Witches and Wedding Cake

by Bailey Cates

  Eliza snorted.

  Tucker turned and looked at her full on. She blinked and seemed to falter for a few seconds, but then her jaw set, and she glared at him. My assessment of Declan’s older sister ramped up a few notches.

  “Now, Lizzie,” he said in a teasing tone. “You know you love me.”

  She visibly bristled. “I most certainly do not love you. I don’t even remotely like you. And neither does Aurora. Leave her alone.”

  He shook his head. “I think Rori can speak for herself.” Suddenly, he looked over his shoulder at a car going by on the street. He frowned and turned back. “Rori? What do you say? Are you going to show some of that lovely Southern charm and invite me in for a chat? I came to apologize for what happened in DC. You never gave me a chance to really do that, you know.”

  Rori stared at him with a dazed expression. “Well, I suppose—”

  Eliza put her hand on Rori’s shoulder. Her sister looked up at her, and I saw her eyes clear.

  She met Tucker’s gaze. “Um, no. I don’t think so. Sorry. I don’t have anything to say to you. It’s too late for apologies. I’ve moved on.”

  Another car went by. Tucker didn’t turn around this time, but I saw him hunch his shoulders and rub the back of his neck. A tingle went down my own spine, and I looked out in time to see a dark, nondescript vehicle drive past on the street. It didn’t even slow, yet it struck me that Tucker was acting as if someone might be following him. I felt my eyes narrow in suspicion, but he wasn’t paying any attention to me.

  He trained another thousand-watt smile on Rori. “You sure about that? I have a present for you.”

  Rori looked intrigued, and her lips began to curve up. Then Eliza’s fingers squeezed her shoulder again. Rori blinked and gave a quick shake of her head. “No thanks, Tucker. I don’t want anything from you.”

  “Oh, now. Don’t be like that, honey.”

  Yuck. Just . . . yuck.

  His hand dipped into his pocket and came out with a small ceramic birdhouse. About five inches high and four inches around, it was too small to house anything but a hummingbird—and not even that because the opening was painted on. The whole thing was covered with depictions of swirling yellow ribbons, tiny blue-glazed birds, and bas-relief daisies, the edges of their protruding petals gilded with gold paint.

  It was kitschier than kitsch.

  “I tracked this down just for you, Rori. I’ve been waiting months for a chance to give it to you. I hope it can make up for some of the difficulty between us.”

  Eliza tried the shoulder squeeze again, but Rori shrugged her off and took a couple steps toward him. After a few seconds of hesitation, she took the birdhouse from his hand. As she did, I noticed he was wearing a totally over-the-top signet ring. A large ruby glinted in the center of it.

  Rory turned the birdhouse in her hand. “What is it?”

  “It’s a music box. See, you wind the base, and then it plays ‘When You Wish Upon a Star.’” He took it from her to demonstrate, then handed it back to her. A few bars of the classic Disney song plinked weakly from inside. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but it’s quite valuable, and I remember how much you love that song . . . what’s wrong?”

  Rori’s face had suddenly flushed. She stepped forward, and he backed down the steps. “You want to give me a music box?” she growled. “A music box? To make up for what you did?” Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away. “How dare you.”

  For the first time, the beautiful man looked unsure. “Now, honey, you know that whole thing with your boss wasn’t my fault.”

  The sliminess beneath his smooth surface ratcheted up.

  Rori faltered, then shook her head as if to get the impression of him out of it. “No? Then whose was it? I couldn’t even get a letter of reference after I was fired, and you . . .” She shook her head again, harder. “Why am I even trying to talk to you? It’s impossible.” Her jaw clenched, and I saw more of a similarity between the sisters. “Go,” she said. “Just go. And don’t come back. Not ever.” She was shaking. “If I ever see you again, I’ll be forced to do something I’ll regret.”

  “Oh, now, Rori. You know you don’t mean that.” But uncertainty flickered in his eyes.

  “I swear, Tucker. I’ll do whatever it takes to get you to leave me alone. Whatever it takes.”

