Charmed Offensive Page 9

  Begonia pressed her lips together, debating. “What do you think, Emma?”

  “If you’re willing,” I said.

  “I’ll do it for you, Millie,” Begonia said.

  “You’ll have to do it here,” Agnes said. “They won’t let me come down to the tattoo parlor. They have ridiculous rules in this place.”

  “I’ll pull a design together and send it over,” Begonia agreed.

  Agnes spit in her palm and held out her hand. “Deal.”

  Begonia winced as she pressed her hand into Agnes’s.

  “Now that the bargaining is out of the way,” I said, “any suggestions on securing votes?”

  “Who’s the competition?” she asked.

  “Rodrigo Arroyo and Gina Salt,” Millie said.

  Agnes winced. “Ouch. Rodrigo is your main competitor. The witches love listening to him talk. I don’t think they care what the words are. Gina’s okay, but I wouldn’t worry about her.”

  “That was my thought, too,” Millie said.

  “There are two ways you can go with this,” Agnes said. She wiggled her empty glass and Begonia took it for a refill. “You can go the Jacinda Ruth route and try to win them over by seeming capable yet cool and aloof, or you can charm the pants off them like me.”

  “You and I have different definitions of charm,” Millie said.

  Agnes observed her. “Hmm. Maybe cool and aloof is your only option.”

  Millie grimaced. “I can be charming!”

  “Why don’t we emphasize your community-minded nature?” I said. “After all, you’ve been instrumental in a few major Spellbound events. Your competitors can’t say the same.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Begonia said.

  “All that stuff is fine and dandy,” Agnes interrupted, “but I’m telling you charming and capable is the way to go. You want to show everyone that you can handle a crisis and look good while doing it. After all, you won’t just be the voice of the coven, you’ll also be the face to the outside world.”

  Millie pouted. “Rodrigo has a good face, too.”

  “Not sure how he’d be in a challenging situation, though,” I said.

  “He’s all flash and no substance,” Begonia agreed.

  “And I’m all substance and no flash,” Millie said. “How do I compete on his level?”

  Agnes’s earlier comment triggered an idea. “What if we approach the event like a beauty pageant?” I asked.

  Millie frowned. “A beauty pageant? How does that work?”

  I waved a hand. “The details aren’t worth exploring. Trust me. All you need to know is that we’d focus on your presence and poise and how to present your community achievements. Don’t worry. There will be no bathing suit category.”

  “Women compete in bathing suits?” Millie asked.

  “In high heels,” I replied. “It lifts their butts and makes their calves look better.”

  Millie shook her head. “Humans are a strange breed.”

  Begonia clapped her hands eagerly. “I like this idea.”

  I jerked my head toward her. “The bathing suit competition?”

  Her cheeks colored. “No, no. I don’t want my butt lifted.”

  “Give it a few years,” Agnes said. “You’ll want plenty of body parts to defy gravity. You should see my boobs…”

  “We really shouldn’t,” I interjected before Agnes could flash us. Thank the gods her gown tied in the back.

  Millie folded her arms, covering her chest. “Can we focus on the Voice of the Coven?”

  Agnes wagged her finger at Millie. “That is not a good look for someone who wants to win over a coven with charm and grace.”

  Millie dropped her arms to her sides.

  “The scowl too,” Agnes said.

  Millie’s expression softened.

  “Pretend you’re on a date,” Begonia said.

  “With the whole coven?” Millie asked.

  “Voice. Whore. It’s all the same,” Agnes said and sucked down the alcohol.

  Millie bristled. “I’m a virgin.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t lead with that,” Agnes said. “Makes you seem afraid to try new things.”

  “I don’t think trying new things is a requirement for a public relations liaison,” Millie said. “I’m keeping the peace, not trailblazing.”

  “Nope, you’re definitely not blazing any trails,” Agnes agreed. “You need some action. That’ll loosen you right up.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “Sex isn’t the answer, Agnes.”

