Magical Weddings (14 page)

“You don’t think we can hold the wedding outdoors?”

“Positive,” Lysée said.

“If it’s rain you’re worried about, Ax can set up the tent. Plus the carriage house could do for the reception. Less chance of soggy salmon whatever.”

Lysée shuddered at the mention of salmon. Everyone knew she hated salmon, though it showed up unfailingly on the menu at each wedding.

“Does the carriage house have reliable heating?” the witch asked.

“Well, no,” Colleen said.

“Exactly. On wedding day, I wouldn’t be surprised if we get snow.”

“Snow!”

Colleen wasn’t the only one shocked by that pronouncement. Mia and Shelley echoed her surprise.

“Snow?” They said in stereo.

“Ten days and it’s June,” Shelley added. “Summer.” She’d carried her teacup from the kitchen into the ballroom and sipped at Darjeeling. Ten to one, the woman would abandon it somewhere in the house, which meant Colleen would have to return it to the kitchen.

Mia picked at a chocolate scone she’d brought with her as well, though Colleen noted she was careful to lick the crumbs off her fingers rather than allow them to scatter on the floor.

Shelley drained the last of her tea–

And there it goes
.

–tucking the saucerless cup into the rose grafter’s workbench behind the door to the closet-cum-indoor potting shed.

Irritated, though doing her best not to show it, Colleen crossed the huge, glass walled and ceilinged room toward the bench. As Shelley moved on, Colleen retrieved the cup.

“We don’t get snow in June in Breens Mist, Oregon,” Mia said, then swallowed her last bite of scone.

Lysée regarded the three of them archly.

“
Are
we hosting a wedding in June?”

“No,” Colleen said. “But are you absolutely…”

Lysée had orchestrated weddings between the witches and warlocks of Breens since long before Colleen’s arrival at Drayhome. Notes Colleen had found attached to items in the attic from past nuptials suggested the French-American witch had been at it for at least a century. She doubted anyone had officially assigned Lysée the task, but it suited her. Lysée’s gift was joy. As magical talents went, it wasn’t the most practical or useful of powers, which meant many of her fellow witches and warlocks didn’t respect or value her as much as they should.

Sound familiar?

Colleen considered the possibility that beneath that cool Parisian confidence of hers, Lysée was a great swamp of insecurities. If it was one thing Lysée could be counted on to get right it was wedding arrangements. No one in Breens knew who the “lucky couple” was destined to be a week from today, but Lysée never erred in her choices. Somehow, she always designed a ceremony that perfectly fit that last second mystery couple, as if the three of them had sat down together months before and worked out every exacting detail.

To call her judgment into question now showed a deep lack of faith in her gift, her unique talent for producing a joyful occasion, and thus the witch herself. Colleen wouldn’t do that. She knew too well what it was like to be doubted and dismissed.

“You say indoors, indoors it is.” Colleen said.

“Thank you,” Lysée said and favored her with a warm smile.

“But if we’re talking snow–”

“This place is going to be freezing!” Shelley gestured with a wide sweep of one arm to include the great empty conservatory.

“An ice box,” Colleen confirmed.

“Some plants might help with that,” Mia said. “Boost the humidity and retain some of the warmth.”

Mia usually served as florist at every wedding, partly due to her close friendship with Lysée, but also because of her talent, growth, specifically growth relating to plants. She could take a ranunculus or hydrangea from seed to bloom in under a week, a sweet trick when you never had longer than that to prepare.

Shelley eyed the distinct lack of radiators or heating vents in the conservatory. “That’s provided there’s warmth to retain in the first place.”

Shelley’s purpose for being here? Well, Colleen was never sure of Shelley’s function. She’d never actually witnessed the woman’s magical gifts in action.

“That is a concern,” Lysée said, “We might have to call in some talent. Unless, Colleen, you think Ax could fix it?”

“Sorry, Ax, can’t fix what isn’t here to fix. We’re still using the original boiler in the basement and the closest the pipes come is the library two rooms over.”

Lysée sighed. “Okay.” Her wistful gaze surveyed the near empty room, its fanciful architecture and the sumptuous view of the garden that lay beyond its glass walls. “But I’m not giving up on this. Not yet. We’ll work something out. This room and the ballroom are the heart of this wedding. I can feel it.”

