I’d spoken to Shannon on the phone a few times over the past few months, and we’d exchanged emails about the girls’ dresses for the wedding, but it was good to put a face to the voice. Shannon sat next to me, and the girls—who were spunky but well behaved—sat on the floor by their mother’s feet.
Violet arrived with her mother Cora, and they’d brought Charlie along. Charlie took one look at Willow and the girls and made a beeline for them. She began chattering away with Willow, Sophia and Chloe Jacobs. Before I knew it, Holly had perched on the arm of the couch next to me, and I discovered that I was actually enjoying myself.
“I saw the photos on your website of the party you put together for Charlie,” Shannon was saying.
“Willow, behave yourself,” I said, as she and the other girls had gone from talking to bouncing up and down on the area rug.
“It was fabulous.” Shannon said enthusiastically.
I smiled in response. “Thank you.”
“Anyway, I was wondering, have you ever done a gender reveal party?”
I studied the blonde. Her loose sweater had quite camouflaged her baby bump. “Of course.” I smiled. “When are you scheduled to have your ultrasound?” I asked.
“In three weeks.”
I reached for the planner/ notebook I always kept in my purse. Shannon pointed out the date of her appointment. It was on the second Thursday in April, and as we discussed it I agreed that the Saturday after would be ideal. “Did you want the party to be elaborate or simple?” I asked.
Shannon laughed. “Somewhere in between.”
“Dinner or hors d’oeuvres?”
“I was thinking of appetizers and some really extravagant sweets—all in pink and blue,” Shannon said.
I nodded. “Why don’t we have a sit-down next week. I will put some ideas together for you, and then you and your husband can choose what you like. How’s that sound?” I scribbled the date on the back of one of my business cards.
“That’d be great.” Shannon smiled. “This baby was a big surprise and it’s definitely going to be the last one for us. So we decided to do something different and do a gender reveal.”
I slipped her my card, and I added her contact information in my phone. Lexie announced that there were refreshments in the kitchen, and I mentally sighed when Willow, Charlie, Sophia and Chloe all went stampeding for the food.
On the surface, the bridal shower seemed perfectly normal…until you tuned in and caught the conversations that were flowing as the guests helped themselves to the buffet.
“…and I told Kyle,” this was from Shannon. “I’d prefer to rely on the good old-fashioned ultrasound for the gender results, as opposed to him scrying.”
“What’d he have to say about that?” Lexie wanted to know.
Shannon cocked a brow. “That I was practically insulting his family’s heritage and he was shocked at my lack of faith in his clairvoyant abilities.”
“As if,” Lexie snorted with laughter. “The Proctors have nearly as many Seers in their line as the Jacobs do.”
Faye Bishop selected carrot sticks from the vegetable crudité. “Well,” she said to another woman, “the handfasting ceremony won’t fall on Beltane proper, but at least we have the energies of the sabbat and the waxing moon in play…”
I managed to not bobble my plate. All around me folks were casually talking about magick, and that was something I’d done my best to cut myself off from a long, long time ago. Hell’s bells! I thought as a bead of sweat rolled down my back. I looked at the shower guests with new eyes, suddenly noticing lots of magickal jewelry.
While the women continued to discuss the astrological aspects of the wedding date, I selected a small sandwich with great care, reminding myself to keep my facial expressions neutral. I tried to be casual as I checked my surroundings and suddenly saw a few witchy decorations in the home too.
Almost every woman at the shower was a practitioner. God almighty, I thought. I’d avoided situations like this for years. But now, I was in fact, surrounded by Witches. The realization made my self-imposed exile from magick even harder. I blew out a careful breath, shuffled forward in the food line, and tried to act like a completely clueless mundane.
Cora O’Connell stepped behind me, helping herself to a small sandwich. “Violet,” she said to her daughter, “you’re going to have to have a talk with next weekend’s bride. I’m washing my hands of her. I swear to goddess if she calls the shop and changes her mind on the centerpieces one more time, I’m going to cast for an ice storm to hit on her wedding day.”
Violet rolled her eyes. “I’d prefer you cast for snow instead of ice, Mom.”
Cora frowned. “Why’s that?”
Violet picked up a carrot stick and bit in. “Cause we’ll be the ones stuck delivering flowers in bad weather, and snow is much easier to deal with than ice.”
“Good point.” Cora laughed. “Maybe I’ll have Marie sweeten the Bridezilla up with some Hoodoo.”
A stunning woman with micro braids joined the buffet line. “Somebody call my name?” The woman was tall, curvy and covered with tattoos. A myriad of different tattoos ran down her arms and over the back of both her hands. What skin wasn’t adorned was a beautiful shade of café au lait.
“Mom’s threatening to jinx next weekend’s bride,” Violet explained. “This one is being a real Bridezilla.”
“Maybe you should ask the expert on how best to handle that.” Marie tossed me a wink. “What do you say, Maggie?”
I cleared my throat. Play it cool, Maggie, I warned myself. “It’s been my experience that Bridezillas are usually insecure and frightened. They often require extra hand-holding. In these situations there’s always a deeper
