Chapter Twenty-One

 

“Even if you’re right,” Andi said, “you can’t do anything about it now. You’re supposed to be having your champagne breakfast. Guests are going to notice the other groom is missing. John is liable to be in here looking for you any second.”

After the receiving line and the photos at the white garden were finished, John and I had followed everyone over to my great-aunt Coralie’s (frankly, spooky) Nob Hill mansion, where I’d asked John to hold the fort while I commandeered Andi away from Trace’s clutches.

“Hold the fort?” John had repeated. “Do you consider yourself under siege? Or am I projecting?”

“Er, no. I just need to have a word with my Best Woman.”

“I can give you five minutes,” John said, and looked pointedly at his watch.

Which is how I came to be standing in my great-aunt Coralie’s conservatory while I brought Andi up to date on my suspicions regarding Ralph Grindlewood and Valenti Garibaldi. Since I was still feeling my way through my theory, Andi was not terribly impressed.

I said, “I have to do something. Ciara didn’t kill Seamus!”

“Cos, you don’t know that. She sure as heck tried to kill you. Even if you’re right, you don’t have any proof. Not that you can share with John or any other mortal. Grindlewood drives a black Mercedes. That’s it. And so do a million other people. That’s not going to be enough to convince anyone, especially the police. And to be honest, if SFPD is busy prosecuting Ciara, they’re not looking at you anymore.”

I glared at her. “Nice!”

“You know what I mean. The best thing is to take your suspicions to the Duchess. Have her bring it up with the Society. According to you, they know all about these spammers.”

“Not spammers. Andi, you’re not listening. It’s an acronym. SPMMR. Society for Prevention of Magic in the Mortal Realm.”

“Right. My point is, if Grindlewood has become involved with that, and if this self-titled Witch Queen is working with him, the Society is a lot better equipped to take them on than you are.”

“They’re trying to recruit Jinx.”

She was silent. “Okay, yes, that’s worrying. And it’s worrying your smarmy cousin Waite spent so much time talking to Ralph while we were waiting for the ceremony to resume.”

“Did he?” I felt the hair at the back of my neck prickle. If my cousin Waite could have one wish granted in all the world, it would be to take my place in the line of ascension to the trône de sorcière.

“Yes.”

“What does that tell you?” I demanded.

“Listen to me.” Andi put her hands on my shoulders. “You know what I think? I think you feel guilty about Rex. I don’t know why you would, but I think you’re taking what happened to them personally. I think you’re trying to connect what happened to Rex with this greater plot so that it makes sense, but senseless acts of violence happen all the time. These two cases may be completely unrelated. Rex was—is—a professional investigator. That’s a dangerous business.”

“There is a connection. I know there is.”

“But you don’t. We don’t know all the facts regarding Rex’s accident, and we don’t know all the evidence against Ciara.”

Now there she was right.

Andi gazed up at me earnestly. “Cos, yesterday the Primus was still missing, you were suspected of murder, and John was—according to you—having cold feet.”

I winced.

“Isn’t that true?”

“Yes.”

“As of right now, the Primus has been returned to the Society, you’re not suspected of murder anymore, and you’re married to John. Take some advice from your oldest and closest friend. Leave the conspiracy theories till after your honeymoon. Have these next two weeks with John. You both need this time together. You need to get to know each other. For real.”

She was right, and I knew she was right.

I nodded reluctantly.

“The other thing is.” She stopped abruptly.

“What?” I asked warily.

She said reluctantly, “Well, you’ve been out of practice for two years. You’re not at the top of your game. You admitted yourself it was mostly luck that you made it out of Seamus’s shop alive.”

I made an impatient sound.

She didn’t drop it, though, insisting, “You can’t have it both ways, Cos. You can’t live a mortal life and think you can tackle a consortium of witches, some of whom could be at the peak of their powers. You’re not ready for that. Not mentally and not magically. You’ll get yourself killed.”

The aggravating thing was, she was right. Again.

Seeing that she had made her point, Andi kissed my cheek and let me go. “You’ll thank me later.”