“It’s no problem for me,” Mia said. “I can grow a traditional Victorian conservatory like this by Friday if you need it. Trees, ferns, orchids, rare specimens. Though I may need an extra day for the
Amorphophallus titanium
. They usually require seven to ten years to bloom.”

“Amor-phallus what?” Shelley asked. “Sounds like you just said
love penis
.”

“
Amorphophallus titanium
or titan arum, more commonly known as corpse flower. It has the largest unbranched inflorescence in the world.”

“The largest what?” Shelley said.

Colleen translated. “The biggest flower on Earth.”

“Typically six to eight feet tall, though one was recorded at 10-feet,” Mia said. “The erect spadix at the center is
huge
.”

“Really,” Shelley said.

“I think we can dispense with the corpse flower,” Lysée said.

“But why?” Mia said, immediately sounding hurt. “People are fascinated by them.”

“I’m sure that’s true.”

“And they’re a deep purple inside. Deep.”

Lysée was not impressed.

Mia did not want to let it go. “And did I mention the flower reaches 98 degrees? That could help with the heating.”

“They smell like a rotting body,” Lysée said. “Not quite the ambience we’re going for.” She turned, placed hand on hip and gave Colleen a speculative glance. “Besides…”

Uh-oh. What now?

Colleen immediately envisioned her workload exploding out of proportion.

“…I have something else entirely in mind for this wedding.”

“I know that look,” Shelley said.

“So do I,” Mia said.

“I don’t,” Colleen said. “And that’s what frightens me.”

“Colleen,” Lysée asked. “What’s in the attic?”

“The attic?”

“Yes. I saw
attics
written on your list of chores for Ax.”

“Ax said no one would be interested.”

“Let us be the judge of that,” Lysée said. “Interested in what?”

“Old wedding stuff.”

“Ooo,” Mia said, “You mean from all our old weddings here at Drayhome?”

“I don’t know about every wedding,” Colleen said, “but yes, there’s a lot of old stuff from a lot of old weddings.”

Shelley’s interest perked up. “Clothes?”

“I think there’s a trunk or two.”

“Shoes? Hats? Accessories?” Shelley said.

“Shelley, you have two centuries worth of dresses, shoes, hats, handbags and more back at your place,” Lysée said. “Do you really need more?”

“Excuse me,” Shelley said. “I’m not sure I got that. Were you speaking French just now? You know I don’t
parlez-vous français
.”

Lysée waved Shelley’s comment aside and returned to questioning Colleen. “What I’m interested in is magic. Are there any leftover bits and pieces of magic up there, do you think? Things we created for ceremonies or receptions years ago that might still work?”

“I–”

“The champagne glasses from the 1920s!” Shelley said. “They divided endlessly, stacking themselves into a fountain that never ran out of Möet & Chandon.”

“Or the cage full of winged fairy mice that delivered cheese to everyone’s tidbit plates at the reception in, when was that…?” Mia asked.

“1938,” Shelley said.

“That’s right, 1938!”

“I know it was mostly illusion,” Shelley said. “No one can make winged fairy mice. But it sure was clever.”

“My favorite was the one I made for the very first wedding I planned,” Lysée said.

“Refresh my…oh…” Shelley sighed exquisitely. “I remember now. The key box.”

“The key box! I heard about that,” Mia said. “
You
made the key box?”

“What’s the key box?” Colleen asked.

“It was before both of your times,” Shelley said. “And it was wonderful. You’re right, Lysée, the best one.”

If Colleen wasn’t mistaken, Shelley’s eyes glistened, wet along her lower lashes.

Stunned, Colleen exchanged glances with Mia, who was just as shocked as she by the blonde witch’s uncharacteristic display of emotion.

“Is someone going to explain to us what the key box is…was?” Colleen asked.

“Just a box full of old keys,” Lysée said. “One for each guest.”

“Wedding favors.” Shelley interrupted her. “Lysée, here, created the world’s most perfect wedding favor.”

“Every guest to the wedding was given a chance to reach into the box for a key. No two keys were alike because no two witches or warlocks are alike.”

