Miss Fortune (17 page)

That was where she found the book on tantric sex for some odd reason, and as it was small enough to lose again, she stuck it in her bag so she wouldnt forget to mail it.

That was where she found her horoscope chart, too, and checked to see if Mars was still in retrograde or what the hell the problem was. Her study of the chart, however, was not illuminating. Go figure.

And as she tossed that onto a new stack, she noticed the spell book Dagne had brought into her life. Wicked Good: A Witchs Guide to Effective Spells for Women .

Rachel picked it up, intending to put it away, but the heavy book somehow slipped between her fingers and fell onto the hardwood floor with a thud . She picked it up by the spine, and the book started to slip again, so she caught it underneath with her other arm and noticed that it had fallen on the page of Seduction Spells.

Isnt that rich, she said with a frown, not happy at all to be reminded of Flynn, the Loser Who Had Not Called. She moved to close the book and put it away, but her eye caught tiny print on the bottom of a table of contents that guided the reader to enchanting spells of seduction and everlasting love.

Thats weird, she muttered. It was something she had not heretofore noticed, and shed damn sure looked at the page enough times. The print was so tiny and the daylight was fading so fast that Rachel had to lift the book to her face and squint to read it.

Warning! Spells cannot be used to enslave an-other being! To hold someone against their will is wrong! If you are guilty of using one of these powerful spells to entice love that is not meant to be, the spell will only be temporary, and cause more heartache than good!

She lifted her head, blinked down at the page. How in the hell had she missed that warning? It seemed pretty important, and really, having spent the last several weeks honing her spell-casting abilities, one would think she might have noticed an important disclaimer like that!

Christ, no wonder Flynn hadnt called!

She had used her goddess powers to entice someone who didnt want to be enticed, and in return, shed gotten majorly worked up over a kiss that was going nowhere! How stupid am I? she cried, and slapped the spell book shut, slammed it down on the hutch, and glared at it, furious.

Oh yeah, she was furious, all right. Furious that shed made a fool of herself over some stranger, had believed it was kismet, had even made the fatal mistake of mentioning it to her sisters, dammit! And she was furious for being so naive and stupid and trusting of a woman she knew better than to trust! She was furious with Dagne, too, and held her totally responsible for this mess, because she was the one who had forced Rachel into this stupid stupid witchcraft business to begin with.

But then again, who was the idiot who had been dumb enough to believe anything Dagne Delaney had to say, and worse, had actually cast all those ridiculous spells?

Her name is Rachel ! And dont forget the spells with the actual dancing, you dolt. Augh ! she shrieked at the book. Gawd, I am so through with this crap! she said angrily, and whipped around to find a box to put all the witchcraft junk in, because that was definitely the one box she would toss out to the street

But her sleeve caught the hutch and the spell book and sent it flying across the dining room. It sailed wide of the hutch and landed, spine up, pages down, beneath the arch that separated the dining room from the living room.

Only the funny thing was, Rachel didnt remember hitting it, exactly. In fact, she was pretty certain she hadnt touched the book. Just the hutch.

Shit . A cold shiver ran down her spine, and she slowly turned and looked at the hutch. Nothing else was disturbed. This was a little too spooky for her, and she glanced at the spell book again, wondered how it had defied physics to land spine up again, its pages bunched and folded beneath the heavy cardboard covers.

This isnt creepy! she scoffed aloud, hugging herself. Because this stuff isnt real! Its bullshit, like everything else Dagne does!

So why, then, did she hear a tiny little voice in her head that sounded exactly like Dagne telling her if she believed, it was real?

No. This is so ridiculous! But she took a step toward the spell book. And another. Was she imagining things, or had it grown unusually cold in here? And another step, and another, until she was suddenly running in little-girl steps to the book, which she snatched up quickly and held to her chest as she ran into the living room and threw herself on the couch, burying her face in the pillows.

But after a moment, when she realized she really couldnt breathe, she slowly pushed herself up, peeled the spell book from her chest, and looked down at the pages to where it had fallen open. It was a spell of personal growth and prosperity.

