“I’m Olaf Betzen,” he said, voice carrying a slight accent, though Amber didn’t have the faintest clue where it was from. “And you, my lovely, are …?”
Amber swallowed. “Blamber Ackwood.” She giggled again. This was becoming a problem. “No! Amber. Amber Blackwood.”
He was still smiling at her. “It’s lovely to meet you, Amber.”
It occurred to her then that she should use her truth spell on him. One could never be too sure. Even if he was so impossibly attractive it was hard to imagine him capable of anything sinister. The worst thing he could possibly do was have a smile so dazzling, it made the sun jealous.
Gracious. What was happening to her?
Forcing herself to take a slow, calming breath, she mentally uttered the incantation, then asked, “What is the purpose of your time here in Edgehill, Olaf Betzen?”
A vein twitched in his temple. Was he annoyed by her question? It was the only sign she’d seen that he was anything but perfectly agreeable. But with these famous types, she had to assume a large part of their outward demeanor when addressing the public had to be fabricated. It took him a few moments to formulate a reply. “I’m here to sow a little chaos.” He laughed.
Then Amber remembered that “Let’s sew some chaos” had been the phrase on several of the Ramp It Up fan shirts. It wasn’t a lie as far as her magic was concerned. Amber wasn’t sure what “sewing chaos” meant on the show, but she assumed it had something to do with extra challenges for the contestants to keep them on their A-game. Was he planning something special for the Edgehill designers?
His gaze cut to someone behind her. “And you are?”
Someone else was here?
Jack! Jack was here.
“I’m Jack Terrence,” he said, coming around the table to shake Olaf’s hand now.
“Ah, yes, the baker of the treats I was promised,” Olaf said, eying the table of goodies. “This is quite the spread.”
“Edgehill wanted to give you a warm welcome,” Jack said, talking like a normal human who remembered his name. “Is there anything else we can get you?”
Just then, several people laden down with bags appeared in the doorway, looking nothing short of harassed. They practically pushed their way into the room without a glance at either Jack or Amber.
Olaf sucked in a quick breath through his nose, eyebrows going up. “Well, it was lovely meeting you both. And I’ll be sure to let you know what I think of your pastries, Mr. Terrence. Your reputation precedes you, I must say.”
And then suddenly she and Jack were out in the hallway and the door was closed. She stared at the askew sign on the door. No wonder the entire town had lost its collective mind. It had only taken her all of ten seconds to fall under his spell.
Taking a calming breath, she turned to Jack, not sure how to address the fact that the mere presence of Olaf Betzen had turned her into a ninny.
Jack was barely holding back a laugh. “Shall we go find our seats, Blamber?”
“I hate you,” she said, turning on her heel and marching away from him, not entirely sure where she was going.
It took Jack a while to stop laughing.
The auditorium had been transformed into something Amber had only seen on TV—though admittedly not on Ramp It Up. The stage stood at the back, its black curtains pulled shut. Down the middle of the room, until about halfway, ran a stretch of thin, light-colored wood; a darker brown strip ran down the center of it. Amber guessed the makeshift runway was about three feet wide, and rows of chairs had been set up to face it. The rows were each three deep, with a space behind them for people to stand if they weren’t lucky enough to snag chairs. Front row was reserved for families of the designers and models, as well as press. A man with a massive camera on a tripod was getting set up at the end of the runway in the dead center.
Larry had already set up the refreshments here, the table by the entrance piled high with treats. It was the most popular location in the room.
A news anchor stood near the entrance of the auditorium, talking animatedly to her cameraman.
Amber and Jack stood just beyond the rows of chairs, but away from the news anchor and the swarm of people sampling Jack’s pastries. Their own little patch of no man’s land. “This whole thing is a bigger deal than I realized. No wonder you’ve been panicking.”
“Not helping,” Jack sing-songed as he took in their surroundings.
“Where’s Larry?” she asked, scanning the room now too.
