Chapter 8
THE VISITORS
Prue, Chassie and I fell through the front door of The Downs, weighted with bakery boxes and bags of souvenirs, wearing (oh yes, we went there) flower crowns with streaming ribbons down the back, and we did this giggling.
“Oh my goodness, I think you’re the only person alive who could have a serious conversation with a white witch about love spells,” Prue was saying.
“For half an hour,” Chassie whisper-added (yes, she was still whispering, but as we all knew, Rome wasn’t built in a day).
“And you bought every single book she wrote,” Prue said.
“About white witchcraft,” Chassie again whisper-added.
“And there are four of them,” Prue finished.
“A girl never knows when she’ll need a love spell,” I stated blithely. “Or a bitch eradication one, though I think those require eyes of newt, and what bums me out about that was learning from my new friend Anastasia, that’s just mustard seed.”
Prue and Chassie started giggling again.
A throat was cleared.
We turned to see Fitzgibbons in the hall.
He looked freaked.
Oh shit.
What now?
“My ladies, we have visitors,” he announced.
“Who?” Prue asked carefully, totally feeling his vibe.
“Lord Raleigh. Miss Courtney Wright. And Miss Chelsea Renfrew,” he intoned.
Prue groaned.
Chassie gasped.
“They’re waiting for you in the green sitting room,” Fitzgibbons stated.
Prue’s “Now?” sounded choked.
“Lady Temperance requested you attend them…immediately.”
“Bloody hell,” Prue whispered.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Rally’s a friend of Battie’s,” Chassie whisper-told me. “And Courtney is his fiancée.”
“Okay,” I said.
That didn’t seem so bad.
“And Chelsea,” Prue said her name like it tasted bad, “is Battie’s ex-girlfriend.”
Oh boy.
“She just doesn’t like to be his ex-girlfriend,” Chassie whisper-appended. “She prefers the ‘ex’ not to be a part of that and is committed to the act of reversing Battie’s decision about it.”
“Yikes,” I replied.
“Shall I take your things?” Fitzgibbons had come closer.
“No…no, I think, no,” Prue mumbled and focused on Fitzgibbons. “Did I miss something? Was this visit planned?”
Fitzgibbons’s face, a man who always seemed like a super friendly guy, got tight.
“It is not,” he said shortly. “And they’re staying the weekend.”
Oh boy!
“The entire weekend?” Prue was back to sounding strangled.
That being a long weekend, since it was only Thursday.
“They had a good deal of luggage. And Miss Renfrew informed me to inform my wife that she needed to prepare so Cook has enough food in for company,” he stated stiffly.
“She sure does like to act like she’s duchess when she’s around,” Chassie whisper-bitched. “She did it even before her and Battie were a thing.”
“And Tempie sure hates it when she does,” Prue agreed. “We better get in there.”
I wasn’t sure how three people could show up—unannounced and with luggage—and everyone was just going with it.
What I was sure of was, I didn’t want any part of it.
I was about to make my excuses, when Chassie grabbed my arm in a surprisingly firm grip, and yet again I was being dragged by a Talyn somewhere.
I looked helplessly over my shoulder at Fitzgibbons, and he had the good, albeit unhelpful, grace to wince.
“How is she even here when she’s an ex?” I whispered urgently to them as I was dragged.
“She gloms on to whoever might get her through the door of wherever Battie is. This time, it’s Rally,” Prue explained.
“Or Courtney,” Chassie whispered. “Tempie likes Courtney.”
Sadly, since the sitting room was close to the front hall, that was all I got before we were in.
Temperance was casually lounged in the corner of a sofa. She had a martini in hand. She was wearing all red today, and she looked amazing.
However, even if I didn’t know her very well, I knew she wanted to kill somebody.
Battle was standing at the mantle in what he’d been wearing earlier, one of his fabulous sweaters and a pair of jeans.
He looked over his shoulder at us when we entered, and the expression on his face made me wonder if he actually did kill somebody.
I did a quick head count of the rest and noted gratefully my next adventure wasn’t going to be burying a body, because there was a man with thinning blond hair, but he was quite good looking, sitting on the couch opposite Temperance and next to a brunette who was very pretty.
And sitting next to Temperance on her couch was blonde so gorgeous, she’d make Blake Lively weep with envy.
She was wearing a slouchy cream sweater that was better than mine, because it fell down her shoulder, matching cream, lightweight wool slacks and a pair of soil brown Laurent Vend?me slingback glazed leather pumps.
She looked like a magazine spread advertising fabulous sweaters, or wool slacks, or Saint Laurent pumps.
Oh, and she looked like she matched the room, which could be by design.
