As if on cue, someone knocked.

“See? Serendipity.”

“You mean coincidence.”

Ascanio opened the door and Roman walked in. He saw me onstage and blinked. “Ehh . . .”

“Don’t,” I warned him.

He raised his hands. “I do not judge.”

Curran tossed me my clothes. I slipped the shirt over my head, pulled on my jeans, and took off the stupid tutu.

A black woman with a head full of bright poppy-red curls followed Roman, pulling behind her a small metal cart full of plates. Roman picked up one of the plates and a spoon, carved a small piece of the cake on it, and held the spoon out to me.

“What is this?”

“Cake.”

“Why do I need cake right this second?”

“This is Mary Louise Garcia,” Roman said. “She is the head baker for Clan Heavy’s Honey Buns bakery.”

Mary smiled at me and waved her fingers.

“Mary very kindly agreed to bring over samples so you could select a wedding cake.”

“I did.” Mary nodded.

“Mary turns into a grizzly. A very large grizzly.”

“I know who Mary is,” I told him. “I met her before, at Andrea’s wedding.”

“If you don’t pick a wedding cake, Mary will sit on you and stuff all this cake into your mouth until you make a selection.”

“Mary and what army?”

Mary smiled at me. “I won’t need an army.”

“Can he select the cake?” I pointed at Curran. “This wedding involves two of us.”

“He already did,” Mary said. “These are the choices he narrowed down.”

I turned to Curran. “You narrowed it down to sixteen choices?”

“They were all very delicious,” he said.

“Were there any choices you didn’t like?”

“Yes,” he said. “I scrapped coconut and lime.”

“After you are done with the cake, we’ll discuss flower selection and colors,” Roman said.

I would strangle him. “Roman, I have to dance until Zoe can record the rest of the mystical writing on my skin, and then I have to train to work my magic. So no. Not doing it.”

Roman heaved a sigh and looked at Mary. “Do you see what I have to put up with?”

“Roman, if I don’t do this, Atlanta will be destroyed.”

“Atlanta is always getting destroyed,” Mary said. “Eat some cake. It will make you feel better.”

“Before I forget,” Roman said. “Sienna said to tell you to beware . . .” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Crocuta crocuta spelaea. Apparently it’s going to try to murder you. Don’t you want to eat some delicious cake before you die a horrible death?”

I sat on the stage and covered my face with my hands.

Curran’s hand rested on my shoulder. “Are you okay, baby?”

“No. Give me a minute.”

“That’s understandable,” Roman said. “Take your time.”

“What did you say it was that was going to murder me?”

“Crocuta crocuta spelaea.”