Page 3 of Druid Cursed

CHAPTER

“This can’t be happening.” Wendy fumbled to flush the toilet and moaned.

As the water swirled down, she res ted her head on pristine white porcelain usually reserved for a different set of cheeks.

“We’ve waited all year for this week. Halloween at Ravenwood Estate, invitation only, except for one lucky contestant and guest. Many will enter, only one will win.

We won the wildcard, dammit. I refuse to be sick. ” She proceeded to dry heave.

“I’ll venture out and find some medicine for you.” Maggie rubbed her back in soothing circles. Her stomach churned with sympathy nausea.

Draped over the porcelain bowl, Wendy’s eyes drifted shut, and she waggled her hand in a weak wave. “Forget it. You’ll have to savor the snot out of the welcome dinner without me. Record every detail so I can live vicariously through you later. When I’m not puking.”

“No way. I’m not leaving you alone that long.

” She’d only get through this week with Wendy beside her.

She didn’t own any formal wear and hadn’t had the time or money to buy something last-minute for this unexpected trip, had banked on looking casually classy while Wendy rubbed elbows with the rich and snooty, fiercely backing her up.

Going solo would be an introvert’s personal nightmare.

“If you don’t go, you won’t learn the contest rules.” Wendy’s green eyes snapped open and narrowed in a toe-chilling glare. The next instant, tears welled. “At least take some pictures for me, Mags.” She sniffed. “Please.”

Wendy always went for the jugular. Normally, nothing could convince Maggie to join a social event with strangers on her own, but Wendy was the one person she still had left in the world, the one person who always had her back.

For Wendy, she’d stroll into hell, pick up her pitchfork, and poke the devil himself to drag her home.

Maggie sat back on her heels, then stood. “Fine. Contest rules, pictures, medicine, then I’m back.”

“Rules, pictures, and one glass of wine for you. Crackers for me.” She pointed a finger in the air like a scepter. “Then and only then may you return. No excuses.” Her eyes closed again, the lashes dark against her pasty skin, and she clutched the toilet. “I’m fine right here.”

After a quick change out of her yoga pants and hoodie into respectable jeans and a sweater, Maggie stared at the door and took a deep breath. You can do this. For Wendy. Eyes on the prize. Before she could wimp out, she slipped into the hallway, cell phone in her pocket.

Ravenwood Estate took Halloween over-the-top serious. There wasn’t a single electric lightbulb in sight outside her room. Instead, fat candles smelling of sage hung on the walls in iron sconces shaped like monster faces. They made the black balustrade with its spider-web design all the creepier.

As she journeyed toward the stairwell, she waited for a rattle of chains from some ghostly hand to break the hush, but only the soft din of voices drifted up from below. On the way down, the stairs creaked beneath her fake-jeweled sandals.

The faded portraits of Ravenwood ancestors, their faces glowing sinisterly in the flickering flames, seemed to watch her every step.

She clicked a picture of a dark-eyed man with a short goatee, wearing a cowl, his stern face half-hidden in the shadows.

He looked every bit capable of walking the edge of darkness with goblins and ghouls on his heels.

Maggie shivered. At least there weren’t any clowns. A girl could take only so much.

She descended the three flights and paused at the bottom. A long, domed hallway stretched one way with marble statues guarding each side. The other direction held only shadows and a single, distant candle at the far end, a scary abduction waiting to happen if she dared head that way alone.

Maggie sped past the statues, her steps soundless on the blood-red rug with its black-knot designs.

Prickles danced down her neck, a sense of being watched, and she forced her pace to slow to a normal walk.

The voices grew louder, and the glow of candlelight flooded the floor ahead.

She sighed in relief, turned the bend—and gasped.

The butler who’d ushered them to their room earlier stood there, as if waiting only for her, all bushy white eyebrows and crow-sharp eyes. “Miss O’Malley, if you will come this way.”

Miss? She was far from being a Miss, but she’d take it as a compliment. And she was admittedly impressed that he remembered her name.

“Actually, I’m looking for—”

He spun away from her and glided toward an arched entrance with its spill of light and humming voices.

Okay, then. She hurried to catch up. “My friend caught a bug. Can you direct me to the ginger ale? Crackers? The lobby for some overpriced ibuprofen?”

