Jessica
Blue is the common color. Wear blue to win the trust—and hearts—of others.
Goody Fletcher, Book of Useful Household Tips
“That’s what you’re wearing?” I asked when Derrick came down my stairs in his usual black jeans and leather motorcycle jacket.
“Why?” He looked down at himself. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it. But the Bringer of Light’s girlfriend might be getting crowned Harvest Princess tonight. I’d have thought you’d get dressed up a little.”
“I did dress up a little.” He plucked at his black long-sleeved henley. “I changed my shirt.” Then his gaze fell on me. “Oh. I see.”
He came the rest of the way down the stairs, took one of my hands into his, then spun me around, causing my full skirt to twirl around me. “You look beautiful. Now I feel stupid.”
“No, you’re fine. You look great.” I was the one who felt stupid. He was just being nice, whereas I had snarked at him. One of the unfortunate things about my gift was that it didn’t work on myself. Prosperity spells? Yes. My bank account was full, and Enchantments, even without being able to take credit cards, was doing record business, thanks to the crowds coming in for the Tricentennial Festival.
But the ability to design a gown that looked great on myself? Not a skill that I possessed. Everything I owned came off the rack from the discount outlets—including what I was wearing, a midnight blue velvet minidress with a corset-inspired waistline, long, drapey sleeves, and a full skirt.
I was great at making money by telling other people what to wear. What I wasn’t great at was much of anything else.
“We’d better hurry if we want to get there on time,” I said, dropping his hand and the subject, and reaching for my handbag and coat.
“How come you can’t take a compliment?” He reached for me again, his fingers skimming the many buttons along the dress’s waistline.
“Oh, I can,” I assured him. Lie. “I’m just worried about the dress code.”
“There’s a dress code?”
“Yes, of course. It’s the Yacht Club.”
“How am I supposed to know what people wear to a yacht club?”
“I should have told you. It’s fancy. It’s for members only.”
“Are you a member?”
“No. What would I be doing, joining a yacht club? Do I look like someone who owns a yacht?”
His gaze flicked over my black lace patterned hose and platform boots. I won’t lie: there was some heat there. That was more flattering than any verbal compliment he could have given me. “Maybe.”
“The answer is no. No, I do not. And neither do you. But it’s too late to change now.” And the truth was, I didn’t really want him to. I couldn’t wait to see what all the West Harbor yachties made of Derrick, with his long hair and black leather motorcycle jacket and boots. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Pye’s cries at the unfairness of being locked inside the house for yet another night followed us to my car, but there was no way I was letting him roam freely. Not when the moon was nearly full, another king tide was predicted, and there were rumors of more wolf sightings. Someone claimed to have seen one in the Dairy Queen parking lot after midnight—a strange place for a wolf to hang out—while someone else insisted they’d seen several over by the high school.
Good thing Sal had given up and canceled school for the rest of the week after learning the newly resodded football field had been flooded. Nobody had been that enthusiastic about attending class during Tricentennial Week in the first place. Who was going to want to show up with a bunch of apex predators on the loose?
“So we’re only going to this to support Esther,” I said to Derrick as I steered Bluebell 2 into the Yacht Club parking lot. “And she’s only going to support Gabby. As soon as the two of them are out of there, we’re out, too. Right?”
“Of course.” Derrick was frowning. “Why would we stay?”
“Because people will try to make us.”
“What?” He looked as alarmed as if instead of people, I’d said demons. “Why?”
“They want me to join.” I pulled into a parking space marked Visitor and switched off the engine. “They used to not allow memberships to Jews and obviously not witches, but I guess they can’t afford to be choosy anymore. Memberships have gone way down, probably because they’re asking for twenty grand a year to join.”
Derrick’s silver eyes widened. “What kind of place is this?”
“The one place on earth even worse than the World Council of Witches.”
The Yacht Club was located right on the Sound—obviously, since people docked their yachts in the adjoining marina—and the scent of sea was strong enough to permeate even the new car smell inside Bluebell 2. I could hear waves sloshing against the nearby pier, as well as the more distant tinkle of the live jazz trio inside the single-story, mostly glass structure that housed the club. The original building had been destroyed by a nor’easter back in the 1950s, and the members had rebuilt in the style that was popular back then.
“So a hellscape,” Derrick said. “We’re about to enter a hellscape.”
I smiled and winked at him. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Obviously I’ve been to the Yacht Club before. Mark’s parents joined for a red-hot second back when their restaurant first took off. Mr. Giovanni thought that giving his wife an evening out every now and then, with some dinner and dancing, would be nice, and Mark’s sisters were delighted by the private outdoor pool.
Then Mrs. Giovanni tasted the food. The ensuing battle to get her family’s membership fee back was like nothing Connecticut had seen since—well, possibly the witch trials of the sixteen hundreds. The West Harbor Yacht Club was still trying to recover from Mama Giovanni having gone scorched earth on it.
Ever since, whenever I entered the building, I felt a little chill down my spine. I had a feeling Derrick might have felt it, too, since when he held the door open for me and I shivered going into the warm building, he looked down at me with a quizzical expression on his face.
