Casual Hex Read online

  After all, his last name meant “knight” in French. Somehow, some way, he would fix this situation. She just knew it.

  Dorcas managed to get a hair appointment that coincided with Gwen’s haircut and manicure. At four on the dot, Dorcas walked into the Bob and Weave and discovered that Francine had started on Gwen, which left Dorcas with the only other stylist, Sylvia Hepplewaite.

  Although Ambrose had been scandalized by Francine’s multicolored hair, Dorcas would have taken Francine over Sylvia, a flashy blonde who had a reputation for talking about her sexual experiences during appointments. Dorcas liked sex—a lot—but she wasn’t crazy about discussing orgasms while she was having her hair done.

  Her preferences didn’t matter, though. Francine was the more competent stylist, and Gwen needed a good haircut more than Dorcas did. If Sylvia ruined Dorcas’s magically created look, she’d go home and cook up a brew to fix it. At least that was the theory. She’d never had to repair a beautician’s work before, so she didn’t have the spells and potions handy.

  That was the least of her worries, anyway. It seemed they had a fairy prince living in the Whispering Forest.

  After a chilling ride out there at midnight, she and Ambrose had prowled through the trees as they followed the sounds of a poker game in progress. From the cover of the evergreens, they’d observed the raccoons playing with a handsome blond guy dressed like a pirate. The fact that he sat in the clearing with no coat on gave him away. Fairies were impervious to heat and cold.

  Fairies also had extremely acute hearing. Unfortunately Ambrose had stepped on a twig. The prince had immediately reduced his size to a height of six inches, sprouted wings and escaped into the darkness. Of course, that had been the fluttering she’d heard yesterday afternoon, too.

  Even with such a quick look, Dorcas thought she’d recognized the prince. Leo of Atwood was a notorious playboy, though, and Dorcas couldn’t figure out what he was doing in an isolated place like Big Knob. Because it had been pointless to try finding him in the dark now that he knew they’d seen him, they’d gone home.

  Just what they didn’t need—a playboy prince living in the forest. But she had to put Prince Leo out of her mind for now. Her mission today involved convincing Gwen to try the beautifying facial masque Dorcas had spent the day making. She’d assigned Ambrose the job of researching the prince while she brewed the masque from a tried-and-true formula.

  As she walked to the counter, Francine looked up from the shampoo bowl where she was washing Gwen’s hair. “Hi, Dorcas. You’ll be with Sylvia. She’s due back from her break any minute. Go ahead and take off your coat and have a seat. Can I get you coffee?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.” Dorcas hung her coat on one of the hooks by the front door. Then she chose a wicker chair in the front of the salon and debated which issue of People to read. Ambrose might be addicted to MySpace, which he accessed every day at the Internet caf’, but Dorcas’s secret vice was tabloids. She never tired of celebrity gossip.

  Besides, reading a magazine would make her appear relaxed and part of the beauty salon scene. She wanted everyone to believe she’d come to have her hair done, not to foist her facial masque on Gwen. Coaxing Gwen to try it would require careful timing.

  She had another trick up her sleeve, or rather, around her neck. Although this was the zero hour, so to speak, she still had ways of influencing this coming meeting between Gwen and Marc. Ambrose had done his part by bringing them together on the Internet. Now it was up to her to make sure the first encounter went well.

  She opened the magazine and flipped to an article that caught her interest. Then it occurred to her that in a beauty salon, she could discuss it, unlike when she was with Ambrose, who abhorred celebrity gossip. That was a beauty salon benefit she hadn’t thought about before.

  “Oh, good grief,” she said. “Can you believe the latest about Britney Spears?”

  “She’s a newsmaker, that one.” Francine rinsed the conditioner out of Gwen’s hair. “Do you remember when she was hitting the nightclubs minus her underwear?”

  Sylvia breezed in through the back door and took off her parka. “No underwear? That’s not a big deal. Guys love it when you show up for a date with no underwear, right, Gwen?”

  “Never tried it,” Gwen said from the depths of the shampoo bowl.

  “You should,” Sylvia said. “A French guy like Marc might expect those kinds of surprises. So, are you ready, Dorcas?”