  Agnes inclined her head toward my stomach. “Looks like you learned that lesson a little too late.”

  “Have another drink,” I said stiffly. “Maybe you’ll fall asleep faster.”

  “Then what good would I be?” Agnes asked.

  I gave her a stern look. “I’m starting to wonder.”

  “Charming and capable,” Millie said. “I’m going to repeat that as my mantra from now until the vote.”

  “Don’t worry, Millie,” Begonia said. “We’ll help you.”

  “The blind leading the blind,” Agnes said. “This ought to be entertaining. Wish I could make it, but they only allow special dispensation for one off-site event per month and I’ve already got…” She stopped abruptly.

  “Got what?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” she said quickly. “It’s that new receptionist. She’s making me grumpy.”

  I wasn’t sure what Darby had to do with anything, but I let it slide. “We should probably go.” I didn’t want to push our luck with the elf. No doubt she’d try to enforce the visitation time limits as well as the number of visitors.

  “Thanks for your help,” Millie said.

  “Good luck, Princess Charming.” Agnes focused on Begonia. “And don’t forget our deal.”

  “How could I?” Begonia replied weakly.

  An image of Agnes’s scrawny butt flashed in my mind and I shuddered. It wouldn’t surprise me if Begonia had nightmares about it.

  “Leave the bottle,” Agnes said. “I’ll share it with Silas later.”

  “Since when do you share?” I asked.

  Agnes winked. “He and I have a different kind of deal. In fact, I think I’ll invite him over now before my nap. Expend a little energy.”

  “Aaaand that’s our cue to leave.” I grabbed my friends by the hand and hurried out the door.

  Chapter Ten

  I parted ways with Millie and Begonia in order to drop by Amanda’s workshop, only to find a sign that read she was out making deliveries. I took a moment to stretch my back and legs before returning to Sigmund. I still had the rest of the gardening group to interview, so I decided to start with the member who was also present for the garden center brawl—Mr. Tat, otherwise known as Marty McTavish.

  I stared at the leprechaun’s garden, wondering whether the sight would result in a blinding headache later. Between the mishmash of colors and the parade of metal and stone ornaments, my brain wasn’t fully prepared to process the view. At a quick glance, I noted a metal rainbow, a stone pot of gold painted yellow, a row of gnomes, each one with a different colored hat, and a pinwheel.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  I spun around to see a leprechaun across the driveway clutching a watering can. “Oh, hi. You must be Marty McTavish.”

  “I am. Sorry to startle you,” he said. “I was watering the bushes out back and heard your jalopy.” He examined the old green Volvo. “Interesting.”

  “It belonged to my human grandmother,” I said. “My husband had it switched over to a magical engine.” I realized I should probably introduce myself before giving him my life story. “I’m Emma Hart.”

  His tiny greenish brow lifted. “You’re the one asking questions about Al Geary.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “Do you have a minute?”

  He joined me in front of the garden and began to water the cluster of multi-colored flowers. “Sure. Mind if we talk out here? I like to spend as much time outside
in daylight as possible.”

  “I don’t blame you. It smells heavenly out here.” I couldn’t say the same for how it looked, but to each his own.

  “Shame about Al,” Marty said, setting down the watering can. “He had such a good shot at winning the competition this year.”

  “You mean the gardening competition?”

  “No, the tap dancing competition.” Marty was deadpan for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Yes, the gardening competition. That’s all we care about this time of year.”

  “He can still win, can’t he?” I asked. “His garden is fine. Mr. Geary is the one out of commission.”

  Marty stroked his narrow chin. “I hadn’t really thought about that. I suppose he might still be eligible. I bet he registered the first day the competition opened.”

  “I bet he did, too. It seems like an obsession for many of you.”

  “I like to be different, as you can see, so my chances of winning are much slimmer. I don’t conform to accepted standards of beauty.”

  “You march to the beat of your own drum,” I said.

  He hooked his little thumbs through his empty belt loops. “Nice. I like that expression.”

