Fangs and Frenemies

by Cherry Andrews

  “Was there any doubt the groom would show up to his own wedding?” I asked, perplexed by David’s comment. “I always got the feeling he was an upstanding guy.” Though this was the first time I’d ever seen him in person. He wasn’t like Estelle, who treated talking to downtown shopowners as part of her job. Drew must have his assistant do all his shopping for him.

  David leaned over conspiratorially. “Drew’s a good kid at heart, but he’s a kid and a spoiled one at that. Still goes out partying every night till dawn. Even last night.”

  “He was out late with Ashlee last night?”

  “Sure, yes . . . with Ashlee,” David said in a smoothing tone, as if he realized he’d said too much to an outsider. “Well, anyway, all’s well that ends well,” he added vaguely.

  “Huh.” Marrying Drew was my number one childhood dream. I’d been convinced he was The One—me and every other pigtailed tweenager in Blue Moon Bay. But David wasn’t making him sound like such a prince. Now that I thought about it, Drew could have picked nearly any woman to be with, and he picked someone as small and mean as Ashlee. What did that say about him?

  Sometimes childhood dreams are pretty stupid.

  “‘Scuse me, I better get back to the bridal beasts-in-waiting.” David gestured back to the gazebo at the pretty bridesmaids. Several now appeared to be throwing grass at a bespectacled young man with a camera. “They’re about to tear apart my assistant.”

  “Good luck!” I couldn’t help but feel a touch abandoned, irrational as that was. David had been easy to talk to. Easy to look at, too. But more importantly, without him, I was liable to spend the rest of the wedding standing awkwardly alone. I was grateful for the jacket loan, though. “When should I give you back your—“

  “Don’t worry about that right now.” He flashed one more smile. “But come find me later, and I’ll introduce you to the right people. That is, the other party professionals and staff members. Or as we call ourselves, The Help.”

  “Sounds great.” Maybe I’d get to talk to Estelle’s helper, Leeza, more about catering gigs. Then I’d really have no reason to feel guilty for sharing a drink with David. I wasn’t flirting, I was networking.

  Speaking hypothetically, if Bryson were stuck dateless at a wedding, would I rather he be chatted up a sexy, witty, vivacious woman—or that he be forced to stand there, alone and miserable? Hmm . . . I’d expected the answer in my head to be clear and resounding, but it was more murky.

  Oh well, I couldn’t focus on hypotheticals right now. A waiter with a catering cart was wheeling my three-tiered lemon cake up the garden path.

  The cake zoomed past us and I excused myself to follow it down the garden path. Past a fountained courtyard, whose cobblestones almost tripped my stiletto-strapped feet, and into a large banquet hall. The waiter pulled his cart over, next to an enormous white stone fireplace where a beige and grey display table had been set up. Perfect. This was my opportunity. I’d never attempted a complex spell with a dozen waitstaff milling about, but I had no choice.

  “Excuse me, sir.” I approached the waiter as he was carefully transferring the crystal stands that contained each cake tier onto the table. “I’m Hazel Greenwood. From Sage’s Bakery.”

  The waiter looked me up and down. Was he trying to gauge my worthiness?

  “This cake is one of ours,” I stammered, “and, if you don’t mind, I was hoping to snap a few photos for our web gallery? It’ll just take a few . . . ”

  He’d already stepped away and was busy arranging cream-colored rose petals on the tables.

  I pulled my cell phone from my clutch purse and swiped up to access the camera app. Of course, I wasn’t really planning to take any photos. But holding the screen in front of my face conveniently helped cover that I was mouthing the words of the spell.

  Fifteen minutes later, the murmur of the banquet hall filling jarred me out of my concentration trance. Without interruptions, I’d zoomed through the core of the ritual, and the addendum for extra Kindness and Patience (which I figured Ashlee’s husband would sorely need.) Doing Green magic raised a witch’s core temperature and I was starting to sweat, so I shucked off David’s tuxedo jacket as I dived into the final incantation, the Soulmate Biorhythm Syncing script:

  Nothing makes a night owl surly,

  Like a spouse who rises early.