  “Sure.” Dorcas put down the magazine and walked over to Sylvia’s station. “Thanks for taking me on such short notice.” She set her purse on the counter and sat in Sylvia’s swivel chair.

  “No problemo. What a gorgeous pendant. What’s that stone?”

  “It’s Larimar.” The translucent blue-green stone was said to be connected to the lost city of Atlantis, and Dorcas could testify to its power. When she wore it, she was filled with feelings of love and invincibility. She hoped that before the afternoon was over, she’d be able to bestow its powers on Gwen.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Sylvia started to tuck under the collar of Dorcas’s daffodil yellow blouse. “This is silk, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  Sylvia pulled back the collar, peeked at the label, and whistled. “We’re not risking this little number.” Opening a drawer, she took out a teal smock and handed it to Dorcas. “You can use the bathroom to change.”

  “All right.” Dorcas would have worn something less expensive, but she didn’t own any ratty outfits. If a person lived a long life, that person had more time to acquire fine clothes. Being stuck in Big Knob meant she had to order from catalogues these days, but she’d become quite proficient at that.

  Soon she was smocked up and back in Sylvia’s chair.

  “Much better.” Sylvia clipped a towel around her neck. “You’ve never been in before, have you?”

  “No. I’ve done my own hair for years, but I thought it would be fun to let someone else handle the job today.”

  “You’ve come to the right place.” Sylvia snapped a purple plastic cape around Dorcas’s shoulders.

  Dorcas decided not to mention that she’d come to the only place, unless she’d chosen to have her hair cut at the barber shop.

  Sylvia ran her fingers through Dorcas’s chin-length hair. “How about something different today, something daring?”

  “I’ll consider that. But before we start on my hair, I have a huge favor to ask.” She reached for her purse. “I just ordered this new facial masque, and I’d love to have you apply it before my shampoo. That should give it enough time to work.”

  Sylvia took the red jar Dorcas handed her. “Wow, this looks like a high-end product. I’ve never seen such a gorgeous jar. Where did you get it?”

  “It’s a very exclusive shop. It’s pricey. But it works miracles.” She glanced over at Gwen, who was sitting up having her hair towel-dried. She looked very interested in the masque. So far, so good.

  “Miracles, huh?” Sylvia opened the jar and sniffed. “Probably too rich for my blood, but it smells wonderful.”

  “It sure does.” Francine began combing out Gwen’s hair. “I can smell it from here, like a roomful of roses. How much is it?”

  “Almost five hundred dollars.” Dorcas had deliberately set the price high because she didn’t want anyone trying to order it. She’d never have the time to make it in marketable quantities.

  “Whoa!” Sylvia set down the jar as if it had burned her fingers. “Maybe you’d better put it on yourself. If I do it, some could ooze off into the sink and there would go fifty bucks’ worth down the drain.”

  Gwen and Francine seemed similarly impressed by the price tag.

  “It must be really good.” Gwen sounded wistful.

  “It is good,” Dorcas said. “But there’s one drawback to it. The ingredients are so delicate and fragile that once the jar’s open, you have to use the contents within three hours before it spoils.”

  “Yikes!” Sylvia
quickly screwed on the lid. “If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have opened it. Couldn’t you order a smaller amount?”

  “It doesn’t come in a smaller amount.” In actuality, Dorcas hadn’t been able to figure out how to make less. And the part about spoiling was true. The recipe had stated clearly that the potion wouldn’t keep longer than three hours once it was exposed to air.

  “You must really like the stuff,” Francine said. “I can’t imagine spending that much on something that doesn’t last.”

  “It’s an extravagance,” Dorcas said, “but I decided to treat myself. I knew most of it would go to waste, unless . . . oh, you probably wouldn’t want to do this.”

  “Do what?” Gwen leaned forward in her chair.

  “If we all had facials, then we’d use up the jar and I wouldn’t feel as if I’d thrown away so much money. But you probably don’t want to—”

  “Hell, yes, I want to,” Sylvia said. “Let’s have us a spa party!”

  Francine glanced at the clock. “Why not? You and Gwen are the last two appointments for the day. But, Dorcas, you are so not paying for your hair appointment if you’re letting us share your five-hundred-dollar facial masque.”