“What did the keys do?” Mia asked. “What were they for?”

“Each one opened a locked door here at Drayhome,” Lysée said.

“When was this?” Colleen asked.

“1897.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but even back then Breens coven was still comprised of more than 75 witches and warlocks.”

“78,” Lysée said.

“But Drayhome doesn’t have 78 rooms. Even counting locking cupboards, I’m not sure we have that many doors.”

Lysée shrugged. “Did I say they had to be different doors? No! It what was behind each door when the guest turned the key that mattered.”

“What?” Mia asked.

“The past,” Shelley said.

“Is that what it was for you,
mon cher
?” Lysée spoke softly to her friend.

“I don’t get it,” Mia said.

“Joy,” Colleen said, understanding at once. “It was seeing whatever would give you joy.”

“
Exactement
,” Lysée said. “It lasted only a few seconds, less than a minute, but it was joy only. It left no sadness behind.”

“We have to go up there,” Mia said, heading for the door leading back into the hallway and one of Drayhome’s five staircases.

“I agree,” Lysée said. “We need to search the attics for all the old magicks, and bring them down here. See if we can get them working again for the last wedding at Drayhome.”

Colleen froze. “Excuse me,” she said. “The last
what
?”

With a sharp tug, the ground beneath Ax jerked his feet to the left, while gravity toppled the rest of his body to the right. He staggered and caught himself just before hitting the cement floor in the carriage house. Outside, a murder of crows weighing down the branches of a willow tree flapped into the air in a shrieking, cawing mess. Rumbling from deep in the earth shook his spine. Everything around him swayed for perhaps two, three seconds, and then stopped; the sounds of stone grating on stone gradually fading into the distance.

Earthquake?

If so, the tremor couldn’t have measured above 3.4, maybe 3.5 on the Richter scale. Earthquakes weren’t as common in Oregon as California, but he’d been in a couple of tiny ones in San Francisco decades ago and they’d felt similar. Temblors in the 3-range were a shrug-it-off event.

Which is what Ax did, returning to the first chore on his list, the infuriating set of carriage doors that refused to stay on their radiused iron tracks.

An hour ago, he’d beat a rapid retreat to the carriage house after the three witches’ arrival, sensing an endless bout of wedding talk on the horizon. No way was he getting sucked into that mind-numbing vortex. Besides, he was on a tight schedule. Time to get to work. He’d found the doors hanging crazily off their tracks, just as Colleen reported, and the same state in which he discovered them each time he was called back for repairs.

What the hell was going on? Like many things manufactured by the iron and steel industries in the United States during the early 20 century, the track and trolley rollers were solid and well made. A tank would break down before these things gave out. He stared up at the twin rails mounted to the header above the doors. Each track curved around a 90-degree corner and was attached to one wall of the garage so the sets of doors could part in the center, and then slide back neatly out of sight when opened.

I don’t get it. I don’t see anything wrong
.

Entirely rust free—a wonder given this was rainy Oregon—the tracks and trolley wheels should have operated smoothly, without hitch. When he remounted the panels on the rails, a total of six thick slabs similar in heft and age to Drayhome’s front doors, each section hung straight and true. No swollen or decaying wood, nothing off kilter. He’d been over the whole thing with a level, calipers and measuring tape. After careful analysis did not provide an answer, he’d even climbed a ladder, and eyeballed each section of track up close, looking for crimps or fractures in the metal.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

Why did they keep falling off?
How
did they? The way the system worked, the doors would have to physically jump up to knock the trolley wheels out of their tracks.

He pulled on the right hand set of doors and they slid effortlessly out of the way. Pushed at the left hand set and they did the same, gliding into place along the opposite wall.

“If you hate me so much,” he said to Drayhome, “you should want these to stay fixed so I don’t have to keep coming back here.”

Not that it would be a concern for much longer.

Poor Colleen
.

What would she do when she learned this was the end and she would have to leave after the wedding?

The last wedding to be held here. The last anything
.

He knew Drayhome wasn’t just a house to her. It wasn’t just a place to live. Her talent made it infinitely more. He might not know precisely how her gift worked, the exact nature of the connection she had to this place, but one thing he did get. It ran deep.