Champagne, Misfits, and Other Shady Magic (Dowser 7)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  Some of Gran’s guests were local. Some had traveled to Vancouver from various points in the Pacific Northwest. A couple of Convocation members had come from Europe and beyond. Even the caterers had been flown in from Toronto. With this many Adepts gathered in one place, Gran thought it best to have the chef and her staff be of the magical persuasion. Or, in this case, nonpracticing but from a witch lineage.

  Initially, Gran had been pushing for a witches-and-honorary-coven-members-only event. But since neither Warner nor I were actually witches, Scarlett’s pragmatism had easily won out. Thankfully, the pack had been content to be represented by Kandy, though Desmond and Audrey had both been invited. My werewolf BFF had also been muttering about inviting the beta and Lara for the bachelorette party. But keeping a polite distance from the pack in general was probably a good thing. I had a terrible habit of getting people hurt and ruining relationships. It went without saying that my mother was the diplomat in the family.

  Though I’d been formally presented to each and every one of the guests as they’d arrived, I knew it was going to be a stretch for me to recall even half of their names and titles.

  I hadn’t been bothering to introduce myself as anything other than Jade, Pearl’s granddaughter. My other titles and talents — alchemist, dragon slayer, and the wielder of the instruments of assassination — were known by very few in attendance. And since I generally declared those addendums only before I was about to kick serious ass, it really wasn’t necessary to trumpet them at Gran’s party. Unless maybe the chocolate fountain ran dry and a brawl broke out. But my fingers were crossed that that wouldn’t happen — not only because I hadn’t managed to make my way over there yet, but also because Gran would be peeved if I pulled my knife.

  She had planned the most perfect engagement party, after all. And the only thing unaccounted for?

  My fiance.

  Yep, Warner was missing in action.

  Though not literally, I hoped.

  But with dragons, I never knew from one moment to the next.

  “If he doesn’t show, I’ll give you first pick,” Kandy said, brushing her shoulder against mine as she pressed a flute of champagne into my hand.

  The taste of her red-berry-infused dark-chocolate magic slipped past my personal magical barriers. I was keeping all my magic tucked away tightly and my senses muted for the night, due to the number of Adepts gathering around Gran’s pool.

  “I’ve got my eye on the tall, skinny witch in the orange muumuu,” my best friend said, directing her gaze across the pool at her prey. “I like her bangs. But I’m willing to negotiate.”

  I laughed, involuntarily snorting into my champagne as I took a sip of its sparkling sweetness. Choking as effervescence shot up my nose, I flashed a genuine grin at the decked-out green-haired werewolf.

  Gran had insisted on enforcing a dress code for the party — cocktail attire — and no one but me had complained. Then Kandy had gone out and found me a dark-green silk dress that twirled around my knees when I walked, so I’d had to stop griping. Though she personally favored Lycra shorts and obscene T-shirts, the werewolf had a fantastic fashion sense when it came to clothing other people. Plus, the halter neckline, with its subtly sequined edging, looked fabulous with the black-leather patent-toe asymmetrical pumps — aka Big Presence Earharts — that I just had to buy from Fluevog.

  “Only you would think the cut of a witch’s bangs was a reason to date her,” I murmured, eyeing the witch in question. Gran had introduced us about ten minutes earlier, before she went inside to check on the caterers. Her name was Olive … something. Magically gifted with plants — especially citrus fruit, which was normally impossible to grow at our latitude.

  She was a member of the Godfrey coven and had helped save the lives of probably a quarter of the guests in attendance — holding a shield with my mother and Gran against a horde of demons on a beach in Tofino. I had also tasted her magic while casting the grid the previous night.

  “Not all of us are the marrying kind,” Kandy said, sniffing as though I’d insulted her.

  My werewolf BFF was literally swathed in black sequins, including her skintight dress and speckled custom sneakers. A series of antique hairpins held her almost-chin-length hair back in twisted rows. She’d been liberal with black eyeliner, sparkling green eye shadow, and the deep-purple lipstick she’d pilfered from my collection.

