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Lucky Magic

Cate Lawley

PROLOGUE: In Which Our Warlock is (un)Justly Punished

“For your crimes, I sentence you to ten years.” Baba Yaga’s pronouncement filtered through the purple smoke, the flashing disco lights, and the snuffling coughs of her gaggle of warlock minions to finally penetrate Jackson’s brain.

Wait, what? Suddenly the towel around his waist felt inadequate. If he’d known he was going to be ambushed in his own apartment, he’d have thrown on a robe when he’d hopped out of the shower.

“Ten years? For—” Jackson inhaled. For being a warlock. He’d almost said it. Because, really, what had he done that every other warlock didn’t do routinely? He’d had some sex. A lot of sex. With a lot of women. What was the harm?

“For breaking the heart of an innocent girl.” Baba Yaga gave him a hard look, daring him to contradict her.

If he didn’t know exactly how powerful she was, her off-the-shoulder neon-green sweatshirt and bouncy ponytail would have made him laugh. Only the most powerful of witches—and an incredibly hot woman—could pull off leg warmers and jelly bracelets. He didn’t know whether to be appalled by her clothes or turned on by her bare shoulders and barely-there skirt. Common sense mixed with terror cut that thought short.

He cleared his throat. “I’ve apologized. I didn’t mean…” To screw her brains out? Because he definitely had. To leave her after one romp-filled, multi-orgasmic night? Because he’d meant to do that, too.

“Yes?” Baba Yaga was practically shooting icicles from her eyeballs.

Light reflected off the giant disco ball hanging from his living room ceiling and blinded him. It was like an interrogation, but with a bizarre disco flavor. He blinked and held his hand up to shield his eyes.

“I am sorry.” He infused the words with as much genuine feeling as he could muster.

She crossed her arms. “That you’re being made to pay for your choices.”

Well…yes.

He hated to piss her off further, but he also didn’t want to go to prison for ten years. “Can you send me to prison for sleeping with your great-niece five times removed? I don’t think that’s technically a crime.”

“My favorite great-niece five times removed. And who said anything about prison?” She smiled with feline glee.

One of the minions giggled.

“I don’t understand.” He clutched the slipping towel around his waist tighter. Normally he’d be comfortable naked in front of a beautiful woman. But not when that same woman was a powerful witch who not only looked like the ’80s had thrown up on her but also happened to hold his magical life in her hands.

“It’s simple. Ten years—with no magic. You’ll live as a mortal, among mortals, with a mortal job. I’ve arranged a position for you…in tech support.”

A startled laugh escaped him. “Wait. What? Are you kidding? All I did was—” He clenched his jaw. He’d have to be an idiot not to see that minimizing his supposed infraction wouldn’t help his case. And what was tech support?

“All you did was tear a young girl’s heart from her chest and pulverize it.”

Tanya might have cried a few weepy tears, but he’d swear it was more about length, girth, and stamina than about him as a person. She barely knew him. And young? Tanya was two hundred if she was a day. “Have you actually talked to Tanya?”

Baba Yaga’s eyes turned glacial again.

“Sorry—you’re right. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” Except he totally would. Good sex was one of the few pleasures in his very long life.

“Ten years,” she said, “and then I’ll reevaluate.”

She lifted her hand, ready to transport herself and her entourage away.

“Wait!” Jackson grabbed at the towel around his waist a split second before it fell to the ground. “What does that mean? Reevaluate? Are you saying there could be more?”

“Make an effort, Jackson, or you’ll end up no better than an impotent shadow of your current self. We’re done here.” She snapped her fingers.

And then they were gone. Baba Yaga, her warlock minions, even the flashing lights.

A faint purple haze and a forlorn, slowly spinning disco ball remained.

“Make an effort? What kind of effort? What does that even mean?” He didn’t give voice to his other fear—that impotence wasn’t only a reference to his magical prowess. He couldn’t go there.

He turned to the mirrored ball, taunting him from the center of the room, and yelled, “And what is tech support?”

CHAPTER ONE: In Which Our Heroine Reveals a Secret

About Ten Years Later

“That is one hot guy.”

I pulled the bag of ice cream, cookies, and beer out of the trunk of Annabeth’s Corolla. “Yep.”

“Livy,” she said. “Come on; you didn’t even look.”

I nudged the trunk shut. “Don’t need to. That’s Jackson.” But I couldn’t resist a glance over my shoulder. I swallowed a sigh.

He was mowing his grass…shirtless. Thank you, ninety-degree Texas heat, because the man had a fine chest. And biceps. And ass. I huffed out an annoyed breath. There wasn’t anything about Jackson that wasn’t fine, and I’d seen most of him. I hadn’t seen everything. It wasn’t like he ran down the street stark naked every Tuesday morning. But a girl could always hope—a little puff of air escaped my lips—and dream.

It would be truly criminal if that was the man’s one disappointing feature.

“Yum. What a treat,” Annabeth said, still staring. “How do I not know about this man? Especially if he’s out mowing his lawn half-naked with any regularity.”

Jackson looked up and saw Annabeth and me staring—great—and he waved. Of course he did. In addition to his gorgeous bod, he was also the nicest guy ever. I waved back, and then turned to go inside.

“And you know him? How have I not heard about this guy?” Then she squealed. “I have! It’s him, isn’t it? The computer nerd? That’s him! Wait, I thought you said he was chubby?”

I kicked Annabeth in the tush and headed for the front door. “Could you holler any louder? Get your rear inside. And he used to be a little squishy, back when he moved in. I never called him chubby; that’s your word.”

“Squishy, chubby, a few extra pounds, whatever—he’s delicious now.” Finally, she turned to follow me.

I wasn’t saying it out loud, because Annabeth didn’t need any encouragement, but Jackson had always been delicious. I tilted my head toward the door. “Grab the door for me. The pizza guy should be here in five minutes, and we need to unpack the groceries first.”

Granted, the chances of our ice cream melting into a gooey mess were slim to none, because—when it came to the little things in life—I had the luck of the Irish. Well, the luck of the Irish-American branch of a fae family. We might get mixed publicity—that Lucky Charms guy hadn’t done my family any favors—but we did usually have a bit of luck on our side.

“How could you keep that man’s divine body a secret? That’s downright selfish of you. When I think of all the man-candy eyeballing I’ve missed…” Annabeth smirked as she opened the front door for me. “But if you want him all to yourself, I suppose I understand.”

“I kept him to myself because you’d have camped out on my front lawn and stalked him—for yourself or to hook him up with me, depending on the day. Besides, I think he has a girlfriend.”

Romance was the one area of my life where magical luck consistently deserted me. So, naturally, the fabulous, not-single Jackson was my current (two years running) crush.

“And a girlfriend matters how? Touching is great, but I’d be good with looking. To start.” Annabeth winked at me then propped a hip against the kitchen counter.

Since she wasn’t too concerned with the perishables, I unpacked the groceries. After everything was put away, I looked up to find her watching me with her arms crossed.

“What?” But I knew exactly what.

“Why haven’t you gone out with him? You said this computer nerd was a friend of yours.”

“Jackson is a friend, and he’s very tech-savvy.” I pointed a finger at her. “I’ve never called him a computer nerd. That’s all you and your assumptions.”

“You also never said he was so hot.” She uncrossed her arms and grinned. “You’re not lusting after him; you like him.”

I stood up a little straighter. “Of course I do. He’s my friend.”

“No. You like like him. You have a crush.” When I still didn’t answer, she squealed. “Ohmygod! You’re in loooove.”

I took a breath, preparing to defend myself—and then the doorbell rang. A little Irish luck? Good thing, since Annabeth could be persistent when it came to satisfying her curiosity. Bulldog-like, actually.

Thank the Goddess for the pizza guy. I practically threw the door open.

Except it wasn’t the pizza guy. I took a deep breath and smiled at the hunky guy on my front porch. “Hey, Jackson. How’s it going?”

“Good.” He paused and gave me a curious look. “I saw that you had a friend over and thought I’d stop by and introduce myself. We keep saying we need to meet each other’s friends.” He gave me another look, then said, “So here I am.”

Worlds. Colliding. Not good, very bad. Every instinct said that Jackson—deliciously scrumptious and yet still amazingly nice—and Annabeth—dangerously gorgeous and always on the prowl—should not meet. Exactly this was why we usually had girls’ night at Annabeth’s. Where was that dang leprechaun luck when I needed it?

I tried to come up with some reason, any reason, that he should leave right away.

“Hi,” Annabeth chirped in her flirty voice from over my shoulder.

Too late.

CHAPTER TWO: In Which Our Hero Meets a Heroine (Not Ours)

Jackson’s smile spread wide, showcasing white, even teeth. How could he have such gorgeous teeth? And who thought about teeth in a moment like this?

He reached out a hand, and I scooted to the side so that he and Annabeth could exchange greetings. I would never hear the end of it. Annabeth was all about hands, and what they said about a man. Jackson had large hands—I knew exactly what she’d say about that—and he also had some callouses, because he did things like mow his own lawn, fix his own fence, plant his own trees. The guy had manly hands. I’d never hear the end of it now; she’d be completely smitten with Jackson and his fine body and his manly hands.

I closed my eyes. Annabeth had probably started plotting her girlfriend takeover before they’d finished the introductions.

Oops—which they just had.

I opened my eyes to find them both looking at me. Jackson still looked curious, but Annabeth had a cat-in-cream look on her face. The only question was whether she had devious plans to steal Jackson away from his girlfriend…or set him up with me. And I wasn’t sure which was worse; both were so terrible in different ways.

And that was when the pizza guy really did come to my rescue. His car pulled up to the curb, and I pointed and said, “Money. Be right back.” Then disappeared into the kitchen to retrieve my wallet.

By the time I came back, a pimply teen was standing in Jackson’s place, gazing with adoration at Annabeth. Leggy, tall, delicately curvaceous, and blonde, she tended to have that effect on men. A pubescent teen didn’t have a chance.

“Hey, kid,” I said, sounding more peeved than I’d intended. “How much do I owe you?”

He unstuck his eyeballs from Annabeth’s plunging neckline, and turned to look at me blankly.

Annabeth grabbed my wallet and gave the kid two twenties, took the pizza, and shut the door in his face. Granted, she did say “Thank you” and “goodbye” first, but I had no doubt he didn’t hear a word.

“Forty bucks for a large pizza?”

She shrugged, handing me the box. “He earned it and then some. I thought you were going to freak when Jackson and I met. It’s that worlds colliding thing you have, isn’t it?”

I nodded. Although usually when I was giving that excuse, it had to with my family, who were leprechauns. I hated that term, because of the little green-jacketed, bearded-man stereotype—but that was what we were.

When I was younger, I thought of myself as a sprite. Mainly because sprites lacked most of the cultural baggage leprechauns toted around. And I technically was a sprite. But calling me a sprite was a lot like calling a vehicle a car: broadly accurate but missing the important details. Just like some varieties of mushroom were deadly while others were relatively harmless, so too was the variance between sprites.

Yeah, sprite didn’t quite cut it; I was a leprechaun.

All the more reason that Annabeth and the magical mess that was my family could not collide. I liked living like a (mostly) normal person. And even without the magic, my family was not normal. I sighed. With magic, my family was chaos mixed with mischief, with a dash of juvenile self-interest thrown in for fun.

“Hey, anyone home in there? Daydream much?” Annabeth bit off the tip of the drooping slice of pizza she’d grabbed from the box. As she chewed, waiting for me to respond, there was an intent look of interest that made me nervous.

“Sorry. I…” But I couldn’t think of what to say. If I was honest with myself, I was tired of hiding the truth from my closest friend. “Whoa, watch it.” I pointed at the sliding cheese about to splat onto my hallway floor.

