The Big Day Brew-HaHa Read online

  “No, not all of them,” Sage replied. “But there’s something about…”

  She paused, and I looked in the direction she stared. “Yeah, that guy in the kilt sitting on the floor? He’s going to get trampled by a stampede of dancers if he doesn’t move soon.”

  “Guy in a kilt?”

  I pointed. “Right there. You’re looking right at him. He’s tossing dice—never mind.” I turned away after a woman twirled right through him. Okay, then. I guessed even the nonliving were showing up to party.

  Sal rejoined us and… What was that horrible stench? Ugh. It took me all of two seconds to notice the bowl of steaming fungi in his hand. So, I was wrong—they were serving food now. Unfortunately.

  He raised the bowl to his mouth, and I dry-heaved when he slurped up a slippery cap.

  Sage whacked his arm. “You’re freaking Samm out.”

  “What? I’m just eatin’.”

  I diverted my eyes, but that did nothing to quell my gag reflex. I could still smell them.

  “She has a strange aversion to mushrooms,” Sage said. “Where did you get those anyway?”

  “Shroom bar. Never cared much for the things, but I got a sudden cravin’. Funny, huh?”

  “Yeah, hilarious,” I said, listening to him inhale another slimeball. Just as funny as watching you in a frog face-off, I wanted to say.

  “I’d better take Samm away before she pukes. Her face is starting to match the color of her dress.” She took my arm. “Come find us when you’re finished eating, okay?”

  “Sure thing, petal.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What?” she said.

  “You know what. Petal?”

  She waved it off. “Just an inside joke.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Come on.” She dragged me over to the coffee station where Zen Zed was tending. “I know you’ve given up drinking it, but at least sniff it for a while. That’ll make you feel better.”

  “Still on the coffee wagon?” Zed asked.

  “Yep.”

  He tossed his long dreads behind his shoulder. “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Even though it was getting a tiny bit easier every day, and I knew I was doing the right thing (coffee diluted my witchy powers), that didn’t mean I was happy about it. I still really, really missed it. “Clare’s got you working today, I see.”

  “Nah, I volunteered. Wedding present.”

  “The coffee house is closed today, then?” Zed worked at Bigfoot Café where Clare managed and would likely own someday.

  “You know it. Everyone’s probably here anyway.”

  Hmm. I wondered what he made of all the surrounding weirdness, being a non-magical resident of the town, but he didn’t appear the least bit fazed. I was just about to question the new latte special Clare had obviously created for the occasion—Nuptial Blissberry—when Mr. Goldman stepped up to the table and ordered one.

  I smiled at the older gentleman I remembered from Mike’s study group then moved aside, bumping right into Griffin. “Oh hey!” I eyed him over. “Looking good. You clean up nicely.”

  He laughed, pulling me closer. In my peripheral, I saw Sage gaping at Mrs. Booker, Bigfoot Bay’s head librarian, as she pulled the pins from her gray bun, shaking her mile-long hair loose. What the…? I had never seen Mrs. Booker let her hair down before.

  “So, you interested?”

  I placed my attention back on Griffin. “Interested?”

  “I asked if you were interested in proofing my new book. I could use a reader’s perspective again. You did such a top-notch job for me last time.” He flashed me a smile.

  “Huh?” I tore my eyes away from his mouth. With those pointed eye teeth, he could get me to do anything. “Oh. Right. A new book? Griff, that’s fantastic! I can’t believe you finished it already.”

  I had to keep myself from jumping up and down. Now that Regina wasn’t around to control his writing schedule, he’d begun working on his own stuff again as pen name Max Harper, thriller author.

  “I’m not finished yet. Only halfway done with the rough draft, but I’d love your early input. Your opinions are valuable to me.”

  I threw my arms around him. “Of course! I can’t wait! Thank you!” Yeah, I was just a smidge excited.

  He kissed the top of my head. “Now that I’ve gotten you all jacked up, there’s something else I’ve been meaning to—ow!”

  I pulled back. “Griff?”

  He rubbed his thigh. “It feels like something stung me.”

