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My Favorite Witch

Page 26

by Lisa Plumley


  Silently, Camille nodded. For a long moment, she gazed in thought at the resort’s tinkling fountain and the stone planters of flowers surrounding it. Then she heaved in a breath.

  “If that’s true, then why do you need Francesca, too?”

  Camille’s mournful tone jabbed right at Dayna’s heart. Feeling responsible, Dayna vowed to do her best to fix things between them. No matter what it took, Camille was going to have the best girls’ spa day ever in the history of Covenhaven.

  “Because when Francesca invited me,” Dayna confessed, tugging at her newest vintage T-shirt, then fiddling with the scarf Camille had lent her, “I started to feel linked again.”

  Clearly startled, Camille stared at her. “Dayna…”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like that,” Dayna went on hastily. “It was…” She faltered, unable to describe it. “I thought I didn’t need connection. I thought I was okay with being unlinked, as long as I was free. But I was never free. Not in the human world. Because I was always hiding—I was hiding me. So now, here in Covenhaven of all places—” Suddenly choked up, Dayna blinked. With a mighty effort, she sniffed to stop her tears. She offered up a big smile. “Now we’re going to enjoy a day of all-out pampering like we’ve never seen! Woohoo!”

  Camille’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears. As game as ever, though, she pumped her fist in the air. “Pampering! Woohoo!”

  With her best friend in tow, Dayna headed for Janus’s lobby. Her stomach whirled with nervousness—or maybe that was just hunger. Halfway there, still surrounded by privileged resort goers, she leaned closer to Camille. “Hey. Do you think they have Cap’n Crunch at a fancy place like this? Because Deuce finished the last box this morning, and I’m starving.”

  “If they don’t, I’m sure Francesca can ask one of her flunkies to snap their fingers and conjure some.”

  “And popcorn, too. Like they have at the movies.”

  “They probably have gold-plated popcorn. Don’t worry.”

  “Oh!” Entering the sweet-smelling, serenely decorated, and luxe lobby, Dayna grabbed Camille’s arm. “And Skittles, too.”

  Beneath Janus’s massive and ornate central chandelier, Camille stopped. Shaking her head, she gave Dayna a motherly look. “You’re going to drop dead of a heart attack, eating junk like that. How are you supposed to get any vitamins?”

  “By having my hostess provide them for free.” Dayna spotted Francesca in the distance, chatting with two uniformed porters. She offered her a long-distance smile and a wave. “How else?”

  “You’re hopeless.” Beside her, Camille waved, too. “First chance I get, I’m reporting you to your mother. I swear.”

  Dayna gasped. “You wouldn’t!”

  “I would.” Camille stiffened as Francesca came closer. “At least have some fruit first, before the junk food. Humor me.”

  “All right. But then, the Cap’n Crunch.”

  The moment the words left her mouth, Dayna sensed that peculiar tingle again. It swept up her spine, alerting her to…something. Curiously, she glanced up at the skylights.

  They dazzled her. Shaking her head, Dayna peered one story above her. That’s where that weird sensation seemed to emanate from, but the staircase and mezzanine level appeared empty.

  A few seconds later, Dayna forgot that tingling sensation altogether. Francesca entered their midst on a surge of ambient lobby music, charmed lighting, and personal verve, then swept them away to their first-ever magical girls’ spa day.

  Lounging on the mezzanine level that hugged the sky-high perimeter of the Janus lobby, T.J. frowned. He didn’t like the resort or the kinds of people who stayed there. To step inside Francesca’s domain was to enter into a lie. The place pretended to be formed of natural things, with fountains, cascades of water, green growing plants, and tumbled stone walls.

  But to his Patayan eye, the fountains revealed themselves as intricately plumbed and made of poured concrete. The water smelled chemically treated and was forced to stream down prescribed pathways. The stone walls were fashioned of plaster with a veneer of crushed rock surfacing. Even the centerpiece of the lobby, a colossal slab of regional red rock, had been shaped and polished and treated with chemicals…all the better to improve its appearance. The potted cacti at its base only added insult to injury. Those plants didn’t belong in the high country. He doubted the gardeners had put them there by choice.