  My lips parted in surprise at the same time Aggie pushed by me to stand by her daughters.

  “I think you’d better move along, son.” Her tone was firm, but when her eyes met his, she swayed a little.

  Mungo moved to stand beside Rori, his feet planted foursquare and his shoulders hunched. This time his growl was quite audible.

  Tucker stared at my dog, taken aback. Looked up at me. Then at Eliza. “Ah. I see. Right. I’ll just be on my way then. If you change your mind, I’m at the Spotlight Motel.” He paused. “My apartment is being, er, exterminated. You know, termites.” He turned and started toward the street. On the sidewalk, he stopped and peered left and right, then looked at Rori over his shoulder. His hand came up, and he made the universal phone gesture with his thumb by his ear and his little finger by his lips.

  I’ll call you, he mouthed, then turned and, dodging a mail carrier who had paused on the sidewalk to watch the exchange, scurried in the direction of the river.

  The gardener who’d been trimming the hedge stood looking between the departing man and the cluster of women in the doorway.

  When we stepped back, Eliza didn’t quite slam the door, but it was close. To my surprise, she reached down and gave Mungo a quick scritch behind his ears. “Good dog.”

  I looked around at the other three women standing in the foyer. “Was that who I think it was?”

  “Tucker Abbott.” Aggie appeared to have regained her equilibrium.

  “My ex-husband.” Rori’s face was blotchy with emotion.

  Eliza shook her head. “Thank God you didn’t have any children with that man.”

  A strangled sound rose in Rori’s throat. Clutching the music box, she turned and fled up the stairs.

  “Eliza, really. Was that necessary?” Aggie asked.

  She pressed her lips together. “You must agree, Mother. It’s a blessing they didn’t. Rori would have had to deal with that troglodyte for the rest of her life if they had a child. As it was, their marriage, short as it was, never should have happened. I’ll never forgive Declan for introducing them.” Eliza looked at me. “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

  “I, uh. Well. Tucker is certainly . . . interesting.”

  “He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Don’t be fooled, Katie.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t.”

  She quirked an eyebrow at me, perhaps reassessing me as I had her.

  Then the moment was gone. Eliza turned away and put her hand on the banister. “I’d better go make nice with Rori.” She sighed and trudged up the stairs. “Thank you for the goodies, Katie.”

  “You’re welcome,” I called to her retreating back. It had been a small price to pay for not having to argue with her about my wedding party. The floor show had been a bit intense, though.

  “Well, my dear.” Aggie half smiled. “Welcome to the McCarthy clan.”

  I gave her a wry look and bent to pick up Mungo. “Thanks, Mom.”

  She looked surprised, and I couldn’t help grinning as I turned to leave.

  Then I saw something that I hadn’t noticed before and paused. The mirror on the wall over the entry table had a frame constructed of stained glass.

  And the designs in that glass were of dragonflies in every conceivable color.

  Oh, for Pete’s sake. Enough already. I got it.

  Whatever I was supposed to be on the lookout for, it had something to do with Tucker Abbott. Or maybe, Tucker Abbott himself was what I was supposed to be on the lookout for. I certainly ha
dn’t cared for the way he talked to Rori. Still, he hadn’t seemed dangerous. Just . . . icky—and maybe a little paranoid.

  “Katie? Are you all right?” Aggie asked.

  I forced a smile and began walking to the door. “Fine and dandy. A little tired.” I opened the door and stepped outside. “See you soon.”

  “Okay . . .” her voice trailed behind me as I hurried to my car.

  Halfway across the street, I realized my shoulders were bent forward. I straightened and lifted my chin, immediately feeling better. Dragonflies or no, whatever they portended this time was going to have to wait. It was too soon since the last time the appearance of my totem had preceded a tragedy.

  Simply too darn soon.

  And nothing was going to ruin my wedding.

  Chapter 3

  On the way back to the bakery, I shoved all thought of dragonflies out of my mind and tried to wrap my mind around what had just happened with my future in-laws. I’d known Rori was divorced but didn’t know many of the details. I still didn’t, despite having met her ex.