Physical and emotional prosperity will come when you are ready to receive it. To prepare yourself, you will need

Now that was a classic example of serendipity if ever shed seen one, and she was not so practical as to turn her back on it. So Rachel pushed herself up, shoved her hair behind her ears, and began to read how to prepare herself for physical and emotional prosperity.

THE address for the Saturday soiree was near Blackstone Avenue, a swank area of town full of mansions and old money and old people with enough history in town to throw massive parties where hundreds might attend. This one was set in an old colonial mansion, which was painted yellow and sat back from the street on a grassy hill behind a tall wrought iron fence.

Rachel motored up the long, circular drive, and was immediately met out front of the large portico by a man dressed in an old-style footmans uniform, complete with white-haired wig and queue. Yes? he asked tersely when Rachel rolled down her window.

Im supposed to meet the caterer.

The caterer was told to have all staff park on the street! he said, pointing with his big, white, cartoonish gloved hands toward the gate. Once youve done so, you may find your crew just up the drive there, he said, and pointed toward the service drive.

Thanks! Rachel called out the window as he stalked away. Jerk, she muttered beneath her breath as she motored on around the drive and onto the street.

Naturally, she had to park fourteen thousand miles away, and it was freezing out, and she was really PMS-ing, as in, retaining water like the proverbial sea cow. She didnt have anything but her lavender shawl, so her teeth were chattering by the time she reached the top of the hill. She skirted around the end of the house so as not to run into Paul Revere, Doorman, and trudged on the path that led to the servants entrance (she knew exactly what the path was, having spent her formative years in Houston in a house of similar size, where theyd had an actual guard posted at their gate for reasons that seemed more ridiculous the older she got).

It was amazing, given her foul state of mind and the fact that her teeth were chattering, that she even heard the mewling sound. But she did hear it, and stopped in her tracks. There it was, very faint. She looked around, toward the hedges, and then to the bushes that lined the exterior of the garage. She heard it again, only louder this time, and as she neared the edge of the four-car garage, she saw the cat.

A cat that was, inexplicably, chained to a tree. Granted, there was a little kitty shanty there, and a bowl of water, but the cat was chained to a tree. In her thirty-one years, Rachel had never seen a chained cat. She didnt even know it was possible to chain a cat.

And the cat obviously didnt like it; she meowed at Rachel, who immediately moved to pet it, but the poor thing was so traumatized that it jumped away, aiming for her little kitty jail. Only the feline fell short because of the weight of the chain. Rachel moved very slowly, singing Kitty, kitty, kitty until she at last got close enough to pet it.

That was, as it turned out, a huge mistake, because the cat was really frightened and let out a cat screech that echoed throughout the entire neighborhood.

Were not going to stand for this, Rachel assured the cat. Well think of something. Just give me a few minutes.

And she did have every intention of doing something, but the sudden sound of pots and pans being clanged together startled her, and she turned to see a womans head pop out from behind the door leading to the kitchen.

Rachel instantly jumped up; the womans hair was in disarray, and there was what looked like fingerprints on her blouse. Are you the help? she asked quickly.

Yes. My name

Get rid of that shawl and hurry up. This is a nightmare ! she exclaimed, and disappeared again.

Rachel moved quickly; she followed the woman into a small sort of mudroom off the kitchen, saw hooks with coats on them, and hung her bag, then her shawl over the bag, and was straightening her clothing and hair when the woman shouted, Hurry up ... whats your name?

Rachel!

Rachel! Hurry the hell up! Were already a half hour behind schedule!

Rachel hurried the hell up, and stepped through that interior door into a madhouse. Men and women were rushing around an industrial-sized kitchen, checking pots and pans, carrying trays, and barely avoiding collisions with one another. The woman was standing at a small desk with a sheaf of papers in one hand, a Diet Coke in the other. She took one look at Rachel, up and down, and shook her head. I said skirt ! What sort of moron shows up to cocktail in pants ?

I ah, I the temp agency said black attire.