  Catching me looking at her, she pursed her lips prettily, then snapped her teeth in my direction. “Looking is free, dowser,” she said, wagging her eyebrows. Then, abandoning me to my post at the head of the currently empty greeting line, she sauntered off toward the orange-clad witch.

  The magic of Gran’s wards shifted behind my right shoulder, and the taste of burnt cinnamon toast tickled my senses. I sighed, knowing before I’d even looked that a deep, misplaced shadow had appeared along the top edge of the fence.

  Drawn by the abundance of magic gathered in Gran’s backyard, but wary of the sun even as it was setting, the shadow leech was able to get through the substantial wards that encased the property because of its connection to me. Or, rather, its connection to the magic I’d absorbed from Shailaja.

  I glanced over my shoulder. The leech slipped down the fence, latching onto one of the strings of lights, then slowly siphoning off the bright-blue magic my mother had spent hours casting.

  I seriously refused to call the little demon spawn ‘Freddie.’ No matter how strained my relationship was with Mory, I wasn’t going to encourage the befriending of wicked little monsters.

  The string of lights flickered, then died.

  “That’s enough.” I put as much steel as I could into the whisper. “Don’t make me vanquish you.”

  The shadow watched me with its blood-red slitted eyes. Then it opened its dark, needle-toothed maw and chittered discontentedly.

  My mother, deep in conversation with a group of witches near the chocolate fountain, turned her head at the sound. Not many Adepts could see the shadow leech, but apparently my mother could hear it. Her strawberry-blond tresses cascaded across her back. She was wearing a rose-gold dress that flared out at the waist and ended just below her knees.

  Catching sight of the dead lights, Scarlett reached up and touched the bulb nearest to her. The taste of strawberry replaced the burnt cinnamon lingering on the tip of my tongue as she effortlessly imbued the string of lights with new magic.

  The leech chittered again, this time almost happily. It reached for my mother’s magic as it coursed down the cord toward it, lighting one bulb after the other.

  “No,” I whispered. Then, once again feeling guilty that a sentient being was unwillingly and unwittingly bound to me, I relented. “After. When the party is done, and everyone has gone, and before the magic all burns out. It’s yours.”

  The leech flashed its teeth at me in what might have been a smile — if I’d been willing to admit it was capable of expressing emotions. Then it settled contentedly back in the crook of a tree limb to oversee the gathering.

  Lovely.

  No fiance yet, but the insatiable shadow leech had made it to the engagement party on time.

  I was halfway through my second glass of champagne and more than ready to abandon my post for the chocolate fountain, when the magic of the wards shifted and hints of tart apple and cayenne-spiced chocolate rolled across my tongue.

  Kandy appeared at my side just before a white-blond, gray-eyed woman stepped around the house, directed from the front walk to the backyard along glowing patio stones that were also of my mother’s crafting.

  Rochelle.

  The oracle had arrived.

  I hadn’t been sure she would come, not with all the other Adepts in attendance. Even though I knew the large raw-diamond necklace she wore, practically falling to her belly button, should have shielded her from picking up random visions unless she accidentally touched anyone.

  Her delectable, mocha-skinned husband prowled a step behind her, taking in every Adept arrayed on
both tiers of the patio with a sweeping glance. The green of his shapeshifter magic obscured his normally dark aquamarine gaze. Beau was in full protection mode, which, given the rarity of his wife’s magic, made sense. Except no one was going to accost anyone at a gathering hosted by my grandmother.

  Rochelle was dressed in the most adorable pieced-together black silk dress, with artfully frayed seams. A massive gray cashmere-and-silk lace stole was wrapped around her shoulders. The series of black-inked tattoos that covered both of her arms and upper back could be seen through sections of the open lace. Gran had given the stole to the oracle last Christmas, and I knew she’d be pleased to see Rochelle wearing it. The lacework was completely contrary to the oracle’s low-key personal style. And since Rochelle never seemed to do anything for show or anything that was expected of her, I had been surprised that Gran thought it a fitting gift.

