Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Orla

" I hope Willow knows I'll be wearing my boots under this dress."

I grinned as Lia grumbled her way to Willow's makeshift fitting room, where she'd taken up shop in the castle while Ramsay Kilts was being rebuilt. Apparently, Munroe and Finlay had enlisted her help to create gala-worthy dresses for Lia and me, and neither of us were all too pleased about it. Well, it wasn't that having a custom-made gown by Willow was a horrible thing—the pretty American was delightful to work with—but it was just the thought of hanging up my overalls and slipping into a fancy dress that made me feel like I had an itch I couldn't scratch between my shoulders. At least Lia was equally as unamused about the gown and gala affair as I was, so I had some comradery as we followed the narrow hallway that led from Lia's kitchen to the fitting room.

A flicker of something—almost a shifting of energy—alerted me.

"Clyde incoming."

"Thank you." Lia whirled, grabbing my arm, her eyebrows reaching her hairline. " Finally , some advance notice."

Clyde popped out of the wall ready to surprise us, only to find Lia standing with her arms crossed and a scolding look. His face fell.

"Clyde. What did I tell you about surprising me after … the incident?" Lia demanded. The ghost coo's shoulders drooped.

"Is this incident where you peed your pants?" I asked, and Lia sighed.

"I see that story has already made the rounds."

"Who doesn't love a good peeing the pants story?"

"Seriously, I consider myself a fairly, like, street smart person, you know?" Lia continued past Clyde, air booping him on the nose, and he grinned up at her, his tongue lolling out. "Raised in Boston. Used to dealing with some rough neighborhoods and whatnot. I don't scare easily. Imagine my surprise when Clyde came along. Muggers, I can handle. A ghost coo? Yeah, it took a bit to adjust. I've warned him not to jump out at me again, but I think he must be excited that you're a newcomer. How did you know he was coming before he showed himself? What's up with that?"

I also pretended to scratch Clyde's head as we passed him, my hand moving through the coldness in the air by his ears. I didn't know how to explain that I could sense ghosts before I could ever see them, let alone feel them like I could with Clyde. It wasn't as real as actually scratching the ears of a Highland coo, but it wasn't as though my hand passed through nothing at all. It fell somewhere in between, as though I pressed against something semi-permeable, but I don't know how else to explain it. As for knowing when he was about to appear, all I could say was that my senses went on alert.

And not in the way they did when Finlay was around.

That man made me take notice, no doubt about it.

He'd made himself somewhat scarce after he'd bumbled his way through asking me to the gala, which I still wasn't certain if he'd meant for it to be a date or not, and I hadn't seen much of him over the past couple of days. He was on-site though, as I split my time between the distillery and Ramsay Kilts, and my crew reported that they enjoyed working with him. Which was good, because if I'd heard that he was being difficult, then I'd have to run interference, something I never enjoyed.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to check another incoming inquiry from my website. Just last night I'd realized that I needed to put up a notice by my contact form that my crew was scheduled out for quite a while because business was really picking up. I didn't have the time to deal with answering potential new clients. Yet I couldn't just not respond. That was just bad business. Clarke Construction was important to me, built on my name and my word, so even though my precious sleep hours suffered, I would often work late into the night to make sure payroll was met, invoices were paid, and messages to current and new clients were answered. It was beginning to take its toll, but at the moment, I just didn't have a viable solution to avoid it.

"Here we are," Lia said, stopping in front of a wooden door that was propped open. "You ready for this?"

"How are you supposed to ready yourself for a custom fitting?" Lia laughed, but I was being serious. This was so out of my wheelhouse that I truly had no idea what to expect.

"I'm going to have to deal with it soon enough when I start with wedding dresses." Lia was marrying Munroe at an undisclosed date sometime supposedly in the next year. They'd postponed the wedding due to her mother receiving treatment for cancer, and from what I was told, everything was going smoothly. They anticipated being able to pick a date soon.

"Ladies! Welcome to my lair." Willow popped up by the door, wearing leather wide-leg trousers, a sparkly tank top, and had her hair piled in a messy bun on her head. Every time I saw her, she sparkled or shone in some way, and I appreciated her complete disregard for the Scottish weather to express herself.

"When you say it like that…" Lia pretended to shudder.

"Knock it off or I'll put you in something with ruffles. Sooooo many ruffles."

Lia gasped.

"You wouldn't."

"I'm just evil enough to do it."

"And here I thought we were friends."

"Then you'll pretend to enjoy every second of this because from the looks of it, you're scaring Orla."

"I'm fine," I promised, my voice sounding far meeker than I'd intended. I cleared my throat. "Seriously, this is lovely. Thank you for doing this for us."

"Ah, there's the Scottish hospitality. Ever polite even though she's secretly dying inside. Come in, come in." Willow grinned and squeezed my shoulder as I walked inside the room.

"Aren't you cold in just a tank top?" Lia wondered.

"I don't like to wear anything too bulky when I'm taking measurements. Then once I get to work, I won't notice much else until I get my design down."

