Once Upon Stilettos
Page 6

By the time we got to dessert, I was barely registering the life story Henri told us about the wine. I thought he said something about moldy grapes, but that couldn’t be right. It didn’t sound like the sort of thing you’d brag about. I did like the wine, though. It was probably my favorite of the evening because it was so sweet. They served it with poached pears that would have been a challenge to eat under the best of circumstances. As tipsy as I was, it was nearly impossible. I spent about five minutes chasing a pear around my plate, only to have it leap onto Ethan’s plate.
“Oops, sorry about that,” I said, hoping my words didn’t slur too much.
“No problem.” He gently returned the pear to my plate with his fork. I thought I detected a wink behind his glasses when he added, “Want me to cut that up for you?”
“What, and then have multiple moving targets?”
He chuckled. “Good point. You’re not used to having this much wine, are you?”
“Is it so obvious? I’m not even drinking the whole glass. Well, except this one. I like this one.”
“Don’t worry. It only looks like a slight bit of motor coordination difficulty. In this crowd, you look like the picture of sobriety. I’m not sure you could be obnoxious, no matter how drunk you got.”
Aww, wasn’t he sweet?
By this time, the party was in full swing. I shouldn’t have worried about people noticing me struggling to eat my pear. Their attention was more likely focused on the female stockbroker standing on the table and doing a striptease. The things she wore under her pin-striped suit showed that there was a whole other aspect to her personality.
Henri and his cronies chose that time to swoop in with order forms, going one by one to the guests. I noticed that each guest stiffened, losing the looseness of intoxication for a second or two before taking a pen and signing the form. After the paperwork was completed, the host made a note on his clipboard, and the guest passed out. It reminded me of something I’d seen recently, but in my foggy state I couldn’t quite remember what it was.
Fortunately, Ethan was practically sober, so I thought maybe he’d know what was going on. I tapped him on the shoulder and whispered, “Is there something odd about this, or am I just drunk?”
But before he could answer, Henri had reached me with his order form.
“And are you enjoying your evening, mademoiselle?” Henri smarmed to me.
“Oh yeah, sure,” I said, trying to approximate the level of drunkenness at the rest of the table without resorting to removing my clothes. I sensed it would be best to play along until I was sure what was happening.
I must have done a good job (not that I had to fake being drunk) for he went straight into salesman mode. “Then if you’ve enjoyed the wine this evening, I’m sure you’d like to order several bottles so you can repeat the experience while dining at home. We offer discounts if you buy a case, and you can mix and match the wines in the case.” He then handed me an order form and a pen and said, “Now, what would you like to order?”
“Nothing, thanks,” I said cheerfully, handing him back the order form and pen.
“Are you sure?” he asked a little more forcefully, handing the form and pen back to me.
“Yeah. Not only can I not afford a case of wine, but I can’t think of where we’d store it in our apartment, unless maybe we threw a scarf over it, put some candles and magazines on it, and called it a coffee table.” That struck me as the funniest thing anyone had ever said, and I collapsed in hysterical giggles. I glanced at Ethan to see if he appreciated the humor. He just frowned.
But he wasn’t frowning nearly as severely as Henri was. “I’m sure you’d like to order,” he said in a commanding tone, and the hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. It wasn’t his tone that had that effect. Magic was being used nearby. It might not work on me, but I could feel it. Suddenly I realized what it was I’d been trying to remember. The behavior of the guests when Henri handed them the pen and order form reminded me of when the people at MSI had tested the initial spell being marketed by Phelan Idris, a rogue wizard with very different ideas of how magic should be used. That spell made it possible to control the actions of others. Was that what was going on here?
When I still didn’t order any wine, Henri moved over to Ethan, who was as immune to magic as I was. He had similar results, except for the witty quip about using the case of wine as a coffee table. Instead of making jokes, Ethan studied the form like the lawyer he was. “There appear to be some errors on this order form,” he said at last. “Surely you aren’t charging this for a case of wine? It doesn’t match the market prices I’m familiar with. Maybe you accidentally got the decimal point in the wrong place.”