Perfectly Matched Read online

  “What will happen with our group?” I asked. Grendel purred loudly in my lap.

  “I’m not sure at this point. Let’s wait and see for a while.”

  Jeremy said, “He wants you to stay home more.” He motioned to Grendel.

  “No kidding,” I said. “He has separation anxiety.”

  “He claims he doesn’t. Just that he misses you.”

  “He misses me giving him treats all day.”

  “That, too,” Jeremy said with a smile.

  “What about Ebbie?” I asked. “What does she have to say?”

  Orlinda and Marisol watched on silently.

  Jeremy’s tone was serious as he said, “She says her job here is done.”

  I bit my lip.

  Marisol said, “How did she know to go to you in the first place?”

  “I can answer that,” Jeremy said. “Apparently while she was under your care at the vet clinic, you talked about Lucy a lot. It was right after her psychic abilities had been revealed and her name was in the paper. She heard you tell people that Lucy was your friend. She never knew your name, but she remembered Lucy’s.”

  Ebbie’s tail swished.

  “Wow,” Marisol said. “She’s tenacious.”

  Jeremy tried to look nonchalant when he said, “You made a big impact on her.”

  I glanced at Orlinda and wiggled my eyebrows.

  She smiled. She claimed she had nothing to do with any of the matchmaking, but I wasn’t sure I believed her.

  Trying not to sound too eager, I said, “Did you ask Ebbie where she wants to live?”

  Jeremy clasped his hands together—but didn’t clench his fists. “Like I mentioned, she said her job here is done.”

  “Oh,” I murmured.

  “But,” he added, “she’d really like it if she could stay with you.”

  Joy bubbled in me. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  I bent over and scooped her up, nestling her next to Grendel on my lap. He put a paw on her back and licked her face.

  A perfect match, as Marisol had called them the other day.

  I glanced between her and Jeremy.

  Were they a perfect match, too?

  I’d soon find out. Cutter was sitting on Dovie’s deck with a pair of binoculars, waiting for Jeremy to leave.

  Operation Jeremy’s Aura was underway.

  “Is she going to stop eating things that aren’t good for her?” I asked.

  He laughed. “She only did that so you’d call Marisol.”

  “Sneaky,” I said to her.

  She purred.

  “Well,” Orlinda placed her glass on the table. “I should go. I just wanted to stop by and give you an update on Bethany.”

  I hobbled over to the bassinet and picked up the pink bear. I handed it to her. “She might want this back.”

  Orlinda nodded and tucked it into the bag on the back of her wheelchair. I opened the door and she rolled out toward the ramp we used when she visited.

  “I should go, too,” Marisol said, standing. “I’ve got to grab a quick lunch before heading back to the clinic.”

  Jeremy rose. He walked over and patted Ebbie’s head, then turned toward the door. “I was going to get some lunch, too... Maybe you’d care to join me?” he asked.

  Marisol nodded shyly.

  Shyly! Marisol! I never thought I’d see the day when a man made her shy.

  As Jeremy helped Orlinda navigate to her car, Marisol turned back to me.

  “He’s really not my type,” she whispered.

  “I know.”

  “But...I’m curious.”

  “Curious is okay,” I said.

  “And I think he’d be good in bed—all that bad boy energy.”

  “Get out of here,” I said, playfully shoving her through the door.”

  She turned and waved, and I walked to the edge of the front porch and glanced up at Cutter.

  He was giving two big thumbs up.

  A perfect match.

  Chapter Thirty

  Later that afternoon, Sean and I sat on the porch, looking out at the ocean.

  “My parents are on their way back,” I said. “Mum’s beside herself worrying about you and Preston, and Dad’s beside himself worrying about the Valentine, Inc. building.”

  Sean cracked a smile. “He’ll be relieved that the upper floors are just smoke damaged.”