I clenched my jaw, hanging back a bit, as Lia turned a circle, hands on her hips.

"They did a good job with this room."

"Isn't it great? I mean, I'm excited for Orla's design for the new shop, but this isn't a bad substitute for now, is it?"

The walls of the room were the lovely thick stone mirrored through much of the castle, and the ceiling arched over Palladian windows that overlooked the walled garden below. I caught a glimpse of Archie stalking down the garden, a rake in hand, the dogs at his feet.

In the center of the room stood a small, elevated platform, with a line of standing mirrors across from it. Across the room, alongside the far wall, were several long tables pushed together to create a massive worktop for Willow. Rolls of fabric, several sewing machines, and various boxes crowded the space, and Bob Marley's music drifted lightly in the background .

"Reggae?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at Willow.

"My mood changes. Today's a reggae day because I needed the sunshine as it's been misty and cold much of the day. I was promised spring, but I don't think we're quite there yet."

I laughed. This was the warmest spring we'd had for a while.

"Don't you dare laugh at me, Orla. I was promised spring!" Willow glowered at me, lightly stomping her foot as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"You'll get it, I'm sure. For about two days. Enjoy the sun when it arrives." It was true enough, I supposed. I was so used to the mercurial changes of Scottish weather that I didn't much think about rain or sun anymore, as you'd likely get patches of it several times in a day, particularly as winter shifted to summer. Layers were the key to surviving the seasons in Scotland.

"That's it. Ruffles for the both of you."

I grimaced, and Willow laughed, clapping her hands together like she was the Wicked Witch of the West.

"Come to me, my pretties…"

"Cut it out or I'm out of here," Lia said, pulling her jumper over her head and dropping it across the back of a green velvet chair.

Did we have to get naked? Is that what was happening here? I'd never undressed in front of a group of women before and instantly became awkward and unsure of myself. I couldn't just…stand naked on a podium…could I? In front of people? And all those mirrors?

My horror must have shown on my face because Willow dropped the act .

"Orla, have you ever been to a fitting before?" Willow asked, cluing in to my actual discomfort versus Lia's pretend annoyance.

"No." I shook my head. "I really don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Ah, okay. Let me walk you through it." Willow came close and touched my arm, the contact making me jerk slightly. It was barely noticeable, I was sure of it, but it wasn't unusual for me. I wasn't used to people casually touching me, so I always responded oddly, I supposed, when it happened. "Are you wearing a T-shirt under your sweater? Erm, your … jumper?"

"Aye."

"That'll be fine then. I just need you to take your sweater off and then I can get close enough measurements. I'll have you stand on the podium in front of me, and I'll take your measurements here." Willow tapped at my shoulder. "May I touch your side?"

"Yes." She must have sensed my nerves, because she asked, and I realized that was likely what made her a good designer.

"I'll take measurements around the bust." Willow tapped lightly by my ribs, waist, and hips. "And through here. Then I'll measure the length of your leg, or what we call the inseam. That way I can tell how long to make the skirt."

"Do you need our shoes to go with it?" Lia asked. "So you know the length?"

Willow turned, grinning at Lia.

"I'm assuming you'll be in those boots or similar? "

"You betcha." Lia nodded, her face set in a stubborn expression.

"Same for you, Orla?"

"Um, I don't really have any fancy shoes." Embarrassment rushed through me. What kind of woman was I that I didn't even own a pair of heels? Most women my age likely had several pairs and probably wore them on date nights. My previous "dates" had largely consisted of pizza takeout or a night at a local pub, none of which had called for a fancy dress or heels.

I was so out of my element.

"Not a problem at all. The dresses will be long enough to cover your shoes, or if you want, I'm happy to go shoe shopping with you."

"Shoe shopping?" I must have said it in the same tone as someone who had just sniffed rotten fish, and Willow gasped, holding a hand to her chest.

"Don't tell me you hate shoe shopping."

"What's there to shop for?" I looked down at my work boots, admiring the little hearts etched in the leather. I had two pairs of work boots, one my "clean" pair, and one for dirtier jobs. Next to those, I had a solid pair of wellies, and a pair of trainers if I ever felt like going for a walk. What else did I need?

Willow closed her eyes and pretended to count to ten.

"Before I kidnap you and force you into the car to teach you the joys of shoe shopping, I'll ask first. Do you want a nice pair of shoes to match your gown?"

Worry filled me. Would it be a huge faux pas if I didn't wear the correct shoes at a gala? I mean, this was a fancy event with a custom-made gown. I didn't want to embarrass myself.

"I'll do whatever you think is best. I don't want to look stupid," I said.

"But why should she buy a pair of heels she'll never wear again?" Lia pointed out, coming to my defense.

"I'm not saying she has to. But I bet we could find a happy medium. One that isn't work boots, for either of you. Here…let me show you." Willow crossed the room and opened her laptop, typing away before turning the screen. "What about these?"

Lia and I stepped closer, bending to see what looked like satin ballet flats.

