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“I want to see if this guy really was a witness on the plaza or if he’s part of one of these magic watchdog groups and trying to find witnesses. I suspect the latter, considering he was distributing cards for their blog.”
“I’ll have it sent to your computer,” he said. “You think this is something to dig into?”
I forced myself not to sigh wearily. “I don’t know. I mostly want to rule out anything bad. Better to find out they’re just a bunch of harmless crackpots than be surprised when they aren’t.”
“You’re catching on fast around here. In the security business, we like to say that a little paranoia is healthy. But I doubt there’s anything to worry about.”
“You mean other than the Council interrogating Owen.”
He gave his wings a brisk flap. “That’s an entirely different issue.”
“Should I be worried about it?”
“Of course. But not any more so than usual. They’re always gonna be watching that boy.”
In spite of his assurances, I did check the video of the plaza. I didn’t spot anyone who looked like the puppy—well, actually, I spotted half a dozen who could have been him, but I was pretty sure they weren’t. It was hard to tell in grainy video and with a guy who didn’t have any odd or distinguishing features. Would it have killed them to send a redhead who’d have been easy to spot?
I tried to push it all to the back of my mind and focus on more important things, like planning a wedding. It seemed you had to be even more specific when using magic than when doing things in the real world. For the ceremony back home, I could (and did) say, “Oh, I don’t know, whatever kind of white flower you can get.” To have them magically created, I needed to know the specific type, provide a picture, and name the exact size, quantity, and arrangement. It was a control freak’s dream, but the details didn’t matter to me. Unfortunately, without the details, you might end up with a white blob instead of a flower.
There were times when I thought it wasn’t worth the effort and I should go a more normal route, but the magic wasn’t costing anything, and if you’re marrying a wizard, you need to get into the spirit of things. Besides, I had enough real-world stuff to deal with for the blessing ceremony we were having back home, and we were too close to the New York wedding to have time to arrange it without magic.
It helped somewhat that Owen’s detail-oriented, and he actually cared about this stuff, so for the most part, I was able to get away with saying, “Oh, I don’t know, something like that,” and he would narrow it down to the specifics, then ask my approval. But even without having to make all the decisions, I still had to look at flowers, centerpieces, cakes, and catering menus. We also had to audition bands.
I’ve never really been a “going out” person. Even as a college student, I didn’t hit the bar or club scene. Owen’s more of a homebody than I am, so most of our hot dates involve takeout and a movie on TV. But listening to bands meant going to bars, and since the bands who could play at a magical wedding had to be magical bands, I was about to get a good look at the magical bar scene. I’d been to a couple of magical parties, so I’d been putting off this task as long as possible, to the point where we’d be lucky to find someone decent who wasn’t already booked. If you think normal people can be obnoxious when they get drunk and lower their inhibitions, just imagine what magical people are like. Things can get pretty hairy.
I secretly hoped something might happen to keep me from having to deal with finding a band, like maybe a meteor strike or someone handing us a demo CD from the perfect band that was looking for gigs. But a couple of weeks after the bridal brawl, Owen said on the way to work, “Do you have plans tonight?”
“You mean other than sweatpants, pizza, a movie, and Gemma’s binder?”
“This is an item from Gemma’s binder.”
I groaned. “No, not picking a band.”
“It’s one of the few things we haven’t done yet, and we can’t just poof one into existence. Though I did research whether that might be possible.”
“What about those self-playing magical instruments, like we had at that customer event last summer?”
“That’s probably what we’ll do for the ceremony, and maybe for the dinner part of the reception, but we’ll need something people can dance to later.”
“There has to be dancing?”
“People do expect it.”
“They can’t just send us CDs to listen to?”
“Do you really want someone you’ve only heard on a recording playing at your wedding? You won’t know how they look or act. Or what kind of magic they use.”
That made me worry about something else. “Jake didn’t give you the list of groups to consider, did he?”
“No! Rod did. In fact, he and Marcia are going to join us.” Rod was Owen’s best friend going all the way back to childhood, and he’d started dating Marcia not too long after I got into the magical world. He was a notorious Lothario, though he’d reformed somewhat after more than a year with Marcia. Still, such a ladies’ man could be expected to have a decent list of musicians likely to impress people, even if it was about a year out of date.
“What time? And how much will I have to dress up?” I asked, grudgingly.
“The set starts at nine, and Rod said nice, but not formal.”
“So I’ll have time for a short nap.” And I’d need a wardrobe consultation with Gemma because “nice but not formal” was the kind of fashion gray area that made me break out in a cold sweat of indecision. For a split second, I started to think that having a fairy godmother around to provide me with the perfect outfit would be nice, but then I remembered the mayhem she’d caused when I’d had one and shut that thought down before it ran the risk of summoning her.
It turned out that Gemma and her boyfriend, Philip, who’d spent about a century as a frog (long story) and was therefore rather old-fashioned, were also joining us. I felt bad about leaving Nita out, but she was working, and I had no idea what a magical nightclub would be like and whether it would be safe to bring her along. She didn’t even know I was having a wedding in New York, though she was the maid of honor for the one back home.
