Page 9 of Enchanted to Meet You

“I’m told that she does.”

“That’s where I went to school. Is that why I’m the Chosen One? Because I’ll have some kind of rapport with her?”

“It’s possible,” he said. Then he added, carefully, “That and the book.”

I raised my gaze to blink at him. “What book?”

“Don’t you have some sort of ancient book of spells...?”

Comprehension dawned. “Goody Fletcher’s book? Oh my God, who told you about that? Was it Rosalie Hopkins?” It had to be. God, I couldn’t believe this. Rosalie had been itching to get her hands on that book since high school.

His gaze, which had always been sharp, became razor-edged. “So you and Rosalie Hopkins are friends?”

I opened my mouth to blurt out the truth—that Rosalie Hopkins and I were mortal enemies, and that if the rift was my fault, she was at least as responsible for it as I was.

But that didn’t seem the wisest thing to say in front of someone who’d been sent to help repair it.

“We went to school together,” I settled for saying instead.

Was it my imagination, or did he seem relieved? Some tension went out from beneath the padded shoulders of that motorcycle jacket, anyway. “That’s probably how the Council found out about the book, then. And also probably why I was asked to give you this.”

And then, to my utter horror, he tossed a silver amulet—anexact replica of the double moons he was wearing—onto the pile of lacy bralettes between us.

“What?” I stared down at the talisman in complete shock. “Are you kidding me? I’m not wearingthat.”

He shrugged again. “Suit yourself. It’s for your own protection, but whether or not you wear it makes no difference to me.”

I glanced from the amulet to his face, flabbergasted. “But I thought those were only for people like you.”

“Me?”

“Members of the World Council of Witches.”

Like all members of the WCW, he was a supremely good-looking and confident—one might even sayoverconfident—person. But suddenly, he seemed uncertain, shaking his head and stammering. “I... I... I’m not a member of the WCW.”

“You’re not?”

“No. What would make you think that?”

I pointed wordlessly at the amulet around his neck.

He fingered it in surprise, seeming to have forgotten he was wearing it. “Oh, right. You do know that this is the symbol of Gaia?”

“Yes. But it’s also the symbol of the World Council of Witches.”

“But they don’t own the trademark on the symbol for the ancestral Mother Goddess of all life, do they?” The bitter sarcasm in his voice was oddly soothing. “No, they don’t, despite what they might think. So I suggest you put it on. It’s not pepper spray, but it’s better than nothing.”

Reluctantly, I lifted the amulet he’d tossed at me. The metal felt cold and hard against my fingers. Rosalie wore one exactly like it, usually tucked away on a silver chain beneath her inevitable cashmere sweater set, where she thought no one would notice it.

I did, though. I’d noticed it long ago . . . and also noticed that Rosalie’s mother and grandmother wore similar ones.

It took me years to realize exactly what the pendant represented—and that I was never going to get one like it.

Until today, apparently.

Derrick was pointing to the open window above my head. “Aren’t you worried about break-ins?”

“No. It can’t open any farther than that, it’s been stuck that way for years. But it’s fine, my cat uses it to get in and out. If you don’t work for the Council, how did you get all this stuff, like the forensic genealogical report on Esther, and copies of the prophecy about her, and everything?”