  “Do you have any theories about why someone would do this to Mr. Geary?”

  He shot me a knowing look. “Ask your assistant, Althea. Isn’t that why you’re nosing around? To clear her name?”

  “Well, yes. I have an incentive, but only because I know she’s innocent.”

  “How do you know? Were you with her during the time Al was turned to stone?”

  “I know because she would never use her snakes to harm anyone. In fact, her snakes saved my life once.”

  “She likes you,” Marty replied. “Doesn’t mean she isn’t capable of doing something bad to someone else.”

  He had a point. “In that case, can you think of any reason that one of your gardening buddies might have decided to put him out to pasture?”

  “He and Xavier got into an argument two weeks ago. I thought I was going to have to break up a fight and would end up getting a broken nose or something. Al’s not a big guy, but Xavier is.”

  “Xavier Kaminsky?” I asked.

  “Yeah, the token vampire.”

  “Aren’t you all tokens of your respective groups?”

  Marty chuckled. “I guess you’re right. It’s just that you don’t see too many vampires who love gardening. Living things aren’t their jam.”

  “Do you know what the argument was about?”

  Marty shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Xavier.”

  “You know them both well,” I said. “Do you think Xavier is capable of turning a friend to stone?”

  Marty shifted his gaze to the tat-filled garden. “In my experience, we really don’t know anybody,” he said. “We can try and scratch the surface, but that’s about as far as we’ll ever get.”

  My chest tightened. “Spell’s bells, Marty. That’s a depressing outlook.”

  The leprechaun offered a wan smile. “Not your experience in life, huh? I guess that’s not surprising. You’re pretty and young and…tall.”

  “I’m not that tall.”

  He gave me a pointed look. “Give me a break, Emma. I’m a leprechaun.” He unhooked his thumbs. “I garden because it distracts me from everything that’s missing in my life.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like who,” he corrected me. “A wife. Kids. Heck, I’d even take a cat.”

  “There’s nothing to stop you from having any of those, especially the cat,” I said. “Go to Paws-n-Claws. They always have available pets.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement.” He plucked a leaf from one of the branches. “I would tend to a family as well as I tend to my garden, if someone would give me a chance.”

  “Have you tried speed dating in town?” I asked. “That’s worked out well for some residents.”

  He shook his head. “I’d be terrible at speed dating. They’d take one look at a little green guy headed their way and scram.”

  “Oh, Marty. It sounds to me like you’re the one not giving others a chance. You’re making assumptions about their reactions to you.”

  “Because I grew up here,” he said. “I remember every rejection in school. Every offer of a date turned down. Every dance where no one wanted to be my partner because of my size.”

  My heart ached for him. “I’m sorry, Marty. It’s their loss. You know that, right?”

  “I don’t care anymore,” he said with a stubborn jut of his chin. “I focus on the things I can control, like my garden.”

  “You’re doing a wonderful job with it,” I said. No point in admitting it wasn’t my taste. “You should think about trying the speed dating, or maybe just head out to one of the taverns for a night out. Break out of your comfort zone. There are always plenty of paranormals there having a good time. And it won’t interfere with your gardening.”

  Marty lowered his head. “I know I sound like a sad sack.”

  “It’s okay. I understand. I grew up feeling very lonely. It’s only since I’ve been in Spellbound that my life has taken a positive turn.”

  “You have it all now, don’t you? Someone who loves you, a baby on the way, a great job. Must be nice to be you.”

  I pressed my lips together, sympathizing. “If it’s any consolation, I was adopted.”

  His eyes widened. “Your parents didn’t want you?”

  “Well, it wasn’t as simple as that, but I’m considering trying to find my biological father.”

  “Aren’t you afraid he might reject you?”

  “I’m afraid of a lot of things. What if it’s a mistake? What if he hurts me or my child? It’s risky. Then again, what if he’s amazing? What if he adores us?” I tried to hug myself, but my stomach got in the way. “There’s no way to know unless I make an effort.”

