Casual Hex

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “No more jewelry, Dorcas. The Larimar is already more than I feel comfortable accepting.”

  “I’m not giving this to you,” Dorcas said. “But I’ll loan it to you for a few nights. It . . . well . . . it might help keep those dreams away.”

  “I thought dream catchers did that, those spiderwebby things. Not that I believe in that sort of thing.”

  “I know you don’t, but humor me.”

  Gwen eyed the bracelet. “Are those diamonds?”

  “Yes. And the links are platinum.”

  “Good grief! What if I lose it?”

  “I’m not worried about that. Try it for one night. If it doesn’t work and you still dream about a Leo Atwood look-alike, then you can give it back tomorrow.”

  Gwen had to admit she was freaked out about the dreams. Maybe a little superstitious nonsense would help calm her nerves. At least she’d be doing something. “I’ll try it.” She held out her arm, and Dorcas fastened the clasp.

  The bracelet looked very elegant, and from the moment it touched Gwen’s skin, she felt as if she deserved to wear this kind of jewelry. In fact, she deserved a hottie like Marc, too.

  “The bracelet suits you,” Dorcas said.

  “I wouldn’t have thought so, but it goes with these beautiful clothes you’ve insisted I take. I appreciate your generosity, Dorcas.”

  “Well, you’re involved with a Frenchman.” Dorcas wound the cord around the handle of the blow dryer. “And Marc does seem to care about clothes.”

  “I haven’t noticed that. He’s running around in borrowed stuff and it doesn’t seem to bother him.”

  “Then why is he so eager to get his suitcase?” Gwen laughed. “That’s not about clothes. That’s about condoms.”

  “He brought some?”

  “Yes, and they’re in the suitcase, which is still parked in front of the Big Knobian. If he goes over to get the suitcase, he’ll be mobbed again. I’m sure that’s why he’s in Jeremy’s clothes. He didn’t want to risk walking across the square. I could go buy some, but he’s worried about my reputation.”

  “I see.” Dorcas looked amused.

  “Do you happen to have any?” Gwen couldn’t believe her own boldness, but the words had just slipped out.

  “Unfortunately, no. Ambrose and I don’t require them.”

  “Oh.” Gwen wondered if they ever had. Dorcas had sounded wistful about not having a daughter to pass on jewelry to. “That was probably an insensitive question. I mean, you don’t have kids, so maybe . . . um, I’ll quit before I make it worse.”

  “Heavens, I’m not offended. We could have had children, but we chose not to.” She tapped the bracelet on Gwen’s wrist. “Let me know how this turns out.”

  “I definitely will. You’re the only person I’ve told, and it’s great to get another opinion. I—” She was interrupted by Ambrose, who called out for Dorcas and sounded as if he was coming upstairs.

  “Don’t tell Ambrose about the dreams,” Gwen said quickly.

  “All right. But here’s my advice, for what it’s worth. Concentrate on Marc and forget about the dreams.”

  “I feel as if I can do that now.”

  “Good.” Dorcas surveyed her. “You look fabulous. You’ll wow that Frenchman.”

  “I hope so after all your work, but . . . don’t you think men should take us as we are? Our hair and clothes shouldn’t matter.”

  “In a perfect world, you’re right. But this isn’t a perfect world, and there certainly aren’t any perfect men.”

  Ambrose came bounding up the stairs. “What was that, my love?”

  “I was just telling Gwen that there’s only one perfect man in the world, and I’m married to him.”

  “Why, thank you, dearest.”

  Gwen smothered a laugh. Only a man would accept that extravagant line of BS as being true. “I’ll head on downstairs so you two can talk,” she said.

  “I appreciate that,” Ambrose said. “Something Marc said gave me a very important insight.” He glanced at his wife. “Perhaps we should have Marc and Gwen go ahead with the wine and the cheese and crackers while we discuss this?”

  “Of course.” Dorcas glanced at Gwen. “Please, have some wine and cheese.”

  For a brief moment Gwen thought about whether she needed to skip the wine so she’d be in shape to reopen her shop later. Nah. She’d given her customers 110 percent this morning. She deserved to take the afternoon off and have some of the Lowells’ vino she’d heard so much about.

