Jessica
During a waning moon, perform spells to banish. During a waxing moon, perform spells for growth. During a full moon, perform spells for power.
Goody Fletcher, Book of Useful Household Tips
Of course I had a lot of feelings about my boyfriend’s mother forcing her son to show up in a tuxedo at the restaurant where she and I were having lunch.
Even though Derrick seemed to get over his indignation with her pretty quickly, this didn’t feel to me like the healthiest relationship, especially since she wouldn’t help save my town from possible demonic annihilation.
But unfortunately I didn’t have time to sort through my emotions about that.
When Derrick pulled his bike up in front of Enchantments, I hopped from the back and whipped off my helmet, hoping my curls would come streaming out and then bounce right back into place like the hair of models always does on shampoo commercials.
But I’m not a model. And there was so much dampness and static electricity in the air from the storm brewing out east off the ocean, most of my curls seemed to stick wetly to my face instead.
Even so, Dina and Yasmin, who’d heard the rumble of Derrick’s bike engine, came out of their office across the street and hooted appreciatively.
“Yeah, lady!” Dina catcalled me. “Looking good!”
I turned around. Dina and Yasmin had already changed into their evening wear for the ball—gowns I’d selected for them at Enchantments, in which they seemed to glow, despite the growing darkness.
I waved to them—I didn’t have time for more—and hurried into the shop. Becca, Zahrah, and Naomi had changed into their gowns as well and were closing up. They glanced up at me in surprise as I burst in.
“What are you doing here?” Zahrah asked.
“Is that a motorcycle helmet in your hand?” Becca teased. “Bold fashion choice for a formal event.”
“Where are the girls?” I asked, my gaze tearing frantically around the shop. I didn’t see them anywhere in it. “Gabby and Esther?”
“They went on up to the square,” Zahrah said, looking confused. “Esther said she got a message to meet you there. Did you not—?”
“No.”
I swallowed back the sudden fear I felt welling inside me, then spun away from their confused expressions and pelted back out onto the street, where Derrick was waiting with the bike still running.
“She’s already at the square,” I told him, tugging my helmet once again over my damp curls. “Someone sent her a message telling her to meet me there.”
“One guess as to who it was,” he said as I swung up onto the seat behind him.
“I don’t need to guess,” I said, wrapping my arms around his waist. “I know.”
“Hey!” I heard Dina yell behind us as the Ducati’s engine roared. “Where are you going? The road is closed! You two are gonna get yourselves killed—or arrested!”
Good thing I know a couple of lawyers, is what I would have yelled back—if I hadn’t been too busy clutching Derrick in anxiety as he thundered down the narrow, cobblestoned road, now clogged with West Harbor citizens in formal wear, all attempting to jam themselves beneath the multiple tents that covered the town square.
They had to line up to show their tickets first, however, in order to be admitted, and it was past this line Derrick rumbled. And though his bike’s engine was loud, I could still hear the occasional shout and comment leveled at us: “The road is closed!” “Get to the back of the line!” “People think they’re so entitled these days.”
I’m sure Derrick heard them, too, but he didn’t stop until we’d reached the red velvet ropes at the entrance to the closest tent at the very front of the line—just as the first drops of rain began to fall from the heavy blanket of clouds that had closed over West Harbor.
“Hey,” I said, flinging myself off the back of Derrick’s bike and rushing to the ticket taker, who was wearing full Colonial garb—a serving wench costume, complete with corset, scullery cap, and a surly expression. “I’m not here for the ball. I just need to run inside and talk to someone.” And save West Harbor from becoming a hellmouth. “I swear I’ll only be a second.”
“No ticket, no entrance,” she said without skipping a beat as she scanned the tickets of the guests in front of her. It had grown dark enough that she needed to use a mini flashlight to see them. Either that, or Rosalie was so worried about forgeries, she’d told the staff to use flashlights to check the tickets for authenticity. “And you’ll have to get back in line and wait your turn like everyone else.”
“I have a ticket,” I said, opening my bag and rooting through it. Where had I put those tickets Rosalie had given me the other day? “I just don’t know where they are right now. Is there a list? I’m sure I’m on it.”
“There’s no list.” The barmaid spoke in a bored voice. She’d evidently been asked this question a lot. “Ticket holders only will be admitted.”
“You know, you can’t park that bike there,” a man in full British redcoat uniform said to Derrick, pointing at a sign that had been calligraphed in Old English script. “The street is closed to vehicular traffic today.”
“I was hoping you could make an exception,” Derrick said, removing his black helmet and blinking at the barmaid with his silver eyes. “It’s an emergency.”
Something in Derrick’s voice caused her to actually look up from her ticket inspection—but not magic, which is what I’d thought at first. She lifted the frilly rim of her scullery cap.
“Oh, hey,” Stacy the waitress from Wake Up West Harbor said with a smile of recognition. “It’s you guys.”
I’d pulled off my helmet, as well. “Oh, hi!”
“You found him, I see.” Stacy grinned at me knowingly.
“I did, yeah.” I laced my fingers through Derrick’s. “Finally. So, um, would it be okay if we—”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” She casually waved us through the velvet roped entrance using the beam of her flashlight. “Take all the time you need. I’ll watch the bike.”
“What?” objected the haughty British redcoat. “You made me go back to my car for my tickets, and I’m parked all the way by the train station!”
