Page 8 of Enchanted to Meet You

“Um,” I said, the cheesiest of the supernatural horror movies I’d watched obsessively as a teen now replaying on a loop in my mind. “Listen. I’m sorry. But if the Council sent you here to implant the light into me so that you can protect it, I’m going to have to give that a hard pass.”

He stared. “Pardon?”

“Not that I don’t think you’re attractive, because I do.” Like,majorlyattractive—except for the part where he worked for the WCW. “I like the witch hunter vibe you have going on there with the hair and the leather jacket and the boots and everything. And Ilovethat thing you do with your fingers—you’re going to have to show me how you do that. But the whole reason I’m on continuous birth control is so no implantation-type situation can ever take place. And before you say anything about how I’m missing out on the joys of motherhood, I don’t consider myself childlessas much as child-free. I love kids, but I tried the relationship thing, and itreallydidn’t work out, so I’m done with all of that. I’m happy to be a single, prosperous, child-free business witch with my own home and a cat. So while I’m sorry about this rift thing,I have to decline your invitation. Do you want your parking validated? Because I can do that.”

The corners of Derrick’s mouth twitched. I wouldn’t have said he was smiling, though. That seemed beyond his emotional range. “I’m not here to implant anything in you, Jessica.”

“Oh.” I had to admit that, despite having meant every word I’d just said, I felt a little disappointed. Derrick Winters may have been with the WCW, but he was hot. Living in a village as small as West Harbor, the dating prospects were appallingly slim, especially when you were looking for someone who was supportive of entrepreneurial businesswomen and uninterested in any kind of long-term relationship. If I’dhadto have sex with him—in order to save my town—it would not have been the worst thing imaginable. “Then I don’t get it.”

“Youarethe Chosen One.” He tapped the parchment paper. “The One selected to implant—and protect—the light.”

I shook my head. “And how am I supposed to do that, exactly?”

He reached for the papers he’d laid on the pile of bras and unfolded them again. On the second page was what looked like a bio that included a full color photo—a school photo, from the looks of it, and not a very good one—of a shyly smiling brown-skinned girl, a teenager in glasses and braces.

“Esther Dodge,” he said, and tapped the photo. “Through forensic genealogy, we believe she’s the Bringer of Light.”

“She’ssupposed to save West Harbor from the rift?” I gaped. “She’s just a kid!”

“She’s sixteen. But even so, if she’s the witch we seek, her powers—coupled with yours—are all that can save this town.”

I studied the photo skeptically. “Really? What type of witch is she?”

When he looked blank, I prompted, “Storm witch, cottagewitch, hedge witch, sun witch?” There were almost as many kinds of witches as there were spells. Each of them drew their power from different types of energy, but they were all legitimate practitioners of the Craft—in my opinion. As a member of the WCW, he might disagree.

“Right,” he said quickly. “Right. Well, the truth is, I don’t know if she’s even aware of her powers. That’s where you, as the Chosen One, come in. Only you can determine if Esther truly is the Bringer of Light, by awakening that light within her yourself.”

Awakening sounded a lot better than implanting, but it was still pretty vague. “How do I do that?”

“In my experience,” he said, “if you’re truly the Chosen One, it will come naturally. According to my sources, her family isn’t magically inclined, so you’ll probably be the first witch she’s ever met.”

Great. No pressure. All of this sounded horrible. “But why me? Why amIthe Chosen One? Why not you, since you obviously know so much about it?”

He scowled, though at the calendar on my wall, not at me. “I don’t have the necessary skills. You do.”

“Necessary skills? But I don’t know anything about—” Then I realized what he meant by necessary skills. “Is it because I’m a woman and she’s a sixteen-year-old high school girl, and you’re...” My gaze strayed from his eyes to his whiskers and leather jacket. “...you?”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said, flatly refusing to acknowledge what I was saying. “Our research says the Chosen One is you.”

“Uh-huh.” Typical Council member, never taking accountability for anything. “Yourresearch. Tell me this, then. Since when has the WCW been using forensic genealogy to test members ofthe public—minors, I might add—for proof of supernatural ancestry? Besides the fact that it’s stupid, is that even legal?”

Now his scowl was definitely directed at me. “Ms. Gold, you do realize that every moment we spend here, arguing over this, is another moment the forces of evil are able to gather strength, don’t you?”

“Oh, theforces of evil.” I widened my eyes at him mockingly, but truthfully, his words gave me another chill—enough so that I reached for a mini chocolate bar. Suddenly, I needed the comfort of a quick hit of sugar.

I hated the World Council of Witches, but I loved my town—obviously, since I’d moved back to it after college, and was sitting here listening to a WCW member explain to me how I could save it from ruin when every instinct in my body was telling me to run—run far away from him.

But a stronger impulse was compelling me to stay. Stay and right the wrong I was pretty sure I was at least partially responsible for committing.

“How exactly am I supposed to protect this girl—sorry, the Bringer of Light—who I don’t even know from theforces of evil?” I asked. “This is West Harbor. People here hardly bother keeping their doors locked at night. I don’t even own pepper spray.”

“Well, I suggest you start keeping your doors locked at night. This village is very quaint, but it’s only forty-five miles from New York City.” One corner of his mouth was turned up, which for him I guess counted as a smile. “And I’m fairly certain the powers of evil are resistant to pepper spray.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better about any of this?” The chocolate wasn’t helping. “What does the Council think it’s doing, anyway, putting all the responsibility of saving the universe on me and a teenaged girl?”

“Not the universe. West Harbor.”

“Right. Sorry.” I stared down at the photo. It wasn’t every day that a hot guy walked into my shop and told me that the fate of the universe—well, okay, my small town—rested on my shoulders. Maybe that’s why it took me so long to realize the girl’s maroon sweater vest and yellow striped tie looked familiar. “Hold on. Does she go to schoolhere—West Harbor High?”