Хармони Харт - Basic Witch

“You’ll thank me again after you get a peek at Clarence Hakim,” he said.

“Why is everyone so obsessed with Clarence?”

“Face of a god. Built like a minotaur. Richest man in Salem. Oozes kindness and generosity. Oh, and did I mention single… and looking?”

“I’m not really looking for—”

“You’ll see,” David promised. “Just don’t ask any questions about the plantation workers. He’s a little sensitive about the whole situation.”

“What situation?”

“It’s kind of a long story. You’ll see.”

9

I bounced out of Fae Fashion feeling more stylish than I had in… ever. Despite her protests, Titus had curled up in a content little ball, falling fast asleep inside our new satchel before we even made it onto the sidewalk.

“That outfit!” Destiny squealed.

“Thanks! It feels good to be in clean clothes. Your brother has a great sense of style,” I told her.

“He really does. It’s too bad Daddy doesn’t support his creative endeavors. But David somehow manages to balance the store and his political obligations. Being the only son of the Fairy King is a tough gig. I’m just glad I don’t have to bear that burden!” ” She giggled, but this time her laughter sounded forced. Time to change the subject.

She took my packages, including Beau’s coat, and rang a bell just outside the shop door. A massive brown owl appeared, looking quite perturbed when he saw the number of bags she held up. “Montcrief’s Magic Shop,” she said firmly.

The owl captured the bag handles in his beak and lifted off in the direction of my apartment.

“I can’t believe he’s carrying all of those bags!” I said.

“The owls are a lot stronger than they’d like you to believe. Don’t let them give you attitude about carrying your packages home. Ever. You let those birds slide one time…” Destiny trailed off, shaking her head.

“So what do you do?” I asked. “Did you say something about art?”

“Interior design,” she answered. “I own my own studio, right near your shop. In fact, I’m one of your new tenants! Which reminds me, I should probably introduce you to everyone. Stella and Kayleigh from Pixie Potions, and Wendell—he’s our resident wand and broom craftsman, and Clara from the bookstore, though you could probably live your whole life without meeting her and not be any worse off for it.”

“Interior design? That’s interesting,” I said. “Did you ever have Mortimer Montcrief as a client?” I had to tread lightly here. If she said yes, I would know to keep my apartment decor woes to myself.

“Ha! No,” she replied. Thank goddess. “Morty wouldn’t even let anyone but Mason into that apartment of his. But based on the general state of the shop, I can’t even imagine what a nightmare he would have been as a client.”

“You have no idea,” I said. “Destiny, it was horrible.” I recounted my entire experience from the night before, conveniently leaving out the parts about a bare-chested Beau sleeping in the bed with me, and us spooning all night.

“I would love to get my hands on that place,” she said. “Please, please, please let me redecorate for you. It’ll be so fun!”

“Um, yes. Definitely,” I agreed. “As soon as possible.”

“Brilliant. Ah! Here we are!” She halted under an elegant sign with the words Legend’s Salon, taking my hand to lead me through the glass doors and over to the reception desk, where a pale, slight young man was studiously examining his midnight blue fingernails.

“Malachi, darling,” Destiny greeted him. “How are you?”

“Surviving,” he said, his world-weary tone laced with a Kardashian-style vocal fry. He leaned forward in his chair to stage whisper, “Which is more than I can say for old Mortimer Montcrief, right? Dreadful news, just dreadful.” He scrutinized me for a moment before glancing back at Destiny without addressing me. “And who is this?”

“This is Gemma Bradbury. She’s the one I mentioned in my note,” Destiny explained.

“Ah, yes. Going to visit Clarence Hakim, are we?” He stood, pushing his chair back with a dramatic sigh, and beckoned me to follow him. I passed my satchel off to Destiny, knowing Titus would not take kindly to the sounds of running water or blow dryers, and crossed the room with Malachi. He stopped at a row of white and chrome salon chairs and pointed at the only empty one. “Sit!”

“Legend!” He called. “The new witch is here.” Malachi cast a sidelong glance my way before adding, “You might need reinforcements.” He tapped me on the shoulder, whispering, “Good luck,” with an inflection that indicated he might not actually mean it, and sauntered back to the reception desk to continue the back-breaking work of inspecting his manicure.

“Hellooooo,” a male’s voice sang out from behind me. “And what do we have here?” A pair of slender hands grasped my shoulders, spinning me around in my chair. I was surprised to see a tall, willowy man with beautifully coiffed black hair. Although he was standing upright, his lower half looked like that of… a horse?

I cleared my throat. “Gemma.” I knew it was rude to stare, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his hooves. I pressed my lips together, struggling to form words.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he chided me. “Haven’t you ever seen a satyr before?”

“Actually, no.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re from the human realm, aren’t you?” He bit off the words as if my origins were something to be ashamed of. “Is that where you learned that it was acceptable to do… this—” he motioned to my top knot “—to your hair?”

I touched the top of my head self-consciously. “It’s just easy. And comfortable.”

“Honey, it’s a disaster, that’s what it is.” He looped a finger under my hair elastic, sliding it out of my hair in one quick motion before tossing it on the counter. “We can do a quick blowout today, but you really should come back for an afternoon. We can address these split ends, do a deep condition, and maybe do something about these grays coming in.”

“Hey! I do not have grays,” I argued. But Legend and I both knew I absolutely had gray hair. I just wasn’t prepared to admit it yet.

“Yes, well…” He pursed his lips. “Blowout it is. This will only take a few minutes.” Legend swung a white cape over my shoulders, then snapped his fingers, and a pair of stylists appeared. First, a young male who hovered his palms over my head, drenching my hair with a fresh-scented liquid, then a small, rotund woman who, after framing my head with her hands, conjured up a tiny, isolated windstorm at the crown of my head, drawing it down in a slow journey to the ends. In a flash, my hair was dry. A quick glance in the mirror revealed it was also shiny, smooth and full of volume.

“How did you do that?” I asked.

“Nymphs,” a woman next to me said. “Water and air, to be exact. I understand they don’t have nymphs in the human world?”

“No,” I answered. “Not that I know of, at least.”

“I’m Clara. Proprietor of Cook’s Books.”

“Oh,” I said. The tenant Destiny warned me about. “Aren’t you right next door to Montcrief’s?”

The woman rotated in her chair to take me in. Her shoulder-length platinum hair was styled in careful finger waves, and bright blue eyes bored into me from behind a pair of black cat-eye frames. She smoothed the skirt of her crimson dress down over her lap before speaking again. “Yes,” she said. “My family’s bookstore has been there for generations.”

“Nice to meet you, Clara. I’m Gemma.”

“I know who you are.” She pushed her glasses up higher on her nose. “I saw you with Beau Bacchus last night. He walked you home, and then he didn’t leave again until this morning.”