She dropped the slice on top of the pizza box and then grabbed it. “I really don’t know anyone else who segments their life like you do.” She walked into the kitchen with the scent of pizza floating behind her.

“Family is for holidays and emergencies; friends are emergencies and every other time.” There. The truth without actually revealing anything. I was almost proud—if it didn’t suck so much that I couldn’t tell Annabeth about my magical roots.

She set the box on the counter and snatched her slice off the top. She took a huge bite and then proceeded to talk with a mouth full of pizza. “You do know you’re incredibly weird, right?”

“You’re a little bit disgusting.” I grabbed a plate from the cupboard and handed it to her. It was that, or mop up the cheese that would inevitably fall. “How’d you get rid of Jackson?” I realized as I said it how odd that was, and said, “Why did you get rid of Jackson?”

“Clearly you have the hots for him, at the very least, and you were uncomfortable with us meeting. That’s enough for me—even if he has the body of a TV lifeguard.” She wiped her mouth with her hand. “The how was easy. Girls’ night.”

“Which is true.”

She pointed a greasy finger at me. “Exactly. I didn’t even lie. That’s the beauty of a convincing whopper. It has all the elements of the truth—it just isn’t.”

“Good grief. You can never meet my father. He would adore you.”

Annabeth grinned. “He tells good whoppers?”

I huffed out a breath. “The best.”

She looked at me like I was a very-far-from-the-tree apple. “M’kay. So back to Mr. Gorgeous. How are we going to get you hooked up with this guy? It’s long past time you had a decent date.”

“Mr. Gorgeous has a name: Jackson Fletcher. And I’m not sure how I feel about going on a date with him. We’re friends.”

Annabeth grabbed a second monstrous slice of pizza. I wasn’t sure how she stayed so thin. I had magic on my side—even my low-level luck magic burned calories like crazy—but Annabeth didn’t have magic.

“You going to eat or just watch me scarf half the pizza by myself?”

I filled my plate with two big pieces and fetched a fork. “For someone who looks like a delicate flower, you eat like a linebacker.” I wrinkled my nose at her. “Quantity and manners.”

“Delicate flower? You’re such a dork. You and your geeky, hot neighbor are meant for each other. How long have you guys been friends?”

“He moved in about eight years ago.” Annabeth choked on her pizza, so I quickly added, “But I only met him five years ago.”

“Five years? Where’s the beer? I need a beer or three.”

She muttered “five years” and shot me squinty glances while I fetched two beers. I handed her a bottle of her favorite local brew.

After she’d chugged a quarter of it, she said, “How do you keep a secret like Jackson Fletcher for five years?”

I pressed my lips together. I’d kept bigger secrets longer, so it had been a snap. But that wasn’t something I could tell her. Not without the big-reveal conversation. From experience, it went something like, “Hey, so magic is real. No, seriously. No, I’m not certifiable. No, I’m not pulling your leg. No, I’m really not certifiable. Sure, I get it; it was nice knowing you, too.”

Twice I’d gone through it. Once with my high school best friend and once with a boyfriend who I thought had been serious. So Annabeth and I had a lengthy friendship founded on some lies. Such was life as a leprechaun in the mortal world.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself? A five-year secret? Really?” Annabeth took a second long pull from her beer.

If I waited long enough, maybe she’d get drunk and forget what we’d been talking about. Since she was chugging the second half of the bottle while I dithered and wasn’t looking the slightest bit affected, I guessed that wasn’t gonna happen.

So I stuck with the advice she’d given me only moments before: give the truth, just the very specific truth that lead to a false conclusion. And omit. Omission was key to success. “I wouldn’t say secret. I just keep different parts of my life separate. You know that. And I’ve mentioned him to you, just not specifically what he looks like. And none of that matters, because now that you guys have met, you’ll know who I’m talking about when I say ‘my techie friend.’”

“Hm.” Annabeth gave me a suspicious look. I knew it already, but this was yet more proof: I sucked as a leprechaun. We were supposed to be slippery and clever. Finally, her squint disappeared and she said, “Speaking of the gorgeous Mr. Fletcher, he mentioned something about a favor, some charity thing he has for work. He needs someone to kidnap.”

Alarm bells rang. That couldn’t be good. Kidnap and leprechauns did not go well together. “Did he explain?”

“Nope. You were freaking out, so I did you a solid and got him gone.”

I grinned at Annabeth. Maybe I could count on her to be a grown-up, a discreet, non-interfering grown-up.

Then she belched.

I couldn’t help it: I just laughed.

“What? I just chugged a beer. Besides, better out than in. Who wants indigestion from drinking beer? That spoils all the fun.”

“Sure it does. Speaking of…” I grabbed another beer from the fridge for her.

After she’d opened hers, she clinked her bottle against mine and said, “To girls’ night.”

I repeated the toast—and promptly forgot all about charities and favors and kidnapping.

CHAPTER THREE: In Which Our (Hungover) Heroine Suffers Prodigiously

My phone rang the next morning, waking me up with that panicked feeling that I’d overslept my alarm and was late to work.

I racked my brain, trying to figure out how I’d overslept. Saturday—today was Saturday. And I hadn’t overslept; I’d over-imbibed. Relief flooded through me.

Except my phone was still ringing. What nut job was calling me at—I squinted at my Hello Kitty wall clock—ten o’clock. Not obscenely early, but still…

I smacked the nightstand three or four times until my hand landed on my phone. But the ringing stopped.

I’d just about fallen asleep when it started up again. I was going to murder someone this morning, and why not start with whoever was calling? That sounded good to me.

I answered sharply, “What?”

“Did someone drink too much beer last night?” Jackson’s deep, mellow voice cut through my cranky morning fog and made my insides go all melty.

I sat up in bed. “Not at all. We just had a late night.” The stars on the edge of my vision put a lie to my words—but I wasn’t about to admit I’d drunk as much as a sailor on leave. In a foreign country. A foreign country with cheap booze.

“Oh, I hate to hear that. I was hoping you could do me a favor this morning.”

I swallowed a pained groan and begged the thudding in my head to subside. Jackson never asked for favors. And he’d done plenty for me: set up my wireless router, retrieved that work document I thought my computer had eaten, helped me set up a website for a charity I volunteered with. I squeezed my eyes shut and rated my headache on a scale of one to five. Three-point-seven. Three-point-nine, and I was venturing into carsickness territory—but three-point-seven should be unpleasantly manageable. “Will there be caffeine and ibuprofen?”

“I can absolutely make that happen. I’ll pick you up in twenty.”

I rubbed my eyes and then realized he meant he’d be here, at my house, expecting me to look normal, in twenty minutes. “Whoa! Wait—”

But he’d already hung up.

I hurried—sort of. I could only move so fast while my head pounded, and I had to stop to hydrate every few minutes. Not any great surprise, then, that I still had damp hair and no makeup on when Jackson showed up twenty minutes later.

I opened the front door to find him filling it—he was well over six feet—and looking adorably apologetic.

“At least you had the decency to bring my caffeine fix with you.” I took the iced coffee he offered me and ignored as best I could the way his fitted navy T-shirt stretched tight across his chest as he handed it to me. I spun around to lock the door.

“That’s why I needed twenty minutes. I figured the line at the coffee shop would be epic on Saturday. Also, there was that time when you got locked out of your house—remember? Two, three years ago?”

I turned the key in the lock, swallowing a groan. How could I forget? “In my defense, I was not only caffeine deprived, it was six o’clock in the morning. No one is nice at six in the morning.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t remember yelling at you when you tapped on my bedroom window in the wee hours asking for help.”

No cell phone, no keys, wearing barely any clothes and no shoes, and locked out of my house. Of course I’d been grumpy when the only option I had was a guy I’d met maybe a dozen times over the preceding years. But a dozen was about ten more than I’d met my other neighbors, so I’d sucked it up and hit him up for help.

And he’d been a doll.

I’d even gotten a nice eyeful of him in his boxers. Actually, that was probably when I’d started to fall for him. I’d mouthed “help,” and he’d shown up at his front door ready to save me. Granted, he’d only had to call the locksmith and let me hang out in his kitchen for fifteen minutes—but he was much more pleasant about the whole thing than I’d been.

“Yeah, you’re a decent guy, Jackson.”

He opened the car door for me. “So you keep telling me.”

And he was modest. Or had a hard time accepting nice things being said about him. I wasn’t sure which.

After I’d stashed my purse and buckled my seatbelt, I watched him come around the front of the car. He was wearing shorts that left plenty of well-muscled leg for me to eyeball. First his chest, now his legs…I should not be exposed to handsome men before I’d had caffeine. Especially this handsome man, because he was supposed to be my friend. One did not ogle one’s friends.

Once he was in the driver’s seat, I said, “I do have a question for you. Is there some pressing emergency this morning?”

He looked confused. “The charity thing started an hour ago, but not an emergency, no. Why?”

I took a breath. “You know, I had to shower. And find something to wear. And blow-dry my hair. Not to mention that I didn’t even have near enough time to start putting on my makeup.”

“Your hair’s still wet.” I would have read him the riot act, but then he said, “And you look great without makeup.”

Awww. What every woman wants to hear. I pulled out my makeup bag. “Since I doubt that’s entirely true, I’m gonna go ahead and finish getting ready.” I pointed at him. “No potholes.”

“I got it—one smooth ride coming up.” I blinked, but he didn’t seem to follow the somewhat dirty direction my mind had taken at that statement, because he said, “I’m guessing the moral of this story is always give a woman more than twenty minutes to get ready.”

I couldn’t help a grin. He always seemed to take mental notes when I gave him the inside scoop on women, as if we were some great mystery to him. “Especially if you wake her up after a night of beer-drinking and massive carb and dairy consumption.”

“Carbs and dairy?” He shot me a sideways glance. “What exactly did you guys do last night? Oh, and I almost forgot.” He reached across my lap to open the glove box, and produced a small bottle of ibuprofen. “Your ibuprofen, as ordered.”

I clutched the bottle close to my heart. “My hero.” After I downed two tablets, I said, “As to what we did last night… We ate pizza, drank beer, and topped it all off with ice cream and cookies. I think that’s it. Oh, and we watched all the Bourne movies.”

“Bourne, huh? I didn’t know that’s what women were into.” And there he was, making another of those mental notes. Then he glanced at me and said, “I have no idea how you can eat like that. I used to when, ah”—the tips of his ears turned pink—“when I was younger. But then I realized I couldn’t eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, if I didn’t want to feel hungover or like I was two seconds away from getting the flu.”

He was so adorable when he blushed. His towering height and rocking bod made him lust-worthy, but his fair skin, dark hair, and an aw-shucks attitude made him incredibly appealing on a different level. Unfortunately, not only to me. I knew at least two other women on the block who were completely gaga over Jackson, and I was pretty sure he was dating someone. Probably. We didn’t exactly talk about his love life.

“Any particular reason you’re blushing?” I couldn’t resist poking.

Surely he wasn’t embarrassed about the way he’d looked back then? Long before we were ever friends, back when he’d first moved into the neighborhood, he’d looked more linebacker than quarterback—but either version of Jackson was easy on the eyes.

He didn’t say anything, just shook his head and continued to avoid eye contact. Or he was just busy driving, and I was paranoid.

I flicked the visor down and opened the little vanity mirror there. After a few wobbly starts, I managed to get my eyeliner and mascara applied without poking myself in the eye. Not bad.

He kept glancing at me. He seemed fascinated. I must have looked curious, because he said, “Sorry. I just haven’t ever seen a woman do that before.”

“Put on makeup in the car? I thought we already covered this—twenty minutes is insufficient get-ready time. No judging allowed.”

“No. The eyeliner and mascara…” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. First blushing, now fidgeting. Something was up. There was a story there.

