anyway. There was time to sort everything out, I supposed.
I stuck my hands in my pockets. There, at the bottom, was the little alabaster box. So that much had been real, anyway. I pulled it out to look at it.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Just something I found in the woods.”
“Can I see?”
I handed it to him. He opened the lid. “Nice,” he said. “Look, there’s even something inside.” He pulled out a tiny scrap of paper. “Looks like what you’d find in a fortune cookie.”
My breath caught. “What’s it say?” I asked, feeling my heart pounding.
He squinted. “I can’t make it out.” He handed it to me. The writing was really tiny. “Can you read it?”
I could.
Magic is everywhere.
“It says you’re buying the pizza,” I said, tucking the paper back into the box.
Dingo barked in the distance. “Woof!”
Everywhere.
Katy’s adventures continue in Paris,
where a mansion inhabited by beautiful people is more than it seems.
For fans of romance and magic,
Seduction will not disappoint.
Coming December 2014.
You and a guest are cordially invited
to an end-of-term party for
Peter Henry Shaw
Saturday, June fifteenth
Eight o’clock p.m.
2409 Belmont Boulevard
Whitfield, Massachusetts
R.S.V.P. Black Tie
Graduation was still a year away, but Peter’s great-uncle Jeremiah gave him a couple of presents anyway: a red Lexus SC10 convertible and a party that would make My Super Sweet 16 look like an afternoon at Chuck E. Cheese’s.
Don’t get me wrong. This is not sour grapes talking. In fact, if any seventeen-year-old could be said to be deserving of a new Lexus, it would be Peter Shaw. He is humble and hardworking and respectful of his elders and conscientious about the environment. Also generous, modest, levelheaded, kind, sensitive, spiritual, and deep, not to mention extremely good-looking. He smells good too.
So no, it’s not that he’s a wiener with a car. It’s just that it all came as such a shock. Peter’s great-uncle, Jeremiah Shaw, had never spoken to him before last year. Nor had any of his other relatives. A birthday card from the old man would have been a surprise, let alone a Lexus. Or this amazing party at the biggest house in town.
The Shaw mansion had fifty rooms on four floors, plus five or six outbuildings, an Olympic-size pool, tennis court, and a number of gardens, including one with a waterfall. Double stairways led to a huge balcony at the front entrance to the house, and there were several patios and balconies in the back, where gigantic party tents outlined in lights had been erected.
On the lawn, an army of waiters carried trays of canapés and soft drinks in crystal champagne glasses. SOMA, a nine-piece band that won a bunch of Grammy awards last year, was playing in a specially built amphitheater.
The guests were sharply divided by dress. The townies—meaning my friends—wore the same clothes they’d worn to junior prom or Winter Frolic. But the Muffies—that was my term for the rich girls who boarded at my school—all seemed to be in new gowns.
Actually, I got a new dress too, but it wasn’t my idea. As Peter’s “official” girlfriend, I guess I was expected to look as if I lived up to the Shaw standard. So one of Jeremiah’s assistants brought over a Vera Wang dress the color of glacial ice that must have cost a fortune, plus a lot of blue jewelry that I thought were rhinestones but that turned out to be sapphires rented from Tiffany in New York.
I looked good, I admit, but I felt ridiculous. For one thing, it must have seemed as if I was trying to show off, which offended my friends while at the same time eliciting the contempt of the Muffies, who thought I was trying to be one of them. For another—and this was much worse—some guy was assigned to follow me wherever I went to make sure I didn’t lose or steal any of the jewelry.
“Well, so what?” Peter said when I complained about the security guy. “It’s not like
I stuck my hands in my pockets. There, at the bottom, was the little alabaster box. So that much had been real, anyway. I pulled it out to look at it.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Just something I found in the woods.”
“Can I see?”
I handed it to him. He opened the lid. “Nice,” he said. “Look, there’s even something inside.” He pulled out a tiny scrap of paper. “Looks like what you’d find in a fortune cookie.”
My breath caught. “What’s it say?” I asked, feeling my heart pounding.
He squinted. “I can’t make it out.” He handed it to me. The writing was really tiny. “Can you read it?”
I could.
Magic is everywhere.
“It says you’re buying the pizza,” I said, tucking the paper back into the box.
Dingo barked in the distance. “Woof!”
Everywhere.
Katy’s adventures continue in Paris,
where a mansion inhabited by beautiful people is more than it seems.
For fans of romance and magic,
Seduction will not disappoint.
Coming December 2014.
You and a guest are cordially invited
to an end-of-term party for
Peter Henry Shaw
Saturday, June fifteenth
Eight o’clock p.m.
2409 Belmont Boulevard
Whitfield, Massachusetts
R.S.V.P. Black Tie
Graduation was still a year away, but Peter’s great-uncle Jeremiah gave him a couple of presents anyway: a red Lexus SC10 convertible and a party that would make My Super Sweet 16 look like an afternoon at Chuck E. Cheese’s.
Don’t get me wrong. This is not sour grapes talking. In fact, if any seventeen-year-old could be said to be deserving of a new Lexus, it would be Peter Shaw. He is humble and hardworking and respectful of his elders and conscientious about the environment. Also generous, modest, levelheaded, kind, sensitive, spiritual, and deep, not to mention extremely good-looking. He smells good too.
So no, it’s not that he’s a wiener with a car. It’s just that it all came as such a shock. Peter’s great-uncle, Jeremiah Shaw, had never spoken to him before last year. Nor had any of his other relatives. A birthday card from the old man would have been a surprise, let alone a Lexus. Or this amazing party at the biggest house in town.
The Shaw mansion had fifty rooms on four floors, plus five or six outbuildings, an Olympic-size pool, tennis court, and a number of gardens, including one with a waterfall. Double stairways led to a huge balcony at the front entrance to the house, and there were several patios and balconies in the back, where gigantic party tents outlined in lights had been erected.
On the lawn, an army of waiters carried trays of canapés and soft drinks in crystal champagne glasses. SOMA, a nine-piece band that won a bunch of Grammy awards last year, was playing in a specially built amphitheater.
The guests were sharply divided by dress. The townies—meaning my friends—wore the same clothes they’d worn to junior prom or Winter Frolic. But the Muffies—that was my term for the rich girls who boarded at my school—all seemed to be in new gowns.
Actually, I got a new dress too, but it wasn’t my idea. As Peter’s “official” girlfriend, I guess I was expected to look as if I lived up to the Shaw standard. So one of Jeremiah’s assistants brought over a Vera Wang dress the color of glacial ice that must have cost a fortune, plus a lot of blue jewelry that I thought were rhinestones but that turned out to be sapphires rented from Tiffany in New York.
I looked good, I admit, but I felt ridiculous. For one thing, it must have seemed as if I was trying to show off, which offended my friends while at the same time eliciting the contempt of the Muffies, who thought I was trying to be one of them. For another—and this was much worse—some guy was assigned to follow me wherever I went to make sure I didn’t lose or steal any of the jewelry.
“Well, so what?” Peter said when I complained about the security guy. “It’s not like
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