  I was relieved, too. It was going to take a while to set the building back to rights, but most of it was intact, thanks to the man on the Harley who’d driven me into the city. He hadn’t just gone to the police, but he’d also gone to the nearest firehouse, where Curt Meister happened to have just returned after helping Sam look for Sean.

  Fate? I wondered. Or something else? Like Sean’s mom looking out for him?

  I probably wouldn’t ever know, but my motorcycle-riding friend was coming by tomorrow for a reading on his lost watch—and his thousand dollar bonus. I planned to double it. It was the least I could do.

  Happily, the Porcupine hadn’t been damaged at all. The fire separation wall that had been installed when Maggie renovated the place had withstood the worst test possible. She and Raphael were already back in business.

  The water glittered like diamonds, and sailboats dotted the horizon. It was still hot as hell, but the breeze was cool and there was a cold front on the horizon.

  The National Guard had regained control of the city overnight, and all of the fires were out. Now it was time to clean up and rebuild.

  Sean said, “How do your parents feel about the engagement?”

  “We didn’t talk about it too much,” I said.

  “How do you feel about the engagement? The pregnancy?”

  “I’m...” I searched for a name to my emotion. “I’m not sure.”

  He said, “Do you wish it was you?”

  “Marrying and having a baby with Cutter? Ew, that’s gross. He’s my brother. There are laws against that.”

  He laughed. “You know what I meant.”

  I glanced at him and got lost for a second in his gray eyes. “I know.”

  “And?”

  I shrugged. “A little. But, I have issues. My parents are crazy. My grandmother barges in at all hours, I have these visions, and oh, yeah, I deal with my fair share of psychopaths. That’s a lot of baggage for someone else to help carry.”

  Biting my lip, I waited for him to say something. If he wanted out, now was the time to speak up.

  He nudged my chin. “That baggage has helped shape you into who you are today. You’re going to be a wonderful wife. And mother.” Leaning over, he kissed me slowly. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” I whispered.

  He picked up his glass of lemonade and took a drink.

  I waited and waited for him to continue the conversation, but when he put his head back against the cushion and closed his eyes I finally had to speak up.

  “That’s it?”

  A dimple popped as he cracked open an eye. “What? You’re expecting a proposal here and now?”

  “Well, yeah, kind of. That was quite the build-up.”

  His other dimple popped. “Patience, Ms. Valentine. Patience.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “You know how I feel about patience.”

  “That’s right,” he said, his voice suddenly husky. “We still have to put the patience versus savoring issue to the test.”

  I smiled. “When you’re feeling better, we’ll put that to the test.”

  “I’m feeling much better.”

  I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. “How much better?”

  “I don’t know about you, Ms. Valentine, but I’m ready to savor every minute.”

  His eyes told me that he meant so much more than what was on the surface. He was talking about our life together. The good, the bad, the ugly. He was talking about marriage and babies.

  Love.

  My heart soared.

  “Me, too, Mr. Donahue. Me, to
o.”

  ***

  Early the next morning, I was pouring a cup of coffee when the doorbell rang.

  Glancing at the clock, I frowned. It was a little past seven. I knew it couldn’t be Dovie—she would have come right in.

  I patted Ebbie’s head on the way to the door and quieted a barking Thoreau. I peeked out the window and was shocked by who stood on my porch.

  Pulling open the door, I said, “Well, Aiden Holliday, where have you been hiding yourself?” But as I teased, I noticed the wild look in his eye, the way his normally neat short hair stuck out all over his head. Stubble covered his cheeks. I immediately started to worry. “What’s wrong?”

  “I need your help, Lucy.”

  “Of course. With what?”

  He held up a finger, spun around and marched to his car. He pulled open the back door and reached inside. What he pulled out had my jaw on the ground.

  A beautiful little girl, maybe eighteen months old, clung to his neck.

  Aiden carried her to the porch.

  “Who’s she?” I asked.

  “My daughter.”

  I stared at him for a long, hard minute. Finally, I found my voice. “Where’s her mother?”

  “That’s why I need your help,” he said. “She’s missing.”

