Joe said, “Blessings on your union .”
“This is turning out to be a completely amazing evening,” Manfred said, and no one contradicted him.
“So, how will you pick?” Diederik asked Fiji. The boy was wideeyed and smiling, delighted to be a man in the running for Fiji’s big evening.
Quinn said, “Son, tone it down. This is not a date to the prom.”
Suddenly, Fiji turned her back on all of them, and from the way her shoulders were shaking, Lemuel was sure she was crying.
“We’ll talk about that later,” Joe said. “And for the record, either Chuy or I can perform this act for you, Fiji, and it would be an honor and a privilege—though one that would be appreciated more by another man.”
“Thanks,” Fiji said, her voice muffled. “Can we talk about this later? I’ve had as much as I can stand. I know there isn’t much time. But a little later.”
Everyone trailed out, except for Lemuel. Olivia went downstairs to her apartment, Bobo went upstairs to his after a long hesitation, and Fiji finally uncovered her face and turned to face Lemuel.
She was laughing. “Lemuel, my heart is broken,” she said, trying to sound serious. “You alone will not have sex with me? Even the gay guys would do the deed. But not you.”
Lemuel said, “Well, darn, Fiji, if you really want me . . .” But he was smiling, too.
“You know, friend, I really don’t,” she said, and laughed even harder. She sat on the nearest chair and fanned her face with the apron. “And I thought the most exciting thing that might happen this evening was finally getting the truth-and-candor spell to work. I certainly didn’t need it tonight.” She wheezed for a second more, and then sobered up.
“I am sure the prospect is daunting,” Lemuel said, feeling his way. He was not sure what to say to a woman who’d just gotten the news that the first sex she was to have would be public. And if the ritual didn’t work (for any reason), a demon would rape her and eat her. A woman who still had dried tear tracks on her face, and yet had laughed until she bent over with it. Lemuel was proud to know her.
“No shit,” she said. “‘Daunting’ is the word. And you know what my first thought was? I wondered if I could lose twenty pounds in three days.”
“You look very nice,” Lemuel said, puzzled. “You are a fine figure of a woman, Fiji.” He was quite sincere, and he was at a loss when he saw that she raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Of course I am, that’s why so many men are knocking at my door,” she said.
Lemuel had no trouble understanding her this time. That voice was bitter.
“What do you expect in a town the size of Midnight? There is only one man you want at your door, Fiji, and I think he realizes that he should have been there months ago.”
“So where is he now, Lemuel?” she said, getting up.
“I think he is upstairs as you told him to be. I think he is berating himself for not having rid you of your virginity very privately and long ago.”
“Oh,” she said blankly. “Well, that would be something he should tell me. No one else. But I thank you for trying to make me feel better.”
“You are welcome,” Lemuel said. “You are a strong woman, Miss Fiji, and I respect you.”
“Ahhhhh . . . thanks,” the witch said, a little doubtfully, and with no more ado she left for her house. She was neither crying nor laughing, but she was deep in thought. Lemuel thought that might be worse.
27
Back in her own kitchen, blessedly alone, Fiji slumped at her kitchen table, the spell she’d been working on abandoned before her. Her spell bowl was full of odd ingredients, and she’d been rapt in her work until she’d gotten the phone call to go over to the pawnshop . . . and the absurdity of being a virgin in this place and at this moment had come back to bite her in the butt. Maybe literally.
Now that she’d had a little laugh at the absurdity of her situation, she was bleakly aware this was one of the worst days of her life.
After she did a quick riffle through bad-day memories, she revised her evaluation.
This was the worst day.
Not only to have her virginity common knowledge—but to be required to have public sex to stop the end of the world as she knew it.
“All right,” she said out loud. “Let’s pretend I don’t feel this is all about me.”
“Something you want to talk about?” Mr. Snuggly said from somewhere under the table.
“Yes,” she said simply. The cat emerged from his hiding place and jumped up onto the other kitchen chair, then to the table. He looked at her expectantly. “Get on with it,” Mr. Snuggly said. “I can’t read your mind, even if I wanted to.”