What she didn’t look like was a blonde freckled-nosed chick who’d recently received the devastating knowledge that Queen Guinevere wasn’t actually buried at Glastonbury Abbey. It was just a trick the medieval priests there played to get the medieval version of tourists to show up.
“Good Lord,” the blonde cried through burgeoning hilarity, “what are you women wearing on your heads?”
I noticed Prue’s hand start to move to the flower crown, even as I sensed a calamitous scattering of emotions beating into the room from Battle and Temperance, and both Lord Raleigh’s and his fiancée’s shoulders curled in like they were trying to disappear themselves.
Obviously, this meant I had to forge into the breach.
I mean, what else could I do?
And I did this by striding forward quickly, before Prue could take off her crown, with mine firmly and proudly in place, and I dumped my baker’s box from Burns the Bread on the table between them.
“It’s a flower crown,” I answered. “We just returned from Glastonbury.”
“You’re the American,” she observed unnecessarily.
“In the flesh.” I stuck my hand out to her. “Vivienne Dupree.”
“Bestselling author,” Temperance drawled.
Chelsea Renfrew stared at my hand, and for a beat, I thought she’d ignore it, but then she leaned forward and put her fingers limply in mine.
I squeezed them…hard.
Then I let her go and flipped open the baker’s box.
“Viennese fingers for you,” I said to Temperance and turned to Battle. “Chassie has your donuts.”
“Here they are, Battie,” Chastity whisper-announced and took her box to him.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” he murmured.
I pushed in front of Chelsea and plopped down between her and Temperance.
Temperance hummed delightedly.
Chelsea gasped audibly and scuttled deeper into her corner.
I dug into a bag and pulled out the black and red flower crown we got Temperance.
I handed it to her. “You don’t have to wear it. But we agreed it’s so you.”
She took it and replied in a question, “Thank you?”
I grinned at her and turned to the other two people I didn’t know.
“Hi, I’m Vivi.”
The man got up and reached over the coffee table. “Rally. Great to meet you.”
I shook his hand.
When he sat back, the woman gave me a pained smile that I sensed was not caused by being pained at me, and pushed out, “Courtney.”
“Hi,” I replied.
“We also bought books. And crystals,” Prue said, upending her bag on the table where a bunch of crystals skittered out.
“I wanted to buy some sage sticks,” Chastity whisper-told Battle. “But Vivi told me it’s cultural appropriation.”
“The shopkeeper wasn’t a fan of that,” Prue shared with the room at large.
“I’m not sure it’s a thing, like Native Americans care if white people use smudge sticks to get rid of bad juju,” I explained. “But my motto is, better safe than sorry you not bastardizing something meaningful to some other culture’s spiritualism.”
Temperance’s low chuckle was amused, beautiful and sultry.
Chelsea emitted an annoyed noise.
“I didn’t know those were Native American,” Courtney put in.
“They are,” I confirmed.
Prue, getting in on my game, encouraged, “Show them your books, Vivi.”
I pulled all four of my big, how-to-be-a-white-witch books out of another bag, announcing, “First, I’m going to write my novel. Then, I’m going to get this whole love potion thing down and open a shop in Glastonbury.”
“I take it you enjoyed your day,” Battle purred.
“We had so much fun, Battie,” Chassie, hanging on his arm, whisper-assured.
He turned and kissed the side of her head.
Mostly an ass (probably).
But totally a good brother.
I put the books on the table, taking the top one with me, sitting back and flipping through it, saying, “That place is my new favorite place on the planet.” I turned to Temperance. “And yes, this decision might have something to do with me eating three of those Viennese fingers.”
“I’m stunned and insulted you’d assume I have poor taste in anything,” Temperance returned.
“Lesson learned,” I replied.
“May I get you ladies drinks?” Fitzgibbons was now there asking.
“Usual for me, Fitzy, thanks,” Prue said.
“Can I have a white wine spritzer?” Chassie whisper-requested, then she looked up at Battle, who she was now leaning on, also who had his arm around her (the box of donuts was on the mantle). “It was such a sunny, happy day. Like summer, almost.”
He smiled tenderly down at her.
Completely and totally a good brother.
“Miss Vivienne?” Fitzgibbons prompted.
I tried to dream up a good challenge for Fitzgibbons in the drinks arena, but with what was going on, I didn’t have it in me.
So I asked, “Gin fizz for me, please.”
“Right away,” he said and left the room (there was no drinks cabinet there, though, the speed in which he left probably had to do with him making an escape).
“As you see, we have unexpected company,” Temperance pointed out unnecessarily.
“I really did think Rally phoned you,” Courtney said.
“And I thought Court phoned you.” Rally pointedly aimed this at Chelsea.
Chelsea was studying her rounded, cream-polished fingernails.
“It’s terribly rude just to pitch up and—” Rally began.