The continued loss of friends and family. Ouch.
14
Emma and Dawna laughed and the three of us simultaneously raised our margarita glasses. I felt a cool swirl brush around us in a ghostly hug. Dawna clinked her glass, first with mine and then with Emma’s on her other side. “To the girls! No boys allowed. Although…” She paused and lowered her tortoiseshell sunglasses to the tip of her nose as one of the staff walked through carrying another tray of lime-topped refreshments. “Pretty boys are always allowed.”
I leaned back with a sigh and stared up at the stained glass and carved wood above the heat lamp for a moment before raising myself on one elbow to look at my three friends lounging next to the shining turquoise pool.
Yeah, Vicki was here, and while we couldn’t see her directly, there was a distinct body mark denting the thick white towel on the otherwise empty-seeming chaise. Emma and Dawna were bronzing under tanning lamps, but I was just as “allergic” to artificial sunlight as I was to the real thing. But a heat lamp is just heat without UV rays and such, and even if I wasn’t particularly cold, I wanted to share in the luxury of the moment. The heat lamp, fourth lounge, and framed mirror for communication with our dead friend had thrown the staff into a little bit of a tizzy, but they’d recovered quickly.
I was done worrying, at least for a weekend. I’d promised Pili I’d do my best to relax while she helped Gran do the same. Then maybe Gran and I could go back to the warm, loving relationship we’d shared for so many years. I looked forward to getting to know Pili better, too. I not only trusted her; I liked her. Finding a new relative who was both wise and wonderful was one of the better side effects of the last few weeks.
The cabana boy saw Dawna flicking her eyes up and down the length of his body and responded in kind. His sly, confident smile was enough to make me roll my eyes and shake my head. If Dawna didn’t get lucky this weekend it would be a miracle. Emma wasn’t above gawking, too, but the last thing I needed was another man in my life. After all, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with the ones I already had.
After our drinks had been replaced—I’d sent the cabana boy back to get me an energy shake instead of another alcoholic margarita—I relaxed into the wave of warm air. “So what do you think about the mystery heir thing? Do you agree with me?”
Vicki had been noncommittal about my thought that she’d chosen Mick Murphy because his daughters were younger versions of me and Ivy—and because if Mom had had money to buy off the kidnappers Ivy might still be alive.
“I guess it’s possible,” Dawna said after a few seconds. “But it’s not the sort of thing she normally saw in her visions, right, Vick? If she’d seen something, it would have been the actual kidnapping. Why see a happy family with no trauma?”
Dunno appeared on the mirror that was propped on an easel next to Vicki’s lounge so she didn’t have to get up to write. It was interesting to me that after she’d first died she could only write a word or two. Now she’d often do five or six with ease. Could a ghost get stronger, or had she just learned the trick to it?
“That makes sense, really,” Emma said from the far end. “If she remembered why, she wouldn’t have asked you to investigate.”
“True. But I really think we need to follow the money. That’s a lot of freaking cash. Why not a hundred thousand, or even a million? Why give them a quarter of the estate?”
Yes. About the money showed on the mirror. It was the first acknowledgment that I was on to something. Needs to buy …
“Needs to buy … what?” She’d disappeared. The room got warmer and the heat lamp was abruptly almost too hot. I sat up and looked around, searching for the sparkling cloud. But she was gone. “What’s up? Where’d she go?”
Dawna shrugged and sat up fully, setting her feet on the floor. “Maybe she had an idea. She’ll be back. Anyway, we need to get to the salon. We have a haircut and style in fifteen minutes. Then facials and makeup. Ladies, we are going to rock that debut tonight!”
So true. Who knew the spa would have such an amazing boutique? Absolutely everything fit and looked good on me. That was saying something. “Can you believe the dresses we found? There’d better be cameras there, because I want a picture of us for my album.”
Emma nodded. “Before you were attacked, I wouldn’t have picked silver and blue for you; they would have really washed you out. But you looked amazing in the dressing room. I can’t wait to see you … and me and, well, Dawna, too. This is just what I needed.”
I tried to smile, wanted to because she looked so happy. She used to be that way all the time. Well, not cheerful and bouncy, but content in her own skin. We both were. Before. Now she looked … haunted. And it was my fault. Worse, I didn’t know how to fix it. “I really want you to get what you need, Em. You shouldn’t have to be fighting this.” It was a non sequitur from dresses to a demon attack. I knew that I should keep the tone light, but I couldn’t seem to stop the seriousness and pain that rolled out with the tears that filled my eyes. “It’s my fault that you’re going through this and I hate it. I’d fix it if I could. Eirene was trying to hurt me. You got caught in the middle. That’s not fair.…” I felt my lip trembling.