  “I hate this place.” Sprawled on a smooth leather settee with both legs spread and his feet planted on the marble floor, T.J. gave Deuce an impatient look. “The sooner we’re out of here, the better. Where’s your damn bug anyway?”

  His partner peered at the guests milling in the lobby. He transferred his gaze to the sweeping, architectural stairway they’d used to get upstairs, then put his hand to the discreet earpiece he wore. He listened. “It’s still trailing Lily.”

  “Call it back. I don’t trust that thing.”

  “Don’t worry—I’ve been working with this bug. Its IAB programming isn’t a factor anymore.” As though remembering the way T.J. had freed the agency’s tiny spy when it had been set to report on them, Deuce curled his fingers protectively over his earpiece. “Besides, the little guy is perfect for this job. I can’t exactly trail Lily into the spa’s massage rooms. He can.”

  T.J. gave a disgruntled sound. “They’ve been in there a long time now. What the hell are they doing?”

  “Probably having a girl-on-girl massage spank party.”

  Jolted from his restlessness, T.J. stared. “What?”

  “Kidding.” Seated in similar fashion, Deuce gave a very human-style chortle. “Gotcha, didn’t I? You can’t be bored when you’re picturing a naughty girl-on-girl party, now can you?”

  “Is this how you always pass the time on tracer missions?”

  “Sometimes. Hey, you’re the one who leaves me behind with the getaway car half the time. It gets dull waiting for a grab.”

  T.J. shook his head. “One of those witches is yours, pal.”

  “You mean Lily?” Deuce’s face turned pensive. “Nah. That’s the other reason for using the bug this time. I think all those hours I was spending around her gave Lily the wrong idea about us. At this point, it’s better to keep a low profile.”

  “You dog. Did you lead her on to get information?”

  “No!” Deuce’s frown deepened. “She’s a witch, that’s all. She doesn’t respond well to being told ‘no.’ It’s like the word doesn’t even register. At this point, I figure it’s better to keep my distance from Lily and the rest of…her kind.”

  “Whatever you say.” Feeling fidgety—and unwilling to bicker with Deuce over his antiwitch prejudices—T.J. exhaled. He made a face as a party of giggly, overperfumed witches passed by on their way to the elevator bank. As a unit, they turned to give him and Deuce interested looks. “Jesus, cusping witches are horny as hell. Give me your earpiece. Let me listen awhile.”

  “No way. You’re just worried because Dayna is in there.”

  Reminded of that, T.J. scowled more deeply. He’d been unhappily surprised to see his bonded witch arrive at Janus a short while ago, with her friend Camille accompanying her. He didn’t know why Dayna was here—or why she was suddenly so sociable with Francesca—but he intended to find out. Later.

  “Dayna might interfere with my meeting with Sumner.” The vixen witch had contacted him earlier with a request to come to Janus. He hadn’t expected to be kept waiting like this. Given Sumner’s high-handed view of Patayan—and compounds—he probably should have. “Dayna has seen through every disguise I’ve used so far. She’ll know I’m here.” In fact, he’d have sworn his bonded witch had sensed his presence when she’d arrived at the resort. She’d cast a curious glance up at the mezzanine level before greeting Francesca, then had distractedly turned away. “She’ll ask questions.”

  “So answer them.” Deuce listened through his earpiece, then grinned. “They’re having naked mud baths now,” he reported w
ith an impish gleam in his eye. “That’s awesome. Anyway, what’s the problem? Didn’t you tell Dayna about your Patayan mission?”

  “I told her a little.” Restlessly, T.J. aimed his gaze at the hand-raked Zen garden at the lobby’s edge. He tried to carve a new pattern in the sand. Frustratingly, the grains didn’t shift. “She knows about the coming confrontation and the juweel. I don’t think she believed me.” He’d confided as much to his magus. The wisewoman had advised patience and nothing more. “Dayna is sensitive about her weak magic. She turns every talk about magical skills into an evaluation of her own powers.”

  “Well, that’s women for you.” Prosaically, Deuce shrugged. “Somehow they turn every helpful comment into criticism.”

  “She says I believe her abilities aren’t good enough.”

  “You do believe her abilities aren’t good enough.”