  Well, not exactly met. The image of his face as he’d realized that I could see through his glamour flicked onto my mental movie screen.

  “You know,” I said to Mungo, who was buckled back into the passenger seat. “The more I think about it, the more I have to wonder if this Tucker fellow realizes what he’s doing. Could he simply think he’s that naturally attractive and persuasive?”

  Yip!

  “He has to know he’s fooling people, that he’s a different guy inside than what he projects.” I stopped at a red light and glanced over at Mungo. He was watching me with bright, intelligent eyes. “Which begs the question of what he is inside, really. I mean, he’s obviously a jerk, but there was a pretty unpleasant undercurrent to his vibe. And what’s up with that music box? I have a lot of questions for Declan.”

  However, they’d have to wait. My familiar yawned, then settled farther into the seat as the light turned green. I accelerated toward the parking garage near the Honeybee.

  The bakery was packed, and the afternoon passed in a busy blur. I managed to break away to research possible wedding officiants who could step in for Judge Matthews and left two of them voice mails checking on availability. I didn’t feel great about either of them, since I didn’t know them. Still, we needed someone to marry us, and I was hoping I’d at least have some options by the time Declan got off work.

  By closing time, I was tired and hungry. Uncle Ben must have been, too, because he offered to pick up some takeout from Rancho Alegre and bring it to the carriage house. He and Lucy were coming over to help get the last things in order, including unpacking boxes I’d been ferrying from Declan’s apartment for more than a week.

  “Oh, yum. That would be awesome.” I turned off the music and reached for the light switches.

  “What can I get you?” He had a pen in his hand, waiting to take my order.

  “Hmm. How about a Cuban bowl. No, the ropa vieja.” Shredded beef in creole sauce. Yum. “No, wait.” I held up my hand. “The pabellón criollo.” My stomach audibly growled at the very thought of the shredded beef in creole sauce with the additions of fried egg, rice, black beans, plantains, and queso fresco.

  My uncle grinned.

  I let my hand drop. “Go ahead and laugh. I’m hungry, and I love that place.”

  “You skipped lunch again, didn’t you?” Lucy asked.

  I shrugged. “No time.”

  She made a face but didn’t admonish me. “We’ll see you at your house, then.”

  “Sounds good. And thanks for spending your evening doing this.”

  “Oh, it won’t take long.”

  “I don’t know.” I picked up Mungo so he wouldn’t have to walk on the hot pavement outside. “There are a lot of boxes.”

  “And we’ll have a lot of help. I called in the cavalry.”

  “The spellbook club?”

  “Sounds like they can all make it. Honeybee? We’re ready to go,” Lucy called.

  In response, the orange-and-yellow-striped feline strolled languidly out from the library section of the bakery and stepped delicately into her fancy leather carrier.

  Bending to kiss my aunt on the cheek, I said, “You are a gem. And they’re gems, too.”

  “I’ll get enough food for everyone.” Ben reached into his pocket for his keys.

  I gave him a kiss on the cheek for good measure and grabbed my tote bag.

  Cookie Rios was already there when my familiar and I arrived at the carriage house. She was standing on the sidewalk by the street, chatting with my neighbor and good friend, Margie Coopersmith. Cookie’s baby bump had become pronounced beneath her lime green sundress, and her jade-colored eyes sparkled as she laughed at something my neighbor said. The bright sunshine brought out hints of natural red in her black hair, and her golden-brown skin glowed with health and happiness. A silver pendant in the shape of a stylized heart hung around her neck. It was an intricate piece of jewelry, but I knew it also happened to be a voodoo talisman of love her husband, Oscar, had given her.

  Margie wore khaki shorts and a sleeveless button-front shirt. Her white-blond hair was swept into a practical ponytail, and her broad Scandinavian face was tanned from a summer spent with her kids at the community swimming pool. She kept a practiced eye on Baby Bart, her three-year-old who would probably still be “Baby Bart” when he was fifteen. The older Coopersmith twins, Jonathan and Julia, could be heard playing in their backyard.

