of our essences, essentially claiming her for fairy. So anyway, Juniper is a descendent of that baby.”
“Don’t tell her I forgot,” Jonquil whispered. “I feel terrible.”
“Circumstances being what they are, it’s totally acceptable. It’s not like you said you didn’t love her, or wouldn’t help her. You’d just managed the impossible and scrubbed Rumpled Foreskin from your mind. I wish I could. I admire your resourcefulness,” Petty commended.
“I shall forever call him Rumpled Foreskin. That’s my favorite yet,” Bluebonnet mused.
“So. Juniper?” Petty prompted.
“Yes, yes.” Bluebonnet waved her wand, and the hologram of Tomas disappeared. “Your plan?”
“Well, you know how she hates it when we matchmake . . . Do you remember when she and Tomas were little, they decided if they weren’t married by thirty, or some ridiculous number—thirty-four, yes, that’s it. If they weren’t married, they were going to marry each other?”
“You’re not going to expect her to keep that promise, are you?” Jonquil asked.
“Not exactly, but I think we can use it to our benefit. We’ll get her to bring him with her, and then we’ll work our magic!” Petty grinned and took a gulp of her ice cream soda. “And nature will work hers.”
Jonquil gasped. “I can’t believe I forgot this!”
“What now?” Bluebonnet asked.
“The Dracula bride! Betina! She told me she was reading Juniper’s Dark Underworld series when she met Jackson. When I told Betina that Juniper was our granddaughter, she asked if she could get signed copies of Phoenix for her bridesmaids’ gifts.”
Petunia grinned. The fates had clearly spoken. “This gives us the excuse we need to call her.”
“Quite, quite,” Bluebonnet said, and downed the rest of the butterscotch soda.
Petty pulled out her cell phone and dialed Juniper’s number. When Juniper answered, Petty put the phone on speaker so that Jonquil and Bluebonnet could hear her.
“Sweet pea! You’re on speaker!” Petty said.
“Hello, Grandmothers.” Juniper’s voice was cheery. “Hold on a minute, will you?” In the background, she whispered, “No, no. Not that one. Oh my God, what is that? No. Why is it yellow? Stop playing. I’m about to get hangry.” Back into the phone, she said, “Sorry, I’m helping Tomas pick out a suit for his firm’s fundraiser, and he promised me lunch. What are you troublemakers doing today?”
“We won’t keep you long, dear. We just wanted to double-check you’re still going to be able to make it for the Samhain celebration and the fireflies?” Petunia asked.
“And to ask a tiny favor,” Jonquil interjected.
“A favor? Of course! Anything!”
“Anything?” Bluebonnet questioned.
“Anything except let you fix me up. That’s not the favor, is it?” Juniper grumbled.
“No, no. The bride in one of the weddings we’re planning has asked if she could get signed copies of Phoenix for her bridesmaids’ gifts,” Jonquil said.
“Oh my God. Seriously? This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Of course. This just made my year,” Juniper cried.
“Betina’s wedding will be on Samhain, so if you’re here . . . ,” Petty prompted.
“Of course I’ll be there and bring books. I wonder if she’ll let me post this on social media? This is too cool,” Juniper said.
“So, how is Tomas?” Petty ventured.
“He’s doing very well. And no, before you ask, he’s not seeing anyone. Nor does he want to see anyone,” Juniper said.
“Of course he’s not seeing anyone. Otherwise, how is he going to marry you?” Petty said.
“Oh stop, Gramma Petty.”
“Do you two still have that deal? About getting married?” Bluebonnet asked, being helpful, since Juniper told Petty to stop.
“Of course,” Juniper said, obviously teasing. “But that’s just when we get old.”
“Thirty-four isn’t old. I think that’s a good age,” Jonquil offered.
“You should bring him to Ever After. We need to start planning. You’re going to be thirty-four next year, and we want to make sure you have the kind of wedding you want.”
“Gramma Bon-Bon—”
“You are taken, right? I mean, if you weren’t,” Jonquil looked around the room at her sisters before continuing, “we’d just have to try to set you up with someone wonderful. You need inspiration to write your books.”
“I have plenty of inspiration. And if you could never say that again, that would be wonderful.”
“Inspiration?” Jonquil said, confused.
“Do you know how many men have tried that line on me?” she groaned. “They find out what I do and then get all smarmy and actually the opposite of every romance novel hero ever and say, ‘I, uh, could offer you some inspiration for those dirty scenes.’ As if the whole point of the book is just the sex and