  “Go on.” Dorcas made flapping motions with her hands. “You look beautiful. Doesn’t she look beautiful, Ambrose?”

  “She does,” Ambrose said. “I didn’t realize you brought a change of clothes, Gwen. And they aren’t creased at all.”

  Dorcas winked at Gwen. “They’re mine. I gave them to her.”

  “They’re yours?” Ambrose frowned. “I’ve never seen you wear that outfit.”

  “I’ve had it on dozens of times.”

  “Was I there?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  Ambrose shook his head. “I don’t recall it at all.” He peered at Gwen. “That bracelet you’re wearing looks a lot like—”

  “Yes,” Dorcas said. “I loaned it to her.”

  Ambrose exchanged a quick glance with his wife. “Okay.”

  “Doesn’t it go great with the outfit?” Gwen held her arm out for Ambrose to admire how the bracelet looked on her.

  “Yes, it does. I’m delighted that Dorcas loaned it to you. Now go have a glass of wine with Marc. The poor guy needs it.”

  “I’ll bet. We’ll save some wine for you.” With a smile of gratitude directed at Dorcas, Gwen turned and descended to the main floor, feeling like a debutante. By being careful, she was able to manage the stairway without her glasses. The minute she had some extra time, she was getting contacts. She deserved them.

  Damn, but she felt pretty. Until this week, she’d never had anyone teach her about clothes and makeup. Her mother, who was not French, had no real fashion sense. Although her father was French, he hadn’t lived in France since he was six, so he didn’t know much about the subject, either.

  In high school Annie had tried to help, but Gwen had known she’d never be able to rise to Annie’s level of beauty. Her teen self had found it far less stressful to go in the opposite direction and establish her identity as a brainy girl who knew everything about plants. Dorcas, however, had refused to accept that version of her, and now Gwen had a whole different opinion of herself, too.

  She realized that Dorcas was satisfying her matchmaking urge by helping Gwen look good. Dorcas wasn’t getting paid for it, either. But now that Gwen had finally seen the inside of the Lowells’ house, and she realized Dorcas had enough money that she felt no compunction about loaning out diamond bracelets, the idea of not paying her for her help didn’t trouble Gwen so much. She’d figured out that Dorcas didn’t make matches for the money.

  She was ready to quit fighting the Lowells and their impulse to bring people together. If she ended up with Marc as a result, she couldn’t argue with their methods. Maybe they’d somehow planted the bromeliads in the forest and had tended them constantly, as Marc had suggested, to keep them alive. She had a hard time imagining someone going through all that trouble, but matchmaking was their passion, so maybe they had.

  When she walked into the parlor, Marc stood and his gaze roamed over her. “Magnifique,” he murmured.

  She met his gaze without blushing. “Thank you.” For the first time in her life, she accepted a compliment without attempting to minimize it.

  Marc seemed to be completely engrossed in studying her, as if she were the Venus de Milo. It occurred to her that he’d probably seen the actual Venus de Milo, and the Mona Lisa, too. Surely he’d walked along the Seine and stopped to admire the majesty of Notre Dame.

  She would do that someday. She’d always wanted to visit Paris, and she didn’t need Marc to get her there, either. If he chose to spend time wi
th her during her visit, so much the better, but she was going regardless. She deserved it.

  “Dorcas and Ambrose told us to go ahead with the wine and cheese.”

  “Bon!” Marc leaped on the suggestion and walked over to the coffee table. “I could use a glass of wine and something to eat, since we were not able to enjoy lunch at the Hob Knob.”

  “I know.” She gazed at the bottle of Mystic Hills red wine. It looked ordinary enough, and Annie had said it was very good. She’d also said that she’d fallen in love with Jeremy over a bottle of wine just like this one. The rumor was that Sean and Maggie Madigan’s experience had been very similar.

  Marc poured one goblet full and glanced at Gwen. “You are having some wine, yes?”

  Briefly she thought about the fact that it was only two thirty in the afternoon. She’d never had a glass of wine that early in the day. But a Frenchman wouldn’t care what time it was. The French drank wine 24/7, near as she could tell.

