.

  “Décarie men are stupid,” he began. “It started with Dad.”

  “What did?”

  “The stubborn, selfish thoughtlessness that makes us deficient.”

  I felt my shoulders sag. It was impossible not to feel disheartened. I was all these things, despite the huge effort I’d made to change my ways.

  My brother reached across and slapped me on the back. “Don’t stress about it,” he urged. “The universe came up with a solution.” Despite the fairy-speak, I let him continue. “We’re sent beautiful, forgiving wives who are ten times smarter than we can ever hope to be. It evens the score and balances things out.”

  I glanced across at him, immediately noticing his stupid grin. “Bente is much smarter than me,” I agreed.

  “She needs to be,” he told me. “You need all the help you can get. You’re even dumber than I am.”

  76. FOLLOWING RULES

  Bente

  I freaking hated my dress. It was so weighted down with beads and diamantes that walking was difficult. I’d given up trying, and spent the last hour parked on a chair in the middle of the living room – not that I had much choice.

  The stylists Fiona had commissioned to transform me into a bride befitting her son had been primping and tugging and pulling at me since they walked in the door. Finally deciding that enough was enough, Charli all but kicked them out. “She’s done,” she said firmly, handing the women their supplies. “She’s gorgeous. Thank you. Good job.”

  “What about the little one?” asked one of the women.

  “She’s four,” replied Charli. “She’s not being made up.”

  “But what about her hair?” asked another, waving a brush at her.

  Charli opened the door and herded them out like wayward sheep. “I’ll take care of it,” she assured. “Thanks for everything.”