“You’ve never seen a girl put on eye makeup? How old are you?”

He looked even more uncomfortable. Which made me feel terrible, because I’d just called him juvenile while drinking the coffee he’d thoughtfully stood in line for. Oh, and my headache was muted to a dull throb, because of the ibuprofen he’d remembered to bring. Bad me, bad.

I wrinkled my nose. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right. I’m old enough to have seen a woman complete her toilette, that’s for sure.”

And then he would say funny things like that and sound about as old as my dad—who was really old.

I almost didn’t ask, but my curiosity was overwhelming. “Does your girlfriend never touch up her makeup when you’re around?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” He sounded surprised. “Actually, you’re the longest relationship I’ve ever had with a woman.” He looked like he’d take those words back if he could. “Uh, I mean, you know, we’ve been friends for several years—”

“It’s fine. I get it.” And I did. We were good friends. After the whole early morning lock-out incident, he’d come by with a really cool hide-a-key for me, one that didn’t look like every other fake rock hide-a-key, and we’d struck up a conversation that had led to our current friendship.

It was scary to think of risking that for the possibility of more. So I didn’t.

The other reason I hadn’t taken the chance—a close second to risking our friendship—was that I didn’t think Jackson got all hot and bothered by my five feet and a little, red-headed, freckled self. I might feel a zip-zing, get-in-his-pants-now chemistry anytime he glanced in my direction, but he seemed completely immune to my A-cup charms.

I looked down at my breasts. Generous A-cup, bordering on smallish B-cup.

When I looked up again—and thankfully found I hadn’t been caught ogling my own boobs—it dawned on me that we’d left the central part of town and were headed to the ‘burbs. “Where exactly are we going?”

“That charity thing I told Annabeth about.”

Except I didn’t exactly (at all) remember Annabeth telling me about a charity event. I looked down at my sundress and sandals. “Hopefully a sundress works for this shindig. And you can add that to your notes for your book. Tell a girl where she’s going ahead of time so she knows how to dress.”

“My book?” Jackson looked at me like I was crazy.

“Yeah. Your book or whatever it is you’re always taking notes for.”

“I don’t take notes. I mean, I pay attention, because I’d like to be better at…uh…” And there he went with the squirming again. “You know, to treat women better.”

Weird. First, most men who didn’t treat women well seemed oblivious to it. Second, he actually did treat women—or me, at least—just fine. “Do you have some freaky history you’re not telling me about? An undisclosed past of a little old lady killer? Five dead ex-wives buried in your backyard?”

He raised an eyebrow at my silly questions and then pointed to the right. “That’s it, over there. My company gets permission to use the community center every year. I think one of the VPs lives in this neighborhood.”

“Uh-huh.” And I was pretty proud of myself for not calling him out on the obvious avoidance of my question.

Jackson had a past. One he was not only ashamed of, but that he was consciously seeking to make amends for.

And maybe if I was a normal human, I’d poke and prod and let my curiosity lead me by the nose. But I had my own secret to protect, so I sealed my lips. Of course, I would obsess about what that secret might be for days—weeks, maybe. I might even do a little internet research—of the superficial, non-stalkerish variety.

But I wouldn’t ask. Because if he didn’t want to offer it up on his own, I wasn’t about to make him lie. I knew exactly how terrible that felt.

He pulled into the community center and parked in the middle of the lot. All of the closer spots were filled.

“Looks like the attendance is pretty good. What is this benefitting again?” I asked.

“A youth program for music, theater, and art. It’s a pretty cool program. I usually write a check every year, but a few of my work buddies were giving me a hard time about being a bad sport, and then you said you’d do me a favor…”

As we walked, I noticed a few women being carried by their boyfriends. There was a young kid riding piggyback and a teen slung over a big, burly guy’s shoulder. There were also a few cheerful “prisoners” in handcuffs. I wasn’t sure how all of this tied in to fundraising.

A woman who was leading in an older guy in cuffs—maybe her dad?—hollered in our direction, “Hey, Jackson, no cheating!”

Jackson waved at her, and then turned to me. “No cuffs, so do you mind?”

I had no idea what he was talking about, and before I could figure it out, he scooped me up. Held by his strong arms, pressed against his muscular chest, and inhaling his heavenly scent—I might have swooned.

CHAPTER FOUR: In Which Our Heroine is Distracted by a Yummy-Smelling Man

Okay, I didn’t swoon. But it had been a while since I’d had any action, and here I was, snuggled against the chest of the hottest guy of my acquaintance. Who could blame me for savoring the moment? Those bulging biceps felt good wrapped around me. I was pretty cozy. I didn’t remember doing it, but at some point I’d twined my arms around his neck. Sooo cozy. I swallowed a sigh of pure bliss.

“I appreciate you doing this.” Pressed so close, I could feel the rumble of his voice as he spoke.

“Sure,” I said, too lustfully happy to think much about what exactly I was doing. But about a split second before all of the blood in my brain rushed to my nether regions, I managed to ask, “What am I doing?”

“Thanks,” he said to the guy who held open the door for him. He turned to the side so my feet would clear the doorframe. “It reminds me of those bachelor auctions a little. I thought Annabeth told you?”

If she had, I’d consumed too many beers since then to remember the details.

I thought back, trying to remember, but then inhaled the clean soap smell of Jackson. Yum. Who could blame me? My nose was close; he smelled good. Circumstances were against me. I had to scrub some inappropriate images from my brain before I could focus again—but even then, all I could come up with was Annabeth mentioning a favor for Jackson.

Just as I started to register that we were in a hallway, Jackson turned into a room. I had to tuck my feet in close, so I was preoccupied as we entered. Once certain my ankles and toes were safe, I looked up and saw…a bunch of people in an improvised jail cell. Whoa.

One lady had on a homemade jailbird costume with black and white horizontal stripes.

I stiffened. “Um, wait a sec—”

But Jackson had walked into the fake cell and deposited me before I could explain that this probably wasn’t a good idea. In fact, it might be a very bad idea. I took a breath. It wasn’t a problem—not so long as I could leave.

A fake jailor let Jackson out and shut the door behind him.

“Wait a second—” And then I saw it. There was an actual lock on the gate. With a key. In all their charitable enthusiasm and a desire to make the experience more “fun,” the organizers had put a real lock on the door. As quickly as I could, I said, “I volunteered. I came willingly. I wasn’t coerced or tricked.” But I knew as I said the words that it wasn’t enough.

The jailor gave me an odd look as he snapped the lock shut.

Jackson started to say something—but then it hit: wish magic.

A bright green flash of light and a rippling pulse of magic flooded the room for a split second.

“What was that?” Jackson asked.

The lady with the prison costume said, “What?”

Jackson looked at me with a hint of panic in his eyes. “You saw it, didn’t you?”

I dipped my chin once, then leaned as close to him as I could with the chain link separating us and whispered, “Just don’t make any wishes. Please.” He didn’t look like he’d heard me, and was backing away with a worried look on his face. “Jackson.”

He still had that faraway look in his eyes as he turned to leave. I couldn’t tell if the magic had frightened him—understandable, since he shouldn’t have been able to see or feel it, or he’d figured out I was the cause of it and he was scared of me.

And then he was gone.

I rested my head against the chain link of the cell. This was bad, so bad. He was running around with three wishes clinging to him, and all three of them were desperate to be made a reality.

Those wishes were made up of my magic, but I couldn’t control them from a distance. No nudging the magic to avoid a disaster; no counseling Jackson to improve his chances of a decent wish.

I banged my head against the cell, but I couldn’t even get a satisfying thwack because it was chain link.

I took a breath and stepped back from the barrier. In my defense, I was really hungover and had been cuddled by a sexy beast of a man. Basically, not in my right mind. No matter how bad this situation got, I did have that to fall back on…except that thought failed to comfort me as visions of wish-magic chaos flew through my mind.

I flagged down the jailor to request a bathroom break, just as the person I least wanted to see walked into the room.

“Hi, Dad. So nice to see you.”

CHAPTER FIVE: In Which Our Heroine Escapes

As dapper as Cary Grant and as light on his feet as Fred Astaire. Add an Irish lilt that I was sure he could have kicked to the curb years ago, and that was my dad.

Leprechaun couples were slow in the baby department, averaging around a child every half-century. I figured it was because the world couldn’t safely sustain as many troublemakers as a fecund leprechaun society would create. Dad and I agreed to disagree on that particular issue. His argument was something about making sense from a biological standpoint because we were so long-lived. Put my four brothers in a room together and any sane person observing their behavior would be convinced I had the winning argument.

I cringed when I saw the twinkle in his eye.

“My daughter goes and gets herself locked up, and she has the brass to get sarcastic with her dear old dad, here to save her.”

Saved…but at what cost? If Dad was here, there was mischief afoot.

One of the girls in the cell said, “Wow! You’re fast. I’m waiting for my mom to figure out how to make the donation online. They’ve got us live-streaming on the website. Fun, right?” Then she pointed up at a camera in the corner of the room and waved. “Hi, Mom!”

Dad glanced up at the camera. “Ah, I see. Locked up and the act recorded for all of posterity.”

In low tones, I said, “Not like I planned this, Dad. And who would have thought they’d use real locks?” I wasn’t about to tell him I hadn’t known I was participating in a charity lock-in.

“Suppose you’ll be needing a charitable contribution to set yourself free?”

I gave him a hard look and then turned and waved at the jailor for the second time. When he arrived, I said, “Or I can request a bathroom break. Isn’t that right?”

The man smiled and pulled the key from his pocket, oblivious to the tension between Dad and me. “Absolutely.”

“What’s the bail-out?” Dad asked my jailor.

“Minimum of an hour or five hundred dollars.”

I waited impatiently for the jailor to turn the key in the lock. When the cell gate swung open, I hoofed it to the door. Jackson could be out there on the verge of creating some very real chaos. I didn’t think he’d made a wish yet, but it was hard to say for sure. The further removed he was from the source of the magic—namely, me—the less likely I was to sense it.

And all it took was a couple of little words—“I wish”—and some nonsensical passing thought could become reality.

I paused long enough to say over my shoulder, “Pay the man, Dad,” before I bolted through the door.

Dad would have five bills on him, no question. He hated to be caught without cash…or a little bit of gold for luck. And I hated to welch on a fundraising commitment.

If only my escape resolved the wish issue, but no dice. It was the technicality of having been trapped that created the problem. Or, more accurately, that created three wishes—which, in turn, were a huge problem. I jogged down the hallway toward the exit.

Stupid leprechaun laws of magic.

The moment the lock had clicked on my cell door, I’d been “trapped.” And by the arcane rules of leprechaun magic, that meant Jackson now had three wishes firmly attached to his person. He was a walking, talking, ticking time bomb. I picked up my pace.

Without a little nudge in the right direction… I shuddered. I needed to find him, or my unattended magic and his slip of the tongue might cause serious damage.

I flung the exterior door open and sunlight blinded me.

As I waited for my sight to return, one of my brothers’ more memorable wish mishaps came to mind. His magic (and a very attractive brunette who’d locked him in a bathroom) had created colorful orbs of light in the sky above a small Texas town. Dad had fixed it in the end, even helped turn it around to become a tourist attraction—but for a while there, an entire town had been afraid. And that wasn’t even one of the biggest Kelly family bloopers. The big ones… My skin prickled. Ugh. Thinking about those gave me hives.

As the parking lot came into focus, I took off at a sprint for where I thought Jackson had parked. I didn’t see any sign of him in the parking lot, and as I huffed and puffed my way down one aisle after another, I was starting to lose hope that his car was still here.

Surely he hadn’t left without me? That wasn’t like Jackson at all.

