Chapter Two #2
They walked into the huge space on the third floor of the Modern Wing.
Skyscrapers twinkled beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows on either side.
Several candelabras rented from a theater supply shop, each holding dozens of candles, hung from the ceiling, and custom-made banners screen-printed with Griffin’s coat of arms decorated the back wall.
Round tables with white cloths had been set up around the room.
Griffin and Emily stood in front of the head table, and several guests waited in line to hug them.
“Wow,” Daniela breathed and turned to Rose. “Are you posting about this?”
Rose, who was a social media manager at the museum, shook her head. “They didn’t want me to.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” Daniela admitted.
The Art Institute of Chicago website could always use more photos for their events page.
And the fact that Emily worked in Objects Conservation there made her museum wedding even more romantic.
But after Griffin had come to life the year before, Emily had been the prime suspect in the case of the missing statue.
Rose knew that Emily was relieved that everyone had finally forgotten about her.
“I’m going to get a drink,” Daniela said, pointing to the line to the bar in the corner. “You guys want anything?”
Ryan and Rose both shook their heads. Ryan had been sober for almost two years, if he was telling the truth, and Rose was 95 percent sure that he was. He’d told Rose before that he didn’t mind if she had a glass of wine when she was around him, but she never did.
As Daniela retreated, Rose turned to set her bridesmaid bouquet on a nearby table. Her gaze fell on a yellow stain on Ryan’s doublet.
“How did you get mustard on you?”
“Oh, shit,” he said, looking down. “I stopped at the Wiener Stand.”
She snatched a Shout wipe from her emergency kit and tore the packet open. “That place is such a tourist trap.”
He shrugged. “I was out of groceries.” He was so bad at keeping healthy food at home. Rose made a mental note to bring some over again soon.
She scrubbed at the spot. “Did they call you a motherfucker again?” The hot dog restaurant was famous for being disrespectful to their customers. Rose had gone there only once, and had been called sweet tits.
“No, she was like, ‘Get your Ren Faire ass up here!’ And then it was, ‘Does the carpet match the drapes?’ ”
Rose snorted as she put the used wipe back in the bag.
“What was the G-Man talking to you about?” Ryan asked, darting a look in Aaron’s direction.
She sighed. “I think he wanted a second chance.”
Ryan raised his eyebrows. “Would that ever happen?”
“Not in this lifetime.”
“We only get the one,” he said.
“So why did Mom always say I was an old soul?”
“That’s what you say when your kid’s a weirdo.” She smacked him on the shoulder, and he laughed.
Before the dinner, Emily’s father welcomed everyone.
The best man, Marcus, gave his speech in character; he’d been promoted from knight to master of ceremonies at Medieval Legends, the dinner theater and tournament where he and Griffin both worked.
Then Rose, with slightly jangled nerves, gave her maid of honor speech.
She’d kept it short so she wouldn’t mess anything up, but as she concluded, she got teary and her voice wobbled.
“Shakespeare wrote, ‘Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt I love.’ And I know that if Emily and Griffin can be sure of one thing in life, it’s their love for each other.”
Everyone applauded as she sat down, relieved. She’d loved that Shakespeare quote ever since she’d come across it in an English lit class. It was when she’d first started reading about astrology…and was there anything more romantic than the stars?
Late in the evening, she told Emily, “I better get home and check on your pup.” Emily’s beagle mix, Andy War-Howl, was staying at Rose’s apartment while Emily and Griffin spent the weekend at a fancy hotel downtown.
Griffin was still finishing up his spring semester at the community college, so he and Emily had a honeymoon trip to England planned for the summer.
“Thank you so much again!” Emily said. “I hope he’s no trouble.”
“Of course he won’t be!” Rose assured her, and exchanged goodbye hugs with them both. She found Ryan and let him know she was heading home.
On weekdays, she took the Pink Line home from the museum, but since it was late on a Friday night and she was tired, she opted for an Uber. The ride felt quiet after the loud reception.
The skyscrapers gave way to shorter buildings and quieter streets, and the car turned into her neighborhood.
They passed the old brick church, built by Czech immigrants.
When Rose’s Grandma Novak had been a girl, before the family had moved to Cicero, she’d attended services at that church every week.
The area looked very different now, with its proliferation of bright murals, its Mexican restaurants and trendy coffee shops and bars, and its funky little art galleries.
Her grandmother would’ve complained about the graffiti and the noxious metal scrapyard nearby, but she would’ve been thrilled that Thalia Hall, a beautiful building with a theater that had closed in the 1960s, had been renovated and housed restaurants and regular concerts.