“Who knows,” Jack said. “He’s not big on crowds. I’m guessing he’s observing things from afar and will slip in to watch the show once it starts and everyone is focused on the runway.” He let out a gusting sigh. “I should probably help at the table over there, right? Sally and Paul are passing out plates and napkins. Poor kids look like they need a vacation.”
For the next half hour, Amber helped dish out pastries. Jack answered all manner of questions and passed out a handful of Purrcolate business cards. A woman was having an English tea as part of her sister’s birthday celebration next month and wanted Jack’s scones on the menu. Another woman was having a Mad Hatter wedding and wanted Jack’s help. A man wanted several dozen pastries for an upcoming family reunion. Amber had to dash off to the kitchen to grab more boxes to help replenish the stock. Twice.
The nearer it got to 4:00, the more crowded the auditorium became. People—many in Ramp It Up fan shirts—streamed into the room, pointing and whispering to one another. The news anchor interviewed person after person in hopes of snagging that perfect soundbite to play on the air later.
With a half hour until the show, Jack ran clean out of pastries. The table was littered only with empty platters and crumbs now. He couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off his face. He left a stack of his business cards on the table.
They found some seats in the middle of the second row.
Amber bumped him with her shoulder. “What was that—five orders?”
He grinned at her. “Seven.”
“Told you,” she said.
He draped an arm around the back of her chair and slipped down in his seat a little, finally relaxing. “Thanks for hanging with me today.”
“Of course,” she said, smiling at him. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“Ugh!” someone said.
Amber glanced up to see Larry standing in front of them. “You two are always making with the goo-goo eyes. It’s really quite gross.”
“And where have you been?” Jack asked, ignoring his brother’s previous comment.
“Working the crowd,” he said. “I think I got us three orders.”
“I got seven.”
Larry wrinkled his nose. “Such a show-off.”
“You an Olaf Betzen fan?” Amber asked him.
“I’m human, aren’t I?” Then Larry got a goofy smile on his face.
“We met him earlier.”
Larry dramatically plopped into the chair in front of them. “No! What happened? Tell me everything.”
“Amber here was so completely besotted—”
“Besotted is a stretch …”
“Like I said,” Jack said. “She was so besotted, she mispronounced her own name.”
Larry winced. “That’s rough. But he’s also the most beautiful man on the planet, so …”
“I had no idea,” Amber admitted. “The poster on Willow’s door back in high school didn’t do the man any justice.”
Larry tsked. “I’m glad Jack here is getting your butt out of the house more. You’ve been folded into the Terrence brothers’ inner circle now. You can’t be Edgehill’s recluse anymore.”
Amber frowned. Edgehill’s recluse? Had she really gotten that bad?
When music—some pop song she didn’t know—started pumping through the speakers spaced out all over the room, Larry moved from his row into theirs, taking a seat on Jack’s other side. Others scrambled to their seats too. The press people in the front row whipped out small notepads, and the man at the en
d of the runway checked his camera’s viewfinder and adjusted a few things on his equipment.
A few minutes later, the music got a bit louder and the lighting got a bit dimmer. Cheers and applause rang throughout the room and Amber had to remind herself that this was a fashion show, and not a concert. A pair of women behind Amber squealed.
Mayor Deidrick stepped out onto the stage, much to the disappointment of the crowd. Amber hadn’t seen him since the town hall meeting a month or so ago when he’d named Kimberly Jones the new committee head in the wake of Melanie’s death.
He was in his early fifties and had one of those disarmingly charming smiles despite being a rather plain-looking man. Amber supposed most people in office had some charm factor. Someone who was good at talking to random people with ease.
“I’m very pleased to welcome you all to Edgehill’s first junior fashion show!” the mayor said into his microphone.
The crowd cheered. Someone started chanting “Olaf! Olaf!” in the back but was quickly shushed.
Mayor Deidrick just smiled. “As you all know, we have a very special guest here tonight. Before I welcome him to the stage, don’t forget the real reason we’re all here: to showcase the talent of Edgehill’s young people. They have been working tirelessly for weeks to put together their best collections for you all to see. We are very proud of our young designers.”
