Magical Misfire (2 page)

The Tremont House was postcard pretty. The warm lobby overflowed with people who were clustered together, drinking and talking in the shadow of an enormous Christmas tree. A gingerbread replica of the hotel nearly stopped me in my tracks. Culinary creations are my specialty, so I had to pause to admire it.

“Oh my gosh,” I murmured. “I love iced gingerbread. And so pretty. Merc, I wish you could see how elegant the lobby is. There are white marble floors, wood antiques, and a glossy black piano. Hear it? This place is pretty fancy. I bet I couldn’t even afford a gingerbread version of it.” Mercutio’s weight made my shoulder sag.

I walked toward the front desk. I’d laid my heavy garment bag over the Barbie case, which I’d secured to my rolling suitcase. All was quiet with my contraband until the duffel thumped against my hip. Merc was restless.

I whispered, “Be still until we get to the room or we’ll get tossed out of here . . . or worse.” I’d been lucky enough to escape arrest once already today. I’d hate to tempt fate since good luck’s about as reliable as hair spray on a humid day.

A porter hurried over with a rolling cart.

“Hey there,” I said, turning over all of my luggage except the duffel. The Barbie case was locked so Jenna and Lucy couldn’t make an unscheduled appearance. The young man, tall and coltishly thin, offered a professional smile.

“May I help you with that?” he asked, extending a hand.

Knowing that Merc likes to fight his way out of most situations and might consider a duffel bag a nice warm-up for the evening, I gave the guy a smile and shook my head. “Thank you so much, but I’ll keep this one.” I smoothed wrinkles from my denim miniskirt with my free hand.

I glanced self-consciously at my scuffed cowboy boots. The lobby was packed with people in Victorian finery, and I felt out of place. The staff, though, must’ve been accustomed to people sauntering in dressed in casual modern clothes because the sweet woman at the counter gave me a wide smile.

She looked up my room number and gave me the key. Mercutio shifted. The duffel thumped against my hip again and the Barbie case rattled on the cart. I jerked, knocking into the cart gently to make it look like my clumsiness was upsetting the equilibrium of my bags.

Good grief!
We couldn’t get upstairs quick enough.

“Okay. Lead the way!” I said with extra enthusiasm.

The young man pulled the cart and asked how long I planned to stay.

“Just tonight.”
I hope.

The elevator ride and the walk to my door were harried, especially when I went through a cold spot, possibly a ghost, and Mercutio growled from within the duffel. I had to pretend to have a coughing spell to cover the sound. My hand was a little shaky as I slid the metal key into the electronic door lock. A modern version of an old-fashioned key was a nice touch. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It was a relief to find Bryn already in the room. He’d had a meeting in Houston, lawyer business, so we’d driven separately.

His movie-star good looks went well with the handsome hotel room. Even though we’d been fighting for days about the trip, when he saw me, he smiled. He rose from the cushioned chair and joined me near the door.

“Hey,” I said, hair falling in my eyes as I bent to dig through my purse. My wallet was buried beneath a bag of Hershey’s Miniatures and a small spiral notebook full of tips on how to find Galveston ghosts. I dragged the wallet free and pulled it open, but by the time I flung my hair back and thrust out a five-dollar bill, the porter was gone. Bryn closed the door and slid his wallet into his pocket.

“I had it,” I said, offering the money to Bryn, who ignored it. With an aggressive thrust, the duffel tipped off the bed. My hand shot out to break its fall. I unzipped the bag and Mercutio sprang forth with an indignant yowl.

“Hello, Mercutio,” Bryn said as my cat used his leg as a scratching post.

“Merc,” I said, grabbing him and pulling him away. “Watch those claws! Bryn’s suits cost more than a year’s worth of our car payments.”

Merc cast an indifferent look at Bryn’s trousers before bounding onto the bed and curling into a ball. He purred with satisfaction and closed his eyes.

“It was the best of times,” Bryn murmured.

I grabbed the Barbie case and set it on the dresser. I opened the lid, and Jenna and Lucy sat bolt upright, furious. Their hair was smashed down by mini-marshmallow headbands that I’d insisted on for protection.

Jenna shrieked, “Took you long enough!”

“It was the worst of times,” Bryn said.

I giggled. “‘Best of times, worst of times.’ . . . That’s from
A Tale of Two Cities
?”