  Let your spirits grow together,

  Let love’s rhythm flow forever.

  With the starlight synchronize.

  No need for coffee and compromise—

  “Hey, spy chick. Yeah, you in the shiny dress.” At the woman’s belligerent taunt, I forced myself to look up. My head felt as heavy as a sandbag. Being interrupted when you’re deep in the middle of a spell is excruciating, similar to being shaken awake at 3 AM.

  “How dare you try to dress like us bridesmaids?” the angry voice continued, slurring just a touch. “You’re not one of us. You should pay, for trying to imperson—impersonalize—you know . . . pretend!”

  I turned to face the very dull yet menacing brown eyes of a lean, caramel-blonde beauty. It was Jenna Jeffries, former cocaptain of the cheer squad and Ashlee’s BFF.

  Hexed rats. I’d been mere words away from finishing the spell.

  Now I was about to get my butt kicked by an angry bridesmaid.

  Chapter 4

  “You’re right, Jenna, I’m not part of the cool kids’ inner circle, like you,” I said, hoping my voice sounded placating. “My wearing the same color dress is just a coincidence. So, if you don’t mind giving me a minute here to, ah, meditate with this cake—”

  “Please,” she scoffed. “Like I don’t know what you’re really up to over there.”

  I froze. “Whoa, you do?”

  “Duh. You’re spying on me.”

  I chuckled in surprise. “Please, you’re not that important.” Then remembered I was supposed to be placating. “No one’s spying on anyone, sweet Jenna. Everything’s hunky-dory.” Surreptitiously I reached out to touch my locket with its enchanted lavender and valerian sachet. It was the pacifist Green magic version of a taser and I never left home without it.

  Jenna blinked and murmured drowsily, “If you’re not a spy, how do you know my name?”

  “Seriously?” My head snapped back in annoyance. “We went to school together. It’s not that big a place.”

  “Oh yeah, then why don’t I remember you?” she shot back, clearly proud of her logical smackdown.

  Too bad that high school was anything but logical.

  Jenna Jeffries had floated through it in a charmed pink champagne bubble. It was as if the only people she could see were other beautiful people. Athletes, preps, fashionistas. Kids whose parents’ leisure travel let them host ragers at their mansions in the hills. More vapid than sadistic, she was probably just aping Ashlee when she taunted me with the Goody Two-shoes nickname. For four years we’d occupied the same small campus, but we might as well have lived in separate dimensions.

  Was I really going to have to explain this to her?

  “Everyone remembers the VIPs,” I said, gritting my teeth as I glanced around for other bridesmaids to come save me. “Not everyone remembers the cake bakers in life, but that’s ok because we—”

  “You’re not a VIP, you just admitted it.” Jenna slurringly decreed from behind me. “This dress is for bridesmaids only. You don’t get to wear it.” Her clammy hands were on my neck suddenly, tugging at the zipper. Where oh where were her handlers? In a blink she’d yanked the zipper down to my waist.

  I gasped as the cold air hit my back. “Jenna, no!” I felt instantly naked, but darn that rule three of being a Green Witch! I wasn’t allowed to Augment Mine Appearance. I tried to push her away, but she was strong as heck. It was going to take magic to keep her from finishing the job.

  I whispered:

  Since we can’t avoid a rumble

  One of us must take a tumble,

  My apology is humble,

  But I’m going to make you
stumble NOW!

  Jenna tripped over her own stiletto heel and landed on her sculpted butt, crying out in surprise.

  “Whoa, Jenna?” Another copper-colored blur was approaching fast. The petite, blonde bridesmaid running to Jenna’s side was Britt Hansen, Jenna’s old buddy and my third high school tormentor. What a reunion, ugh. She must be back in town especially for the wedding since, according to various town gossips, she’d been living the party girl lifestyle in downtown Portland for the last decade. No wonder her complexion looked so pale and wan. Her mischievous green eyes and button nose, however, were just as quick to express her impatience as ever.