  I’d been wrong.

  And probably not for the last time.

  Beau was epically gorgeous in a black suit, charcoal shirt, and gray-and-white striped tie. The ensemble fit him like he modeled for a living, rather than spending his days helping with Rochelle’s chickens, rebuilding cars, and updating their property in Southlands.

  I might have been with Warner in every sense of the word, but based on the way Kandy’s toothy grin sharpened as the werecat approached, I wasn’t the only one who noticed the raw beauty stalking toward us.

  Of course, the green-haired werewolf might simply be gleefully anticipating exerting her dominance. As a younger shapeshifter, Beau was firmly below Kandy in the pack order, in Vancouver and in Portland.

  The hush that had fallen among the gathered Adepts wasn’t due only to Beau’s looks. It was the oracle’s growing reputation, and the rarity of her permanent place within the Godfrey coven, that had momentarily deadened the polite chatter.

  Though I knew that Gran oversaw petitioners for the oracle’s services, my own interactions with Rochelle had been thankfully benign, meeting up every week when she dropped off eggs from her flock of deathlayers and occasionally met with Gran. No visions or dire warnings. Not until today, when she’d sent Blossom with the obscure sketch.

  As such, it was disturbing to notice that Rochelle had an art tube tucked underneath her left elbow, with the silver ribbon that adorned it clearly marking it as an engagement gift.

  Not that gifts from Adepts were usually a problem for me. They almost always involved magic, and I was a collector, after all. But for the engagement party, Gran had indicated on the invitations that guests weren’t expected to bring gifts.

  And the problem was that any gift from Rochelle that came rolled in an art tube — rather than simply being torn out of her sketchbook — seemed certain to depict an immutable future. One that I was barreling heedlessly toward, whether or not I saw caution smudged and shaded in the pages of the oracle’s sketchbooks.

  Fate.

  Destiny.

  I wasn’t a fan.

  No matter what power I wielded or what magical artifacts I constructed, I wasn’t capable of thwarting such things. And with the smoky pink sunset closing a day that had already been filled with too many questions, I had absolutely no desire to see a sketch that the oracle had deemed worthy of gift wrap.

  That made me a coward. I understood that. But only the far seer could realign the future if he saw fit to do so. I knew. Chi Wen had used me, or what was supposed to be a future version of me — the dragon slayer — to do so. I could still feel the warmth of Shailaja’s blood under my splayed palms as it seeped across the inlaid tile of the phoenix’s tomb —

  Kandy bumped me with her shoulder.

  I focused on the tiny oracle standing before me. Her gray eyes were edged with the white of her magic. Her hair, which she had been dyeing black when I first met her, was the same pale shade, almost devoid of color. Her simmering power echoed back through the large raw diamond and the rose gold of her necklace. I curled my fingers into a loose fist, denying my urge to reach out and stroke the chain, to add more of my own alchemy into the powerful artifact. It already contained more than enough layers of protection, some of which I’d placed myself. But needless to say, it didn’t belong to me.

  And yes, I would just keep reminding myself of that. It was like being on a diet, except worse. Because it was one thing to indiscriminately eat food I’d rightfully purchased, and completely another to go around nibbling off other people’s plates.

  “Rochelle. Beau,” I said. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Yeah,” Kandy echoed, leering at Beau. “Thank you for coming.”

  Beau laughed, shaking his head at his pack mate. Then he bowed slightly, addressing me. “We are honored by the invitation, dowser.”

  “Don’t open it now,” Rochelle said, gruffly bypassing the rest of the formalities by practically shoving the art tube into my arms. “It’s for later. For your wedding.”

  “Well, that bodes well.” I said it with a lightness I didn’t feel. Being presented with oracle sketches pertaining to my pending nuptials actually felt significantly worse than getting something possibly relevant to the weird day I was already having.

  “No. I … I just don’t want you to get charcoal on your pretty dress.” Rochelle was smiling, but there was something about how she used the word ‘pretty’ that seemed almost derogatory.

  I narrowed my eyes at her.