Bryn nodded and smirked at Jenna’s sputtering. “Nice headgear.”

Lucy glowered, flipping me off, and Jenna sprang to her feet, teetering on her plastic heels. Her fluffy pink dress went surprisingly well with the white marshmallow. She looked like a slightly melted confection.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves!” Jenna screeched, smearing marshmallow on Bryn’s papers, trying to wipe the stickiness off her hands. “I expect low-class foolishness from the likes of her, but I expect more of you, Bryn Lyons.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do, and the loss of your good opinion keeps me awake at night. I lose thirty, maybe forty whole seconds of sleep because of it.” Bryn moved his documents aside.

“How dare you joke when you know what we’re going through? All because of that little witch!”

“Not
all
because of her,” Bryn said.

“You defend her?” she shouted.

Bryn’s cobalt gaze narrowed and he opened his mouth, but I cut him off.

“Settle on down, Jenna. You know you guys deserved to get shrunk. You tried to kidnap me at gunpoint in front of a carful of kindergarteners,” I said, raising my voice when she started screaming at me. “But you don’t see me holding grudges. I brought you and Lucy here hoping to restore you to full size. I’ve got a line on a ghost who knows spells to make people big or small. Now quiet down or I’ll give you a time-out in your pink Barbie case.”

She sneered but held her tongue. I turned away from her.

“Hi,” I said, catching Bryn’s hand and pulling him away from the desk. “How are you? How was the drive from Houston?”

“Congested.”

“Are you still mad at me?”

“I’m not angry. I’m concerned.”

“Well, your concerned voice sounds a lot like everyone else’s mad voice.”

“I’m against you trying to contact a ghost. Give me more time to do research.”

“You can still do research! Go ahead. In the meantime I’ll do some, too, by meeting with Sally O’Shea.”

“Ghosts can’t be trusted. You of all people should know that.”

“My ghost can be trusted . . . about most things,” I said. Our family ghost, my double-great-aunt Edie, had been a gorgeous flapper who’d been murdered in the 1920s. She helped raise me. Unfortunately, Edie and Bryn didn’t get on. “She’d never send me into danger.”

“Not knowingly,” he said, then added, “I’m surprised she’s interfering. I thought your aunt didn’t care whether Jenna and Lucy were returned to normal size.”

“She doesn’t but she understands that I’m sick of taking care of them. And she knows I’m not going to just turn them loose. Who knows what could happen? Didn’t you see
Honey, I Shrunk the Kids
?”

Bryn looked skeptical.

“I’m serious. Guess what happened today?”

“What?”

“Mercutio almost ate them. It was like a
Tom and Jerry
cartoon. Lucy and Jenna were hiding behind the drapes. Merc saw them, and they had to dive under a bureau. Lucky I was there because Merc shoved a paw in and got his claws into Lucy’s pant leg. He’d pulled her halfway out by the time I stopped him. Another few seconds and—” I made a loud gulping sound, then shuddered. “What would I say to Jenna’s husband, Boyd? He already always gives me the evil eye when he sees me around town. And he’s still after the police to investigate me in their disappearance. Imagine the conversation. ‘Gee, Boyd, I’m still working on getting your wife back to you, but I’ve got some bad news. My ocelot ate your sister, Lucy.’”

“You don’t owe him an explanation. They tried to kill you. So did he. Besides, Boyd can’t prove that you have any idea where Jenna and Lucy are. As I’ve told you before, you should never admit that you do. Not to anyone.”

“Leave him wondering for the rest of his life what happened to them? No, Bryn. It wouldn’t be right. I can’t let that one time he tried to murder me cloud my judgment.”

Bryn shook his head, but his expression softened. “You’re a better person than any of them.”

“And soon I’m going to be a more festively dressed person than any of them. I brought clothes for you, too.”

Bryn glanced down at his crisp white shirt and red silk tie. “Is this ghostly meet and greet black tie?”

“Um, no. Not exactly.”

 • • • 

“Can you cinch that more snug?” I said, frowning. Why the heck did the one ghost in Texas who could help us only show herself to people in costume during Dickens on The Strand? “The dress is so heavy it feels like it’s going to fall right off.”

Bryn pulled the ties but when I leaned forward, my boobs still threatened to spill out.

“Can you, um, make it tighter?”