  “And I’m giving you the works,” Sylvia said. “I think we need to do a weave on your hair, plus a mani-pedi, an eyebrow wax, a neck and shoulder massage, whatever you want. I’d do a Brazilian wax, but we don’t have a private room for that kind of thing. Most women in Big Knob don’t know what that is, let alone want their privates waxed.”

  For once, Dorcas was grateful for the lack of sophistication in this tiny town. Ambrose had never asked her to get a Brazilian and she wasn’t about to accustom him to such things.

  She turned to Gwen. “Are you up for a facial?”

  Gwen smiled, which transformed her somewhat ordinary features, making her quite pretty. “I would love one,” she said.

  Dorcas barely managed to keep herself from pumping her fist in triumph.

  Chapter 4

  Two hours later, Gwen couldn’t stop giggling. She hated to put on her glasses and ruin the effect, so she leaned forward to get a good look at herself in Bob and Weave’s large plate-glass mirrors. Wow.

  The babe gazing back at her bore no resemblance to the old Gwen. Her brown hair was filled with golden highlights. When she tossed her head, the layers Francine had created bounced and shimmered, so she tossed her head again, relishing the transformation. She’d never had hair that looked as if it belonged in a shampoo commercial.

  Her hair wasn’t the only difference, either. Whatever had been in that facial had softened and brightened her skin. Her eyes sparkled and her teeth seemed whiter, which she attributed to the new shade of lipstick.

  Francine had talked her into a different brand of makeup, and Gwen had to admit the results were dramatic. She’d never dared wear a lipstick this red, and before today she’d ignored eye makeup completely, thinking there was no point if she wore glasses. She hated the thought of putting them on now.

  “You look fantastic,” Francine said.

  “We all look fantastic.” Sylvia applied dark red lipstick with a brush and pursed her lips. “I could almost have an orgasm just looking at myself.”

  Francine blew out a breath. “Thanks for sharing, but I’m sure we’d all rather you held off until you’re in the privacy of your own home.”

  “What a spoilsport.” Sylvia grinned. “Listen, Dorcas, it would be worth a hundred and twenty-five apiece to do this again sometime.”

  “It takes about three months to fill an order,” Dorcas said. “But we can consider it, if you want.”

  Gwen glanced at Dorcas, who still wore the smock she’d put on earlier. Dorcas kept turning her head this way and that while peering in the mirror. Sylvia had convinced her to go much shorter and had styled the cut into a spiky arrangement that emphasized Sylvia’s other alteration, a series of burgundy streaks.

  As a final touch, Sylvia had dusted the entire coiffeur with silver sparkles. It was quite a departure from Dorcas’s normally understated do, but the facial had taken years off, so maybe the new look fit, after all.

  As for Francine, her complexion glowed from the effects of the facial, and she’d been inspired to try some different makeup colors, which brought out the beauty of her brown eyes. “We are four hot babes,” Francine said. “I’m going to start saving my money for another jar of that stuff, if you’ll order some for us, Dorcas.”

  “So everyone wants to try this again?” Dorcas continued to gaze at herself in the mirror, as if she couldn’t quite believe it was her.

  Gwen understood the feeling. “I would try it again,” she said. “I love the way I look. I almost hate to put my glasses back on.”

  “Then don’t,” Sylvia said. “Or at least wait until after you meet your French guy. It’s not as if you have to drive anywhere, and you know this town like the back of your hand.”

  “That’s true.” Gwen straightened the collar of her white Oxford shirt and tucked the shirt more firmly into her navy slacks. “And speaking of my French guy, he should be here in another hour or so.” The butterflies that had disappeared during the facial and hair styling came back with a vengeance.

  The makeover was a double-edged sword. A man would expect more worldliness from a woman with golden highlights and ruby-red lipstick. Her inside no longer matched her outside.

  “Is that what you’re wearing?” Dorcas asked. “I mean, it’s a nice outfit, but—”

  “Paris is the land of haute couture,” Sylvia said, blunt as always. “You need a little more pizzazz.”

  Gwen made a face. “I don’t own a single piece of clothing with pizzazz,” she said.