  “Stung you?”

  “Yeah—what the…?”

  I swiveled my head, expecting the unexpected again. I was not disappointed. Mr. Smith, Griffin’s and my middle school history teacher, was down on bended knee in front of a bunless Mrs. Booker. He had a coffee cup in his hand.

  “I guess they’re not called nuptial lattes for nothing,” Zed said, laughing.

  Since when were they even seeing each other?

  “Hey, that’s my woman!” Mr. Goldman shouted.

  My jaw dropped even farther when the popular librarian added another bended knee to her collection.

  “Oh no, you don’t. This fair lady is mine,” Mr. Smith said. Right before he tackled Mr. Goldman to the ground. Mrs. Booker squealed with delight, openly enjoying the sight of two men vying for her affection.

  “Whoa, far out. Those things are more potent than I thought.” Zed lifted a vial and peered into it.

  “What in tarnation is going on here?” Mike rushed over, morphing into officer mode. “Charlie, you stop this fighting right now or you’re banned from study group for an entire month!”

  The two grown men were rolling around on the ground like hotheaded adolescents, but that didn’t put a damper on the festivities. If anything, the revelry increased. The band got louder, the dancing more frenzied.

  I marched over to Zed, grabbing Sage’s arm along the way. Leaning over the table, I hissed, “What is going on?” I pointed to the vial of liquid. “What are you putting in those lattes?”

  He shrugged. “Beats me.”

  “How can you not know?”

  “Clare didn’t tell me. I just know she created the Nuptial Blissberry for her wedding, a tribute to love and all. I didn’t know they’d have special powers to make people propose and fight and stuff. That’s wild.”

  Special powers? If that didn’t say it all right there. I glanced at the lovesick trio. Mike had successfully broken up the brawl, but that didn’t mean the seasoned femme fatale had stopped enjoying it. No, she was too busy whipping around her long, gray hair like she was in some ’80s music video while her two worshippers gazed up at her.

  “You have no idea what Clare used to make her extract?” Sage asked. Sal returned sans mushrooms and stood by the table; she told him to hold on. “No idea what kind of herb? Because there’s no such thing as a blissberry.”

  “Clare didn’t make it. She got it from Violet.”

  “Violet,” I gasped, staring at Sage. “Violet bewitched the lattes.”

  Sage jerked her head around just in time to see Sal raising a coffee cup to his lips. “Don’t drink that!” she shrieked, slapping it out of his hand.

  “What the heck?” Sal brushed off his jacket, Bettina running up to him with the stack of napkins she’d probably never set down. He gestured to Sage and me. “You two whack jobs are nuts.”

  “Samm, what’s going on?” Griffin asked.

  “Can I ask you a huge, huge favor? Keep an eye on Sal, please. Don’t let him drink any coffee. And you don’t drink any either.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Do you have any idea where your brother is?” Because wherever Damon was, Violet was too.

  “No, but—”

  “Sage and I have to find Violet.” I gave him a swift kiss, then grabbed Sage and took off. “Come on. This place isn’t too big. They have to be here somewhere.”

  She snorted. “Not ready for Griffin to pop the question, hu
h?”

  “I didn’t see you too keen on letting Sal drink a nuptial latte either,” I shot back. “And you know very well it’s not just about that. Look around. This isn’t love, this is insanity.”

  “Aren’t the two synonymous?”

  The long-necked guy I’d seen earlier playing in the punch bowl was now splashing around in the weeping girl’s tears. There was a puddle forming around her. How was it possible for one person to cry that much?

  “Quit messing around, Sage. This is serious. I cannot believe that Violet enchanted the guests. How could she do that to Clare?”

  “You don’t know that’s what happened.” Sage nibbled her bottom lip, looking less than convinced by her words. “I’ll admit something’s not quite right, but we have no proof Violet was behind it. I thought you stopped being so hard on her?”

  “I’m not trying to be, but come on… Everyone starts acting irrational and out of character after drinking coffee spiked with her special elixir? What else could it be?”