The crowd cheered again, though it was a bit more muted.
The mayor knew he was merely an opening act for a big name. “Without further ado, please give a round of applause to our guest of honor: Olaf Betzen!”
He walked offstage.
If she hadn’t met the very alluring Olaf earlier, Amber would have continued to think all the fuss over the man had been over the top. Now she got it, even though she couldn’t completely explain it.
A light shone down on the now-empty stage; the seating area nearly pitch black. The tension in the crowd was palpable. When the curtains finally parted and revealed a dapper Olaf in all white, the reaction was nearly deafening. Amber found herself clapping enthusiastically and had to remind herself to calm down.
“Hello and welcome, everyone,” Olaf said, his voice like a purr. A woman behind Amber swooned. “I am Olaf Betzen.”
Half the crowd jumped to their feet to applaud him further.
He grinned, doing his best to look abashed. His teeth were another flash of white to match his outfit. “Please, please,” he said. “You’re all too kind.”
Amber noticed then that there was a cameraman on either side of the stage, both focused on Olaf. She wondered if this footage would be used in one of his shows.
“As you all know, today we’re here for a fashion show in Edgehill, Oregon. It wasn’t a place I’d ever heard of before, but the Instagram feed of one Letty Rodriguez—”
The crowd cheered again.
“—and her infinitely talented son Diego, put this little cat-loving town on the map for me. When I saw what some of the young designers were working on here, I knew I had to come see it for myself.” He paused dramatically. “I don’t often make appearances at events such as this, so I’m sure you’ve all guessed that I have a little surprise up my sleeve. You know how I love surprises.”
The audience chuckled knowingly.
Without preamble, he said, “The winner of today’s fashion show is guaranteed a spot on Ramp It Up: Junior Edition, season 3!”
The crowd was on its feet again. A distant chorus of screams and cheers sounded beyond the auditorium and Amber pictured the young designers jumping up and down at this news. She hoped the smile on Sydney Sadler’s face was so wide that it hurt.
Olaf beamed. “So, dear hearts, let’s get this thing started! Ramp it up—”
“And let’s sew some chaos!” the audience called back.
“What on earth is happening?” Jack whispered in her ear.
She laughed, turning back to look at him. The room was dark, so she could barely make out his features in the half light. “You’re not an avid Ramp It Up viewer?”
“I think I’ve seen … two episodes? Three years ago?”
“Travesty,” Larry trilled from his other side, his superhero hearing still in tip-top shape.
When the crowd started to cheer again, Amber turned back to the stage. A young boy stood there with a microphone. He looked so tiny standing up there by himself. And downright terrified.
“Hi, everyone.” He waved awkwardly. “My collection today is mostly menswear and stuff for boys.” Then he abruptly walked off the stage.
The crowd chuckled politely.
Music started seconds later, and the first male model made his way onto the stage from the dark recesses that lay beyond the curtains. Amber had no idea if the models came with Olaf, or were professionals acquired from outside of Edgehill, or Edgehill residents—perhaps some combination of all three. Each collection had six looks, but from what snatches of conversation she’d heard today, the designers would feature ten looks for the Here and Meow.
Amber knew very little about fashion, but she found herself truly amazed at what these kids were able to create with just fabric and thread. Amber considered it a small miracle when she could refasten a button, and she usually had her magic to help her.
The third designer to take the stage was a young girl Amber knew: Sydney Sadler. Amber had met her briefly last month when she and Connor had visited Letty Rodriquez’s Angora Threads. It was during her conversation with Sydney that Amber realized the person responsible for the death of her friend was Sydney’s mother. What was young Sydney’s life like now that her mother had been arrested for murder?
Guilt clouded her mind every time she saw or thought about Sydney.
“Hi,” the blonde said into the microphone. “My collection today was inspired by the 1950s. It’s an era my mom really loved and she and I watched old movies from that time together a lot. I love the fashion of that time and thought it would be fun to create some designs of my own. Hope you like them!”