  “I know, but that’s because it’s true. Her abilities aren’t good enough yet. The truth shouldn’t hurt her feelings.”

  “Dude, it’s a good thing you don’t date human women.”

  “Bite me.” Delivering his partner a quelling look, T.J. gestured again. “I mean it. Give me your earpiece.”

  “If you want to know what’s happening down there, morph yourself into a Patayan shaft of sunshine or a freaking legacy-witch pigeon and sneak in there yourself, why don’t you?”

  Giving up on his latest attempt to shift the Zen garden sand, T.J. growled in annoyance. “Because I can’t,” he admitted to Deuce. “My magic is getting more erratic by the day. I don’t know if it’s being bonded that’s screwing with things—”

  “Dayna’s gone all Sampson-and-Delilah on your ass.” His partner shook his head in sympathy. “I warned you, right? I hope the epic sex is worth it, buddy. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “—or if it’s co-opting Professor Reynolds’s identity every night at cusping-witch class that’s draining me somehow—”

  “You’re welcome for the IAB reassignment hack, by the way.”

  “—but the end result is that sometimes my magic is fine, and sometimes it’s impossibly fucked up.” Disconsolately, T.J. stared at his hands, with their scarred remnants of earlier magical endeavors. “When the conflict comes, I’ll be useless.”

  Deuce went on staring at the humans and witches in the bustling lobby. For a few heartbeats, the only sounds between them were New Age music wafting from hidden speakers, the laughter of witches, warlocks, and tourists drifting upward, and chlorinated waters pouring over concrete and plaster fountains.

  Just when T.J. had decided the situation really was hopeless—and so was he, if this went on—his partner spoke up.

  “You’re not wrecked forever.” Deuce gave him a solemn look. “Whatever else goes wrong, you’ve got to believe that.”

  In his partner’s earnest tone, T.J. couldn’t help hearing a few echoes—echoes of Deuce’s struggle to deal with being turned. He must have felt hopeless sometimes, too.

  “All right, Oprah.” T.J. glanced at him, feeling uncomfortably grateful. “Save the pep talk. We’re working.”

  “If you’re angling for a hug, you’re way off base.”

  Grinning, T.J. flipped him the finger. “That’s your dream, not mine. Sorry to disappoint.” Then he sobered. “But seriously, thanks, Deuce. Thanks for watching my back. I mean it.”

  His partner smiled. Understanding flowed between them, the way it always did—eventually—when they disagreed. “You got it.”

  Still wearing that smile, Deuce put his hand to his earpiece again. “They’re toweling off now. Hubba hubba.”

  “Your whole life is a potential porn movie.”

  “Hey, everybody needs something to live for.”

  Laughing, T.J. stood. “If they’re done with the mud baths, that’s my cue.” He took out his cell phone, punched in a number, then waited. A witch answered. “It’s time,” he told her.

  “I’ll be right there,” she said. “Hang tight.”

  Feeling almost too relaxed to stand up, Dayna nodded at the Janus spa attendant. The employee, a helpful witch, shut off the shower spray. All six deluxe nozzles surrounding Dayna in the granite-walled shower area switched off. Instantly, the attendant conjured up a thick terry cloth bath sheet.

  Blissfully, Dayna wrapped herself in its preheated warmth. She could really get used to this treatment. Undoubtedly, human visitors to the Janus Resort and Spa were impressed by the conscientious service they received. They could not have known that legacy magic was behind the resort’s famous attentiveness, just as talented witches and warlocks were responsible for the exemplary service at five-star hotels across the world.

  “Thank you very much.” Toasty warm and dry, Dayna accepted a plush terry cloth robe embroidered with the Janus logo.

  The witch’s gaze lingered on her golden armband. Dayna hadn’t removed it since T.J. had given it to her. By now, it carried as much meaning as a wedding band did…maybe more. Feeling oddly protective of it, Dayna covered it with her robe.

  The witch snapped her attention upward again. Politely, she suggested, “If you’ll please follow me this way?”

  “Of course.” Heaving a contented sigh, Dayna followed the witch to the next room. Francesca, Lily, and Camille were already there, ensconced in matching mani-pedi lounge chairs. She and her friend had already been treated to a series of spa treatments, each one more outrageous than the last. First, foot massages and facials. Next, hot stone massages. After that, mud baths and relaxing aromatherapy. “So, what’s next?” she asked.