  “I have an idea.” Dorcas hurried into the bathroom and returned with her silk blouse still on its hanger. “I’ll bet we’re the same size. Wear this.”

  Gwen backed up a step. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. I can’t see the label without my glasses, but from Sylvia’s reaction, I’m sure it’s designer.”

  “You bet your sweet gardenias,” Sylvia said. “It’s a—”

  “Who cares?” Dorcas held out the blouse. “It’s only a blouse, and I have a closet full of them. Humor me and go try it on. We can trade.”

  “It would go great with your new hair color,” Francine said.

  When Gwen continued to hesitate, Sylvia put her hands on her hips and gave her a stern glance. “Girl, do you want to give him a boner or not?”

  Yikes. Gwen felt the heat in her cheeks. “I—”

  “Take the blouse.”

  “Okay.” Her cheeks hot, she accepted the blouse and hurried into the bathroom. Apparently the silk was a higher quality than her nightgowns, because she couldn’t help the sigh of pleasure as the material slid over her skin.

  She’d never cared much about clothes, but fastening the pearl buttons of the blouse was such a tactile experience that she began to understand why some people loved fashion. Sylvia was right. Paris was the hub of fashion, but fashion was about the only thing related to France that Gwen had never found interesting.

  Marc would be used to women who knew how to dress, though. She was grateful for the loan of this blouse. Tucking it into her navy slacks, she took a quick look in the bathroom mirror, but it was too high to give her much of a view. She hung her cotton shirt on the hanger and walked back into the salon.

  Francine gave her a thumbs-up. “Fits like a glove. Very nice.”

  “Except you’ve buttoned it too high.” Sylvia stepped forward and quickly unfastened a button.

  “Wait.” Gwen reached to button it again.

  “Stop that.” Sylvia batted her hand away. “Let’s do one more. There. Now that’s sexy. Good cleavage display. His tongue will stick to the roof of his mouth, guaranteed.”

  “I have to agree.” Perched on Sylvia’s swivel chair, Dorcas gave Gwen the once-over. “But now you need this.” She unclasped the pendant and walked toward Gwen.

  “Hold on.” Gwen raised both hands in prot
est. “The blouse is one thing, but there’s no way I’m borrowing a piece of valuable jewelry.”

  “It’s not all that valuable, and you really need a necklace.” She turned toward Sylvia and Francine. “Doesn’t she need a necklace, girls?”

  “Abso-freakin’-lutely,” Sylvia said. “That necklace is killer.”

  “And Gwen’s the most responsible woman I know,” Francine added. “Your necklace will be perfectly safe.”

  “I’m sure it will be. Come on, Gwen. Just try it.” Without waiting for a response, Dorcas slipped the pendant around Gwen’s neck and fastened the clasp.

  The stone nestled in her newly revealed cleavage, warm and soothing. And Dorcas was right—the necklace looked wonderful with the blouse. Gwen felt her resolve weakening.

  Dorcas nodded in approval. “Perfect.”

  “It does look great, but I—”

  “Then wear it with my blessing.” Dorcas smiled at her.

  “All right.”

  “Yay!” Sylvia clapped enthusiastically. “This is like getting Cinderella ready for the ball. By the way, where is the ball? Where are you meeting him?”

  “I told him I’d be at the Big Knobian by seven.”

  Sylvia nodded in approval. “Smart. Then if he’s a toad or a creepy guy, you can still escape.” She glanced around at the other women. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m feeling a Girls’ Night Out coming on. What say we all go over to the Big Knobian and give our Cinderella some fairy god-mother backup?”

  “Great idea,” Dorcas said immediately. “I’ll change out of this smock and let Ambrose know I won’t be home for a while.”

  “I’m in,” Francine said. “No point in wasting this expensive facial treatment on my cat.” She turned to Gwen. “Unless you don’t want us to? Maybe you’d rather go over by yourself.”

  “I’d love the support.” Gwen did feel a little like Cinderella, and in the past couple of hours she’d become bonded to her unlikely fairy godmothers. “I’m sure Marc’s not dangerous, but I wouldn’t mind having a posse with me to help make that judgment before I invite him home to dinner.”