Rose loved it here. But as the car passed the pizza place with the mural of an Aztec warrior kneeling over his dead lover, which looked all the more romantic in the shadows and streetlight, loneliness settled in her heart.
When she reached the second floor of her walk-up apartment building, she heard Emily’s dog Andy War-Howl give one of his trademark baleful howls. She went inside and turned on the lights. The large beagle mix put his paws up on her thigh, his tail joyfully wagging, and she petted his velvety ears.
Rose’s mother had once said that you might as well paint the walls in a rental, because landlords always found reasons not to return your deposit, anyway.
Fully aware that this was iffy financial advice, Rose had painted the rooms in the soft colors of some of her favorite crystals: pale citrine yellow in the eat-in kitchen and living room, rose quartz pink in the bedroom, amethyst purple in the guest bedroom, and the aqua hue of chrysocolla in the bathroom.
She took Andy for a quick walk, and when they returned, he hopped on the sofa and wound himself up in her tie-dye blanket like a pup burrito.
Since she’d abstained earlier in the evening, she poured a glass of red wine and took a sip as she headed to the bedroom.
She changed into an oversize T-shirt printed with a vintage cowgirl and the message Not My First Rodeo, but she didn’t take off the moonstone necklace.
It was her new favorite. Burning a lavender candle would help her relax after a long day and night, and she remembered she had one in her little altar in the corner.
It was actually a short medical supply cabinet from maybe the 1950s: metal coated with a turquoise paint, rusting at the hinges. Because her spells frequently involved burning, the stainless steel top was ideal. She crouched in front of it and pulled open the top drawer.
She sifted through crystals and the jumble of small charm candles in various colors, but couldn’t find the lavender votive.
Next she searched the drawer below it, filled with herbs and roots—St. John’s wort, devil’s shoestring, lucky hand—as well as a mallard duck feather, a smooth piece of green beach glass she’d found at 63rd Street Beach, and a dozen other things she’d tucked away for possible magical use, like a superstitious squirrel.
No lavender votive there, either. As she closed the second drawer, she frowned at the three tarot cards on top of the cabinet. Usually, the three cards she drew in the morning gave her clues about what lay in front of her that day, but two of these had mystified her.
The Eight of Wands, with its staves flying through the air over a river, could mean great changes or a long journey. She wasn’t going anywhere, and she hadn’t had any big changes in a while.
The Six of Cups stood for the past: the good old days, and one’s earliest memories. The card could also mean going home…but what did that mean, when your parents were gone?
The Lovers card, of course, referred to Emily and Griffin. Looking at it now, Rose felt a stab of immature resentment. Where was her soulmate?
For the most part, she was happy on her own, staying cheerful and being grateful for what she had. But lately, more than ever, she had a lingering feeling that somewhere out there was one particular man who was meant for her.
Daniela’s question came back to her. Do you ever do spells for yourself?
As Rose had explained, the cosmic timing was perfect for any kind of romance spell. Why not do one to find an old-fashioned gentleman?
She took off her necklace and set it on the altar next to the cryptic tarot cards.
The moonstone was supposed to reunite lovers, not find new ones, but something told her it was the right one for the occasion.
A small statue of Hecate, the goddess of the crossroads and of magic itself, loomed over the cards and the stone.
But for a love spell, Rose would need Venus.
She found the card printed with a painting of the goddess, which she’d bought from an artist on Etsy, and propped it up against a soapstone chalice.
Then she got up, went to the satin bag hanging on the hook by the door, and delicately extracted the rose petal that had fallen from Emily’s flower crown. Perfect. Finally, she dug a pink candle and holder out of the top drawer and lit it.
It illuminated the Six of Cups card. A castle stood in the background, with a square stone tower, and the cups held star-shaped flowers. A boy was giving one of them to a girl. She studied it for a few moments, feeling warm and fuzzy inside.
She looked up at the wall clock that had been her mom’s. Two minutes to midnight. She needed to think of what to say, fast, or she’d lose the opportunity. Just a sentence, or even a phrase, would do. Concentrating, she closed her eyes.
A full incantation popped into her head. That had never happened before. As she whispered it, the tingling at the crown of her head traveled down her spine and to her fingers and toes.
Great Venus, who was born out of the sea,
who makes our dreams of love reality…
The clock on the wall started to chime midnight. An image came into her head: the portrait of the duke, Henry what’s-his-name, staring at her across time and space.
Great Hecate, the Keeper of the Keys,
who crosses time and space so easily…
She hadn’t expected to drag Hecate into this, but she supposed her subconscious knew what it was doing. As the clock finished chiming, she finished the incantation, still thinking of the duke.
Please bring an old-fashioned gentleman
to fall in love with me. So mote it be.