Jesus Christ! The woman slammed the Diet Coke down onto the desk, spun around, and rifled through several clothes hanging from hooks next to her. She finally pulled out a skirt that looked five sizes too small and thrust it at Rachel as she glanced at her feet. Oh great , boots with heels? she cried angrily. What the hell do I care? If your feet are killing you at the end of the night, its not my fault! she snapped. Theres a toilet at the end of the kitchen. Go change!

Rachel looked at the skirt, then at the woman, who looked as if she might come apart at the seams at any mo-ment, glaring fiercely and daring Rachel to argue, which Rachel was not stupid enough to do. She just clutched the skirt tightly to her, said thanks, and ran.

Unfortunately, it took her several minutes to maneuver into that skirt, and it didnt help matters that she was as bloated as a stuck pig. In the end, she had to settle for zipping only. The button was not going in the buttonhole, no way, no how.

She at last emerged, poured into the skirt so tight that she could hardly breathe. Thank God she had on a long sweater that covered any unsightly bulging and knee-high boots. Her hair was braided down her back, and having done some whimsical spell casting on her personal behalf, shed felt a little festiveshed threaded gold filigree through her hair to give it a sort of medieval look.

As long as she didnt have to bend or sit, she was okay.

The woman was instantly at her side, pulling her pants from her grip and shoving an apron at her, which she gestured for Rachel to put on. It was white and said across the bodice, Queen Marys Catering , and was embroidered with tiny little ships around the lettering.

The woman waited impatiently for Rachel to tie the apron, then shoved a beverage tray into her hand. Im Mary. If you have any questions about anything , you find me. Do not bother the hostess! Youre serving drinks. Now go! she said, and fairly pushed Rachel through a swinging door, which she stumbled through, seeing as how she could hardly move her legs in that skirt. Once she was certain she wouldnt topple over, she paused and had a look around.

She was not prepared for the room that greeted her.

On the other side of that swinging door was a large room, perhaps a ballroom at one point. A thick oriental carpet covered the floor. The crown molding along the ceiling was papier-mache in the old style, with flying baby cherubs forming a ring around the room and around the huge candelabra that hung from the middle. There was a small jazz quartet at the far end of the room, seated at the edge of a portable dance floor that couldnt have been larger than about eight feet. There was a full bar manned by two bartenders directly across from the enormous hearth, and a smattering of tables built for two.

The hosts had gone to great expense to decorate with a Thanksgiving themecornucopias overflowing with fruits and grains were in the corners, and two cornucopias on the bar were pouring what looked like champagne. In addition, funky but elaborate paper and feathered turkeys graced the tabletops, as well as a huge one in front of the fireplace.

Moreover, many of the guests were wearing pilgrim hats.

Her perusal of the room was interrupted by the arrival of Mary again, who came barging through the swinging door with something that smelled divine. What are you waiting for? she hissed at Rachels back. Get out there!

Rachel stumbled into the midst of the partygoers and asked the first couple she came to, Drink?

Darling, I thought youd never arrive! the woman laughed. Ill have a Manhattan, but please tell the bartender that I want just a dash of vermouth, and in fact, Id really prefer it if hed dash just a little more bitters than vermouth, she said, holding up her fingers to indicate how much more.

Sure! Rachel said, even as she was trying to commit to memory what the woman had just said.

Ill have an Italian Nut. Lots of ice, the man added.

An Italian Nut? Rachel echoed.

Yes. An Italian Nut, he said with a completely straight face.

Got it! Rachel said with a smile, and headed for the bar, knowing, even at this early stage, that one hundred dollars was not going to be nearly enough for this evening, because she recognized all the signs of a blow-out, as she had been forced to attend parties like this when she was a teenager.

When she reached the bar, she smiled and said to one of the bartenders, I need a Manhattan, with a dash of ver-mouth. And she asked if you would dash more bitters than vermouth.

Gotcha, he said, and started making the drink.

And an Italian Nut, she said carefully.

Oh man! He laughed. These people got more money than brains, huh? Youll have heard it all by the time this is over, sweetheart. Im Mike, by the way.