About two seconds after that thought, I saw his car…and remembered I’d been more than a little distracted on the way in from the parking lot. I’d hardly been in a state of mind to make note of the row where he’d parked.

I leaned on the hood and tried to catch my breath. I also contemplated sabotage.

My most powerful magic was tied to wish fulfillment. But even without much magical juice, I still had a little luck, some nifty tricks of persuasion I’d picked up from the silver-tongued devil who’d fathered me, and the ability to create mischief at the drop of a hat. Mischief-making was usually my least favorite activity—much to my father’s dismay—but today I’d run with it.

I glanced around the parking lot. No one was close, so I reached up and tugged my right earlobe.

“For shame.” The voice—my dad’s—scared my pulse into overdrive. He was just on the other side of the car, someplace he’d not been seconds before.

I resisted the urge to clutch at my chest, and said as calmly as I could, “Who are you to criticize? I’m not popping around like a wayward fairytale creature when there are humans everywhere.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Concealment is hardly a concern. I mastered such minor magicks before you were born. But you?” He shook his head and gave me a mournful look. “You can’t even do magic without a fidget.”

He’d seen the ear tug. Of course he had. I wasn’t sure if I embarrassed him, or if his parental disapproval stemmed more from disappointment. Either way, he wasn’t happy with my magical life choices. Having a grown child who practiced magic like a toddler probably wasn’t fun. But to get better, I had to occasionally use my magic, and practicing usually meant creating trouble for some poor, undeserving soul.

And speaking of poor, undeserving souls, I glanced down at Jackson’s tires: four flats. I’d been aiming for two. I bit my lip and decided that I’d find some way to make it up to him.

“How do you plan on getting yourself home now, daughter dearest?”

“I don’t suppose you’re offering me a lift?” When he raised an eyebrow, I said, “Not that I’m asking. I need to find Jackson.” I crossed my arms. “Where is he?”

“How would I know that?” He gave me his most innocent and beguiling smile. He knew and wasn’t saying.

Which was exactly what I’d expected. Not that my dad wasn’t a pretty decent guy at heart. But he was a leprechaun, and like most, he had a bone-deep love of mischief. I really didn’t know why that particular trait had failed to manifest in me, I just thanked the Goddess it had.

“If you’re not here to help with this mess, then why are you here?”

“Well, to see if you’re in any real danger. That’s clearly not the case.”

“Really?” I narrowed my eyes.

“First and foremost, to ensure your safety…but I also couldn’t resist a little look. See what kind of mischief my girl was brewing.” He grinned.

I groaned. “Dad. You know I’m not that kind of…”

He grinned even broader. “That kind of daughter?”

“Sure. We’ll go with that.”

“Well, I’m here to tell you: you are that kind of daughter, because you’re my daughter.”

I closed my eyes. No matter how many times I tried to explain to my dad that I didn’t get the same rush from creating havoc in people’s lives that he and my brothers got, he didn’t get it.

And if I tried to explain that they were messing with people’s lives, causing real harm to people, he’d just explain that the Kelly’s weren’t a bad leprechaun family. He insisted our family was only out for a little fun—not like those shady Shannon leprechauns. Now those were bad apples, per Dad.

I wouldn’t dare tell him that I couldn’t tell the difference between Kelly and Shannon family mischief. He’d have a coronary. Or be mortally offended that I thought the Kelly family traditions were anything less than noble.

Dad was a great one for drama.

“I just want to set this right before we need another massive cover-up. So are you going to help me and tell me where Jackson is?”

He eyed me with suspicion. “I can tell you’re hiding something. But whatever it is, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m not going to help you muck up your first real fun in—what? Ten years?”

“It was eight years ago, Dad. And that was not fun. It was a fiasco. That poor boy dropped out of college for two whole semesters.” I scanned the parking, still looking for some sign of Jackson.

“Ah, but how’s that boy doing today, you might ask yourself? Fabulous, I’ll tell you. Married to a beautiful woman with three lovely children.” He raised his eyebrows. “Some might say that’s a sight better than single and not even a prospect on the horizon.”

Good grief. Not only was I getting the nudge to be a better leprechaun, I was getting the guilt trip about grandkids.

“Stop already with the grandkids. If you want them so badly, harass Michael, Thomas, James, and Stephen.” It was past time for the boys to feel some of the parental pressure I put up with regularly. “And don’t you dare say they have more time. That’s a terrible thing to say to your youngest—coincidentally female—child.” I glared at him.

“Oh, darling, you wound me with your harsh words. I merely have a father’s concern—”

“Pshaw. Don’t even. You and the guilt trips are getting old, Dad. When I’m ready—when I’ve met the right guy—I’ll let you know.” But I was talking to the air. My complaining, manipulative, generous, mischief-making, darling father had disappeared as quickly as he’d shown up.

Someday I’d really have to figure out that popping in and popping out trick. In theory, I should be able to do it, but— I shook my head. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on my inadequacies.

Twisting the gold claddagh ring on my finger, I hoped for a fair outcome to today’s shenanigans. I always had a bit of gold on me, for luck. I rubbed the ring, because I had a feeling I was going to need every bit of luck I could scrounge today.

“Focus, Livy. You need to find Jackson.” Because talking to myself would totally help.

“Hey, Liv,” Jackson called from behind me.

CHAPTER SIX: In Which Our Hero Behaves with Dismaying Calm

Jackson sounded normal enough. I turned around, unsure what to expect. The last time I’d seen him, he’d looked pretty freaked out.

But he looked just fine. Totally normal. In fact, he was really calm for a guy who’d seen magic for the first time only a few minutes ago.

Weirdly calm.

“Hey?” I peered at him, looking for some sign that he’d gone around the bend, had a break with reality, or had medicated himself heavily in the last few minutes.

I was just coming to the conclusion that I was seeing denial in its strongest form, when his expression changed.

I took a step back.

He knew, and he was pissed.

“I can explain—”

“What?” He glanced at me, and that was when I realized that pissed-off look wasn’t directed at me but behind me.

The tires. Oops.

I’d given his car four flat tires. Was there a reasonable explanation for that type of behavior? I could hardly say, “I did it so you wouldn’t double back while I went to look for you inside and drive off without me because you were in a state of confused shock.”

Because that was insane.

But then, so was, “By the way, I’m a leprechaun. Please don’t destroy the world with your three wishes.”

“Liv? You don’t look so good. It’ll be fine. I just need to call a tow truck.” He peered at me like I was about to faint. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you home. We can grab a rideshare.” Jackson put his hand on my upper arm. “Really, it’ll be fine.”

I grimaced. “I can’t believe that you’re comforting me.” I clasped his hand, squeezed it, and then gently removed it from my arm. “You are, seriously, the nicest guy on the face of the planet.”

He laughed. A deep, booming laugh that I’d never heard from him before. Had the idea of magic tipped him over the edge? When he’d recovered enough to speak, he said, “You have no idea. To say those words, today of all days.”

“About that…” I tried to drum up some reasonable way to explain what he’d not only seen and felt, but what had apparently wigged him out enough to precipitate some bizarre behavior. A wish fulfilled? Goddess, I hoped not.

“Hold that thought. Let me call the tow truck, and then we can talk while we wait.” He started tapping away on his phone.

After he made arrangements to have a service come out and haul off the car, he said, “I can call you a rideshare now, or, if you don’t have any plans and don’t mind waiting, we can head back together.”

“Oh.” This wasn’t going at all as expected. “Sure, I’m fine to wait. That’s okay. But about your tires—”

“Oh, I know who did it. I don’t why—but I know who.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just wish—“

“Aaaah! Stop. No, no. No speaking.” I made a flying leap for him and smacked my hand over his mouth.

He caught me around the waist and spun me around. Really, it was that or let the both of us hit the pavement. My enthusiasm carried more force than I’d expected. Oops.

Then rational thought fled as he grasped the hand covering his mouth, hooked it behind his neck, and kissed me.

CHAPTER SEVEN: In Which Our Heroine is Simply Dismayed

Jackson tasted like mint…and…and—

His lips parted and our tongues tangled. Maybe I bit his bottom lip. Possibly he grabbed my ass.

But I couldn’t swear to it. All I knew for sure was that it was heavenly. Tingly—and heavenly.

And over much too soon.

Jackson lifted me and set me back a few feet. At some point during our lip lock, he’d leaned against the hood of his car and pulled me close to stand between his legs. A smart move, since he was at least a foot taller than me. But also probably when he’d grabbed my ass—yep, that hadn’t been my imagination. But now he looked shocked. Appalled, even.

He opened his mouth, but didn’t seem to know what to say.

Was it that bizarre that we’d kissed?

The look on his face was proof positive: all the zing was on my end. Well, that was just depressing.

And then I remembered there was more at stake than my feelings: those three pesky wishes. I held up a finger before he could say something terrible, like, “I wish I hadn’t just kissed you.” I needed a second to think.

“I—”

I shushed him. “Just give me a second.”

He looked pretty stressed out, and his blue eyes bored into me with an intensity that wasn’t making any of this easier. But, being the gentleman he was, he didn’t say a word.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” I said, because he had that guilt-ridden look men had right before they ruined your evening and said something like,“I didn’t mean to do that,” or “I was drunk,” or “We’re still friends, right?” or “I don’t know; I don’t really think of you that way.”

Whoa. I needed to slow the crazy down. Focus on the wishes.

“I wasn’t—”

“Ah.” I held up my finger again. Then I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my face. My very flushed face. What to say? “I’m a leprechaun and you have three wishes” didn’t seem quite right. Then how did I say it?

I removed my hands from my face to find that Jackson’s expression had changed. Now he looked like he wanted to laugh. He had a crinkle at the corners of his eyes that gave him away.

This was all a disaster. I was basically a joke. Half in love and completely in lust with a guy who was appalled he’d kissed me. Tied to him for the duration of three wishes, even though he didn’t know magic existed. And now I had to break the news to him and forever change the way he looked at me. I kinda wanted to cry.

It was all too much, and I was so done. I blinked and then I just said it: “I’m a leprechaun, and you have three wishes.”

I flinched, waiting for some gasp of amazement, cry of outrage, declaration of my insanity. But nothing.

Then the most bizarre thing happened.

He smiled. Not an amused grin over my silly joke. Not a confused half-smile covering up an appalled knee-jerk reaction to my insanity. A real smile.

“Thank goodness. That’s the best possible outcome to this entire fiasco.”

I exhaled in relief. Then it hit me. Fiasco? “What fiasco are you talking about?” Because my fiasco was him running around with three unused wishes and not a clue how much damage they could do. So our fiascos were most certainly not one and the same.

“The green magic should have been a clue. I might have guessed green, leprechauns, luck.”

“No. No connection there. My dad’s is pink,” I replied without a second’s thought. “Wait, you know about magic? And what fiasco?”

“Ah. About that.” His smile faded, and he looked uncomfortable. “I’m a warlock serving a ten-year sentence for”—he paused and his nostrils pinched—“for inappropriate sexual conduct with a well-connected witch.”

I took a step back. A warlock? I took another step back. A warlock? Finally, I whispered, “A warlock?”

And my heart cracked.

CHAPTER EIGHT: In Which a (Not Very) Evil Warlock is Revealed

A warlock.

The best description I’d heard as a kid was that warlocks were like randy goats with the manners of an Animal House frat boy. Oh, and terrible in bed, to top it all off. There went any sex fantasies I might or might not have had that involved Jackson and his big…hands.

I was halfway across the parking lot before I remembered those darn wishes. Ugh. I spun around on my heel, planning to march back to the car and explain in no uncertain terms that there were rules, and he better not blow up the city, and he better be nice to—

“Hi.” Jackson grabbed my shoulders a split second before I plowed into his chest. He immediately let go of me and stepped back.

