As soon as the van slows to a stop, the sliding door hums open, revealing two very excited little girls, eager to tell us all about the fun they had last night with their best friend Mimi.
We hug them tight, thank Elly profusely, insist that we want to host Mimi for a sleepover at our place soon, and head inside.
Just as we reach the porch steps, Edgar wheels overhead, cawing, “Cray, cray! Cray, cray,” making us all laugh.
Wearea little crazy, I guess, but in the best way.
In a way that makes me feel like the luckiest woman in the world.
Epilogue
Nico Adrian Capo
Two months later…
It’slate April in New Orleans, and every witchy girl in the South is gathered at the fairgrounds to celebrate some pagan holiday, I’m sure would give my devoutly Catholic mother an aneurysm.
But the ladies are looking fine as hell in their gauzy hippy dresses, the music is on point, the food booths are inspired, and Keely has promised me giant bonfires at midnight. And that we will dance around them.
Naked!
Okay, so she didn’t promise the naked part, but we’ve both had two glasses of fairy mead, and the sun only set a few minutes ago. There are hours to go before the Beltane fires are lit, and I’m determined to help Keely usher in a new era. An era in which shedances naked, throws caution to the wind, and enjoys the hell out of her life without giving two shits what her evil ex is up to.
Let alone feels compelled to beg a friend to be her fake date to a music festival, so she won’t feel “embarrassed” to be there alone…
Though I guess I can understand why she wanted me here tonight, in particular. Super Gross Zack—not to be confused with Fun Zack, who works with her in the Voodoo PR department—works for the mayor’s office, and this festival is the mayor’s pet project. He’s going all out to empower women and fund the domestic violence shelter for another year.
Probably because he got caught fucking a Loyola coed not much older than his daughter and is looking to rehabilitate his image before the election this fall, but whatever. At least he feels shame and is funneling that into something productive and fun.
I can’t fucking wait for the fires to start.
Seriously. Can’t. Wait.
“I want to help with the torches,” I shout near Keely’s ear as Flowers From the Storm, Clover’s new band, shreds their way through the final song in their set. “Do you think they’d let me help? If I go over to the torch tent and ask really nicely?”
Keely laughs and rolls her eyes. “No!”
My lips push into a pout. “Why not? I’m a respected, highly coordinated, professional athlete. Who else should you trust with fire?”
“You want it too much,” she shouts back, her cheeks flushed pink from bouncing to the music.
Combined with her even pinker, multi-tiered sundress, she looks kind of like a flower that got more than its fair share of fertilizer. There are at least four too many tiers of floof on that dress, but I would never tell her so. Not right now, anyway. At this stage in her divorce recovery journey, Keely needs confidence boosting, not criticism. Even constructive criticism.
My fashion guidance can wait until next year, when I’m sure some tough fashion love from a friend will land with the Goodwill with which it is intended.
I just want all my friends to look—and smell—beautiful.
And if that’s a crime? Well, slap the cuffs on me.
Seriously, I am dying for someone to slap the cuffs on me…
It’s been way too long since I’ve had normal sex, let alone the kinky bangery I prefer. Ever since Carrie-Anne ditched me for the sin of inviting my best friend, who happens to be a girl, over for pizza and slasher movies, my bedsheets have been a barren wasteland. I’ve just been too busy pushing for the playoffs with the rest of the team and wooing Bergdorf into carrying my fragrance line to have any time left for romance.
But I’m glad.
On a normal weekend without a game, I would have already had a date and been unavailable to be Keely’s plus one to this festival of fire and foxy ladies.
Then, I would not only have missed some amazing food and fun with my bestie, but also the moment Clover rushes offstage after her set, hurling herself into Dean’s arms. I would have missed the joy on her face as he, no doubt, tells her that she’s a superstar who’s going to make it big in the witchy punk scene—and be super well-dressed while doing it.