“Next,” Stacy said, in a bored voice, ignoring him.
“Thank you,” I said to her, and Derrick and I ducked through the entrance just as the cold, stinging rain began to fall with more earnestness.
Inside the tent, however, it was a completely different world. Warm and dry, strands of white party lights hung from the branches of trees to give a festive, even otherworldly glow. Tables strewn with white cloths and decorated with dancing votive candles were placed in front of a stage that backed up onto the courthouse steps, on which sat a podium and small orchestra, playing a piece that certainly sounded as if it had come from the seventeenth century. Servers dressed similarly to Stacy milled around, offering champagne and small dishes to the many partygoers who’d already managed to make it inside the tents.
Looking out over such a picture-perfect scene, listening to the lovely music and seeing all the happy, beautifully dressed people, it was hard to believe anything could be amiss.
Until I heard another crack of thunder—this time sounding as if it was right overhead. People all around us ducked, looking up, then giggled as if at their own foolishness for forgetting how safe they were, beneath this series of tents.
Except of course they weren’t safe. They weren’t safe at all.
Derrick and I scanned the square.
“I don’t see Esther,” he said. “Do you?”
“No.” I’d already fished my phone from my bag and called her. No response. “I doubt she can hear her phone, with all this racket.”
“That ‘racket,’ as you call it,” Derrick said, “is the Allegro from Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto Number Four.”
“Wow,” I said, pretending to be impressed. “You know a lot, for a farm boy from Montana. Oh, wait, I almost forgot. Your mom is the creator of all life.”
He gave me a pleading look. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you.”
I squeezed his hand in mine. “I know,” I said. “It’s all right. Truthfully, even if you had told me, I wouldn’t have believed you.”
“And now?”
“Now I believe you. But I also think your family needs a lot of therapy.”
He lifted my hand to his lips, his eyes seeming to burn into my soul.
“You know I love you, don’t you? You’re the only thing my heart beats for,” he murmured, and despite the music, despite the chatter of all the people around us, despite the rain pattering even harder against the tent, I heard every word, as if he’d burned it across my skin with the golden fire of his touch.
I wanted to tell him that I felt the same. I wanted to tell him a lot of things. But I didn’t get the chance, because suddenly his grip on my hand tightened.
“There she is,” he said, his gaze sharpening on something behind me.
“Esther?” My head whipped around, but all I saw was Rosalie, standing at the edge of the stage with her tablet and headset again. The only difference between tonight and last night was that tonight, her sheath dress was red. My shoulders sagged with disappointment. “That’s Rosalie.”
“I know,” he said. “But she’ll have an idea where Esther is. Come on.”
He kept his grip on my hand as he steered me toward the stage. I was glad he did, since we could easily have become separated—not simply by the ever-growing crowd, but by leaks which had begun to appear in the seams between the tents. Rainwater was sluicing down in steady rivulets, some between tables, some even onto them, dousing the candles, and causing partygoers to leap from their chairs unexpectedly, directly into our path.
Derrick didn’t care. He veered past them, until we reached the stage—and Rosalie.
“This is inexcusable,” I could hear her barking into her headset as we approached, even though the orchestra was playing as energetically as ever only a few feet away. “The city paid over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars to rent these tents. I was told they’d stand up to driving rain and gale force winds. I want somebody here to fix this right now!”
“Rosalie,” I said. I’d noticed that Billy, dressed in his tux, was slouched at a nearby table, nursing what looked like a whisky on the rocks. He lifted his glass upon meeting my gaze, then went back to drinking. Beside him, Billy Junior slumped in a tux of his own, playing video games on his phone, and Lizzie—Rosalie’s contender for Bringer of Light—was hunched a few chairs away, wearing a red gown that matched her mother’s, only with a crown of gold roses instead of a headset.
Rosalie held a single index finger out to me, to indicate that I should wait a minute until she was done on her call.
“What do you mean, the roads have become impassable?” she asked, in a voice that was as cold as the rain that suddenly began streaming down in the middle of the string section of the orchestra. “What—”
She tapped the headset several times, then looked at me, her eyes wide with astonished outrage. “They hung up. They hung up! Can you believe—?” She looked around, noticing that the orchestra had ceased playing and the musicians were rising from their seats. “What’s wrong? Why has the music stopped?”
“We can’t continue playing until the rain is over, Mrs. Hopkins,” the conductor informed her. “It’s a liability issue. Some of these instruments are worth an enormous amount of money, and if they get wet, they’ll be ruined. That’s not to mention the risk of electrocution from the sound system.”
“Great.” Rosalie’s gaze fell on me, and when it did, I took a staggering step back, and Derrick’s hands went protectively around me. Rosalie didn’t look like her normally cool, collected self. She didn’t even look like a storm witch. She looked like hell. “There wasn’t even rain in the forecast. Where did this storm come from, huh? Are you the one causing this, Jess? Are you?”
But before I could reply, a man’s deep voice rang out. It had a British accent.
“Of course it’s not Jessica, Rosalie,” Brewster said, sounding amused. I spun around to see him standing behind me.
And he had one hand on Esther’s slim shoulder.
“We all know exactly what’s happening right now, don’t we?” Brewster went on, amiably. “So why don’t we sit down and discuss it, like civilized witches?”