He still had that same aw-shucks earnestness that was so adorable. And, of course, he was still tall, dark, and handsomely hot. But then, all warlocks were hot, or so I’d heard. I’ve never actually met one up close and in person before. Who would want to? They were self-centered horn-dogs.

Speaking of horn-dogs… Jackson’s crime tickled the back of my brain, but I’d been so bowled over by his admission that he was a warlock that I hadn’t properly heard it. “What did you say your crime was?”

With a pained expression, he said, “Inappropriate sexual conduct.”

Was there such a thing as inappropriate when it came to warlocks and sex? Or witches, for that matter? By reputation, they were a rowdy bunch. But it didn’t matter which way I flipped, turned, and examined his response—it didn’t make much sense. “What does that even mean?”

“It means that ten years ago, I was a very different, much more, ah, adventurous person.” Jackson made an exasperated sound. “Look, being mortal gives a guy some perspective. I didn’t have much consideration for women back then. I’m not saying I’m proud of what I did, but a one-night stand is hardly criminal.”

“What, you slept with a woman, didn’t call her when you said you would, and they gave you ten-plus years for that?” I found that incredibly difficult to believe. Impossible, in fact. “What are you not telling me?”

“Nothing would have come of it if Tanya hadn’t been Baba Yaga’s favorite niece five times removed. And believe me, Tanya didn’t want me to call her.” He must have seen the disbelief on my face, because he said, “I’m certain. I don’t remember her exact words—other than that they weren’t repeatable—but the gist was a stated preference for a very particular portion of my anatomy, the remainder of me being completely useless.”

I winced. That was harsh. And there was the small fact that the Jackson I knew didn’t fit the stereotype for warlocks—maybe because of his experience with this Tanya woman? Or maybe he’d just changed that much? Or his punishment had changed him that much. “What exactly did you get ten years of?”

He lifted both hands in the air. “This. Life in the ‘burbs as a tech support guy with a normal, non-magical metabolism and a mortgage.” With a self-deprecating look, he added, “Do you know how hard it is to stay remotely fit with a normal human metabolism?”

I crossed my arms and tried not to laugh at him. It was funny—but probably less so when it was your own life. Much as I tried to squish my lips together, a grin still broke free. “No, I really don’t.” Then the full implication of his admission hit me. “You have no magic.”

“Not a drop.”

“Wow.” I bit my lip and considered that. “Actually, you know, that doesn’t sound so terrible. But it must have been difficult for you.”

“Because I’m a lazy, conceited pig of a warlock?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, about that…” I wrinkled up my nose and closed my eyes. When I opened them, his baby blues were staring right back. “I’m sorry. It’s just, you guys have such a bad reputation.”

He didn’t quite roll his eyes. “Not entirely undeserved in my case, but I’ve made an effort to change.”

I cocked my head. “Really? Simple as that?”

He tipped his head in the direction of his car, and I nodded. As we walked back to the car, he said, “It wasn’t actually all that simple. I’d never had a normal, nine-to-five job. With coworkers, office birthday calendars, assigned parking—terrible assigned parking—and a job that I couldn’t learn without studying. It took me two years just get out of my trainee position. Two years was a record for the company.” He caught my eye and gave me a wry grin. “Still is. Before me, the longest they’d had someone in the position was six months, and the average is three to four.”

“I’m sorry; that is a little embarrassing. And shocking you didn’t get fired.”

“I know. I had to beg for my job at one point. To this day, I thank my boss for letting me stay. He says he saw a spark.” Jackson grinned. “You know, as I was groveling on my hands and knees.”

As we approached his car, I tried not to let my guilty gaze linger too long on his punctured tires. “You like your job so much. I assumed you’d always been good at it.”

“I like it now. But come on, Livy, two years as a trainee. How does anyone keep their self-respect after two years?” He propped himself up against the hood of his car and glanced at the clock on his phone.

“Kudos for your persistence?”

He chuckled. “Sure. Two years feeling like a guy stuck in a foreign land with no translator, and then learning about bills and lawn care—and don’t get me starting on dating.” He shook his head. “Let’s just say I’m glad I didn’t meet you until after I’d waded my way through most of that mess.”

“Bills? How did you not know about bills?”

“When I joined the mortal realm, I left my cash behind. I have no idea how Baba Yaga comes up with this stuff. But it’s not like anyone is going to call her out on it. When the most powerful witch says ‘jump,’ you just do.”

“Still don’t get it. Whether you have money or not, you have to pay your bills.”

“Oh, I had a guy for that. Still do, I think. Man, I hope I do, or I have a condo and a country place that might be in rough shape.” His chin lifted, and when I followed his gaze, I saw the tow truck that was coming to rescue us.

“Oh, shoot. Before this guy shows up, I just need to say—”

“You did the tires, right?” Jackson lifted his arm and waved with a big motion so the driver couldn’t miss us, then he glanced back at me. “I know. It had to be magic—four tires? On a car parked in a lot with people coming and going?—and you are the only cheeky leprechaun in the vicinity.”

I practically wilted with relief that he wasn’t mad. Although the “cheeky” comment was completely unnecessary.

He nudged me with his elbow. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you didn’t want me driving off while you went to look for me inside. People get unpredictable when they’re confronted with magic.”

“Yes! That’s it exactly. It sounded really crazy in my head as I was trying to figure out how to tell you.”

He nodded. “A little bit crazy, but no problem.”

The tow truck pulled to a stop in front of us and the guy climbed out.

Quickly, before the driver rounded the front of the truck, I said, “Does it make it any better if I told you I was aiming for two, not four?”

Jackson flashed a broad grin. “It means you’re crazy, but you’re a nice crazy person.”

Then the tow truck driver was there, clutching a clipboard under his arm and shaking hands with Jackson. The guy’s clipboard had more grease on it than a shop rag, but his blue button-down shirt with the patch on the chest proudly proclaiming him to be “Bubba” was pressed and spotless. First job of the day, apparently.

I quietly backed a few steps away and withdrew from the conversation. It was one thing to admit to Jackson I’d put the whammy on his tires, but I wasn’t about to let some strange guy—even if his name was Bubba and he looked super friendly—see me acting oddly and guess that I was the responsible party. I knew myself, and even if I might manage a convincing façade of innocence, I’d do everything but scuff my shoe on the ground and whistle a jaunty tune. I might fib relatively well about my magical origins—but only because I hadn’t chosen my parents. I wasn’t nearly so convincing when I’d actually done something wrong.

Once the driver had done a walk-around of the car and clarified that yes, the four flat tires had appeared after we’d parked, he said, “Ex?”

Jackson avoided my gaze. “Something like that. If we’re squared away, I’m going to grab a ride.”

Bubba agreed, and as he set about the complex task of extracting the car from the middle of a full row and getting it onto the flatbed, Jackson and I headed back to the building.

“I’ll grab a car,” I said as I pulled out my cell. “And, obviously, I’ll reimburse you for the tires and the tow.”

“No, I’ll take care of it. You can get the car, though.”

Who wasn’t pissed about their tires being blown out? About four flat tires?

“Are you sure you’re a warlock?” I regretted my comment immediately. He stiffened—not much, but it was there. “You know what, if you promise not to mention four-leaf clovers and little bearded men with green jackets, I won’t mention the warlock thing again. Cool?”

“It’s hardly the same thing.”

“No.” I looped my arm through his and matched his stride. “You guys at least get to dress well in your stereotype.”

We reached the curb in front of the building—but before he could respond, a guy approached us. “Hey, Jackson, have you seen Caitlin?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Maybe thirty minutes ago? Inside.”

The man didn’t look encouraged by Jackson’s response. “I’ve checked the entire building. It’s like she’s disappeared.”

“Sorry, man. I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”

The man thanked Jackson and headed out to the parking lot to check his car.

An uneasy feeling gripped me. “Who’s Caitlin?”

Jackson shrugged. “A coworker. What?”

I looked at him, hoping I was wrong. “Anything else?”

“I mean, she’s supposed to be dating Marc—that was Marc—but she hits on me.” He gave me a frustrated look. “What am I supposed to do? I like Marc. I don’t know whether I’m supposed tell him or just pretend it’s not happening. And I’m still not exactly on the same wavelength as human women, so it’s possible I’m totally wrong and misreading the signals. Why are you looking at me like I just ran over your cat?”

“Did you make a wish?”

He cursed.

I knew it had been too good to be true. “Do you remember what you wished for?”

He thought about it, and, shaking his head, said, “I just wanted some space.”

“Is that what you said?”

“I said”—he closed his eyes.—“I just…w-i-s-h…that you’d give me some space.” He opened his eyes and looked at me. “What did I do?”

CHAPTER NINE: In Which Our Hero Meets Dad

What had Jackson’s wish done? His words seemed innocuous enough: “I just wish you’d give me some space.”

But that could have put into motion anything from launching him into orbit around earth—which thankfully hadn’t happened—to moving everything in his path miles away. But Jackson seemed fine, and nothing around him had changed…except that Caitlin was missing.

That poor woman. Who knew where she was, if anywhere at all.

I grabbed his hand. “What were you thinking?” He looked back at me with a worried look but didn’t say anything. I squeezed his hand hard. “When you said, ‘Give me some space,’ what were you thinking?”

He looked down at our clasped hands and shook his head. “I don’t know. It was just an expression. Something to say. I was wigging out. With the rush of magic, I thought Baba Yaga had come to extend my sentence. I’m near the end of the ten years, and she said she’d reevaluate when my term was up. It’s been on my mind, so you could imagine, a bright flash of magical light, and my mind was leaping to all sort of conclusions.” He looked up and met my gaze. “None of which included you granting me three wishes.”

His sentence was almost up.

My heart squished in my chest, like someone had stepped on it. But now wasn’t the time to think about Jackson’s post-sentencing plans. Plans I was pretty darn sure wouldn’t include staying in Austin working in tech support.

Yep, my heart was a pulpy mess. One question was answered. Neither my heart nor my hormones cared that Jackson was a warlock. But Caitlin. I needed to be focusing on the missing woman, not my nonexistent love life.

“I understand that it’s not crystal clear, but think back. Where were you when you and Caitlin were talking?”

His forehead wrinkled. “Ah, just out in the main hall, about halfway to the exit.”

“Where were you going?”

He shook his head. “I was trying to find someplace to be alone. I thought Baba Yaga would show herself if I could find some privacy. She doesn’t go anywhere without creating a splash, and that meant no mortals.”

“Okay, so you’re trying to find some privacy, and you’re heading where?”

“I was walking down the hall, checking for an empty room. Then Caitlin…” He glanced around, then said, “She grabbed my ass.”

“What?” I snapped. In a calmer voice, I said, “I thought you said she was dating your friend Marc.”

“She is.” He rubbed his neck. “Look, ten years ago, I might not have minded that she had a boyfriend. But I swear to you, I’m not that guy. Not anymore.” He looked tired. “I like Marc. And I have no idea how to handle a situation like this.” He blew out a breath. “My life used to be a lot simpler.”

I raised my eyebrows. I didn’t really know what to say. This guy he was describing—the one who would hop into bed with another man’s girlfriend—I didn’t know that guy.

“What do I say in that situation?” he asked. “I mean, that’s not a normal situation, right?”

I didn’t even know where to start, so I went with brutal honesty. “A woman groping your ass completely out of the blue is not normal. And if it’s at work—that’s called sexual harassment. And if she has a boyfriend—that’s called questionable life choices.”

Jackson’s lips quirked up, and then he pulled me closer. I’d forgotten I was holding his hand. It was supposed to help me get a better read on his wish, not distract me from exactly that same goal.

Suddenly I was standing only inches from him. I tipped up my head—way up—and met Jackson’s gaze. “So she groped you, and you thought…?”