  Marty nodded, understanding my point. “Maybe I’ll give that speed dating a try at least once. What’s one more rejection?”

  “I have friends that go,” I said. “I’m sure they’d be happy to meet you there.”

  The sound of a vehicle drew our attention to the road. Marty’s eyes lit up.

  “Perfect. My last delivery before the competition.”

  Amanda emerged from the jalopy carrying a ceramic replica of a bright green pot filled with gold coins. The whole ornament sparkled in the sunlight.

  “It looks fantastic,” Marty enthused.

  “Glad to hear it,” Amanda said. “It took ages to get the coins right.” She handed the ornament to him before turning to me. “I can guess why you’re here.”

  “I actually went by the workshop earlier to see you,” I said.

  “To give me an update?” Amanda asked.

  “Not exactly.” I cast a quick glance at Marty, who was busy placing the creation in the garden. “How about I walk you to your car and we’ll talk?”

  “Thanks, Amanda,” Marty said. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “I appreciate your help, Marty,” I said. “Good luck with everything.”

  Amanda and I crossed the lawn and stood beside her vehicle, out of Marty’s earshot.

  “What’s up?” the Gorgon asked.

  I didn’t mince words. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re involved with the victim?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Involved how?”

  “I heard that the two of you were secretly dating.”

  Amanda made a face. “No way. He has a crush on me,” Amanda admitted. “But that’s the extent of it.”

  “Did he tell you that?” I asked.

  “He’s dropped hints, but he’s too scared to come right out and say it,” Amanda said. “The dude’s an elf, though. It’s never going to happen.”

  “You don’t like elves?”

  “I like them fine, but I don’t want to date one,” she said. “I prefer my dates to be taller than me, which might sound sexist, but so be it.”

  “No judgment,” I said. Who was I to disapprove
? Daniel was well over six feet and I loved the feeling of being snuggled in his arms and wings.

  “The only thing he has going for him is his attitude,” Amanda said. “Most elves are sickeningly sweet, but Al has an edge. That much I like.”

  “But not enough to date him?”

  “Nope.” Amanda put a hand on her hip. “Are we done here? I have more deliveries.”

  “We’re done, thanks.”

  “If you really want to help my sister, stop focusing on the wrong paranormals,” Amanda snapped before climbing into the driver’s seat and slamming the door. Before I could respond, she sped away, narrowly missing my toes in the process.

  As desperate as I was for a nap, I made a pit stop at the Harpy’s Nest on the way home from Marty’s. If I wanted to gather advice for Millie on winning over stubborn and challenging paranormals, the harpies were an ideal resource.

  “Emma, please come in,” Darcy Minor greeted me.

  “You look pretty,” I said to the blond harpy. I took a moment to admire Darcy’s pastel pink pencil skirt and frilly white blouse. It wasn’t my taste, but there was no denying she looked good in the feminine ensemble.

  Darcy glanced down at her attire. “Thank you.” She lowered her voice. “I have a date later today.”

  I perked up. “That’s great!”

  She shushed me. “I don’t want my family to know.” She cast an anxious look over her shoulder. “You know how they can be when it comes to men.”

  Oh boy, did I. “Anyone I know?”

  She blushed as a smile erupted. “Alex Ricci.”

  “That’s wonderful,” I said. “He’s such a good guy.” As the alpha-in-waiting, it would be interesting to see how the werewolf pack responded to Alex dating a harpy. His former partner had died tragically, so I was pleased that Alex was making an effort to move ahead with his life. Jolene would have wanted it that way.

  “Who’s that?” a voice thundered.

  “It’s Emma,” Darcy called back.

  “Well, don’t just linger in the foyer telling secrets. Bring her in,” the matriarch bellowed.

  It was difficult to get anything past the keen senses of Octavia Minor. Darcy guided me to the sunroom where her grandmother was settled on a chaise lounge. She wore a burgundy housecoat and curlers in her hair.