  “Get up, idiot,” she barked at Jenna, surprising me as I thought the diatribe would aimed at me. “Your drunk-chick thing’s not cute anymore, it’s tired. You’re almost thirty.” While Britt was berating Jenna, I did my best to zip up my dress, then threw the jacket back on. “Ceremony’s about to start, we all need to get in our places—so get it together.”

  “Everything ok here?” At the sound of a refined male voice I turned to see Drew Kensington himself was at my side. I was so dazed I hadn’t seen him approach with his long, strong legs, flashing his filet-mignon-chomping white teeth.

  Every molecule of him was a visual argument for upping one’s protein consumption.

  Reaching out with both hands, Drew gently helped an embarrassed Jenna to her feet. Guided her to a nearby chair. Poured her a glass of ice water from a crystal pitcher on the table. Watching him, it struck me that perhaps he didn’t need the infinite patience addendum. If this was how calmly he picked up his fiancée’s drunk best friend off the floor . . . that’s when I remembered. High school. Jenna and Drew dated. Only for a few months, but they were a smoking hot couple.

  Weird how you could still kind of tell.

  And weirder that he was marrying Jenna’s best friend.

  “Hazel Greenwood?” Britt narrowed her eyes at me. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

  I just about jumped out of my skin. “You remember my name? Like, the whole thing?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? We went to school together, and it’s not that big a place.” Her green eyes flashed with irritation at my slowness. “Plus, you were best friends with Max de Klaw.” She chuckled heartily. “Who could forget that weirdo?”

  “Don’t call her a weirdo.” Despite the way Max had let me down when we were teenagers and kept me at arm’s length as an adult, I couldn’t help but feel protective of her against a member of the bully trio. “Look, she may have done certain gross things to your locker in revenge for that one time when you said we were—”

  “Relax, I meant weirdo as a compliment.” She smiled, a mysterious smile that crinkled her eyes. “In fact, I bet the three of us have lots in common these days.”

  I blinked. That . . . didn’t sound like the Britt I remembered.

  She snapped her fingers in Jenna’s direction. “Try to pass for semisober, idiot, it’s go time.” Ok, so that was the Britt I remembered. She turned back to me, her green eyes dancing with mischief. “Say hi to Max for me.”

  “You’d have to tell her hi yourself,” I muttered. “She doesn’t reliably speak to me. Especially now that she’s ditched the bakery. I may never see her again.”

  But Britt wasn’t listening to my lament. She’d already wrapped her arm around Jenna, who was back on her feet but shaky, and was frog-marching her out of the dining room.

  Drew lingered, his dark eyes settling on me. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  My tween self would have swooned on the spot.

  Adult Hazel had no illusions about her place in Drew Kensington’s life.

  “Hazel Greenwood, cake baker.” I stuck out my hand. “At your service.”

  To my surprise, his big square prince face lit up. “I’m honored to meet the talent behind such a work of art.” He eagerly pumped my hand. His gaze was bold yet guileless, like a young falcon’s. It was hard for me to look away. “At Kensington Industries, one of our core values is valuing those who add value.”

  “Erm . . . Thank you . . . ?” My inner tweenager still longed to think well of Drew, but I had no idea what he’d just said. Was it way over my head? Or just b.s.?

  And what the hex was Kensington Industries? I always thought they’d inherited their money from a robber baron ancestor.

  One of the jerky ones, who didn’t give to charity.

  “Come with me, Hazel.” With a dazzling smile, Drew Kensington took my elbow—a gesture I would not have expected from a man of my own generation, but it felt nice if a bit stilted. Like he was trying to act more mature and overshooting by about fifty years. “I’d like to invite you sit with the other talented artists and our honored staff at the ceremony.”

  “Oh . . . really? Now?” I stole one final glance at my cake, my poor unblessed cake. If I walked away now, the ritual was incomplete.

  Drew laughed. “Definitely now. My mom would never forgive me if I’m late to this.”

  Your mom? I nearly blurted out. Not Ashlee?

  I tried to think of a graceful way to stall, but he was already in motion, practically dragging me along by the crook of my elbow.

  “Come on, don’t be shy.” We were through the doors, back out into the beautiful courtyard where waiters hovered with copper plates of hors d'oeuvre. “These are the best people I know. They’re like family, only better—because you can fire them. Kidding!” He laughed at what must have been my shocked expression. “No, our family’s never fired a staff member.”

