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Prologue

Sabrina

We’re gathered in Clarissa’s kitchen—laughing, eating, and drinking on the last night of our girl’s weekend. We’ve had an amazing time christening her newly inherited eight-room B&B in Manitou Springs, Colorado. It’s the perfect time of year to visit, as the occult is strong in this tiny community and Halloween is its favorite time of the year.

Last night we watched witchy movies, did tarot card and palm readings, and drank midnight margaritas. Today, we spent the afternoon at the Emma Crawford festival, had dinner at the Loop—more margaritas—before attending a twilight seance at the cemetery where guides told local ghost stories.

Clarissa grabs our attention by handing each of us a notecard and a pen.

“Ladies, I have the perfect way to end this magical weekend. I want you to write all the characteristics of your perfect man. Physical, mental, spiritual. Be as specific as you can, but here’s the deal. Even if you have someone in mind—an old crush you’ve harbored for years—you cannot write his name or any detail that singles him out. For example: If David from high school has nine toes and is the only mechanic in town, you cannot write ‘David with nine toes who fixes my car.’ Doing so violates his free will and would come back negatively on you tenfold.”

Some women cackle at the nine toes. “What are we doing, Clarissa?”

She smiles, grabbing a bundle of sage and sweetgrass from a drawer. “We’re casting a love spell to bring the perfect man into our lives.”

“Really?” I ask.

“That’s awesome!” Leonora laughs.

“Hell, yeah.” Luna exclaims.

“I love this idea.” Tricia takes her pen and feverishly writes.

“Will it work?” Stella eyeballs Clarissa skeptically.

“Of course, it’ll work. All you have to do is open yourself to the possibility of receiving love.”

The logical part of me wants to scoff at Clarissa’s activity — until it realizes that the romantic (desperate?) part of me has already started scribbling a list of my perfect man’s attributes.

Tall, dark, and handsome is a given.

But he’s also sweet and sensitive — and sexy AF.

He’s definitely got to be great in the bedroom, able to coax out my wild side.

I’d like him to be family man too.

With a career. Or maybe just a sizable inheritance? I’m not picky.

Is this too much to ask? Probably. Actually, definitely.

Besides, in what world could this magic spell ever work? Not mine, that’s for sure.

Still, it’s fun to dream.

One by one we make our way to the garden where the fire pit we sat around last night burns with a hint of sweet sage. Clarissa hands each of us a pink candle, instructing us to stand in a circle around the pit and hold the candle in our right hand, the notecard in our left. She then walks the circle with a bottle in her hand, placing one drop of oil on each of our cards.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“Ylang-ylang oil.” Clarissa says as she puts that bottle down and grabs a second bottle, giggling as she walks up to Melinda. “I’m not going to ask everyone to get topless, even though most of us have seen each other at least partially naked, but if you don’t want to get oil on your shirt, move it aside so I can mark your heart. This is rosewood oil, and it’s great for your skin as well as incantations.” Clarissa turns the bottle with her thumb over the opening, and then presses the digit against Melinda’s forehead, throat, and heart.

“Mind, body, and spirit align, let love be thine.”

She moves to the next person, and the next, until she’s marked everyone. Then she marks herself, puts the bottle down, grabs her card and candle, and smiles.

“Everyone ready?” Clarissa shakes her hair, her whole body really, as if loosening up. “Relax and open yourself up to receive the Goddess’ blessings. Envision your perfect mate. What do they look like? How do they talk and carry themselves? See the quirk of their lips when they smile, or the glimmer in their eye when they look at you. Hold on to that image as I ask for our blessings. You don’t have to say anything until the end, when you respond with ‘so mote it be’.”

My belly is one big knot of nerves, I realize. But why? Clarissa’s no witch, and this is not a real magic spell. It won’t work. It can’t.


Tags: Poppy Parkes Paranormal