But before I could explain, Rosalie was there before us, a tablet in her hand and a hands-free Bluetooth headset curled over one ear.
“Jessica!” she cried, looking startled, her blue eyes as bright and shiny as the floor-length gown she was wearing. “You came! I’m so . . . happy to see you.”
“Thanks. I’m . . . happy to see you, too.” Before I knew what was happening, a glass of champagne had been thrust into my hand from the tray of a nearby waiter, who’d been passing by.
“What?” Rosalie asked.
“I said I’m happy to see you—”
“No, not you, sorry.” Rosalie reached up to touch her earpiece and spoke to whoever was on the other end of the call she was receiving. “No, that’s not where I said I wanted them. I want them front of the stage. Front of the stage.”
“Okay,” I said, saluting her with the champagne. “Well, we’ll just—”
But she reached out and gripped my arm. “No, wait.” Into the headset, she said, “That’s right.” Then to me, she said, “Did you get it?”
For a second, I didn’t know what she was talking about. Then I realized. “Oh, the car! Yes! Thank you.” It was killing me, but I had to do it. “That was very kind of you. And Billy. It was kind of both of you. You didn’t have to.”
She did have to. She really did.
“I’m glad you like it.” Rosalie smiled frostily—though for some reason I felt it was more at Derrick, standing behind me, than at me. “I’m so glad. It seemed like the least Billy and I could do after all of your recent . . . troubles.”
Hmmm. Same old Rosalie.
“Yeah, well, it was really nice of you,” I said. “Good to know we can let bygones be bygones.”
“Of course we can.” Rosalie was as chilly as the ice princess from Frozen. “And thank you for coming. I think you’re both going to enjoy what I’ve got in store for you tonight.”
I did not like the sound of that. I could tell by the crook of his mouth that Derrick didn’t, either.
But before I could ask Rosalie what she meant, a tall older woman in a wine-colored jacket and wide-legged trouser suit—that I had sold to her—came hurrying over from the bar.
“Jessica!” she cried. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here! How are you?”
“I’m fine, how are you, Mayor?” I raised my eyebrows at Derrick to make sure he caught my emphasis on the word mayor. He nodded subtly back. “Did your wife give you the letter I—”
Her bright eyes twinkled at me. “Of course she did. What a little go-getter you have in that mentee of yours! Next thing I know, she’ll be gunning for my job.”
I laughed. She had no idea. “Well, I don’t know about that.” Esther’s aspirations were probably far higher. President, maybe. “Mayor Dunleavy, may I introduce you to Derrick Winters?”
“How lovely to meet you.” The mayor’s gaze ranged across Derrick the way Pye’s gaze ranged across birds he saw out the window. He wasn’t something she wanted to eat so much as thoroughly tear apart and internally explore. “I’ve heard so many good things about you. You’ve really thrown the people of this town into a tizzy, haven’t you?”
Fortunately it was so loud in the bar, thanks to the crush of people and the very noisy jazz trio, that I was sure Derrick couldn’t hear a thing she was saying. He only smiled politely, which seemed to please the older woman.
“Here, let me get you both a real drink,” the mayor said. “Randy.” The mayor waved in the direction of the barman. “Randy, two more vodka sodas, please.”
“Oh, no need, Madam Mayor,” I said quickly. “We’re very happy with—”
But it was too late. Two vodka sodas appeared on the bar and were quickly snatched up by a broad-shouldered man in a tuxedo. Because he was standing with his back to us, I didn’t see who he was until he turned around.
Billy.
“Your drinks, Madam May—” He froze upon seeing me and Derrick, the grin he’d been wearing vanishing completely. He seemed to pale beneath his spray-on tan. “Jess. I—I didn’t know you were coming to this.”
“Oh, well.” I plastered a smile across my face. “You know me. I’ll do anything to support the youth of West Harbor.”
“Yeah. Sure. Of course.” He handed one of the drinks to me, and the other to Derrick. “Hey, bro.”
“Thanks, man,” Derrick said, cheerfully.
The two of us stood there, a drink in each hand, still in our coats, me with an evening bag dangling from my wrist, while I struggled to figure out what to say. Thank you for the car seemed inadequate. Do you know your wife is a witch who tried to murder me? seemed like overkill.
Fortunately Rosalie, a few feet away, got a signal over her headset, and suddenly banged on her tablet.
“Everyone? Everyone!” Rosalie’s years of cheerleading had taught her how to use her diaphragm to project her voice, so she could easily be heard over the jazz trio and all of the voices in the bar. “We’re ready to begin. If you could all take your seats . . . ”
I was more than happy to follow the crowd into the Yacht Club’s dining room, where Esther, looking tall and elegant in slim-fitting black trousers, white blouse, and, for a change of pace, pink-sequined Converse, gestured to me from a table where she was sitting with a woman who looked like Gabby’s older, plumper twin.
“Over here,” Esther called, waving urgently, as if there was some way Derrick and I might miss her.
“Hi, Esther,” I said, when we reached her. “We were just talking about you. The mayor got your let—”
“That’s great. Could you sit here?” Esther patted the seat of the chair beside her, and then, when I lowered myself into it, hissed in my ear, “Gabby’s dad is stuck on the train from the city. There’s flooding on the tracks. He’s trying to get here as fast as he can, but for now, only her mom could come. Gabby’s really upset.”