  “Not even once?” That was crazy. Even I’d had to fire someone, a college girl we’d hired as a holiday bakery helper. She’d been too stoned to do much of anything but sneak brownies from the kitchen.

  “Not once in a hundred years, Hazel.” He smiled. “Our extreme vetting process defines the state of the art. And look, here they are. The results of our patented process.”

  He led me toward a circle of people standing on the grass, and I felt a little thrill at the sight of David among them. I was starting to get used to Drew’s over-the-top way of speaking, like he was pitching a tech startup at all times. But it was still a little creepy how he’d talked about the staff as “results” of a “process.” Drew dropped me off with one final glowing word salad—at one point, I believe he called me a “pastry pioneer.”

  At last, he made his regal way toward the shiny copper aisle where his attendants were already lined up, waiting to perform their ritual walks toward an altar laid with copper cloth and strewn with hundreds of beige roses.

  As Drew ambled off to go marry the meanest bully in the world, a thickset, red-bearded guy about my age reached out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Hazel. I’m Landon, the ‘culinary artist.’” He made finger quotes and snickered. “You know, like, I cook stuff for the Kensingtons. I’m a cook.”

  Everyone laughed good-naturedly. I noticed Landon, like most of the others, was wearing black dress pants and a matching turtleneck. They looked like a theatre crew.

  “Nice to see you again, Hazel.” Estelle’s assistant Leeza waved at me. She wore a simple black sweaterdress and leggings. Her angled lob haircut and makeup was on point.

  Only David was dressed fancy, maybe because he was interfacing with the public?

  “So how goes the great Ashlee assistant search?” David asked Leeza.

  She gave an exaggerated sigh. “It goes. Have you seen her latest requirement . . . ‘must have a higher BMI than me, while not being one pound overweight?’ Seriously, are we supposed to weigh candidates now?”

  David guffawed. “Just buy her a magic mirror already, that tells her she’s the fairest of them all.”

  “I’d rather die than be that woman’s assistant,” I muttered under my breath, but Leeza must have heard it because she giggled and put a friendly hand on my shoulder.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Hazel, but you’re not assistant material. I can tell. What you are is a creative, talented baker, which is far more rare. In fact .
. . ” She tapped her lower lip with her finger as if considering me. “I don’t suppose you might be interested in catering dessert for one of our parties sometime?”

  Oh, yay! The networking. It was really happening.

  “Sure, I’d be open to that,” I said with a smile.

  “And so it begins,” Landon said gleefully. “Welcome to the lucrative world of the Hill. Honey, these people cater everything from breakfast in bed to tea with the governor. You could work every weekend if you want to.”

  “It’s true, if you can get on their party list they’ll use you for everything,” David confirmed with a smile. “They’re loyal customers, Fred and Estelle.”

  “By the way, they’re also excellent employers—and the pay’s fantastic.” Landon arched his eyebrows in a way he probably didn’t know made him look like an owl on an acid trip. “We’re talking new house down payment money here.” Or bakery remodeling money? I thought. “Or you could buy yourself a little boat if that’s your thing.”

  “Very small boat,” qualified a slip of a redheaded girl, in a Russian accent. “Rowboat, leaky type. Or toy boat.” She stuck out a slim, cool hand for me to shake. “Marina, Drew’s personal assistant—and I sew. I helped with the wedding party’s dresses. Now Drew says I am ‘emerging fashion designer,’” she added, and laughed raucously along with everyone else. “But seriously, he wants to help me develop my talent,” she added. “He is a very supportive boss.”

  I tried to square “supportive boss” David’s indulgent view of Drew as an overgrown party boy and decided Drew must be maturing in layers. I could relate.

  From the outdoor stage, the dulcet tones of a trio of harps indicated it was time for the guests to shuffle toward our seats for the ceremony. David took his leave to go shoot some photos, but by then I felt bonded with the group. Grateful to be walking in a clump with them instead of by my lonesome, I listened with interest to their offhand chatter.