I sighed. “John’s thanking you right now.”

 

 

One person who did not show up at either wedding ceremony, or at any of the celebrations that followed, was Oliver Sandhurst. I asked around, but no one had seen or heard from Oliver in days. I suspected I could pinpoint the exact day.

Another mystery for my ever-growing list of things to tackle after my honeymoon.

But at least there was going to be a honeymoon. I’m happy to report the rest of our wedding day went off without a hitch. Or rather, the hitch went off without any further problems.

In fact, the worst thing that happened was I had too much champagne at breakfast and John had too much champagne at the second reception. We both had too much champagne at Chambers. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The second service—the Episcopalian service—was actually, to my great relief, quite lovely, and nothing that could possibly offend even my most conservative relatives.

John and I wrote our own vows, and John’s, unsurprisingly, brought tears to my eyes.

Something in the steady, solemn way he quoted them—and maybe that was it, the idea of him memorizing those vows over the past few days, given everything that had been going on.

“I, John, take you, Cosmo, to be my husband, my partner, and my one true love. Respecting what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know. I promise to love, honor, and cherish you for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, from this day forward, for as long as we both shall live.”

His fingers were warm and sure as he slipped the platinum Celtic eternity knot wedding band on my left hand.

My own vows—the second version, assembled after I knew about the love spell—were sadly unimaginative, and I deeply regretted trashing the original ones, but more than once over the past three days I had been sure this moment would never happen.

“I, Cosmo, take thee, John, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish all the days of our lives and beyond. Until the last star burns out in the heavens, I hereby plight thee my troth.”

John’s mouth twitched a little at the “hereby plight thee,” but he looked touched, and when my fingers shook sliding the antique gold band with its large oval cabochon turquoise on his finger, he leaned forward and nuzzled me, which got a round of applause from the one hundred guests watching us.

 

 

The reception was rustic and charming. A string quartet made ancient melodies sound fresh and Top Twenty songs sound ageless. Lanterns and white linen in the dusk, flowers and herbs in small jars, and pale-colored almond candies tied with silver and blue ribbons. The menu was designed to show Nola who was boss: foie gras and scallops for the starter, veal, quail, and salmon for the main course, and naturally, an abundance of cheese, pastries, fruit, and wine. So much wine, you might say it flowed like…wine.

Andi’s cake was four ivory tiers, complete with ornate tufting and perfectly painted gray and blue sugar flowers, finished off with a silver satin ribbon and an edible monogram with the entwined letters S&G.

Before the caterers had finished serving the cake, the fireworks had begun—literally fireworks: whistling explosions of pastel flowers and diamond star showers.

I think it must be true that, even if no one tries to kill you on your wedding day, it’s hard to remember everything. Certain images lingered: Andi dancing with Trace all night; my father hitting on Bree; sharing my first dance with John; V. nearly getting in a brawl with Tighe, one of John’s groomsmen; Nola tipsy on champagne; Jinx watching Trace with Andi; my mother’s unblinking stare in the lantern as she watched my father.

There was more dancing and drinking at Chambers, but when John looked at me quizzically and said, “Ready to call it a night?” I replied, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Our guests were throwing each other in the rooftop pool when we left.

 

 

When John unlocked the front door to the house on Greenwich, I said, “It’s my turn to carry you over the threshold.”

He laughed, grabbed me, we tussled, amused and breathless for a few seconds, and then he hoisted me over his shoulder and carried me inside.

“That ought to give the neighbors something to talk about,” I commented as he dropped me into a leather club chair by the door.

“I’m sure they’ve been talking since the first squad car pulled up.”

“True.”

He sat down on the footstool, facing me. We grinned at each other.

“Now what?” he said, and I laughed.

You know when you’ve longed for something with all your heart, and unexpectedly, against the odds, your wish is granted? It’s exciting, but it’s humbling too. And a little frightening.

Was I ready for this?

“We could open a few presents?” I suggested.

“Seriously?”

I shrugged.