“That it would be nice if she was just about anywhere else. Like I said, Marc’s a friend.”

I closed my eyes and concentrated on our physical connection as he spoke, and then I saw it: a huge field filled with weeds and overgrown grass and wildflowers.

“A big, overgrown field filled with bluebonnets, no road in sight—wait, a dirt road—a tiny cabin… Sound familiar?”

“I was there last spring with a work buddy.”

I opened my eyes—I hadn’t even realized I’d closed them—and took a step back, and then another. And I let go of his hand. Standing that close to his lovely, soapy-clean-smelling self was overwhelming. Priorities, I reminded myself. “She might be there.”

He moved a step back as well. “I don’t get it. I thought leprechaun magic was all about the words, twisting the language around to the wisher’s disadvantage.”

Just what I deserved, given my earlier assumptions about warlocks. “I don’t do that, but I am a different sort of leprechaun.” Then I shrugged. “Also, I’ve only ever been trapped once before—so I’m kinda new at this. Oh, there’s our rideshare car.” I pointed to the silver sedan pulling into the lot. “Once we get to my house, are you game to head out and find her in my car? Oh, gosh, please tell me your faraway secluded field is at least in the state.”

“Texas hill country, and yeah, that would be great if you don’t mind driving.”

“Given the circumstances—what with me popping your tires and landing a bunch of wish magic on you—I think I can suck it up.”

The sedan rolled to a stop, and Jackson opened the rear door for me. “Forget about the tires. Not a big deal.”

We climbed into the back of the rideshare car and rode most of the way home in silence. Not like we could chat about the magical events of the day with Susie stranger listening.

So I had plenty of time to feel bad about being so incautious as to get locked up.

Then to dither about where I’d be if I hadn’t gotten locked up (ignorant of Jackson’s true identity and vice versa).

Then to stress over where Caitlin had landed because I’d gotten locked up (perfectly safe but freaked out in a field in the country…with any luck).

And then to really stress over where Caitlin had landed if not that faraway field.

“Breathe,” Jackson whispered into the charged silence.

I jerked my head around to look at him.

Leaning close, he said, “You look about three seconds away from cardiac arrest.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Right. Breathing helped.

Our driver asked, “Is your driveway the one with the Audi A8?”

And once again my father had inserted himself into my life. That could only mean that drama was around the corner.

“Yes, that’s it.” I turned to Jackson and said with false enthusiasm, “You get to meet my dad.”

Jackson shot me a confused look.

Without making eye contact, I said, “Best advice I can give you: run away now.”

The driver grinned at me in the rearview mirror, like we shared some insider girly knowledge about this situation. I wanted to say, “It’s not what you’re thinking. Really, really not.” But I smiled back at her.

As I climbed out of the rideshare car and stared at my dad’s sleek, shiny Audi, I had a rather unpleasant revelation. It was quite possible that my father had distracted me at a critical moment, just as Jackson’s first wish was coming to fruition. Delaying my response would increase the odds of greater mischief unfolding.

On the one hand, it seemed like a stretch. On the other, things like that did not happen coincidentally when my dad was involved.

I muttered, “Always maximizing the chaos, aren’t you, Dad?”

Jackson touched my arm, breaking the fixed stare I’d leveled on Dad’s car. “You okay?”

“Just tired of living inside one long, failed attempt at juvenile humor.”

“I don’t know what that means, but if it has anything to do with a spry-looking older guy who I’m guessing is your father—he’s headed this way.”

I wrinkled my nose and said, “I don’t suppose you want to use one of those wishes to banish my father to another plane of existence, just for a decade or two?”

“You do understand that I’ve made a concerted effort over the last few years to become a better person. You get that, right?” He put his hands on my shoulders and turned me in the direction of the house. “And to eliminate confusion, that was me saying no.” And he gently propelled me in the direction of my father.

“Hello, Father. I don’t suppose you had anything to do with that first wish slipping out into the world unfettered?”

“Aw, now, don’t be in a huff over a little bit of fun. I’m an old man, not long for this world. And with no grandchildren to dandle on my knee, I have to find some way to pass the time.”

“You’re not funny. I’ve told you stop going on about grandkids. I’ve told you not to mischief-meddle in my life. And I’ve told you to stay out of my business.” I pointed a finger at the old reprobate. “I’m done this time. I haven’t a clue why you’re here, but you can go home.”

“Are you certain you don’t want your dear old dad’s help?” And then he stretched out a hand to Jackson. “Patrick Kelly. And who might you be?”

Quiet as I could, I murmured, “I wouldn’t.”

But Jackson ignored my warning, and the two men shook hands.

Dad gave me puppy-dog eyes. “You wound me, daughter.”

“Please,” I said. “Now—much as I love you, Dad—get lost. We have damage control on the schedule for the rest of the day. Remember, you’re allergic.”

“And that, my darling girl, is why I’m here. I know where your lost Caitlin is.”

I smiled at him. “But she’s not lost. We were just on our way to pick her up.”

“Ah.” He appeared chagrined, but it didn’t last. “I can get you there faster.”

Jackson looked interested. “How—”

I stepped in between Jackson and my dad. “Eh-eh. Do not engage the crazy old Irish guy. He’s not nearly as harmless as he looks.” After I’d done a little dance to keep Jackson behind me, I said to Dad, “What exactly do you want?”

He shrugged. “Is it so terrible that I want to spend a little time with my daughter?”

Since we ate dinner together once a week, and that was usually plenty of father-daughter time for both of us, I wasn’t buying it. I crossed my arms. “Spill.”

“I’ll tell you if you let me take you both out to dinner later tonight.”

“Come on, Jackson, we’re done.” I started for the front door, careful to check Jackson was right behind me. “I just need to grab my car keys.”

“I’ll fetch your girl,” Dad said to our retreating backs.

I didn’t think twice or pause. “No way.”

But then I realized that someone would have to alter butt-grabbing Caitlin’s memory, and that was not a skill I’d mastered. I could create a little confusion, but it might not be as laser-targeted as I’d like. Putting a hazy cloud over the last year of the woman’s life was hardly fair.

As I thought through my conundrum, I’d slowed my pace—and given myself away.

“See now,” Dad said. “You know I’m your man.”

“No, Jackson and I have it covered.”

And we did. Or I did. I was gonna bamboozle the woman the old-fashioned way—lie to her face.

And if that didn’t work…then I’d call Dad and hope he didn’t laugh when I begged him to help. Please, Goddess, let me lie well, because I did not want to owe my dad a favor. That seemed like a very, very bad idea.

CHAPTER TEN: In Which…Road Trip!

After a few more attempts to finagle my indebtedness to him, Dad finally gave up.

“Did your dad’s car just disappear?” Jackson asked. “From the middle of the street?”

I sighed. “Yep. He does like a good show, especially if he’s the star. Don’t worry; he’ll have made certain no one saw him. There’s mischief, and then there’s a whole lot of cover-up work. Dad tries not create too much for himself.”

“Ah.” Jackson nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “What do we do now?”

“Now we book it out to your isolated cabin, find the fair Caitlin, and hope like heck a little luck kicks in and we can convince her that the impossible jaunt across Texas she took was not, in fact, a magical one.” And while I went through our to-do list, I rubbed my gold ring like mad.

I grabbed my car keys from the house, and we were off. If I was careful and rode that thin line between speeding and speeding ticket, we’d make it in about an hour. That was assuming Jackson’s directions were spot on. I rubbed my ring again.

We hadn’t even cleared Austin traffic when my curiosity got the better of me. I had to ask, even if the answer twisted my heart up into knots. “What were you expecting to hear from Baba Yaga?” When he shot me a confused look, I said, “Earlier, when you saw my wish magic, you thought it had something to do with your sentence. I was just wondering what you were thinking.”

“I wasn’t thinking. Not at first.” He watched the scenery go by for several seconds before he said, “I’d forgotten.” Turning to look at me, he said, “I’d forgotten that my ten years were almost up. Might be up.”

“You don’t know when your sentence is up?”

With a wry smile, he said, “I do now. I checked my calendar after your green light show in the holding cell room. Yesterday was ten years.”

He’d been living without his magic for ten years, and he hadn’t been watching the clock tick down the final seconds of his sentence. That said something. I wasn’t sure what, but it was a significant something.

“When I saw that light, when I realized it was magic, I jumped to the conclusion that Baba Yaga had come. I thought she was returning to—” He frowned. “I’m not sure. I panicked a little. She’d left my sentence open, saying something about returning to evaluate in ten years and then something about impotence, which made the rest seem pretty tame in comparison.”

I bit my lip and tried not to laugh.

“Go for it. Laugh at the poor magic-less guy who might not ever have sex again. That’s very adult of you.”

Which, of course, made me laugh. But my mirth fled when I realized he might mean that literally. “Oh, wait, sorry. You’re not… She didn’t…” I waved in the general direction of his crotch.

Jackson grinned. “Are you asking me if all my parts are still present and working?”

I almost denied it, but… “Yeah.”

“Everything’s in working order. So far. With Baba Yaga, who knows.” He shrugged. “But I can’t do anything about it, so I’m just going to keep living like I’ve been living.”

Really? For a not-dense guy, Jackson was acting a little thick. “Except you can. You can do something about it, if she settles some arbitrary punishment on you. Three wishes—well, two wishes,” I reminded him.

“Whoa. I don’t know about that. Wish magic versus Baba Yaga’s magic? The world might explode. Or worse, it won’t work and will only piss her off. Yeah, that seems most likely, so…pass. But thanks. Besides”—he caught my gaze—“living without magic hasn’t been so bad.”

My insides turned warm. They’d just had a Moment.

Or had they?

Had I imagined it, or had he just implied that I was better than magic? Because I thought he might have just said a life with me in it and without magic was okay. But that was a huge inference to make from one glance. Wasn’t it?

Yes, it was.

“Ah, about these three wishes,” Jackson said. “How exactly did that happen? There was a bright flash of green-tinged light and then…what?”

He wasn’t studying the scenery—but he definitely wasn’t looking at me any longer. I’d imagined the Moment. I must have.

But my insides were still all squishy, so it hadn’t been imagined. Maybe one-sided, but not imagined.

What had he asked me? Three wishes. “That’s what happens when you trap a leprechaun.”

“But I didn’t trap you; not exactly. You volunteered, remember?”

“Yeah, I don’t remember volunteering. You know Annabeth and I had a few beers last night. And whatever you told Annabeth and then she told me”—I wrinkled my nose—“I don’t remember any of it. Besides, the leprechaun laws of magic are pretty specific. Stick me in a cage, close the door, and lock it, and you get a ‘trapped’ leprechaun.”

“All you had to do was flag down one of the volunteer jailors, and they’d let you out. I don’t get how that’s trapped.” Jackson pointed and pulled his phone out. “You’re going to turn up here, south on the highway.”

“Think you can find it on a map?” He nodded as he tapped his phone, so I went ahead and tried to answer the unanswerable question. “First, it’s just ridiculous. For years now, it’s been that way: trapped, three wishes. I think it started as a negotiation process, then it became tradition, and from there, well, we simply lost the ability to choose.”

His mapping program started to speak, and he silenced it. “You’re telling me your ancestors used wish magic to bargain their way to freedom so often that it became a law of magic?”

“A magical law—I guess so. I never thought about it like that, but it fits. This is pretty cool. Us, talking about magic.”

“How do you mean?”

I’d said it without thinking, but it was a simple truth. I never had conversations about magic that weren’t filled with family drama or tainted by failed expectations. “My family doesn’t hang out around the dining room table discussing politics or magic. I can barely be in the same room with half of them for more than a few minutes. My brothers all have a warped sense of humor. Family gatherings are exhausting.”

“And you can’t talk to your friends. I get it. What about Annabeth? Does she know?”

