Slightly Spellbound by Kimberly Frost

there.”
    “I’m quite comfortable here. It’s just for an hour.”
    “The sheriff will arrest you.”
    Vangie tilted her head. “I don’t see why. I’m not hurting anything. When I’m gone, there will be no sign I was ever here. I leave things undisturbed. Unlike some steprelatives I know. Crooked carpet lines! As if I wouldn’t notice.”
    “Oh boy,” I said. I crawled in and walked to the corner to get her bag. “Hurry up now. You have to get out of here.”
    “I don’t see why,” she said, giving her covers a snap. Her sudden movement made the spot under my feet push up. I lurched forward and landed hard, making the whole floor bounce and causing Vangie to fall over.
    We exchanged a look and started to laugh. “Like walking on marshmallows,” I said, getting back to my knees. “Come on. I have plenty of room at my house. You can stay there until your appointment.”
    “Oh,” she said with wide eyes. “That’s very kind of you.” Her shy smile widened. “All right, I accept. You’re a lovely maid of honor.”
    “Um, well,” I said. Was I actually going to stand up in this odd girl’s wedding? I had a sneaking suspicion that I probably was.
    Vangie collected her blanket, cell phone, and pillow and we wobbled out. She retrieved her scarves that were taped over the opening of the castle and rolled them under her arm with the pillow and blanket. Then she shuffled toward her car after murmuring, “Good day, Sheriff.”
    I gave the sheriff a sheepish smile and a shrug.
    “You sure have strange taste in friends lately,” the sheriff muttered.
    “I know it,” I said, because he wasn’t wrong.
     • • • 
    ONCE I GOT Vangie settled in, I began the daily baking. She came down to the kitchen after an hour and didn’t seem to have combed her long hair because it was tangled and slightly fuzzy. Her clothes too were rumpled from being slept in.
    “You need to borrow a hairbrush and an iron to press your clothes?”
    “Nope.”
    “You have a hairbrush in your bag?” I asked when she picked it up.
    “Nope. My brush is where it belongs, on my dresser, four point five inches from my jewelry box and at a forty-five-degree angle with respect to the edge of the dresser.”
    “Hmm, that sounds like a very specific place for it. But wouldn’t it be better to carry it with you? So you could brush your hair whenever you needed to?”
    “I shouldn’t think so. Everything in its proper place.”
    “Sure, sure,” I said, offering her a slice of warm brown bread with butter and honey. “But you’re going to see Johnny Nguyen, right?”
    “Exactly,” she said, eating the bread. “Delicious!” She drank the glass of milk I set at the edge of the counter for her and then put her dishes in my sink. She smiled. “Thank you, maid of honor. Just out of curiosity, what kind of gemstones do you like?”
    “I—you don’t need to buy me anything.”
    She glanced around like the walls might have ears. “I was just curious,” she said. “Hypothetically? Sapphires?”
    “Vangie,” I said, pointing to where her shirt had fallen partway off her shoulder. It was too large for her. “Do you have any clothes in your car?”
    “Emeralds? Rubies? Tanzanite? You would look very good in tanzanite.” She gave me a twinkle-eyed smile and strode to the front door.
    “You have to comb your hair!” I called.
    “Don’t be silly. I’m going to see an acclaimed hairdresser. I’m sure he’ll want to see my hair as it is.”
    “Disheveled?”
    She snickered as she opened the door. “No, in its natural state.”
    Good lord.
     • • • 
    SEVERAL HOURS LATER, on my way back from dropping off a mince pie in Old Town, I turned up the radio. Listening to the request hour on the new Duvall-Dyson station had become a local pastime. Who was sending out “I love you” songs? Who’d requested “I’m sorry” and “Let’s not break up” or “Get out of my house” songs? We were all curious to find