He tilted his head, said teasingly, “Are you feeling shy, Cos?”

My smiled twisted. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You don’t look like a guy who ever had a shy bone in his body.”

“I’m not! Usually.”

We opened about half the presents. When I opened Jinx’s gift, an antique blue-and-white china plate by Vieillard, John frowned and said, “Why the hell is she giving us a plate with a nun?”

I refrained from pointing out the nun was actually a witch.

“So what is your astrology sign?” he asked, when we finally headed up to bed.

“Gemini.”

“Is that the sign of the cricket?”

“Ha. That’s Jiminy. This is Gemini. The twins.”

“And is that a good match for Aries?”

“It has its challenges. The biggest one is lack of trust.”

He snorted.

“No, but it’s true. I’m not making it up. Sexually, we’re very compatible. We both like to experiment, be creative.”

“Now you have my interest.”

 

 

But really, no danger of that. I had always had John’s interest. Even, apparently, when he didn’t like me.

Now he stood naked and powerful in the moonlight, and I smiled up at him, reached out, and he lowered himself beside me.

For a long time we simply kissed and caressed each other, and some of my nervousness faded. I’m ashamed to admit I hadn’t expected him to be so gentle, so careful, but he was.

“My very own husband.” He linked his fingers with mine, staring at our hands. He shook his head a little, as though in disbelief.

I said, “To have and to hold from this day forward.”

“Yes.” He pushed our entwined hands above my head, seemingly intent on having and holding every inch of me then and there, continuing to pet and kiss every part of my body. When something tickled and I squirmed, he shushed me, whispering, “I’m learning how you work.”

“Is it a crash course?”

“Oh no. This will require a lifetime of study…”

His tongue flicked my nipple in pleasurable chafing, a fingertip lightly scratching my inner elbow; he touched his tongue to the tip of mine, rubbed noses. I smiled and sighed and relaxed, kissing him back when he’d let me, stroking his lean, hard flanks and sides.

I liked the taste of his tongue, the beat of his heart beneath damp skin, the moonburn of his beard against my bare skin. “Please…” I whispered. I didn’t finish it. Even I wasn’t sure what I was really asking. I was out of my depth, but even that was weirdly enjoyable, letting John lead, letting John guide me. My consort.

At last he helped me over onto my knees. I ignored the tightening in my belly—partly anxiety, but mostly desire—and spread my legs. I wanted this union very much, but I was also conscious that—for me at least—there would be no going back now. But then there was already no going back. I belonged to John body and soul. This was simply us making it official.

He opened the drawer of the bedside table and took out a disappointingly prosaic-looking white-and-orange bottle with a black plastic pump. He tested the pump with a businesslike squirt.

I sniffed and cheered up a little. “That’s nice. What is it?”

He gave a funny laugh. “I had a feeling you’d like it. It’s called Happy Endings. It’s made by a company called Sister Witches.”

I chuckled. I did like it. I liked that he would have had to search for something like this. And I especially liked that though he didn’t actually think I was a real live witch, knowing I had some, er, witchy interests, he wanted to show me that he was keeping an open mind, not judging. Too much.

I shivered from my toes to the tips of my hair as he worked the lube between my ass cheeks. His finger delicately pierced me. I moaned at the now familiar invasion.

John hesitated. “You know, we don’t have to do this now. There’s no timetable.”

I raised my head, blinking at him. “Huh? Are you too tired?”

“What? No. Of course not. It’s…it’s not going to be like last night. I’ll try not to hurt you, but if you’ve never done it, you’re liable to be sore for a bit.”

I pushed back against his finger. “I’m not afraid. Don’t you be afraid.”

He moved his finger again, and I caught my breath. His oily thumb lightly stroked across the sensitive pucker of my hole.

“Keep breathing,” he said.

I gulped as his thumb pressed in. He massaged, pushed a little deeper, rubbed some more.

“That’s right. That’s the way.”