I shook my head. “Not a clue.”

“You’re sure about that?” He held up both hands when he saw my look. “Sorry. But I have to say I’m surprised you’ve been able to keep the big green secret for so long.”

I had known Annabeth longer than any of my other non-magical friends. Maybe she had some suspicion? No, no way. “Watch the green comments, buddy. But how about you? Have you let anyone in on your big secret?”

I was surprised by how much I hoped his answer would be “no.” I didn’t want him to be that close to anyone—which was a less-than-admirable sentiment to discover in oneself.

“I haven’t. Never even been tempted. Like I said before, I started out trying to survive from one day to the next. By the time I felt like I could come up for air, a few years had gone by. I’d made some friends, bought a house”—he tipped his head in my direction—“met you, and magic had faded away into the background.”

I didn’t know what to say. My magic could be irritating at times—when I got locked up and sent wishes out into the world, for one—but it was also a part of me. I might think life would be better without it, but I was also aware on some level that I didn’t really want it gone.

And Jackson had gone ten years without his magic. I wanted to ask him if he worried he’d never get his magic back. If he wondered when Baba Yaga would return, or worried she wouldn’t. But none of those questions passed my lips.

After we’d driven for some time, Jackson said, “About these last two wishes—I don’t want them hanging over my head forever. I’d hate to be responsible for a Caitlin repeat.”

“Or worse.” Really, those West Texas orbs hadn’t ended up being all that bad. There was that baseball team that my brother had accidentally cursed. A cursed baseball team had to be worse than creating a small-town tourist attraction. Two different brothers, but both had been trapped by women following some less-than-satisfactory behavior on the part of her siblings.

“That look says there’s a story.”

I sighed. “Several stories, all involving my brothers and their romantic lives going awry. But they didn’t care what havoc their wishes caused. You and I care, so nothing outrageous is going to happen.” I paused. “Nothing else outrageous is going to happen.”

“So what’s the trick to wishing without creating chaos?”

“All you have to do is keep your wishes low-key. Two simply and clearly worded wishes that have minimal impact on you and the world, and we should be good. And as long as I’m close at hand, I can nudge them.” I wrinkled my nose. “I can nudge them a little.”

“What exactly does low-key entail?”

“Not making anyone disappear…or die.” He raised his eyebrows, and I said, “You’d be surprised what types of wishes result in death, dismemberment, or the alteration of time.”

“All very bad things that I would like to avoid.”

“Smart man.” I turned onto a small farm-to-market road, following the phone’s directions. At some point in the drive, Jackson had turned up the volume. “Sticking to minor alterations of non-living physical things should be okay.”

“What if it’s something I can just buy or do myself? Is that a problem?”

“Other than the wisher’s innate desire to ask for something otherwise unattainable, no. But wish magic has its own quirks. The more you think about it, the more it will push you to go big rather than small, to go for the impossible rather than the practical.” Another reason it was good to stay close to those wishes.

Where my brothers were concerned, that would have required sticking close to someone they’d recently pissed off enough to, say, lock them in a bathroom. Then again, none of my brothers minded creating a mess. It was all a great big joke to them anyway.

“The way you talk about wish magic, it’s as if it’s a living thing with its own agenda.”

“Welcome to life as a leprechaun.” I slowed down to a crawl and then turned down a dirt road. I could already see the small cabin from the memory I’d shared with Jackson.

He glanced at the clock. “Less than an hour door to door—not bad.”

“Traffic was light.” I looked to the right. “And there’s your field of overgrown grass and wildflowers. The grass isn’t as green and the flowers not so abundant, but that’s it.”

“Since she’s not wandering around in the field, I’m guessing she made her way to the cabin.” He rubbed his eyes. “I hope she made her way to the cabin.”

“There aren’t that many options: asleep or passed out in the field, inside the cabin, hitchhiking, or she could’ve just hiked out to the road and flagged someone down to call from their phone. Oh! I didn’t even think—she didn’t have her cell on her, did she?”

“No purse and a tiny dress. I don’t think she had a cell phone on her.”

So butt-grabbing Caitlin had been wearing a tiny dress. I really was not predisposed to like this woman. I reminded myself—rather forcefully—that she’d been placed in a frightening situation, and I should have some care for her emotional state. Uh-huh.

I pulled into an area with beaten-down grass that looked like it might be intended for parking. “Are you ready?”

“To brave the lion in her den?” Jackson nodded. “I only hope she’s not off her rocker or in shock. And I hope you have some kind of plan in mind, because I’ve got nothing.”

I got of the car and gave him a weak smile. “Gas leak? Sleepwalking?”

“Seriously? That’s all you’ve got? We are so screwed.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN: In Which our Heroine Meets the Butt-Grabbing Caitlin

“It’s about time you people showed up. Oh, hi, Jackson!” A woman I presumed to be Caitlin tilted her head, flipped her long hair back from her face, and said, “What are you doing out here?”

Caitlin wasn’t in shock. She didn’t look uncomfortable, or even surprised to see us. Maybe there was hope for a non-magical solution after all. I would so love to avoid owing my father.

“Hi,” I said.

But that was all I said. Before I could even begin to tell a wild tale of gas leaks at the community center leading to sleepwalking, which led to sleep-hitchhiking, Caitlin was walking to the door of the small cabin. “Where are the cameras?”

“Cameras…” I tried to think of a scenario where cameras might play into instantaneous, non-magical travel.

But that one stumped me.

“Ah, who were you expecting?” Jackson asked in a carefully neutral voice.

“Well, obviously I’m being Punk’d, or what was that show, a really long time ago…?” She waved her hands, glittery nails and all, in the air. “The one with the hidden cameras?”

“Candid Camera?” I asked in a helpful but not quite cheerful tone. I didn’t think I could manage cheerful. The situation was too bizarre.

“Hm. Maybe. Who are you?” I did not get either the head tilt or the hair flip. “That’s it! The cameras are hidden!”

I knew my eyes were getting bigger and bigger, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. “Jackson and I are here to drive you home. I’m Livy.”

Caitlin’s demeanor instantly changed. In a less enthusiastic tone, she said, “Oh, you’re the girlfriend.”

Jackson sidestepped so that he was standing only a few inches from me. “Yes.” Then he gave me an innocent look.

“Yes, I’m the girlfriend.” That sneaky turkey had been using me to dodge butt-grabbing Caitlin. I bit back a smile. “So…our car is out front. Let’s get you home.”

Caitlin headed for the door, and for an instant I thought we’d done it. “So what’s the trick?” She paused at the door, poised to step outside. “A secret tunnel?” She looked at me expectantly. “And where are the cameras?”

I’d swear she sucked in her stomach and put her shoulders back when she said “cameras.” Was she as dense as she appeared, or was she in shock? Magic did have very different effects on people.

I pasted an over-bright smile on my face and said, “We can chat about it on the way home.” I opened the door for her.

She walked out, saw the car, and, with her face scrunched up in confusion, said, “Wait, we have to take a car? I didn’t get here by car. How far is it?”

I debated avoiding the question or lying.

Jackson made the decision for me…with the truth. Thankfully he was light on his feet, otherwise the swooning darling Caitlin would have thwacked her head on the porch.

As he held Caitlin in his arms, my gut—maybe my heart?—protested. I could hardly begrudge the woman being saved from a fall. I didn’t want her to have a head injury—Jackson shifted her in his arms, getting a better hold of her limp form—except maybe a small thump on the noggin would have cured her of her butt-grabbing.

I headed to the car before my thoughts escaped into the world as words I couldn’t take back. Things like “we could just leave her here” or “do we really need to sort this out? The loony bin would probably be happy to have her” should most certainly stay inside my head.

As I opened the rear door for him, Jackson shot me an apologetic look. “She seemed to be handling everything just fine. I didn’t think…well, I just didn’t think. What are the chances she’ll wake up and not remember any of this?”

“Exceptional,” I said grimly, reaching for my phone. As Jackson stashed the still-unconscious Catlin in the rear seat, I dialed.

After a few rings, Dad picked up. “Now see, darling, I could have saved you all this trouble. If only”—the volume of his voice suddenly changed as my father appeared in the back seat of my car—“you’d have let me handle this from the beginning.”

I let my head fall back against the headrest. Eyes closed, I said, “So what do you want in return, Dad?”

“Oh, just a little thing. A tiny thing. Practically nothing at all. Dinner. You, me, and your friend Jackson tonight.”

That was all? Dinner with my dad and Jackson was hardly in line with Dad’s typically extortionate demands. There was a catch here—but I didn’t have much choice. “Done.”

I cracked an eye to check the rearview mirror. He was gone, as was the fainting butt-grabber.

I opened both my eyes when I heard the front passenger door open. “See, isn’t this one of those times you wished you had your magic back? Because it sure is one of those times I wish I had a little more juice and the know-how to use it.”

Jackson leaned into the car and asked, “Can I drive?”

I considered for about a second and then handed him the keys. “Please.”

Once we’d switched seats and Jackson had quickly familiarized himself with my car, he said, “What’s so bad about dinner?”

“Dinner is never just a meal when it comes to my dad. He could have asked for just about anything, because he knows how much I hate a magical mess. But he didn’t. He asked for dinner. No telling what’s going on in his head.”

“You make him sound pretty shady. Should I be concerned for Caitlin? Should I have used a wish to fix her memory?”

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t want to use wish magic for something delicate like manipulating memory. And she’ll be fine with Dad. Layering in sufficient confusion to muddle her memories without altering or stealing them is a tricky task. He’s probably thrilled by the challenge.”

“But he can definitely do it?”

“Hopefully. With any luck—which Dad usually has in spades—she’ll come back thinking she’s had a bad trip. Of the mushroom, not magical, variety. And meeting me, seeing you, will all be a part of the hallucination.”

Jackson gave me a concerned look. “I’m almost certain Caitlin doesn’t do drugs. Mushroom or otherwise.”

Maybe I should feel bad for her? Maybe I did…a very little bit. “She grabbed your butt—at a work event, with her boyfriend hovering around the corner. She can feel a little guilty about her fictional overindulgence.”

“Good point. I’ll stop feeling bad for her.” But he still looked uncomfortable. Not at all warlock-like.

My phone dinged with a text message. “Wow, that was record fast. Caitlin’s safe at home, asleep in her bed, recovering from an apparent bout of severe food poisoning that led to hallucinations.” I frowned at the second message that followed. “He even texted her boyfriend from her phone to let him know she’d made it home.”

“That’s tidy.” Jackson glanced at me with a concerned look. “What’s the problem?”

“Have you heard anything I’ve said about my dad?”

“Ah, I see your point. And dinner?”

“Should be terrifying. Or revealing.” I bit my lip. “Oh, you mean are we still on for dinner? That’s a yes.”

Now if only I could figure out why the sudden interest in meeting Jackson.

CHAPTER TWELVE: In Which our Hero Dines with Dad

“What exactly are your intentions toward my daughter?”

“Dad!” I whispered frantically. Then I turned to eye the only other patrons of the small sandwich shop. The elderly couple sitting on the other side of the shop either couldn’t hear us, or they were doing a bang-up job of ignoring the family drama. I turned back to Dad. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I want to know more about the man who managed to finagle three wishes out of my ever-so-practical, cautious daughter.” The words were innocent enough, but there was a hard glint in his eyes.

I ignored the tantalizing smell of melted cheese and pepperoni that was emanating from my hot Italian sub, crossed my arms, and gave him a miffed look.

“Your food’s going to get cold.” Dad barely glanced at my sandwich before turning his attention back to Jackson. “You were saying?”

“Dad, really? He wasn’t saying. He isn’t saying. He’s not talking, because there’s nothing to say. What is wrong with you?”