  “You don’t know that everyone drank coffee, much less the crazy lattes. And some of these guests… I don’t know who they are, but I could swear—”

  “Gotcha!” I yelled, yanking open a door. Violet and Damon leaped back. Wow. Usually, I didn’t get it right on the first try. It’d taken me six attempts to find the right door when sneaking around Clarisse’s mansion that night of her party. Not that this place compared in size… Hold up a minute. “Are you two seriously making out in the coatroom like a couple of teenagers?”

  Sage giggled, but I was not amused. Not at a time like this. I parked my hands on my hips and stared them down, exercising my rights as a big sister. Violet just shrugged, and Damon cleared his throat.

  “I’ll meet you outside,” he said, kissing her cheek and walking out freely like he hadn’t just gotten busted. Oh well. It wasn’t him I wanted anyway.

  “Oh, come on, Samm,” Violet said, fixing her hair. “It is a wedding, after all. Love is in the air, right?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Yeah, about that.”

  “About what?”

  Sage sighed. “What Samm is trying to say is that we’re here because of Clare’s nuptial lattes.”

  “What about them?”

  “Zed said you’re the one who made up the extract for her. What did you use?”

  “Just some bayberry and plumeria flower.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes. Why are—”

  “The bigger question—what kind of spell did you chant over it?” I asked.

  She scrunched up her face. “I didn’t do any spell.”

  I stared her down some more, but she didn’t even flinch. Huh. “You really didn’t enchant the plumberry or bay flower?”

  “It’s bayberry and plumeria flower. And no, I didn’t. Why would I do that? And more importantly, why would you think I did?”

  Sage and I exchanged glances. “Okay, then I apologize for jumping to conclusions,” I said, and Sage smirked. “But… well, I think you’d just better get out here.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see.” I tugged her from the room and—smack.

  “I am so sorry, Mr. Callahan. Are you okay?”

  He staggered back then quickly righted himself, never spilling a drop from his full glass. Impressive.

  “Violet?” He blinked hard several times, looking at me, then he switched his gaze to my sister. “Violet?” He rubbed his eyes. “Maybe I’ve had too much… I’m starting to see double.”

  And with that declaration, he proceeded to down half his drink while teetering off.

  Violet—the real Violet—laughed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Everything seems about right to me.”

  “Just you wait.”

  We entered the main hall where the dance party was still in full swing. Violet’s jaw plummeted. “Is… is that Mrs. Bantam and Mr. DeWalt?!”

  I grimaced. “Yes, it is. See what I mean now?”

  Mrs. Bantam, the conservative elderly lady who lived quietly above the pottery shop, the one who’d once scolded Griffin and me for causing too much of a ruckus during a harmless snowball fight, was riding around on the back of Bigfoot Bay’s postmaster, Mr. DeWalt. They were hooting and hollering and… Oh my eyes.

  “Oh. My. Goddess.” Violet stood dumbfounded. “What the Hera is going on out here?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Sage said. “So far whatever it is just seems to be affecting the non-magicals.” She scanned the room. “Speaking of, where’s Sal?”

  I couldn’t locate him either, or Griffin for that matter. But the room was really packed. “I’m not sure,” I replied. “I agree, though. Only the non-magicals appear to be acting wonky, and not even all of them.” I cast a glance at Zed who was still manning the coffee station. He seemed fine, juggling empty cups as usual. I peered closer. Or were they full?

  “But what about these other guests?” I pointed to the shirtless, bearded man we’d encountered earlier. “Like him, for example. Do you recognize any of them?”

  “No, but they do seem oddly familiar,” Violet said.

  “Yes, to me too.” Sage knitted her brows. “I know I’ve seen them before, but I can’t place where.”

  I nodded. I felt the same way, and it gave me the eeriest sensation. “So now what?”

  “I don’t know,” Violet said, “but as bizarre as it is, everyone does seem to be having fun. No harm, no foul, right?”

  Splat.

  Coffee splashed all over the floor, dousing several bystanders. So, Zed was using full cups.