I tried. I concentrated on loosening my muscles. The tip of his other thumb slid in, and he used both to massage me, no secrets in sex. My breaths came in shallow pants as he prepared me. Not for the faint of heart, this.

“You’re silver in this light,” he murmured. “Your hair, your skin, your eyes… You okay?”

“Yep.” My voice sounded a little high and a little shaky.

“You didn’t turn into a moon man after all, did you?”

“Still human.”

My stomach muscles were quivering, and my legs felt like jelly by the time he withdrew. I rolled over onto my back.

He kissed me slowly, lingeringly. “Okay?”

I nodded.

“Tuck your legs,” he advised. “That’s the easiest way.”

I tucked my legs.

He leaned over me, and his mouth found one of my nipples. He tongued it, wet heat turning the tip to a hard point. Distantly, I felt the pressure from the blunt head of his shaft building at the entrance of my body, creating exquisite distress. I tried to focus on the tease of his lips as he moved to my other nipple. His teeth closed delicately on the bud, and I jerked, surprised—and then more surprised to find myself wanting more.

The pushing on my hole mounted to a distracting pain—then, staggeringly, I felt my body’s resistance give in, accept—and John’s cock slipped past the tight ring of muscle. I felt pleasure spread, expand in ever-widening spheres.

“Oh, John—”

“Cosmo?” He seemed to have trouble squeezing even that one word out.

I nodded. It was difficult. I felt demolished, and yet…and yet I was okay. It did feel good, disturbingly good. My shivering body was already adjusting to that thickness. To becoming part of someone else. Half of a whole. I pushed tentatively…

John’s thighs tightened in response, and he thrust against me, once. “Jesus. Don’t move.” His hands continued to stroke and smooth my belly, my ass.

Wonderingly, I reached down and touched where our bodies were joined as one.

Something entirely new. Something entirely our own.

“How’s that for possessing your body in sexual union?” John sounded breathless.

“It sure beats handfasting,” I whispered.

He laughed shakily at the wobble in my voice and cautiously began to rock his hips against me.

I looked into his face, his eyes as bright as a hawk’s. Our gazes locked on. He was thrusting into me, the quickening center of me, with smooth, long strokes. I moved to meet him, finding my own rhythm.

John murmured encouragement. His face bumped my face, his mouth closed over mine, hot and wet and urgent. When his body froze and he groaned my name, it was as though liquid moonlight poured into me, white-hot waves shivering through my bones and muscles and nerves.

I too began to come.

A million miles away on another planet, I felt John gathering me up against him, saying the things I had thought were the love spell and only the love spell. I kissed him back.

John whispered, “It really is different when you’re in love.”

 

 

When I woke a few hours later, Pyewacket was curled on my pillow, licking my hair, and someone was setting off fireworks in the cul-de-sac in front of the house.

“Pye,” I gasped. I reached to pick him up and cradle him against me. “I thought you were gone forever. John, he’s back!”

John, arms folded beneath his head, turned his face to observe us. “He thinks you can’t fend for yourself,” he remarked. His tone was dry. “He thinks he needs to protect you from me.”

Pye yawned, showing all his pointy teeth.

I smiled. “I didn’t know you spoke cat.”

John shook his head. He was smiling too.

Another small explosion sent yellow, purple, and silver chrysanthemum blossoms bursting into the sky outside our window. John sighed. “Your friends think they’ve got a get out of jail free card now.”

I bit my lip. “You don’t mind a few fireworks, do you? It’s our wedding night, after all.”

He shook his head, leaned over to scoop Pyewacket up and deposit him at the foot of the bed. “No.” He kissed me. “I don’t mind fireworks.”

“You’ll see. I’ll be a good husband to you. The best. A good host, a good—”

John grinned. “Sweetheart, I don’t care if you’re a good husband or not. I love you despite your friends, your family, your cat, and sometimes yourself.”

Remembering how it had all started, I couldn’t help a flicker of insecurity. “Do you? Are you sure? I can be pretty—”

“Yes, you can.” John’s mouth quirked. “But I am. And I do. I guess it’s…a married thing.”