  ***

  Did you know Heather Webber also writes as Heather Blake?

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at Heather Blake’s debut novel.

  It Takes a Witch

  Copyright © Heather Blake

  January 2012

  Obsidian

  Chapter One

  Usually I’m not in the habit of tiptoeing through strange houses under the cover of darkness.

  It was unsettling to say the least, and I felt completely out of sorts. My outfit only added to my discomfort. The flouncy, frilly pink satin bodysuit, tulle tutu, and pink ballet slippers were a far cry from my usual jeans and tee.

  It didn’t help that my every move was being watched closely.

  As I crept up aged wooden stairs of a large house along the coast of Salem, Massachusetts, Amanda Goodwin followed behind me with her mother-in-law, Cherise, bringing up the rear. They’d ushered me straight upstairs as soon as I’d arrived, their eyes lit like they were two little girls sneaking a peek at Santa.

  At the top of the steps, a long hallway branched into four bedrooms, one of which had its door closed. Pink and black polka-dotted block letters attached to the wood paneling declared it as my destination: Laurel Grace Goodwin’s bedroom.

  “Have you done this before, Ms. Merriweather?” Amanda asked softly, tugging on my gossamer wings. “Played the tooth fairy?”

  I sized up Amanda immediately as a hip suburban soccer mom, in her designer jeans, beaded tank top, and Grecian-inspired sandals. A natural blonde, she wore her hair long and straight, parted down the middle. Lots of lip gloss and mascara but not much else.

  I smiled, trying to hide my nervousness. “Please call me Darcy, and this is my first time.” I truly hoped it would be my last. Tulle and I didn’t get along. My legs were itching something fierce, despite the thin protection of a pair of tights.

  “Well”—Cherise had a strong Boston accent of someone who had been born and bred in this area—“your aunt Velma highly recommends you, and we trust her and As You Wish implicitly.”

  I had been working at my aunt Ve’s business, As You Wish, for only two weeks. The company blended the tasks of a virtual personal assistant and a personal concierge service. Our clients’ requests were diverse, often challenging, and sometimes just plain strange. They ranged from administrative tasks to running errands, to shopping for a gift, to providing an extra pair of hands to clean up a messy house, and much, much more. As You Wish’s motto was that no request was too big or too small and no job impossible—as was proven by the fact I was standing before the Goodwins looking like a character from a fairy tale.

  I transferred my velvet drawstring purse from one hand to the other and noticed I was leaving a trail of glitter behind me. It sparkled on the rich dark oak floors.

  Short and pleasantly plump with chin-length snow-white hair, heavily layered and teased, Cherise wore a bit too much makeup, and overaccessorized with several ropes of beaded necklaces and heavy chandelier earrings. “I was glad to hear of you and your sister moving in with Velma. I imagine she’s been glad to share the family business with you?”

  Ve had told me that she and Cherise were old friends, though they hadn’t spoken in a while. Even still, I wasn’t the least bit surprised Cherise knew of my arrival to the Enchanted Village, the unique Salem neighborhood where my aunt lived.

  A new witch in town doesn’t go unnoticed in these parts.

  And two new witches? Rumors were flying faster than some broomsticks.

  Cherise either was fishing for a little gossip or was genuinely curious to know if my sister, Harper, and I were aware that the family business she referred to wasn’t the brick-and-mortar As You Wish, but the fact that we could actually grant wishes through a wishing spell.

  It was a reasonable inquiry. Until three weeks ago, Harper and I were living in Ohio and dealing with lives that weren’t what we’d imagined. When we received a note from Aunt Ve asking if she could visit because she had something important to tell us, we had no idea how our lives would change. Within a week we had packed up what little we had and moved to the Enchanted Village.

  “We’re glad to be here.” Well, I was. Harper was still adjusting.

