“If it’s an emergency phone, shouldn’t you answer it?” Miss Cunningham wants to know. “It might be… an emergency?”
“Please continue with the slides, Miss Pepperdine.” Brandt gets up from his chair and heads for my purse. “I’ll just get that and silence the—”
“No!” I practically leap across the table to stop him, and in my not-so-athletic haste, I launch two of the three crystals from Emmie out of my bra and clear across the table. They spin to a mortifying stop right in front of the nameless witch, who just looks at me and winks.
The social-media-loving librarian snaps a picture. Me, sprawled halfway across the table. The crystals. The spectacle.
Buzzzzzzzz bzzz bzzz bzzz buzzzzzz!goes Mr. Wiggles.
I call up my magic, willing it to cut the power. To short-circuit the damn thing. To dampen the sound, at the very least, but it’s no use. I’m too frazzled to concentrate on even the simplest spells.
Meanwhile, back inside my purse, mortification HQ, Mr. Wiggles suddenly downshifts like a pickup truck cresting a steep hill, growling and grinding, dropping into a gear I’ve never even heard before, pressing his pulsating pink-headed glory against the side of my handbag. Repeatedly. I mean, he is absolutely winning at life in there, which on a normal night in my bed I would encourage, but right now in front of all the committee members, including my ex…
Buzzzzzzzz. Bzzzz bzzzz.
I stare up at the ceiling.Really, universe? Really?
“Whoever that caller is,” Margo the bloodsucker says, a knowing twinkle in her eye, “they sure are persistent!”
I fake a smile right back at her and soldier on, directing attention to my next slide—a description of some of the healing properties of the herbs and spices I use in my blends, leaving out the magical stuff, of course—but it’s no use.
I’ve lost them.
Damn it. I gave up my overalls and cute T-shirts for a power suit and pantyhose, for the love of the goddess. I’m wearing heels! And lipstick! I deserve a fighting chance!
Two seconds from hurling the bag out the window, along with my whole disastrous self, I clear my throat and raise my voice to be heard over the grand finale buzzing on behind me. “In conclusion, with generous funding from the Keep the Bay Beautiful for Business grant, Kettle and Cauldron can expand our café offerings, boost the local economy by creating new jobs, and continue to play an important part in keeping the Bay… um… really beautiful. Thank you for your time and—”
Bzzzzzzzzzz bzzzzzz bzzZZZZZZ!
Okay, that’sit. Sentient Mr. Wiggles is totally fucking with me, and I’m done. All out of chill, I grab the purse from the chair, swing it over my shoulder like an axe, and smash it onto the conference table.
Three times.
The buzzing slows to a muted whine, then grinds to a halt.
Silence descends.
Sadly, my precious emotional support vibrator is no more.
But the tears for our fallen comrades will have to wait.
Forcing a great big smile, I click off my presentation, beam at the wild-eyed committee, and say, “Any further questions?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
DEVLIN
As soon as she exits the conference room, I know the news isn’t good. The defeated look in her eyes says it all.
My heart sinks, and all I want to do is storm into that room and blast the entire committee to Hell, but I can’t, because Violet’s already marching off toward the exit.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says when we get into the car, slipping off her borrowed heels and tossing them into the backseat.
“Understood,” I reply, though it kills me not to ask what happened, not to demand the names and addresses of all those responsible for dimming the light from her eyes. “Is there anything I can do?”
Sever a few heads? Display them on pikes as a warning to all who dare cross you again?
She shakes her head, curls falling out of the twist, every one of them breaking my heart.
