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“Sure.”
He went to the door and let in Hazel and Chuck, who’d also brought a bottle of wine with them. I called a greeting from the kitchen but let Calvin handle host duties, telling everyone that dinner would be ready soon, and thanking them for the wine.
Since I’d already set out a pitcher of water and glasses when I was setting the table, he went ahead and got our guests something to drink. By the time that business was handled, I’d finished all my preparations in the kitchen and had started moving everything into their various bowls and platters. Calvin showed up right on time to move the feast to the dining room table, and within five minutes, we were all seated and ready to make a toast.
“You can do the honors,” I told Calvin, and he grinned.
“Well, I didn’t have anything fancy planned, but I think we can all drink to good food and good company.”
That sounded like a very good toast to me. All four of us raised our wine glasses and performed the ritual of clinking our glasses against everyone else’s, and with custom satisfied, I allowed myself a sip of the Bordeaux. It was excellent, deep and velvety without being earthy, and something that would probably pair wonderfully with the roast beef.
That man of mine had a multitude of hidden talents.
The next few minutes were spent passing bowls and platters around, making sure everyone had their favorite items in their preferred portions. “This is all incredible,” Hazel said after she’d taken a bite of roast beef and followed it with some Yorkshire pudding. She was looking very pretty that evening, in a red sweater that somehow made her eyes seem greener than usual, and her highlighted light brown hair had been pulled into an artfully messy up-do. “I don’t know how you managed to whip something like this together after spending all day at the shop.”
“Oh, it wasn’t too much work,” I replied, which was only a teensy little lie. I’d done some prep when I came upstairs for lunch, but all in all, putting together the meal hadn’t required a huge amount of effort. “But I’m glad you like it.”
“That’s my kitchen witch,” Calvin said fondly, and I grinned.
“Hedgewitch,” I corrected him.
“What’s the difference?” Chuck asked, clearly fascinated. As usual, he’d shown up to the party wearing cowboy boots, but he’d put in some extra effort by wearing a blue button-down shirt that matched his eyes.
“Some of it’s just intention,” I told him. “The kitchen really isn’t the focus of my magic, even though I love to cook. A true kitchen witch does most of her spellwork through working with food or tea, brewing potions or creating elixirs. I don’t do much of that.”
He nodded, then said, “Well, I still think your food is pretty magical.” A sidelong glance at Hazel, and he added with a smile, “You ever think of taking up kitchen witchery?”
That question earned him a lifted eyebrow. I loved Hazel and thought she was a marvelously talented artist, but a good cook she definitely was not. She seemed to live on takeout or frozen dinners when she and Chuck weren’t going out to eat, so I hoped he wasn’t expecting her to suddenly become a Cordon Bleu chef or something.
“No,” she said calmly, then reached for her wine. “I prefer to practice my magic in other rooms of the house.”
This reply made Calvin choke slightly, and he picked up his glass of water but refrained from comment. Chuck only grinned and said, “Well, I can’t argue with that. I guess it’s a good thing that I learned to fend for myself in the kitchen these past few years.”
I had to admit that when we’d gone to Chuck’s ranch for a barbecue, he’d definitely put out a good spread, with steaks done to perfection and cowboy beans and some of the best potato salad I’d ever tasted. “It is the twenty-first century, after all,” I commented. “There’s no law that says a woman has to do the cooking.”
“And thank God for that,” Hazel said, in such heartfelt tones that we all chuckled.
The conversation moved on after that to a discussion of baby Jesus’ miraculous return, and who might have been behind the whole prank. I joined in as best I could, but some instinct told me not to mention the scratches I’d seen on the back of the little carved figure, and what they could have meant. They could have been completely innocuous, and until I had more information at hand, I didn’t see the point in spreading wild speculations.
All the same, I had the distinct impression there was far more going on here than met the eye.
Hazel and Chuck stayed until a little past nine-thirty, at last declaring that they were both so full, they didn’t know whether they’d even be able to make it down the stairs. Calvin and I both shook our heads at that hyperbole, and we all confirmed that we’d see each other on New Year’s if not sooner, since Chuck was throwing a big party at his ranch.
But then Calvin and I were alone again, although he sent another of those dubious glances toward Archie, who’d remained sideways on the living room rug throughout the entire meal.
“Are you sure your cat is really okay?”
Although I’d kept stealing looks at Archie the whole evening, I thought it was probably time to get up close and personal, and make sure he truly was all right. I squatted down next to him and reached out, running tentative fingers along his back. He didn’t like to be touched, so I figured doing that very thing should be enough to rouse him out of his stupor.
“Archie?” I ventured. “You okay, buddy?”
At last he moved, but only to bat an annoyed paw at me before rolling over onto his other side. What sounded like a snore emerged from between his sharp, tiny teeth.
“He’s fine,” I told Calvin as I straightened up. “I guess the catnip just hit him really hard.”
My boyfriend didn’t look totally convinced. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” I replied, probably with more conviction than I felt. Still, Archie was breathing and responding to outside stimuli, so I really did think the best thing to do was to let him sleep it off.