She smiled slightly, then speed-walked off the stage.
By the third design, Amber had fallen in love with Sydney’s collection. The flowing skirts, the collared shirts, the abundant use of polka dots—all the pieces were things Amber would love to wear herself. Given the oohs and ahhs from several people around Amber, she knew she wasn’t the only one impressed with the twelve-year-old prodigy.
It was around design five though, that there was a shift in the crowd. From across the runway, a slight commotion broke out amongst the viewers. Chairs creaked, people turned in their seats, fingers went to mouths to shush the suddenly rowdy guests behind them.
But then a chair toppled over. Someone screamed. Then another, and another.
On Amber’s side of the runway, someone groaned and pitched back in their chair, which hit the ground with a sickening crunch. Amber hoped it was the chair that had made that sound, and not a skull hitting a hard, unyielding surface. Someone behind her cried out. Then the man directly in front of her pitched backward. Had Jack not pulled her out of the way, the man would have landed right in her lap.
But her thank-you to Jack died on her tongue when she saw what looked like tendrils of black crawling up the fallen man’s neck, onto his chin, and then snaking across his face. The lines scuttled over the man’s skin like spider legs. Amber knew if she pulled down the collar of his shirt, she’d see the starburst mark the spindly lines radiated out of.
She jumped to her feet, eyes scanning the crowd that was quickly starting to panic, some already running for the door.
Then she spotted Olaf Betzen on his feet near the stage at the start of the runway. Despite the chaos erupting around them, Olaf somehow only had eyes for her. He hadn’t been lying when he said he was here to sow chaos. Unfortunately, he hadn’t simply been repeating a catchphrase—he’d meant it literally.
Then he finger-waved at Amber. A playful gesture. Taunting.
She didn’t know if Olaf himself was a cursed witch, or if a curse
d witch was currently wearing his face. Either way, one thing was certain: the Penhallow had struck again.
Chapter 17
All around her, people cried out and screamed and made for the exits. Yet, Olaf and Amber hadn’t torn their eyes from each other.
Suddenly, he turned his attention to one of his shoulders, clad in pristine white. He flicked an invisible wayward thread off the material. The moment his finger shot forward, a woman in front of Amber, who was trying to climb over one of the folding chairs, let out a sickening groan, back arched. She collapsed onto one of the chairs, sitting awkwardly on her hip while she scrabbled with the hem of her shirt. Pulling it up, she revealed snaking black lines creeping around her side. The woman shrieked, rubbing frantically at the lines as if that would make them retreat. Amber knew there would be a starburst mark on her back where the Penhallow’s magic had hit her.
Jaw clenched, Amber started toward the witch, something akin to anger blurring her vision at the edges. She had no idea what she’d do when she got to him—she wasn’t sure she could do anything—but she wanted him to stop.
As she hurried down the thin aisle made by the chairs, she was vaguely aware of Jack and Larry calling after her. She stepped over discarded jackets, plates covered in crumbs, and even the occasional prone form.
A wall of blue rose up on her peripheral vision and she glanced to her left to see Chief Owen Brown fighting his way through the crowd streaming in the other direction. “Amber! Where is he?”
Carl was a few people back, helping a woozy man toward the doors. It was of little surprise that the news anchor and her cameraman were still documenting the event.
Amber swiveled her attention back to the chief, then said “Olaf” to him as loud as she dared. The chief’s expression hardened and he started pushing past people with more force now, not bothering to apologize.
When Olaf, who hadn’t moved since he started all this, caught sight of the chief heading his way, he smiled at Amber. “Oh, how quaint!” he said, clapping his hands together and then resting his chin on his steepled fingers. “You’ve befriended a member of law enforcement. Do you think he’s better equipped to handle this than the others here?” Olaf suddenly held out a hand before him and turned it this way and that, as if he’d never seen it before. “This one has the softest hands. Clearly hasn’t worked a day in his life.”
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