Her brow furrowed and she stood in a rush, knocking over the small table that held her drink. It crashed to the floor, but neither of us cared. “Oh, Celie! No! It’s not your fault at all.” She raced the few feet between us and enveloped me in a hug. There was a fierceness to her grip that took me by surprise. “I took the job with Eirene. I could have said no. Dad told me to say no—to not leave school.” She pulled back to grab me by the shoulders and stare into my eyes. “This is not yours. And it’s going to be okay. You’ll see. They’re really helping me at Birchwoods.”
Fortunately, Dr. Gwen had agreed with that sentiment. It had taken more than a few minutes to convince her to release Emma for this mini-break, but ultimately Dr. Gwen decided that Em would be best served by doing some “normal” things. Normally, in the first month at Birchwoods it’s lockdown city. Everybody is supposed to wear gray sweats to “level” everyone’s class and status bars. After all, the alcoholic father of a middle-class family who is court-ordered to rehab isn’t the same in the eyes of society as a top-money model with “alcohol dependency.” But at Birchwoods they’re treated the same … and they have to treat each other the same.
Birchwoods is exclusive and pricey and it gets results because of its strict standards and effective staff. It wasn’t just a rehab center, and in fact Emma wasn’t there because of any sort of addiction. She needed to get her head on straight and was undergoing frequent religious rites to remove her attachment to the demon who’d tried to claim her soul.
Dawna joined the group hug and we cried for long minutes until we finally laughed. Dawna wiped a long streak of mascara from her tawny cheek. “They’re really going to have to earn their money to make us look good now.”
I let out a choking laugh that was still a little bit soppy. “I’m all about value for my dollar. C’mon. Let’s go let them make us look like movie stars.”
“No, there’s no flash photography allowed until the end of the event. Sorry.” The heavyset guard at the gate before the long, winding path really did look apologetic. The burgundy red carpet and the fairy lights that followed the curves of the road were really impressive touches that made me eager to get inside. “The owners want this to be about the wine, not about who’s attending.”
I suppose it made sense, but it was sad. We looked good. Dawna’s bronze and green sparkles had obviously stolen the guard’s heart and Emma’s blonde cheerleader beauty was only enhanced by the black and gold dress that hugged her every curve. And yeah, I really did look good in silver and blue, and the dress had a built-in bra that gave me more cleavage than nature had. The stylist had even put silvery white extensions in my hair that I thought would look cheap but were amazing.
Dawna batted those big brown eyes at the guard who couldn’t keep his eyes off her long expanse of bare legs. She shifted to expose even more skin to hand him her ticket. “Could you take a picture of us … out here? That wouldn’t break any rules, would it? We just want to remember looking this good.”
It hadn’t occurred to me to bring a camera, but it had to Dawna. Her glove-clad fingers pulled a little digital out of a purse that wasn’t much bigger than the camera. “Please?”
There was no one waiting, so nobody would know. The press were a quarter of a mile down the road, waiting for the event to end. I don’t know what kind of magic they’d done to keep the press at bay, but they literally couldn’t come closer. We even saw one reporter try to pole-vault over the barrier. It had been entertaining in that ouch, that must have hurt sort of way.
We’d arrived a little late because Emma desperately needed highlights. The guard stared at Dawna and the camera with a frown. She tipped her head just a bit to show off her gorgeous neck. We all smiled winningly and he finally let out a sigh and held out a pudgy hand. She squealed and bounced and we got together in front of the winery’s sign: The Twins. He snapped two pictures and let us see them on the screen before he pulled the camera away and tucked it in a jacket pocket. “You can pick it up on the way out. I’ll be here until everybody is gone. But I’ll lose my job if I let a camera inside, and I know you don’t want that.”
Dawna wasn’t the only one who could work facial expressions. He gave such a sad puppy face pout that we had no choice but to let out little maternal noises and give him a peck on the cheek. Then he picked up his radio and said, “Three more to pick up and then we’re ready to lock the gates, Dave. All invitations accounted for.”
Wow, we really were late. Oops. It was only a moment before we heard the hum of an electric motor. A golf cart modified to look like a horse-drawn carriage—minus the horse—pulled up to the gate. The guard opened the massive silver gates and bowed us inside. I walked toward the cart and felt the moment the magic barrier pressed against me. It was an oddly familiar sensation, but I couldn’t place why. I was through in moments, but it left the hair on my arms standing on end for nearly the whole trip up the path.
