Chapter 22
“Put it down, Immy—don’t make me use a stun spell.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Don’t try me. Put the eyeliner down.”
With a dramatic sigh of reluctance, Immy put down the black liquid eyeliner she’d been threatening to use on herself. Dina scrambled to get it out of the bride’s reach, throwing it to Rosemary, who cleverly tucked it away somewhere Immy wouldn’t be able to locate it for the next twenty minutes.
Dina looked at her friend, who was currently staring mournfully at herself in one of those illuminated Hollywood mirrors.
“This isn’t cold feet, is it?” Dina asked.
“No, nothing like that. I just don’t—this doesn’t feel like me,” Immy replied, gesturing at the full face of contour makeup featuring a bronze smoky eye and dark nude lip that a makeup artist, one that Eric’s parents had booked, had just finished.
“You look beautiful,” Rosemary chimed in, and Immy smiled weakly.
“She’s not wrong,” Dina added, “but if you don’t feel like yourself then we need to fix that, don’t we.”
“I can just feel how heavy it is on my skin, and these eyelashes are seriously weighing me down.” Immy looked pointedly at Dina. “Is there anything you can do to fix it?”
Spells to alter things like paint and makeup weren’t Dina’s strong suit; she fared much better with baking spells. Thankfully, there was someone nearby who could fix this.
Dina tapped one of the pendants around her neck three times. Mama, can you come up to the bridal suite, please: We need your help.
Dina felt her thought travel into the pendant, which felt warm to the touch. A moment later, the shadow of a voice echoed in her mind. I’m coming.
Nour swayed into the bridal suite in a teksheta of midnight blue and gold, complete with billowing silk sleeves embroidered with golden crescent moons.
“Wow, Nour, I don’t think you’ve ever looked more like a witch,” Immy exclaimed.
Nour laughed. “It’s a good thing I’m here to work my magic then.” She strode purposefully across the suite to Immy’s chair.
“Oh, habiba, what did they do to you!” she tutted, squishing Immy’s face between her hands.
“Can you fix it, Mama?” Dina asked.
“Mmm. I came prepared.” Nour reached into a pocket deep in the folds of her teksheta. She removed a small paper pouch that smelled strongly of saffron and nutmeg. And magic—ascent that Dina couldn’t truly describe. Like the air before a summer storm, the shivers you get when you listen to a beautiful piece of music, mixed with that feeling of waking up and seeing the first snow of winter.
“What’s that?” Immy inquired.
“This is a little concoction I use myself, but it’s not to be trifled with. I need you to focus, Immy. I’m going to count to three, then I’m going to blow this powder onto your face.”
“…Okay,” Immy said, sounding unsure.
“And when I do, I want you to imagine how you’ve always wanted to look on your wedding day. How you imagined your makeup, but more importantly how you wanted to feel inside. All that joy, all that excitement. Keep your eyes closed. Understand?”
“I think so,” Immy replied. She looked to Dina for reassurance, so Dina smiled back.
“Okay, count of three. Dina, take a step back so it doesn’t go all over you.”
Dina did as she was told. The spell wasn’t for her; she didn’t want to accidentally affect the magic by standing too close.
On the count of three, Nour opened the small parcel and blew the golden powder onto Immy’s face. She was enveloped in a cloud of sparkling gold and deep amber, until the powder dissipated into the air as if it had never been there at all.
Not even a stain on the furniture.
“Immy, you look stunning!” Dina squeaked, as Immy turned to behold herself in the mirror. The slickest cat eyeliner and bold red lips stared back at her, and Immy couldn’t help but beam. She got up and threw her arms around Nour, pulling Dina into the hug too.
“What would I do without you both!”
Nour stood back and looked over the makeup appraisingly. “Very good. Very good. Now don’t party too late, because that’s going to disappear from your face at three-thirty a.m . sharp.”
“Why three-thirty?”
“Rules are rules.” Nour took Immy’s hand in her own. “Immy, I’m so proud of you. You look beautiful.”
“Thank you, Nour,” Immy replied. “Don’t make me start crying now you’ve fixed my makeup!” she cried, patting her eyes with a tissue.
“Okay, okay, I’m just being an emotional old lady. You can cry all you like though, it’s waterproof.”
As she stood in the doorway, she looked back at them.
“My girls,” Nour smiled. “All grown-up and getting married.”
Dina let out a laugh. “Only Immy’s getting married, Mama.”
Nour gave her daughter a sly, knowing smile. “Don’t question a witch’s intuition, Dina. It never lies.”
And with that, Nour sauntered out.
“A whole family of witches,” Rosemary said. “Do you think you’d ever let me write about it?” She looked over at Dina hopefully.
“Sorry, I already sold my life story to Immy,” she said.
“Yeah, and I’ve got exclusive rights!” the bride cackled. “Right, you two, help me into my dress.”
Immy’s dress was a thing of beauty. Dina remembered her description of her dream dress: a deep-plunge neckline, and long sleeves that widened at the forearm. It looked like it could have been Morticia Addams’s wedding dress, if she’d ever worn white.
“I think I’m going to cry,” Dina sighed as she draped the veil across Immy’s face.
“You better bloody not or I’ll start crying. And then I’ll start sweaty crying and I’ll be a wreck before we even get downstairs,” Immy sniffed. Dina handed her friend the bouquet of sunflowers.
“Eric’s one lucky bastard,” Rosemary said.
Immy looked at herself in the full-length mirror, her blonde hair cascading down her back in an elaborate plait, fresh flowers woven into the braid.
“Yeah, actually, he is.”
Dina’s heart lifted as she heard the confidence in Immy’s voice. It hadn’t always been like this; she remembered late-night phone calls filled with tears when other boys had broken her heart.
And with each broken heart Dina had performed just a tiny little hex, so the next day they would step on dog shit. If they treated her friend like shit, then they would have to step in it. Dina was a firm believer in poetic—and petty—justice.
“I think they’re ready for us,” Rosemary called from the doorway.
Dina arched an eyebrow. “You ready to get married?”
“Hell yeah!” Immy laughed and took Dina’s outstretched arm. Dina wasn’t just going to play the role of maid of honor today. She was going to walk Immy down the aisle.