“Oh, no.” I put down my drinks and my bag, then peeled off my coat and introduced myself and Derrick to Gabby’s mother.
She shook both our hands, but seemed especially thrilled when Derrick’s fingers gripped hers. I didn’t have to be a genius to guess why. The poor woman looked lost and a little out of place in the big room where she seemed to know no one except Esther, and then suddenly, a handsome guy with a warm grip slipped her an electric mickey? Bliss.
Especially when he followed it up with a grave, “You have a lovely daughter, Mrs. Aquino.”
“Oh, thank you,” she fluttered. There were two bottles of wine on the table, red and white, to accompany the coming meal, but Mrs. Aquino hadn’t touched either. She, like Esther, was only drinking cranberry juice. “And thank you, Miss Gold, so much for the dress. Gabriella loves it. It’s just such a shame her father can’t be here. But then again, if she doesn’t win, I suppose it’s just as well. I know how much he’d hate the idea of her being humiliated—”
“She won’t be,” Esther said firmly. I saw her hand, slender and brown against the stark white tablecloth, ball into a fist. “She’s going to win. She’d better win, or—”
The flowers in the decorative centerpiece began to tremble, and the salt and pepper shakers tinkled against one another. I laid a hand over Esther’s fist and said, quietly, “It’s all right.”
The flowers stilled. The tinkling stopped. Esther took a sip of her cranberry juice, like nothing had happened.
But something had happened, all right. I was the only one who’d noticed, since Derrick was busy scanning the room (probably for demons), and Gabby’s mother was too nervous to focus on anything except the stage in front of us.
Which was why, when Rosalie stepped onto it a second later, Mrs. Aquino was the first to notice. She reached out to grasp my wrist with an excited squeak.
“Oooh,” she cried. “It’s starting!”
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Rosalie seemed anxious. She was barely giving her guests a chance to take their seats, let alone the waitstaff a chance to pass out the first course—a mesclun salad so sad looking, it would have sent Mama Giovanni’s head spinning—before taking the podium on the stage at the front of the room. “Welcome to our first annual Harvest Princess Pageant, in celebration of West Harbor’s Tricentennial.”
Rosalie paused for both emphasis and the smattering of applause she’d known was going to follow the word Tricentennial. I took the opportunity to lean over to say to Mrs. Aquino, “I’m sorry your husband isn’t here yet, but I’m sure Gabby is going to do just fine. And please, call me Jessica.”
Mrs. Aquino grinned and pointed at herself. “I’m Anna.”
“Your donations are what’s made all of this possible,” Rosalie went on. “Because of you—and of course the generosity of both Hopkins Motors and Walker Hardware”—I saw Billy, at a table near the front of the room with both of his children, beam with pride—“nine of the truly remarkable young women who will be on this stage shortly will have more than a year’s worth of college tuition paid.”
It was a good thing the lights had been turned down low, because otherwise someone might have noticed how far back into my head my eyes were rolling.
“But before I introduce them, please join me in welcoming the man who helped choose the recipients of tonight’s scholarships, a true academic, published author, and historian, Professor Bartholomew Brewster.”
Suddenly my eyes snapped open.
“Bartholomew Brewster?” I whispered to Derrick, as everyone around us applauded. “But he’s—”
Derrick was frowning. He rarely smiled, but his expression looked grimmer than I’d ever seen it. In the dim light of the dining room, he looked positively murderous. “I know.”
I had to say it anyway. “He’s the Grand Sorcerer of the—”
“I know.”
Derrick looked physically pained as a dashing dark-haired man leaped from a table near the front of the stage and then sprang up the three or four steps to join Rosalie behind the podium. For someone who’d founded the World Council of Witches in the 1980s, Old Bart didn’t look all that old. In fact, in his red smoking jacket and black cravat, he looked a little bit like—
“Thank you,” he said in a deep, cultured voice as he held up his hands to still the smattering of applause for his presence. How had I not known that Bartholomew Brewster—at least judging by his accent—was British? “Thank you so much. It’s a pleasure, honestly, to be here. I don’t know where this country would be without little towns like West Harbor—they really are the backbone of this great nation.”
This earned even more applause than Rosalie’s mention of the Tricentennial. Derrick, however, wasn’t clapping. Neither was I.
“If we were being accurate, West Harbor would be celebrating its quadricentennial rather than its tricentennial because it was nearly four hundred years ago that Europeans established a settlement in this area—”
Esther, looking disgusted, folded her arms across her chest and muttered, “More like spread smallpox and waged war against the Native communities actually living here at the time.”
Amen to that.
“But of course West Harbor itself wasn’t founded until the seventeen hundreds, when it incorporated separately from the towns and settlements around it. And look how it’s grown since! I’m honored to be invited to share in your well-deserved festivities. And what makes my being here tonight so much sweeter is that I get to share this great privilege with none other than . . . my brother.”
Professor Brewster raised a hand to shade his eyes from the bright stage lights as he peered out into the dining room. “Derrick, will you come up here so I can introduce you?”