We both hissed in response, and Willow rolled her eyes before turning the computer back to herself.

"Fine, too far. Right, what about…this?"

"Oh, that's not bad. Can we pull that off?" Lia asked. On the screen were a pair of silver sparkly Converse low-tops, looking very cute, but serviceable as well.

"I don't see why not. If you're dancing and twirl and your skirt comes up, people will just catch a glimpse of sparkles. Or if you cross your leg and your shoe shows. Again, sparkles. It will look more thoughtful than work boots, but you'll both be comfortable."

"I'm not opposed to this. Orla?"

"Um." I realized that I, too, was not opposed to this idea. I didn't want to feel awkward at the gala, like I was some interloper, and I trusted Willow to lead us in the right direction. If sparkly Converse were the answer, then I was happy to compromise there. "Och, surprisingly, no, I'm not opposed. They look comfortable. Those are brilliant, Willow."

"They are. I have two pairs. You'll love them. Once we decide on your dress colors, I'll order a matching pair in your sizes."

I opened my mouth to ask how much they would cost, but Willow cut me off.

"Billed to the men, of course. You're representing Common Gin, and I'm told the owner has deep pockets."

"Oh, he does. In fact, charge double for making us go through this torture," Lia insisted.

I laughed, pulling my jumper over my head and stepping onto the platform that Willow had indicated. She approached, a pencil behind her ear and tape measure in hand, and I held my arms out when indicated. All told, it was relatively painless, even though I felt a bit awkward when she wrapped the tape measure over my bust. I knew she was only doing her job, and she wanted to make sure the dress didn't fall off me.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Willow nodded for me to step down, all while jotting notes in her book.

"Nope, you're right, pretty painless."

"I'm the one who should be moaning, having to make two dresses on such short notice," Willow grumbled, pointing for Lia to climb onto the platform.

"That's why I said charge him extra. Three times for making us go," Lia complained as she climbed up.

"Speaking of…what's up with you and Finlay?" Willow asked, glancing at me, and I jumped, surprised at her question.

"What do you mean? "

"Well, he asked you as his date, didn't he?" Lia looked at me in the mirror.

"I mean, not really. He's paying me."

"What?" Both women stopped what they were doing and turned to me in shock.

"Um…he's paying me?" I repeated, realizing, now, that it made me sound like an escort.

"I need immediate details," Willow demanded.

"How on earth did that happen?" Lia asked.

I wasn't used to women, hell, anyone , questioning me about my life or really showing much interest at all. I couldn't tell if they were angry with me for agreeing to be paid to go to this gala or if they were angry at Finlay. I wasn't good at reading social cues most times, particularly in groups of women, and my stomach churned. I wished I hadn't said anything at all.

"It's nothing, really. It's a donation to my favorite animal rescue is all." There, that made it sound less escort-y, didn't it?

"Orla, why don't you tell us what happened?"

"Um, it's not a big deal. It was just a suggested donation to the animal rescue. It's not like he's paying me to, you know…" Great, if they hadn't been thinking that before, they likely were now.

"You know what I think we need?" Lia asked.

"What's that?" Willow turned back to Lia, wrapping the tape measure around her hips.

"A drink. Let's go to the pub after this. I know Shona wants to meet Orla now that she's a part of the Order, and we'll have ourselves a nice glass of wine and can discuss everything. How does that sound? "

Terrifying.

Not that I was going to admit that to these women who were not only trying very hard to be my friend but were also a part of the same magickal Order that I'd just joined. I'd known that getting along with the other women would be part of the deal when it came to joining the Order. It might be nice, I told myself, to have some people to talk to about all this magick stuff.

A cat wandered into the room, brushing against Willow's legs, and she looked down at him.

"Hi, sweet baby," Willow cooed. "Calvin says I'm stressing you out."

"The cat…" I looked down as he approached me, rubbing against my leg, and I instantly crouched, helpless to resist the advances of any animal. I loved when people's pets came to me for a cuddle. It felt like I was the chosen one, every time, and it was my favorite part of any site visit.

"Yes, he's my familiar. He communicates with me through imagery. He's very sweet, but not as fancy as Lia's familiar."

"I would hardly call Brice fancy." Lia laughed.

"Brice? Familiar?" What were they even talking about? At my confusion, Lia sobered.

"We're all witchy women of some sort in the Order of Caledonia. Which means we get a familiar. Someone to help us on our quest, so to speak. Calvin is Willow's. Mine is a touch more unconventional, though I would argue that Shona's is as well. Since I'm a kitchen witch, I get a house broonie."

"Och, go on." I laughed, realizing they were just having me on. Broonies were definitely not real. I'd grown up with tales of the little house elves and knew that stories of them were often used to keep children in line.

"Brice? Can you pop in to meet Orla? Calvin's here," Lia called.

A blur of motion, a shimmer of energy, and all of a sudden, I was staring down at a wrinkled wee man, in faded overalls, who seemed to be having one big love fest with Calvin, who instantly jumped into his arms.

"Holy shite," I breathed.