“You mean am I strong enough to make it tighter?” Bryn asked. With a sharp drag on the ribbons, I was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, the air whooshing from my lungs. With a little flourish, he tied the strips of satin and I worked to get a breath in.

He turned me to face him, his hands resting on the dark blue velvet encasing my waist, which was at least two inches smaller than usual because of the corset. I wouldn’t be very proud of my Victorian hourglass figure when my lungs collapsed, but Bryn’s avid attention warmed me to the tips of my lace-up booties.

Bryn wore an old-fashioned suit. The coat was a vibrant blue that matched his eyes, and he looked really cute, like an actor about to take the stage, but he didn’t spare himself a glance in the mirror. His gaze flirted darkly with my upthrust cleavage.

“The brochures said Victorian ladies were prim,” I complained. “I thought I was supposed to have lace ruffles all the way to my throat.”

Bryn’s jaw-grazing high collar nearly poked his cheeks as he looked down at me.

“Apparently Johnny took some liberties with your costume. God bless him.”

“He dressed me like a lady of the night,” I huffed. “Just because we’re meeting a harlot doesn’t mean I have to look like one.”

Bryn’s gaze rested on the hollow of my throat and his mouth tried to follow. I took a step back and my full skirt squashed against the wall.

“Don’t get distracted,” I warned.

“If you serve up your breasts like a pair of French pastries, I reserve the right to salivate over them.”

I caught his chin between my thumb and forefinger and lifted it. Bryn’s a brilliant lawyer and a brilliant wizard, but sometimes he acts just like a regular guy. Mostly I didn’t mind. Except when we had work to do.

“There’s no reason for you to get carried away on account of this outfit. You’ve seen me naked,” I pointed out.

“It’s been a while,” he said. “It feels like a lifetime, considering the way you look in indigo velvet.” His head dipped toward mine.

“One kiss.”

“It was the season of light,” Bryn murmured, leaning close.

“
Only
one or I’ll probably pass out.”

His black hair gleamed like the polished boots that met his trousers. My fingertips trailed through his dark locks.

His kisses are magic-laced, as sweet as custard, and addictive. He pulled me against him, or as close as we could get with ten pounds of fabric between us.

Half-starved for air even before our lips touched, I swooned. He caught me before I toppled into the open closet.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice husky and amused.

My hands gripped his shoulders. “No wonder ladies were always fainting in the olden days. They were suffocating.”

“Let’s lock the Reitgartens in their plastic toy case and—”

“Bryn, no! I’m so sick of them. They can go home or they can go to Hell, but they can’t live in a Malibu Dreamhouse at your mansion anymore. I’m going to find Sally O’Shea. You can come with me or you can stay here with Mercutio.”

“Mercutio is not the company I want tonight.”

“I know,” I said, giving him a gentle shove. “But turn me loose. I can’t breathe as it is.”

I bustled away in my lace-up boots. My momma had a pair kind of like them from when she was a teenager, only hers were plain brown leather. Mine were made of velvet and black lace with small beads studding them. When Johnny Nguyen, our local hairdresser and community theater director, makes a costume, it’s never dull. No Victorian shopkeeper or serving girl in burlap brown. Only a dapper gentleman and a plucky prostitute bedazzled with beads will do.

I lifted the velvet pouch that matched the outfit.

“Absolutely not!” Jenna yelled, guessing my intent.

I scooped her up and dropped her inside. Lucy walked to the edge of the desk, folding her arms across her chest and waiting with cold dignity.

I lifted Lucy and placed her inside. “I’ll try not to jostle you guys too much,” I said before pulling the satin cord to close the makeshift handbag.

Bryn picked up his top hat and silver-handled cane. “My fair lady,” he said, extending his arm.

 • • • 

The streets brimmed with street performers, vendors, and visitors. Bryn and I shared bites of a savory meat pie, and we tried wassail, a spiced cider served hot from a pot. I marveled at the snow. I’d never actually seen any before in real life, so I stood delighted with my face tilted skyward as the snow-making machines turned the street into a winter wonderland the likes of which you’d see in a movie. Unfortunately, the snow didn’t carpet the ground. The sixty-four-degree temperature melted the snow too darn fast.

“Like being in a snow globe,” I enthused, putting my hands out to catch the clumpy flakes.

“Real falling snow is a bit different.”

“Prettier?”

He nodded. “But this is a nice effect. The organizers have done a great job capturing the spirit of the times.”