The butler halted in the doorway, looking patiently impatient. The second she came within reach, he guided her by the elbow, gently but firmly, into the room.

“Miss Maggie O’Malley,” he announced to the dining hall, stepped back, and closed the double doors behind her, all before she could mutter a what the hell .

People in glittering jewelry, glorious gowns, and tuxes worth more than every dime her ex stole from their accounts put together filled the room, all looking at her.

This crowd belonged here. She, in her jeans, did not.

Her fanciest discount store cashmere sweater with its rhinestone neckline didn’t quite cut it, even with the sparkly-sandals combo.

Silver chandeliers boasting ebony crystals flashed like animal eyes in the low, dancing light held by candelabra artfully arranged on the floor and tables. Gray linen draped the tables like Gothic wedding dresses, and vases of crimson flowers scented the air with exotic perfume.

“Excellent,” a dark-haired man in an equally dark suit called from across the room. “Miss O’Malley, you’re right on time. If everyone will please find your seats.”

Oh, hell no. She hadn’t signed up for this—not without Wendy by her side. As beautiful people in their finery milled around the set tables, Maggie slithered toward the door to escape. She tried the knob. Locked. Was this for real? They were trapped inside?

“Miss O’Malley, I believe your seat is here.” The butler, suddenly right there again, gestured to an empty chair at the closest table.

She nearly jumped out of her skin. He’d most definitely left the room before and secured the door behind him. There must be another way in and out nearby, and she’d find it. “Thanks,” she said as he turned and walked away. “So much.”

She settled down between what appeared to be a runway model and a snobby version of Henry Cavill. Wendy had better appreciate her sacrifice in sticking this out. She was completely out of her depth.

While they waited for dinner to begin, Maggie shot a picture of the gigantic chandelier and a vintage candelabrum squatting before a wall mirror.

The sterling-silver design called to the history lover in her, all floral swirls and flowing curves from another era, centuries old.

The reflection made it appear as if the candles glowed from inside the mirror itself, swaying to their own song. “So cool…”

The man next to her sniffed and angled away.

Whatever. Masculine approval was low on her list these days.

In an artsy act of defiance, she lifted her chin and took pictures of the fern and hawthorn centerpiece nestled at the base of a marble urn.

Burgundy blooms and branches bearing ruby berries overflowed, brushing the tablecloth.

Along with jet-black plates and shining cutlery, a silver shot glass filled with amber liquid and etched with strange symbols waited before each guest. No one else had touched theirs, so she left hers alone.

Waiters poured the wine, and Maggie scanned the room for potential escape routes.

Besides the main entry, which was locked, and the kitchen’s swinging door in one corner, the only other exit was a set of French doors leading to the gardens directly behind what looked to be the head table.

Maybe no one would notice if she meandered that way…

“He’s hard not to look at, isn’t he?” The model sitting beside her gave her a thin smile, perfectly matched to her thin body and the thin material of her pink cocktail gown. The color was striking against her brown skin.

“The butler?” Maggie asked. He was the only one she’d been keeping her eye on, and he stood at the ready beside the French doors, as if expecting her to run that way. Sneaky, that one.

“No, Caedmon Ravenwood.” The woman leaned closer to Maggie, like a conspirator sharing a secret, and lowered her voice.

“Rumors say he hasn’t personally attended the Samhain festival for at least five years.

Although he wisely left his twin brother behind tonight.

” She shook her head and sipped her wine.

“I’ve heard Kellen is as inhospitable as Caedmon is friendly, but either one is a catch. ”

Maggie followed the woman’s gaze to the head table and the raven-haired man in the too-expensive tuxedo.

Caedmon Ravenwood, bachelor of the century.

If she didn’t get his picture, Wendy would never forgive her, and maybe playing the tourist gig to the hilt would earn a way out of this hellish dinner party.

It wasn’t like she’d see any of these people again after this week.

She’d linger long enough to hear the contest rules, then ditch.

“I’m Cara Farley.” The woman held out her fingers as if expecting Maggie to kiss her ring.

“Maggie O’Malley.” She shook Cara’s hand awkwardly, then took a long swig of wine. She so didn’t belong here.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to dream from afar.” Cara’s smile took an almost pensive turn. “Caedmon doesn’t waste his time on peasants.”

Maggie only barely managed not to roll her eyes. “Good to know.”