  My friends turned when Mungo barreled out of my car and headed straight for Bart. The little boy greeted the dog with outstretched arms. Moments later they were both sprawled on the lawn, and Bart was shrieking with laughter.

  Margie motioned me over. “Thank heavens you’re going to be back home in another week. Us married ladies are going to have to get together for a glass of wine so I can regale you with advice on wifedom.”

  Experience told me the wine would be pink, it would be sweet, and it would come in a jug almost too big to lift.

  Cookie rolled her eyes. “Just like she’s been offering me advice on momdom.” Though she’d moved to the United States with her mother and brother when she was a child, a slight Haitian accent still lilted beneath her words.

  Margie wagged her finger and grinned. “I’ve had both those boxes checked for years. You might as well take advantage of my experience.”

  “It’s true she makes the mom thing look effortless,” I told Cookie. “And she does a lot of it by herself, too, since Redding’s on the road so much.” Margie’s husband was a long-haul truck driver. “Come to think of it, they make the marriage thing look pretty easy, too, even with his job taking him away. Maybe we should listen to her.”

  “Ha!” Margie said. “Maybe our marriage works so well exactly because that man of mine is gone so much!” Her tone was bantering, and she was laughing, but I could tell she missed him.

  “How long this time?” I asked.

  “Another few days. Don’t worry. He’ll be back in time for the wedding.”

  I nodded. “Good. Are the flower kids still excited?” I’d asked the JJs, which was Jonathan and Julia’s collective moniker, to be my flower kids at the wedding.

  “Over the moon.” Margie pulled out her phone to check the time. “Speaking of those two, I suppose I should wrestle up some grub for them. I’m trying one of those meal services. You know, the ones that send you all the ingredients and you simply put it all together?” Margie was the first to admit she was a consummate disaster in the kitchen.

  “How’s that going?” Cookie asked.

  “I’ve only tried two of them. Burned the first one, and the second one was too raw to eat. Threw it away and nuked some mac and cheese. But if we go with the Goldilocks principle, tonight’s dinner should be just right. At least I hope so. It’s chicken tacos, and those kids love themsel
ves a taco.”

  “Third time’s a charm,” I agreed. “Good luck!”

  She gave us a thumbs-up, leaned down, and took Bart’s hand. Together they walked toward her house. Mungo looked up at me from where he’d been playing with Bart.

  Yip?

  “Come on, little guy. Let’s get to work.”

  Jaida’s SUV pulled up behind the Lexus that Cookie had purchased when she started selling real estate. The back door of the vehicle lifted, and Jaida’s familiar bounded out. Anubis was a Great Dane with gorgeous brindle markings. The huge dog reached Mungo in three leaps, and the two touched noses in greeting. Jaida exited her vehicle, briefcase in one hand, bottle of wine in the other.

  “You’ve come prepared,” I said.

  “I thought we might want provisions. Sorry, Cookie.”

  “There’s sweet tea in the fridge,” I said.

  “That’ll be fine,” the younger witch said. “I never drank much before the pregnancy, so I don’t exactly miss it.”

  “I would,” Jaida said with feeling. “Especially wine with dinner.” She held up her briefcase. “I need to change my clothes. Came straight from court.”

  Her silky blue suit gave testimony to that. She’d cut her hair quite short for the summer and had switched out contact lenses for tortoiseshell-framed glasses that suited her strong features and mahogany skin. She was one of the best defense attorneys in Savannah, a kick-ass witch who specialized in tarot, and a wonderful friend.

  “You brought clothes in your briefcase?” I asked.

  “Well, sure. All my work stuff is in my computer bag.”

  “Right.” We walked to the tiny porch of the carriage house, and I opened the door for them. “I’ll join you in a sec. I’m going to let the dogs into the backyard.”

  Anubis and Mungo happily gamboled through the gate as soon as I opened it. It was shady back there, and a small stream cut diagonally across one corner with cold, clear water for them to drink.