  The bracelet Dorcas had loaned her rested against her wrist bone, reminding her that at this present moment, she was a woman wearing diamonds. Such a woman wouldn’t worry about the time of day when offered a glass of wine by a handsome Frenchman. Such a woman wouldn’t worry about the consequences of drinking said wine, either. Such a woman would look that Frenchman in the eye and say . . .

  “But of course.”

  Marc grinned at her. “Certainement, mademoiselle. Certainement.”

  Chapter 17

  Once Gwen was headed downstairs, Ambrose closed the bedroom door. His gray eyes glittered with excitement. “Dorcas, we could be out of here in a matter of days!”

  “Out of here? You mean leave Big Knob?” Instead of feeling jubilant at the idea, as she should have, she felt a pang of sadness.

  “Yes! Before you know it we’ll be basking in the sunshine of Sedona instead of shivering in the cold of an Indiana winter.”

  “I don’t understand. George isn’t even close to earning his golden scales.”

  “That’s because the criteria is wrong! We need a new set of specs!”

  Dorcas shook her head. “You’re making no sense whatsoever. Stop talking like an engineer and start talking like a wizard.”

  “All right, let me lay it out for you.” Ambrose began to pace. “The job description of a Guardian of the Forest. What is it?”

  “To protect the forest and its inhabitants. And George is falling far short of that. He’s not patrolling on a regular basis, and he’s setting a bad example by playing poker with the raccoons. He needs to be a creature who demands respect, and he can’t fill that role until he grows up and gets serious about his duties.”

  Ambrose nodded. “I understood it that way, too. The paperwork they gave us spells that out quite clearly. George is supposed to stop scaring the folks who wander into the forest with his spooky whispering routine and the disembodied-eyes trick.”

  “Right. And he’s still doing those things, although I think Leo’s been adding to the mix recently by encouraging George to be irresponsible.”

  Ambrose swung around to face her. “But the spooky whispering and disembodied eyes have convinced everyone the forest is haunted.”

  “So?” Dorcas had never seen her husband this worked up about something that didn’t involve getting naked with her.

  “Loggers and hunters don’t go into a haunted forest. He’s been protecting the forest all along!”

  Dorcas frowned. “Well, inadvertently, but—”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “I think it does.”

  “That’s because you’re going by the paperwork we were given. If we wrote up new specs and included George’s tricks as legit ways to guard a forest, then he’s already fulfilled the requirements. Once the Wizard Council approves the new specs, bingo, George is a True Guardian without doing anything different from what he’s always been doing.”

  Dorcas sat down on her dressing-table stool to think. She could see the logic, but she wasn’t sure this would actually work. Worse yet, she wasn’t sure she wanted it to. If George remained a problem, she and Ambrose would have an excuse to stay in Big Knob.

  She glanced up at her husband. Clearly he wanted to return to Sedona, or he wouldn’t be so overjoyed by this new concept. “What about his golden scales?” she said. “If he’s already a True Guardian, even though he doesn’t realize what he’s doing, why aren’t his scales gold by now?”

  “I’ve thought about the scales issue. My theory is that he doesn’t think he deserves golden scales. If we convince him he does, I’ll bet his scales will turn like that.” Ambrose snapped his fingers.

  “I guess it’s worth a try.” Whether or not Dorcas wanted to stay in Big Knob, she owed it to both Ambrose and George to test this new theory. When she looked at the situation objectively, she conceded that keeping hunters and loggers out of the forest was the bottom line. George had done that, even if his reasons had been selfish instead of noble.

  She’d be even more selfish if she stood in the way of George earning his True Guardian standing just so she could have a reason to hang around town. Besides, that wasn’t fair to Ambrose. Apparently he really missed Sedona.

  “Great!” Ambrose rubbed his hands together. “I’ll start on the paperwork today, just as soon as Gwen and Marc leave to do . . . whatever it is they’re planning to do.”

  “They’re somewhat handicapped at the moment.”