  “You didn’t see that fight break out between Mr. Smith and Mr. Goldman just before—over Mrs. Booker’s hand in marriage.”

  “What?”

  Now, who was that? Someone—possibly the clerk from the upscale clothing boutique, but I couldn’t be sure—was shaking her stuff on the bartop while tossing shots of whiskey onto her adoring fans. Bettina dove aside, narrowly avoiding getting crushed when a mosh pit developed. The brown-eyed brownie looked visibly shaken as she made her way over to us.

  “No harm, no foul, huh? Fun is one thing, but this is turning destructive. How long before someone gets hurt?”

  The energy was off the charts, taking on a life of its own. It was only a matter of time; the atmosphere already had a wild and reckless vibe, and it was only getting worse.

  “Maybe this is the type of reception Clare and Niall wanted?” Violet said, voice filled with skepticism.

  “Oh really? So, you think Clare wanted her maid of honor’s dress ripped down the side and covered in coffee and whiskey before walking down the aisle?” I gestured at Bettina. “We have to tell Clare what’s happening.”

  “Oh no!” A horrified expression covered Bettina’s face.

  Sage yanked her out of the way right before the enormous, clumsy giant of a man almost stepped on her, ripping her dress down the other side.

  “Watch where you’re going, buddy,” I shouted. His cap was pulled halfway down his face; no wonder why he was crashing into things.

  “We can’t tell Clare,” Bettina pleaded. “We can’t see them before the ceremony. It’s bad luck, remember?”

  “Yes, I remember.” I waved my hand around the room. “And this isn’t? We have to tell her what’s going on. Clare or Niall might have some idea what’s causing it, and if so, we have a good chance of stopping it.”

  “No, no, we can’t bother them.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Look around. This is their one and only reception. Do you actually want all their hard work and planning to be for nothing?”

  She began to cry. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

  I sighed. Nature or not, this was getting old.

  “Bettina, it is not your fault. You did not do anything wrong. You—”

  “It is. It is my fault.”

  “Bettina.”

  “It was me. I did it.”

  “Did what?” My eyes widened. “Wait. You
charmed the lattes?”

  “Lattes? No. I… I hired him.”

  “Hired who?” Violet asked.

  “Conan.” She buried her face in her hands.

  I pulled them away. “And who is Conan?”

  “I did it as a wedding gift. He came with references and everything. But… Oh no, I ruined everything.” She dropped her head and cried harder.

  Sage rubbed her back. “It’s okay. But we still don’t understand. Could you tell us exactly who this Conan is?”

  “He’s an Irish cupid.” Bettina looked up, sniffing. “All I wanted was to make their day even more special and even more full of love, and now look what I did. I ruined everything! And I can’t even find him. I can’t even tell him to stop. I can’t even—”

  “Geronimo!”

  We all turned just in time to watch Mr. Callahan dive face-first into the five-tiered wedding cake.

  The man, the cake, and the table all crashed to the ground. A small, pudgy fellow pushed his way out of the mess, wiping frosting off his face.

  A circle of shamrocks hovered around his head.

  Chapter Three

  “Let me guess—Conan?”

  The tiny babylike cupid flashed Bettina a very mature nasty look as he shook himself off. Weren’t cupids supposed to be jolly? And the Irish ones even more so, I’d think.

  Conan charged by, knifing Bettina another death glare. Nope, definitely not jolly. But would you be if you’d been stuck in a cake?

  He stormed onto the middle of the dancefloor and right up to the bare-chested guy and snatched a fistful of arrows from the pouch he wore around his waist. Then he stomped out in a tantrum.

  “Yo ho ho!” The booming laugh reverberated throughout the room. Was this mountain man a pirate?

  “Conan—wait! I’m sorry!” Bettina rushed out after him.

  “Why would that man steal a poor little cupid’s arrows?” Sage asked.

  “Poor little cupid?” I said. “Didn’t you see that thing? Not that he didn’t have good reason, but he looked grumpier than a—oh, hello, Mrs. Stein.” Speak of the troll. “You, um, enjoying yourself?”