But I’m not about to stand in front of Billy Walker in the cafeteria and eat pottage stew out of a wooden bowl rubbed in garlic. As Dina rightfully pointed out, in all the years we’ve gone to school together, Billy and I have never eaten at the same lunch table. He’s always sat with the jocks, and I’ve always sat with Dina and the rest of the emos and goths. It’s going to look weird enough when I casually stroll over to his table, eating stew out of a wooden bowl from home instead of pizza off a paper plate from the hot food line.
Also, I have Chem class with him right after lunch. I want to entice him, not disgust him with my garlic breath.
So it’s a no-garlic pottage stew out of Tupperware for me.
I really hope my intentions prove strong and pure enough for this spell to work. I don’t know how much longer I can go on being Billy’s lab partner and nothing more, when all these years I’ve loved him. And he and Rosalie would be so wrong for each other, it’s actually gross.
Jessica
Keep out unwelcome guests (from evil spirits to garden slugs) by sprinkling a little salt across thy threshold.
Goody Fletcher, Book of Useful Household Tips
I should have known. I should have put it together right away, what with all the signs the universe was practically hurling at me: Floods. Fire. The return of neon.
But as usual, I was clueless. So clueless that when the tall guy dressed all in black wandered in off the sidewalk during my annual “Fall into Fall Apparel” sale, I didn’t think twice.
Why would I? I mean, yes, the sign outside my shop has the words Enchantments: A Women’s Clothing Boutique carved into it in broad hand calligraphy (then painted in gold leaf for maximum impact).
But I get male customers all the time. So I didn’t even catch on when, instead of glancing around at all the extremely tasteful (if I do say so myself) racks of dresses, blouses, leggings, jackets, scarves, and jewelry, this guy simply stood there in the doorway and stared.
At me.
We get all kinds during leaf peeping season, so this didn’t strike me as odd. It was kind of flattering, in fact, because this guy was sexy looking, and apparently alone. There wasn’t a ring on his wedding finger, either. Nice, I thought.
“Well, Mrs. Dunleavy,” I said, turning to the mayor’s wife—and my best customer. We were standing in front of the full-length mirror beside the dressing room doors. I wasn’t trying to hurry her, but sexy single guys don’t walk into my shop and stare at me every day. “How do you feel in this one?”
Margo Dunleavy, as always, sighed uncertainly at her reflection. “I just don’t know, Jess. Do you think it’s a little . . .” She lowered her voice so that the hot guy in the doorway, clearly eavesdropping on us in a low-key kind of way, wouldn’t overhear. “. . . risqué?”
“Absolutely not.” I straightened the hem of the close-fitting—and slightly revealing—burgundy silk gown. “It’s the West Harbor Tricentennial Ball. When will there ever be another occasion like this? Not for three hundred more years.”
I tried to ignore the fact that my reflection in the mirror wasn’t nearly as flattering at the moment as that of the mayor’s wife. For one thing, I wasn’t wearing a practically bespoke evening gown. And for another, I’d been working hard since early morning getting things ready for the blow-out sale, so my dark curls were secured to the top of my head with a plastic claw clip, my cheeks were pink and damp with sweat, and I was wearing a jumpsuit—in neon yellow.
That’s because jumpsuits for women my size—five foot nine and two hundred pounds—sell out in minutes in all the good colors. I have to save all the best colors (black, obviously) for my customers.
At least I’d remembered to tie one of the cute silk scarves from our new floral print line around my neck. But still, I looked like what I felt: a sleep-deprived, slightly cranky, full-figured thirtysomething witch in a neon yellow jumpsuit.
But maybe those were all the things Hot Doorway Guy looked for in a girl? It had been so long since anyone at all had been interested in me, I’d take a guy who liked neon, so long as he was gainfully employed and chewed with his mouth closed.
“And this dress fits you like a glove,” I pointed out to Mrs. Dunleavy. “It’s like it was made for you.”
Because, although the mayor’s wife didn’t know it, the dress had been made for her—well, tailored, anyway. Because as soon as it arrived, I’d set it aside, knowing it would be perfect for her—with a few little adjustments of my own.
“Oh.” The older woman fingered the delicate cloth longingly as she gazed at her reflection. “I have to say, I do love it. And the price is just right, as always. But Rosalie Hopkins and some of those other women from the Yacht Club—”
My voice was sharper than I intended it to be. “What about them?”
“Well, I just wouldn’t want them to think I was”—her voice dipped even lower—“putting on airs.”
“Who cares what anyone else thinks?” The mere allusion to Rosalie Hopkins—not to mention the Yacht Club—was enough to cause me to momentarily forget my fatigue, as well as Hot Doorway Guy. Margo Dunleavy was one of the sweetest women in West Harbor, but, like so many caretakers, she always put others before herself. The upcoming ball was the perfect time for her to shine, if only she’d let me do my job and make it happen. “If you feel good in it, that’s all that counts.”
“Well.” Mrs. Dunleavy chewed worriedly at her lower lip. “I suppose that’s true. Rosalie says she’s going into the city to buy her gown.” Margo’s gaze met mine in the mirror. “Which I told her is a mistake!” she added quickly. “Support local businesses. You know that’s always been one of our campaign slogans.”
“Thank you for that. I wonder if this will help.” I draped a navy crepe de chine shawl around Mrs. Dunleavy’s bare shoulders. Dotted with crystals that shimmered when they caught the light, the shawl brought out the silver in the older woman’s hair, as well as the sparkle in her dark eyes. “Now what do you think?”
Margo Dunleavy caught her breath and, right there in the mirror, a transformation seemed to take place. Suddenly, she was standing taller, her shoulders thrown back, her cheeks aglow with a color that hadn’t been there before . . .
. . . and I knew I’d worked the magic I’d been hoping for.
“Oh, Jess!” she cried. “I love it!”
“Do you?” I beamed. This was the part I loved best about my job—what made all the late nights and hard work worth it. “I’m so glad. And again, not that it matters what anyone thinks but you, but I’m sure Mrs. Mayor will love it, too.”
“Oh, I think you’re right. I’ll take it. I’ll take them both, the dress and the . . . the . . . whatever this blue thing is.”
“Great. We’ll wrap them up for you.” I was grinning—until my gaze returned to the doorway of my shop, and I caught sight of my afternoon visitor once again. He was still looking my way—but unlike me, definitely not smiling.
And that’s when, for the first time, I noticed that Hot Doorway Guy had a bright silver amulet hanging from a black leather cord around his neck—an amulet I recognized immediately once he stepped out of the doorway and some of the bright afternoon sunlight spilled in from behind him.