  Putting my (disastrous) divorce and my inability to find a decent job behind me and getting Harper out of Ohio before she caused any more trouble may have been the perfect incentive to move, but learning about our heritage of the Craft, or in my family’s case Wishcraft, was now a priority. I was still learning the Wishcraft Laws, and all the ins and outs that came along with the revelation that I was a witch.

  Thankfully some of the laws were easy to remember. Like the fact that I can’t wish death on anyone. Or prevent death. Or interfere with true love. Or that no Wishcrafter can grant her own wishes (or other Wishcrafters’ wishes). I also can’t solicit or refuse to grant a wish without severe consequences. However, the biggest rule of all was that I (or any Crafter for that matter) couldn’t reveal to any mortal the truth about my powers or I risked losing my wish-granting abilities forever.

  Unfortunately, some of the laws were a little fuzzy. Like the law about wishing for money—granting that wish meant the money would have to be taken from someone else. To follow the Crafters’ basic principle of “Do no harm,” the Wishcrafter Laws also required that only wishes made with motives pure of heart would be granted. How that was actually determined was still a mystery to me.

  Cherise pressed. “How do you enjoy working for As You Wish?”

  The Goodwins were Curecrafters, healing witches, and were apparently quite nosy to boot. “It’s going well,” I said. “So far this week I’ve tracked down sold-out tickets to tonight’s Boston Pops performance, created a gift basket for a basset hound recovering from surgery, searched online for an out-of-print romance novel, and now this.” I gestured to my costume. I didn’t mention anything about the Wishcrafting, and how I’d been able to use a spell to help a client get last-minute tickets on a sold-out flight to Paris so he could surprise his girlfriend with a weekend getaway.

  As You Wish was both popular and highly successful. Most of the requests received were accomplished through hard work and sheer determination. However, sometimes magic was needed to get the job done right. Often, because of the name of the shop, people simply made wishes—which made our job a whole lot easier. Other times, seeking the help of other Crafters and their unique abilities gave us an edge.

  But mortals, who were the majority of our clients, didn’t know about the magic. And though the average customer wouldn’t be surprised about something mystical happening in a place called the Enchanted Village, disclosing our family powers wasn’t a risk Aunt Ve was willing to take, especially after havin
g an ancestor nearly burned at the stake.

  “Well, you make a lovely tooth fairy,” Amanda said as a grandfather clock donged at the far end of the hallway.

  It was nine. I had to hurry this along—or I’d be late for the emergency village meeting that was due to start at nine thirty. Ve had insisted Harper and I attend. Our aunt was still introducing us around the village and was eager for us to get acclimated. She wanted nothing more than for us to put down solid roots among the other Crafters. Well, that and take over As You Wish when she retired.

  “Do you mind if I tape this?” Cherise asked, holding up a small video camera. “For my son? He couldn’t be here tonight.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “We don’t allow videotaping of our services.” For good reason. Wishcrafters emitted a blinding glow, a white aura, on camera. Which explained, after all these years, why there weren’t any baby pictures of Harper and me, and why every picture we were in was always “overexposed.”

  I was surprised Cherise had asked. Didn’t she know about the auras? I made a mental note to ask Ve how much Crafters knew about one another and their limitations. How secretive were Crafters with one another?

  Cameras were definitely out. Not that I would even recognize myself right now, with all the costume makeup and glitter I was wearing. It took a lot of effort, and some amazing false eyelashes, to look fairylike.

  “Dennis was welcome to be here tonight, Cherise.” Amanda’s cheeks flushed. “He declined. It’s his loss.”

  “He’s stubborn,” Cherise said. “You know this.”

  I tried to blend into the woodwork—rather hard to do when one looked a lot like a giant glittery stick of pink cotton candy. The last thing I wanted was to get involved in the middle of a family dispute. Been there, done that.

  Amanda must have sensed my unease. She said, “I’m sorry. My husband and I recently separated. I’m sure you don’t need all the gory details. Suffice it to say that he’s the one who moved out.”

  My heart ached for her. I was much better off without my ex, but it had taken me two years to realize that.