  Ambrose acted as if he hadn’t heard her. He began pacing again. “In the old days this could take weeks, but now we have the Internet. Once I’ve completed a draft, I can e-mail it to everyone on the Wizarding Council. We could have a decision in a matter of hours.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” How depressing.

  Ambrose made another circuit of the oval rag rug on the bedroom floor. “I don’t suppose we can rush our guests out the door, but I’m very eager to get started on this.”

  “I know a surefire way to get them out the door in short order.”

  Pausing in his circuit, Ambrose glanced at her. “What? Just tell me and I’ll do it.”

  “Go into town and buy Marc some condoms.”

  Ambrose gaped at her. “Did you just tell me to buy condoms for another man?”

  “That’s what would prompt them to leave so you could get to your paperwork.” Dorcas shrugged. “But if you don’t want to, then—”

  “Why doesn’t he buy his own?”

  “You saw the scene in the Hob Knob. He can’t go anywhere in town without being the center of attention. Besides, he doesn’t want the town gossips to know he and Gwen are having sex.”

  “He should have brought some from Paris, then. The French invented the condom concept, so I’m sure they’re widely available over there.”

  “He did. They’re in his suitcase, which is parked in front of the Big Knobian. But he can’t—”

  “Right, right.” Ambrose scrubbed both hands through his hair. “He’ll get set upon by the locals. So I’ll go get his suitcase.”

  “And blow his cover as you roll it down the street to our house. I don’t think so.”

  Ambrose wore the expression of a trapped animal. “I don’t know the first thing about buying condoms. We’ve never needed them.”

  “No one here would know that.”

  “People our age don’t generally use them, so it would seem odd.” He sounded desperate.

  “Speak for yourself. My new hairstyle makes me look forty. Forty-year-olds can get pregnant.”

  “So you buy them.”

  She just looked at him.

  “Okay, okay, bad idea. I’d come off as a schmuck for not taking care of it. But, Dorcas, I don’t understand the sizing or anything. I think there’s ribbed and nonribbed, so which to choose? I suppose there’s a difference in the materials that go into them, too. He could be allergic to—”

  “So ask him before you go shopping.”

  “Dear Zeus.”

  “Look at it this way, Ambrose. You further the cau
se of our matchmaking project and, as a byproduct, you get time to compose the revised True Guardian specs. Two birds with one stone.”

  Ever since this morning, Marc had wanted to ask Gwen for her advice about Josette. Gwen might have some insight into the problem, insight he desperately needed. But when he saw her coming down the stairs in that bronze silk, he ceased to be the responsible big brother. Josette’s situation was not what he wished, but changing it would take . . . well, no telling what it would take, but her life could not be turned around in a matter of hours.

  On the other hand, if he spent the next few hours with Gwen, that could change his life and hers. All he needed was his suitcase. He could worry about the suitcase later, though. First order of business: share a glass of the wine that Dorcas and Ambrose had offered them.

  Wine was a part of a Frenchman’s seduction technique, but current airline regulations had kept him from bringing a couple of bottles as a gift to Gwen. The paperweight had been his alternative. Gwen had seemed appreciative, but he would have preferred bringing wine.

  Fortunately, the Lowells had stepped up with a wine from their hometown, and Marc was grateful. Wine before sex was the French way. Now that he had a glass of wine in his hand, he felt more in control of the afternoon’s events.

  Dealing with the crowd at the Hob Knob had been surreal, and meeting the guy who looked so much like the Midnight Groper had really put a dent in Marc’s comfort level. But thanks to a defective sprinkler system and the Lowells, he and Gwen had escaped that. Things were looking up. Sooner or later, Marc would find out who George was.

  In the meantime, he planned to spend the afternoon with a beautiful woman. Maybe it was the clothes, obviously borrowed from Dorcas, and her refreshed hairstyle, which might be compliments of Dorcas, too. Whatever the reason, Gwen carried herself with more confidence than she’d had since he had arrived. He found that very sexy.

  He handed her a full goblet. If Dorcas and Ambrose had a cellar of this wine, they could probably run down and get another bottle, if necessary. He had the impression that the wine was intended as a matchmaking tool, anyway. The Lowells would want him to be generous with the pouring.