  Her smile widened. “I wore a dress too.”

  “Did you lose a bet?”

  She laughed. “How could an oracle lose a bet?” Then she relented. “Kandy made me.” She glanced around. A short line of newcomers was forming behind her and Beau. “There’s, um, there’s something else I should tell you …”

  “About the sketch you sent?”

  “Ah, no. That is what it will be. This is, ah, something else.”

  “That sounds delightful.”

  “I … um …” She glanced toward the house just as my grandmother came striding through the snazzy lift-and-slide glass doors — which she had dropped some serious cash on the previous month — to make a beeline toward us. “Maybe later.” She grabbed Beau’s hand and tugged him in the opposite direction without further ado.

  “Great,” I muttered, really not at all interested in anything the oracle might have been wary of telling me. Or, even worse, what she was wary of telling me in front of my grandmother.

  Kandy laughed huskily and far too gleefully for my liking. Then she took the art tube from me, freeing my hands and switching places with my grandmother.

  Gran took up her post at my side, which she’d abandoned only to check on the hot hors d’oeuvres. She was resplendent in a gray raw-silk skirt and a matching short-waisted jacket. Her hair, only a few shades lighter than the skirt, was coiled in a series of thick, shiny braids. She offered her hand to the brown-haired, olive-skinned necromancer who was waiting patiently next in line.

  “Teresa. Delighted. You remember my granddaughter, Jade?” She gestured toward me.

  Benjamin Garrick’s mother fixed her dark-eyed gaze on me. I smiled, though my cheeks were really starting to ache, and found myself hoping that I wasn’t about to have to ward off a death curse for yanking her son out of a tree and interrogating him.

  Regulating the new Adepts of Vancouver would have been seriously easier if Kandy’s so-called misfits hadn’t come with parental units.

  The receiving line eventually petered out. I had exchanged inane pleasantries with eight more guests, and Gran’s backyard was getting down to elbow room only. The exterior glass doors stood open, inviting entry to the living room and kitchen, though no one had moved inside yet. But with the spectacular hazy-pink sunset kissing the mountains of the North Shore across the water and over the top of Stanley Park, I wasn’t terribly surprised.

  Gran wandered off with the last batch of guests — and I was more than ready to do the same — when the wards shifted, accommodating a large influx of intense magic. And bringing with it the taste of sweet, syrupy cherries topped with t
hick whipped cream and underpinned with deep cacao.

  Warner stalked around the corner of the house as if he might have been invading the backyard, rather than showing up to a gathering in his honor.

  He was glowering so deeply that the witches near the side gate actually backed away from him. Kelly, a sandy-haired witch who raised alpaca and cashmere goats on Salt Spring Island, momentarily lost hold of her glass. Thankfully for Gran’s deposit, she caught it with a lick of her rosemary-infused magic before it hit the patio.

  Then Warner spotted me standing just past the crowd. A smile spread across his face, transforming him from forbidding to eye-blisteringly handsome. At least to me. The gold of his dragon magic flickered in his eyes as he slowed his pace, sweeping his gaze over me.

  I instinctively straightened my back, tucked my abs, and settled my shoulders to thrust my chest out. Just a tiny bit. Cocking my hip slightly, I allowed myself to take in every inch of him.

  He was clad in a medium-gray suit with thin white pinstripes, a white dress shirt, and a dark-green silk tie that I would have sworn was an exact match to my dress. The suit somehow made his broad shoulders and tapered torso appear almost impossibly wide and trim at the same time.

  Heat flooded through my belly. I had thought Warner sexy in dragon training leathers, but the suit brought out another side of him entirely. A smooth, barely contained sexiness that I hadn’t seen before. At least not outside my bedroom.

  His grin shifted into an appreciative leer as he ran a hand through his recently cropped dark-blond hair, coming to a stop a couple of feet from me.

  I reached up, almost involuntarily needing to touch him, and ran my fingers across his freshly shaved jaw. He was more darkly tanned than he’d been half a day earlier. The fresh scar that had marred his face had completely faded.