  “Manicures, pedicures, and a little fortification.” From her lounge chair in the center, Francesca gave a lazy wave. From nowhere, another attendant appeared, bearing refreshments. “We have to keep up our strength, you know. Who wants a snack?”

  “Me!” Camille blurted. “I do!”

  She caught Dayna’s eye and laughed, even as she helped herself to a beautifully arranged plate of strawberries and cream. She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a mom. I don’t get pampered very often. This is incredible, Francesca. Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome.” With a benevolent smile, the vixen witch gestured for Dayna to take her place…in the lounge chair to her right. “Any friend of Dayna’s is a friend of ours.”

  “Speaking of friends…” Hesitating beside the chair, Dayna looked around. “Where’s Sumner? Isn’t this her chair?”

  “Not anymore,” Francesca said. “Please, go ahead. Take it.”

  “Sumner got an emergency call from the gift shop.” This came from Lily, who sprawled in a lounge chair to Francesca’s left. Moist cotton pads covered her eyes; toe separators stuck out from her feet in preparation for her pedicure; an attendant crouched at the ready. “She left to deal with the problem.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case…” Dayna accepted the chair.

  Beside her, Francesca smiled with pleasure. “How about those refreshments? We have fruit, as Camille has discovered”—her charm didn’t waver as she indicated Dayna’s best friend and her plate full of strawberries—“dark chocolate, spa cuisine—”

  “Pastries,” Lily added in a meaningful, peeved tone.

  “—pastries, of course,” Francesca continued, “plus all kinds of beverages: wine, tea, fruit smoothies, champagne—”

  “Ohh! So I see. Yum.” With relish, Dayna eyed the tray of drinks carried by still another hushed but dexterous Janus employee. On the tray sat several glasses of sparkling liquids. She spied one with an especially creative garnish and selected it. “I think I’ll try this one. It looks delicious.”

  “Not that one.” Francesca spoke sharply. Her gaze, frosty and firm, spun to the attendant. “You should be more careful.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Woodberry. It won’t happen again.”

  “Indeed it won’t.” With a careless gesture, Francesca hexed her employee. As Dayna watched, wide eyed, the poor witch’s ponytailed hair seemed to…melt away from her head, leaving her bald. Examining the effect, Francesca
clucked her tongue. “Oh no. It seems you’ve violated the Janus appearance code.”

  Chuckling, she embellished her hex with a broad, swirling skull tattoo. Dayna and Camille gawked. The attendant stiffened in pain as a series of dark inked marks spread across her scalp.

  “Tattoos are not allowed to be evident during work hours. You should know that. How many years have you worked here?”

  The witch gulped back tears. “Eight years, Ms. Woodberry.”

  “Then that’s long enough to understand our policies. Also, with that bald head of yours, I don’t think you’ll be capable of achieving an appropriately professional-looking hairstyle.”

  “I—I could wear a hat? Or get extensions? I need this job.”

  The attendant’s face tightened with desperation. Still frozen with her fancy drink in her hand, Dayna swallowed hard.

  “Francesca,” she said in a conciliatory tone, “this is really all my fault for choosing the wrong drink. I think—”

  “You’re dismissed,” Francesca told the witch crisply. The Janus employee’s posture crumpled. Francesca merely gestured for another witch to escort her from the room. Then, with the slightest crease across her forehead to show her concern, Francesca magically plucked the drink from Dayna’s hand. “This drink was meant for Sumner. But you couldn’t have known that, of course. You’re free to choose another—I promise, they’re all excellent.” Recovering her equanimity, Francesca blinked. “Well. That’s that then. All settled. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “Me, too.” Dayna exchanged an appalled gaze with Camille. As though compelled, the two of them turned their attention to the drinks waiting beside Francesca’s and Lily’s chairs. Each of their glasses bore the distinct garnish that Dayna’s prohibited drink had. “What’s so special about that drink, anyway?”

  Deadpan, Francesca lifted her glass. She took a seductive sip. “It’s a potion that makes cusping witches invincible.”

  Dayna laughed. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

 

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