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I mulled it over as I picked at my dinner. “I think maybe you should hold off on calling her,” I said to Owen. “You said you were never good friends, and you didn’t exactly act enthusiastic when she gave you her card. It might come across as fishy if you suddenly got back to her a couple of days after you ran into her, and so soon after you were targeted by an investigation. In the meantime, I’ll at least make a show of looking into some of the other known magical agitators. Who knows, maybe I’ll come up with something, but at least it won’t look like I’m focusing on her. If she really wants something from you, she’ll probably arrange to bump into you again, or she’ll track you down and call you.”
“And you should be careful when you’re in public,” Rod added. “You don’t want to be suspected of stirring up trouble.”
“So, I should stay at home or at work?” Owen said, perking up.
“You don’t have to act like that’s a reward,” Rod said.
“I think it sounds lovely, myself,” I said. “We’ve picked a band, so we don’t really need to go out anymore.”
“Other than, you know, for fun,” Rod said.
“Depends on what you call ‘fun,’” I said with a grin.
“We picked a band?” Owen asked.
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“Yeah, I liked the one from the festival. I guess I forgot to say anything in all the excitement. Is that okay with you?”
“They were good. People could dance to them, I guess.” He grinned. “Even without magic forcing them to do so.”
“And you didn’t tell me you could dance.”
“I was taught. That doesn’t mean I can do it.”
“You can try for the wedding.”
“Yeah, Owen. For the wedding,” Rod echoed. He got up and went to the stereo, where he sorted through stacks of CDs, selected something, and loaded it into the machine. A slow big band song came on. “This isn’t exactly what you’ll have, but the sound may be similar. Let’s see what you can do.”
I was the one who balked. “He may have been taught to dance, but I never was.”
Rod came over to me, took my hand, and pulled me out of my chair. “It’s a foxtrot. Very simple. Like this: slow, slow, quick, quick. For you, it’s back, back, side, side.”
I didn’t move smoothly, but we made it around the living room without me falling over or stepping on his feet. When we got back to the dining table, Owen came up behind Rod, tapped him on the shoulder, and said, “May I cut in?”
I felt a lot more nervous when he put one hand on my back and took my hand in his other hand. I wasn’t sure why, since he was the one I was marrying. I guess I was more concerned about doing it right with him. In spite of his protestations about his dancing ability, he was pretty good, possibly even smoother than Rod. We moved together well. I got so caught up in being in his arms that I was startled when the song ended and Rod said, “There, was that so hard? Should I put on another song?”
“No, we’re fine,” Owen said before I could answer. I wasn’t sure whether or not I wanted to stop dancing. It had actually been kind of nice.
“I don’t know what your problem with dancing is,” I said as we returned to the table. “You were pretty good at it.”
“He doesn’t like doing things that make him feel like people are watching him,” Rod answered for him.
“Then you’re in trouble because people will be watching you at your own wedding, no matter what you do,” I said. “Just pretend it’s a presentation or demonstration for work. You’re showing off a spell you developed.”
“You know, there might be a market for a dancing spell,” Owen said, and I recognized the dangerous spark of inspiration in his eyes.
“No! Not now. Someone’s obviously come up with a dancing spell. That’s the problem,” I scolded.
“Well, it wouldn’t be a spell to force people to dance. It would just allow people to be able to dance—sort of like training wheels for dancers, or an autopilot. It might be something we could show off at the wedding, a favor for our guests.”
I started to protest, but Rod put a hand on my shoulder and leaned down to murmur in my ear, “Hush. This may be the only way you’ll get him to do a public first dance at your wedding, if he’s thinking of it as doing a demo of his latest invention.”
“He does know it won’t work on me, right?” I replied. “I’m the one who could use some magical help.”
A ringing phone interrupted the conversation. Owen went to answer it. I forced myself to eat instead of straining my ears to eavesdrop. Whoever he was talking to, he didn’t act particularly excited about it. He gave a lot of monotone one-word answers. Probably some kind of survey, I decided. He was too nice to just hang up on them like most people did.
When he returned to the table, though, he looked a little pale, which was a stronger reaction than I’d expect from a survey. “What is it?” I asked.
