Page 15 of Minions and Magic
“Can you tell when the danger occurs?” I asked, leaning forward to look into the mirror which seemed like just a plain old mirror to my eyes.
She shook her head. “No, although the plate seemed to be falling into the grass, so maybe a picnic? Or the werewolf barbeque? Or Stanley grilling in his own backyard?” Ophelia sat back with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Glenda. The only other thing I’m getting is a vision of a big huge truck and trailer. It’s fancy. I don’t know what the heck that has to do with Stanley or even you, but it makes me happy.”
I snorted. “A fancy new truck and trailer would make anyone happy. Maybe I win the lottery and replace my catering van? Or you guys raise enough for that new ambulance you all wanted?”
She smiled. “Or Stanley is the one who wins the lottery and heads to the Ford dealership, then decides to get a camper and tour the U.S. as a nomadic werewolf? No idea.”
I stood and came around the table to give her a hug. “Thanks, Ophelia. I owe you one.”
She squeezed me tight. “You owe me nothing. Well, except for some of those chocolate walnut cookies that Nash likes so much.”
“Done.” I made a mental note to bake cookies this weekend after the barbeque. I could give them to Ophelia at Sunday’s family dinner.
Then I left, waving once more to Skip as I headed to my car. It was already late morning, and I had a gazillion things to do to prep for my catering jobs this week.
Chapter 9
Glenda
Once home I threw on an apron and got to work. There was theschalleato check on, adding the fruit puree that would make it especially appealing to the gnomes. I also needed to start pickling the turnips and marinating the slugs in the special herbs and spices I’d gotten from Alberta.
Ugh. Slugs. It wasn’t the first time I’d made food for a client that I never wanted to eat. Catering jobs where a customer had completely different ideas of what constituted a delicious meal were always a gamble. I couldn’t judge if I was getting it right or not and had to blindly rely on research, recipes, luck, and skill. Not magic, because although my magic potions healed, they tasted horrible no matter who drank them and I’d always been worried that combining my magic with my cooking would result in something inedible.
Oddly the excitement I normally would feel over a busy day in the kitchen wasn’t there today. My career was rewarding. It was my life, my passion, the thing that put a spark in my heart and got me happily out of bed each morning. But today that spark just wasn’t there. The thought of spending all day prepping and cooking seemed unusually depressing, and I felt an urge to…I don’t know. I looked over at my cell phone wanting to call Adrienne or Sylvie, but it was Monday and I knew they were both busy with their jobs.
I was lonely. I lived alone. I worked alone. I had no friends beyond what I would call friendly acquaintances. Other than a few quick visits here and there like my trip to the firehouse this morning, I didn’t see my sisters much beyond our family dinner. That had never been a problem before. In fact, that’s exactly how I’d structured my life, how I wanted my days to be. I’d always enjoyed filling up my time with my work and peaceful solitude, but today it all felt…bleak.
I took a deep breath and ran my hands through my hair. Time to end the mopey pity-party and get to work. If I was feeling lonely then there was no one to blame but myself. I’d get all my prep-work done for the events, make the scones that Hollister had requested for some guests he had staying over tonight, then if I was still feeling blue, maybe I’d walk downtown and see what was going on. Dinner at the diner surrounded by others might help, or perhaps a trip out to Pete’s for a beer, even though there wasn’t much action Monday nights at the bar.
I pulled the turnips from the storage bin and began washing them when my doorbell rang.
Who the heck could it be? My sisters would have walked right in, and as I’d just been sulking about, I didn’t have many friends that would come to call on a Monday. The bell rang again, so I put down the turnips and went to open it.
There was a demon was on my porch—the demon from the Allen engagement party. For a second I stared at him in confusion since I’d expected never to see him again. I mean, he did leave without even saying “goodbye”. Or “thank you for the food”.
“May I come in?”
My manners instinctively took over and I stood back, waving my arm for him to enter.
“Thank you.”
His smile was charming, and it sent all sorts of happy tingles through my body. Once inside, he looked around, nodding in approval. I’m not sure if he was admiring the fact that my living and dining room had been converted into one giant kitchen, or if he had a thing for stainless steel.
“I don’t really have anywhere for you to sit,” I apologized. “One of these stools, maybe? Can I get you some tea? Coffee? Lemonade?”
He looked intrigued. “Lemonade?”
I got to work, because lemonade was better freshly made. As I squeezed lemons and pulled the simple syrup out of the fridge, I watched the demon. He looked oddly comfortable on the decidedly uncomfortable kitchen stool, and was taking in the ovens, refrigerators, and giant Hobart mixer.
“What’s your name? I didn’t get it at the party Saturday.” I asked.
“Xavier.” That slow sexy smile curled up the corners of his lips again. “And you are Glenda Ann Perkins, witch of the town of Accident.”
Yes, it was mildly creepy that he knew my name, but I wasn’t terribly surprised since he’d probably found that out to track down where I lived. Of more interest was his name.
“Xavier? That’s not a demon name. That’s a name that should belong to a sexy somewhat-evil twin brother on a daytime soap.”
He shrugged. “I go by many names. I’ve had thousands over the last hundred years alone. Right now I go by Xavier, so that’s what you may call me.”
