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Bedspell

Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.

Chapter One

"Divine," returned Diane.

"Those chicks in Sex and the City have got nothing on us," chimed Mara.

"Stick around for just a few more minutes...." As Signe Sargent continued serving cocktails to costumed people sidling up to a makeshift bar, she glanced at her girlfriends, all wearing cat costumes. Through floor-to-ceiling windows behind her, light from the nearly full moon and star-scattered sky poured into the room, illuminating the ancient stone Temple of Dendur, brought from the Nile and reassembled in the Met's Sackler Wing, as part of the museum's permanent collection.

"We'd love to stay -" C.C. reached to adjust the pointed cat ears nestled in her silken shoulder-length hair "- but while our kitty-cat costumes still look fresh, we've got to get downtown to Gus's gig." Gus was the owner of the bar nearest Signe's walk-up in the Village.

Diane, who'd flipped open a compact, was checking her lipstick. "I wish you weren't working, Sig. You could go with us."

"Thanks for sneaking us onto the guest list," put in Mara.

Diane closed the compact, then tilted back a champagne flute, drained it and placed it on the tray beside Signe. "Sneaking in here was risky, but definitely worth it," she pronounced, flashing a business card she'd managed to get from one of the hot, circulating bachelors.

Afraid her boss might recognize her friends' names, since the bash, given by a computer mogul, was strictly for New York's cre'medelacre'me, Signe had signed everyone in under false names.

"It's definitely one of the better parties we've crashed this month," agreed C.C. with a sigh.

"Amazing hors d'oeuvres," added Mara.

After filching another pumpkin-shaped tart from under her workstation, Signe nodded, munching. "I still haven't seen Gorgeous Garrity."

"You will," assured C.C.

Maybe. Signe's eyes settled on the windows behind her opening onto Central Park. In full autumnal glory, the park was beautiful, the trees bursting with color. Gold and russet, they glimmered with night dew and framed a moon so romantic that even the most jaded New York cynic might swoon. It was the perfect backdrop for propositioning Gorgeous. So, where was he?

Signe's gaze returned to the cavernous room - the ancient Egyptian tombs, the stone statues of guardian goddesses and the temple itself. As mystical as the moon, Dendur stood just as it had for thousands of years, its yellow stones covered in hieroglyphs.

"I met a Rockefeller," Diane said.

Signe nodded, still scanning the crowd for Gorgeous. While it wasn't generally known, the museum was available for private parties, at least if they were given by the city's movers and shakers. Tonight, faces recognizable from magazines and the news were everywhere.

"I met Ghardi," Mara was saying. "You know? That shoe designer who does the retro-platforms with the gaudy bows on the toes?"

"C'mon, you guys," said C.C. "If we don't get downtown nobody will be left at Gus's, and I want to see the costumes." Greenwich Village's pre-Halloween parade was tonight, and there was bound to be stragglers.

"So many parties," said Diane. "So little time."

"And there will be even more on Halloween night," agreed Mara.

"I'm glad they have the downtown parade early."

Signe pressed a martini into the furry paw of a man in a bear costume, then a cosmopolitan into the black-gloved hand of a witch, and then she glanced between her friends again and grinned, since they all looked so vixenlike in matching black jumpsuits. Tails were pinned to their fannies; they'd found head-bands with ears attached; and whiskers were drawn on with black eye pencil. Black masks covered their eyes.

Not that the women looked the least bit alike. C.C. was petite with russet hair she blew so straight that it always looked as if she'd ironed it, while Diane - the one men usually drooled over first - was tall, blond and statuesque. Mara, with her strong, angular bones and clear skin, was good-looking enough to get away with keeping her brown hair conveniently short, eschew makeup and dress in a wardrobe that Diane always termed "grunge-inspired."

"I really wish I could go with you," Signe said regretfully. "Are we still having breakfast tomorrow?"

As C.C. nodded, a hank of reddish hair spilled over her shoulder. "Want to meet at Sarah's on the West Side? They've got those wicked apple tarts."

Everybody agreed.

"And what about the wiccan thing?" asked Signe. Through the business Diane had opened the year before, Wacky Weekends, she offered novelty getaways for bored Manhattanites. She'd just heard of a solstice event in the Catskill Mountains hosted by a group of women from New Jersey. Since the group's monthly gatherings might appeal to her clientele, she'd asked her friends to help her check it out.

"It's this upcoming weekend," said Diane. "So, we'd better firm up our plans."

"I'll rent a car," said C.C., who was the only one of the four women who enjoyed driving.

"Get a convertible," said Signe. "It should still be warm enough."

"Indian summer's going to hold through the weekend," offered Mara. "It said so on the news."

"We'll all chip in for the car," continued Diane.

Signe nodded. "What should we bring?"

"Aspirin," C.C. quipped. "It's rumored that the New Jersey wiccans serve a herbal root beverage that kicks butt."

Diane scoffed. "Forget aspirin. I'll bring Bloody Mary mix."

"And forget your bathing suit, Sig," said Mara. "If it's warm, everybody's skinny-dipping in the lake."

C.C., who hated nature almost as much as Signe, arched an eyebrow. "Lake?" she groused. "What lake?"

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Bedspell by Jule McBride Copyright © 2004 by Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.. Excerpted by permission.
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