Emma nodded. “Before you were attacked, I wouldn’t have picked silver and blue for you; they would have really washed you out. But you looked amazing in the dressing room. I can’t wait to see you … and me and, well, Dawna, too. This is just what I needed.”
I tried to smile, wanted to because she looked so happy. She used to be that way all the time. Well, not cheerful and bouncy, but content in her own skin. We both were. Before. Now she looked … haunted. And it was my fault. Worse, I didn’t know how to fix it. “I really want you to get what you need, Em. You shouldn’t have to be fighting this.” It was a non sequitur from dresses to a demon attack. I knew that I should keep the tone light, but I couldn’t seem to stop the seriousness and pain that rolled out with the tears that filled my eyes. “It’s my fault that you’re going through this and I hate it. I’d fix it if I could. Eirene was trying to hurt me. You got caught in the middle. That’s not fair.…” I felt my lip trembling.
Her brow furrowed and she stood in a rush, knocking over the small table that held her drink. It crashed to the floor, but neither of us cared. “Oh, Celie! No! It’s not your fault at all.” She raced the few feet between us and enveloped me in a hug. There was a fierceness to her grip that took me by surprise. “I took the job with Eirene. I could have said no. Dad told me to say no—to not leave school.” She pulled back to grab me by the shoulders and stare into my eyes. “This is not yours. And it’s going to be okay. You’ll see. They’re really helping me at Birchwoods.”
Fortunately, Dr. Gwen had agreed with that sentiment. It had taken more than a few minutes to convince her to release Emma for this mini-break, but ultimately Dr. Gwen decided that Em would be best served by doing some “normal” things. Normally, in the first month at Birchwoods it’s lockdown city. Everybody is supposed to wear gray sweats to “level” everyone’s class and status bars. After all, the alcoholic father of a middle-class family who is court-ordered to rehab isn’t the same in the eyes of society as a top-money model with “alcohol dependency.” But at Birchwoods they’re treated the same … and they have to treat each other the same.
Birchwoods is exclusive and pricey and it gets results because of its strict standards and effective staff. It wasn’t just a rehab center, and in fact Emma wasn’t there because of any sort of addiction. She needed to get her head on straight and was undergoing frequent religious rites to remove her attachment to the demon who’d tried to claim her soul.
Dawna joined the group hug and we cried for long minutes until we finally laughed. Dawna wiped a long streak of mascara from her tawny cheek. “They’re really going to have to earn their money to make us look good now.”
I let out a choking laugh that was still a little bit soppy. “I’m all about value for my dollar. C’mon. Let’s go let them make us look like movie stars.”
* * *
“No, there’s no flash photography allowed until the end of the event. Sorry.” The heavyset guard at the gate before the long, winding path really did look apologetic. The burgundy red carpet and the fairy lights that followed the curves of the road were really impressive touches that made me eager to get inside. “The owners want this to be about the wine, not about who’s attending.”
I suppose it made sense, but it was sad. We looked good. Dawna’s bronze and green sparkles had obviously stolen the guard’s heart and Emma’s blonde cheerleader beauty was only enhanced by the black and gold dress that hugged her every curve. And yeah, I really did look good in silver and blue, and the dress had a built-in bra that gave me more cleavage than nature had. The stylist had even put silvery white extensions in my hair that I thought would look cheap but were amazing.
Dawna batted those big brown eyes at the guard who couldn’t keep his eyes off her long expanse of bare legs. She shifted to expose even more skin to hand him her ticket. “Could you take a picture of us … out here? That wouldn’t break any rules, would it? We just want to remember looking this good.”
It hadn’t occurred to me to bring a camera, but it had to Dawna. Her glove-clad fingers pulled a little digital out of a purse that wasn’t much bigger than the camera. “Please?”
There was no one waiting, so nobody would know. The press were a quarter of a mile down the road, waiting for the event to end. I don’t know what kind of magic they’d done to keep the press at bay, but they literally couldn’t come closer. We even saw one reporter try to pole-vault over the barrier. It had been entertaining in that ouch, that must have hurt sort of way.
We’d arrived a little late because Emma desperately needed highlights. The guard stared at Dawna and the camera with a frown. She tipped her head just a bit to show off her gorgeous neck. We all smiled winningly and he finally let out a sigh and held out a pudgy hand. She squealed and bounced and we got together in front of the winery’s sign: The Twins. He snapped two pictures and let us see them on the screen before he pulled the camera away and tucked it in a jacket pocket. “You can pick it up on the way out. I’ll be here until everybody is gone. But I’ll lose my job if I let a camera inside, and I know you don’t want that.”
Dawna wasn’t the only one who could work facial expressions. He gave such a sad puppy face pout that we had no choice but to let out little maternal noises and give him a peck on the cheek. Then he picked up his radio and said, “Three more to pick up and then we’re ready to lock the gates, Dave. All invitations accounted for.”
Wow, we really were late. Oops. It was only a moment before we heard the hum of an electric motor. A golf cart modified to look like a horse-drawn carriage—minus the horse—pulled up to the gate. The guard opened the massive silver gates and bowed us inside. I walked toward the cart and felt the moment the magic barrier pressed against me. It was an oddly familiar sensation, but I couldn’t place why. I was through in moments, but it left the hair on my arms standing on end for nearly the whole trip up the path.
“Are you cold?” Emma leaned over as we rolled down the path. “You keep rubbing your arms.”
“I just feel a little weird. Did the barrier make your skin tingle?”
They looked at each other and then shrugged with heads shaking. “No.” Dawna looked at her arm. “Not really. It felt like a barrier. Maybe you’re having a vamp reaction. I’ll bet they stepped up the oomph on security for tonight.”
That was probably it. Fortunately, I’d stashed a couple of shakes in my purse. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that wine was going to taste horrible with chocolate, so vanilla was all I’d brought. Not my favorite but definitely more Chablis friendly. I drank it quickly, then tossed the empty can into a tiny, almost-hidden trash can beside the golf cart’s drop-off point.
We’d missed the early mixer, which was probably a good thing. I hadn’t realized how many of my clients would be here. From movie stars to singers and a few politicians, it was old home week, and many eyes lit up with surprise as I walked in. No bodyguards were allowed at the premiere, and that meant I was, gasp, a guest.
Dawna likewise recognized a few people—mostly from dating them. She is so good at crashing high-end events that half of the beautiful people in L.A. probably think she’s some reclusive heiress, rather than a receptionist who’s still studying for a degree. Of course, now she really was an heiress, so it all worked out. Emma didn’t see a single familiar face, judging by her brief look of disappointment.