“Me? I did a little poking around. I think the questions is: what is wrong with him?” Dad jabbed a finger in Jackson’s direction.

Absolutely nothing—but I could hardly say that. That would be like throwing gas on the flames of my dad’s indignation. But where was it all coming from? Jackson and I weren’t even an item. And Dad was hardly so prejudiced that he’d object to me mingling with a warlock. A de-magicked warlock…still serving his sentence…for a serious crime.

Hm. If I didn’t know him, I wouldn’t want me mingling with Jackson.

I tried to look innocent as I asked, “What exactly do you mean?”

Thankfully, Jackson had kept silent so far. Actually, he’d been steadily shoveling food in his mouth. Either the poor guy was a stress eater or that was the best way he could manage to politely not respond to my increasingly agitated father.

“I mean, he’s not what he says he is.” Dad raised his eyebrows at me. “He’s keeping secrets from you.”

“I know he’s a warlock. He told me.”

Dad’s eyebrows lowered. “And you’re still keeping company with him? You know what their kind is like. Better to stay away.”

Jackson choked on a bite of Philly cheesesteak when Dad said “keeping company.”

I put my hand on his upper arm. “You okay?” When he nodded—looking disturbingly unconcerned—I turned back to the most irritating parent on the face of the planet. Because what guy would want to have anything to do with me after this? Jackson and I had barely even dipped a toe in the romance pool. What was one kiss? That we hadn’t mentioned since. And that hadn’t changed his behavior toward me one iota. No way our not-quite-romance would survive my father.

My life was so depressing.

Dad looked from me to Jackson and back again, and his color started to rise. “You didn’t.” He glanced between us again and then stared hard at me—which made me blush. He went from pale to pink to ruddy in about half a second. “I’ll be gobsmacked. You did. And that’s what happens to pure, innocent women when they cavort with the likes of warlocks.”

To Jackson, I said, “Hum a tune, plug your ears, whatever.” Then I proceeded to pretend he wasn’t present and read my dad the riot act. “Bulletin, Dad: I’m twenty-eight. Chances are pretty good that I’ve had sex before now. Not saying I have; not saying I haven’t—just that the odds are in favor. And I cannot believe you are making me say this in front of him”—I hitched a thumb in Jackson’s direction while avoiding eye contact—“and in front of you. I never ever want to say the S-word in your presence. Not ever again.”

“Sex is a natural thing, but not when it’s with warlocks, it isn’t.” Dad glared at Jackson.

“Am I allowed to answer?” Jackson asked.

“No!” Dad and I hollered at the same time.

Jackson didn’t blink, just went back to eating his sandwich. Remarkably, without even the hint of a blush. What little faith I’d had that he might be interested was rapidly fading.

“Why are you so concerned with what’s going on between me and Jackson?”

“Because that woman is involved up to her blue-eye-shadow-covered eyelids.” Dad’s nostrils pinched in disapproval, just like they always did when he talked about Mom. But Mom wouldn’t be caught dead wearing blue eye shadow.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“That’s because she’s a sneaky, nasty witch of a woman.”

“Dad!”

Jackson leaned close to me. “I think he means witch literally. Baba Yaga has a certain fondness for dated makeup and attire.”

“Baba Yaga doesn’t have anything to do with whatever Jackson and I may or may not be up to. You’re getting paranoid in your old age, Pops.”

I wouldn’t have believed it was possible if I hadn’t seen it, but his nostrils pinched even more. If he wasn’t a leprechaun, I’d be worried about a brain aneurism. He started to speak, then stopped himself. Dad speechless was never a good sign. And he was starting to turn even funnier shades. I cocked my head. It was a purple-red shade I was certain I’d never seen before.

“You and Baba Yaga have some kind of history?” I asked in my polite-daughter voice.

Dad leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “For one, she’s a witch.”

“Dad. Shame on you. I never knew you were so prejudiced.”

He shook a finger at me. “That’s not all. She’s an unforgiving, heartless woman.”

“Oh, no. You didn’t. Dad, did you play a prank on Baba Yaga?”

Dad pursed his lips. “I might have played a wee one on her, more years ago than I can remember.” He frowned. “That woman hasn’t an ounce of humor, compassion, or sense in her body. Not an ounce.”

“What did you do? Did you blow up something important?” I didn’t understand it, but fireworks and farts still topped my dad’s list of “just plain, old-fashioned fun.”

“No, I did not.” He looked offended, which was just ridiculous; he’d blown up at least a few outhouses in his time. “It was a piece of junk, not even vintage. It barely ran. And she was a terrible driver.”

“Ugh. You blew up Baba Yaga’s car? Dad…”

“Now, wait a minute. Blow up, eh, explosion is such a harsh word. I incapacitated her 1984 Ferrari 288…perhaps on a permanent basis.” He sat up straighter in his chair when I leveled him with an accusatory look. “But wait, wait, wait a minute. It had this shiny ball hanging from the rearview mirror. It blinded me, the little ball did. Made me almost run down a little old lady in the crosswalk. And your mother, she never let me forget it.”

Jackson closed his eyes. “A little mirrored ball, maybe a disco ball?”

“Sure, a little mirrored disco ball. The sun came down, hit it just right—and wham, I was blinded.” Dad’s nostrils pinched. “And your mother—”

“I know. She never let you forget that you’re a menace on the road.” And she hadn’t. I’d heard her complain that even little old ladies weren’t safe from Dad and his dastardly driving. Mom could be a little dramatic.

She and Dad were on a little vacation from one another at the moment. Something they did every hundred years or so, to keep their sanity. This particular stint was stretching a little longer than the historical norm, but I was sure Mom would come around to seeing my dad as the charming ne’er-do-well she’d fallen in love with…eventually. My parents were an odd, but surprisingly long-lived pairing. “When exactly did that happen?”

Dad shrugged.

“Come on, spit it out. I know you know.”

“Ten years, give or take.”

Well, that was unfortunate timing. Was I some pawn in a grander scheme to wreak vengeance of my dad?

I glanced at Jackson to see what he thought about such a whopper of a coincidence. But Jackson didn’t have any response. He was diligently making his way through his sandwich. That must be one excellent Philly cheesesteak.

“I don’t even know what to say, Dad. A shiny ball blinds you, so you—irrationally—take revenge on a powerful witch, and think, as a result, that she’s…what? What do you think she’s doing?”

He rolled his eyes. “Can’t you see it? You two, that’s what she’s done.”

I could feel the tips of my ears tingling with rabid embarrassment. If Dad’s face was bright, mine had to be neon. I couldn’t even begin to think of a response.

Jackson put his arm around the back of my chair. “And your problem with the two of us would be what, exactly?”

Dad looked completely stumped by Jackson’s question. After a lengthy pause, during which my embarrassment reached frightening heights, he said, “You’re a warlock.”

“And that makes me unsuitable as a suitor for your daughter?”

I had to swallow a hysterical giggle when Jackson said “suitor.” I was clearly from a younger generation than him, or he had been reading historical romances in his spare time.

“Yes. Warlocks are—”

“Not all the same.” Jackson’s voice had gone very quiet.

I sneaked a glance. He looked deadly serious. Weird. Two seconds ago he’d been happily eating. He really didn’t like that warlock stereotype.

Dad cleared his throat. “You’re not a leprechaun.”

“I am not. But your daughter can date whomever she likes. Be whoever she likes.”

“I keep trying to tell him that—but he won’t listen.”

“I listen. I hear every word; I just know you’re wrong.” Dad glowered at me. “You’re going through a phase.”

“That’s lasted my entire life. Sure, Pops.”

“I do not approve.” Dad’s words twanged with tension.

I struggled to come up with some sort of reasonable response to a completely unreasonable man, and watched both my romantic chances and my lengthy friendship with Jackson dissolve like ash in the rain.

And while I wobbled between anger and mortification, Jackson asked me, “Are you finished?”

My sandwich lay half-eaten but long abandoned on my plate. He was just asking to be polite—or maybe he didn’t mean the sandwich. “Yep. Completely done.”

He stood up and pulled my chair out for me. And then I watched him tell my dad where he could go. Okay, not exactly. He was actually really polite—but it was there in the subtext.

“It’s unfortunate you believe my feelings for your daughter have been influenced in some way by Baba Yaga. They haven’t. They remain unchanged by any force other than your daughter herself, who is—frankly—a saint, as is demonstrated by her behavior today. Thank you for lunch.”

And without waiting for a reply, he took my arm and we left.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: In Which Hot Chocolate is Liberally Administered

I walked in a daze to the car. Exactly how pissed off was Dad right now? Would he do something ridiculous? Maybe blow up Baba Yaga’s new ride? Send Jackson over the rainbow? Or, in more modern parlance, to some other dimension?

His arm felt real enough, so I could only assume he was still here. Oh, and his arm was around my shoulders. And he’d called me a saint. My insides melted.

“He’ll get over it. Keys?”

“Hm?”

“Can I have your keys? You can’t walk a straight line, so I don’t think you should drive.”

I handed over my keys then climbed into the passenger seat. “I’m not so sure he will get over it.” But the door had thudded shut, and I was talking to myself.

Ten seconds later, when Jackson was sitting in the driver’s seat, I laughed.

Jackson got very still. He turned to look at me with a concerned expression. “Everything is going to be fine. He loves you; he’ll get over it”

“Hm.”

“Would a hot chocolate help?” When I gave him a curious look, he said, “You always say hot chocolate makes everything better.”

He pulled out his wallet and grabbed a five-dollar bill. Holding it between two fingers, he said, “Can I exchange a five for a hot chocolate?”

I shook my head in confusion, then I realized what he meant. “Oh—you mean a wish.” I grinned. Leave it to Jackson to make sure some poor coffee shop worker didn’t get blamed for a short in the till. “You can, but are you sure that’s how you want to use a wish?”

“It seems to fit your no maiming, no death, no time-travel requirements. At least, I think it does.” I nodded, and his bright blue gaze met mine. “You deserve a hot chocolate.”

I grinned at him. “Okay. Go for it.”

He nodded and then, with a gravitas that was in direct conflict with his actual words, said, “I wish for a hot chocolate.”

And since I was right next him, I could feel the familiar zing of my own magic as it released its grip on him. I wasn’t about to let wish number two slip undirected through my fingers, so I grabbed hold of it just long enough to whisper a few encouraging words. At least I’d know some poor ten-year-old kid at the local coffee shop wasn’t having his favorite treat stolen from under his nose.

The five disappeared and a small hot chocolate appeared, perched precariously on the car’s dash. I grabbed it before it could fall. “Thank you.”

Jackson turned the air conditioning up a notch. “You’re very welcome.”

Maybe hot chocolate didn’t make everything better. Maybe it wasn’t the most practical choice in the middle of the summer. But after the first sip, I’d swear it was the best hot chocolate I’d ever had.

After the second sip, I had a flash of brilliance. It was so simple, so perfect. I pulled out my phone and started tapping out a message. It was also underhanded, which was the only reason it hadn’t occurred to me before now.

“What are you doing? You look entirely too pleased with yourself.”

I punched send and chuckled. It might have come out like a gleeful cackle, but that was a little tacky, so I was going with chuckle. “Take that, you crotchety old fart.” I looked up at Jackson, my eyes wide with innocence. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Jackson pulled out of the parking lot, heading in the direction of our street. “Are you going to tell me what you’ve done? And, more importantly, do I need to use my last wish to undo it?”

“What? No!” I whipped my head around, saw that there wasn’t a wish sitting on the tip of his tongue, and frowned. “Altering time is bad. Very bad. Besides, I didn’t do anything too terrible.”

“You do remember that you don’t fib well, right?”

“Right. Well, all I did was send a little text…to my mom.”

“And why would sending your mother a text message give you a case of the giggles?”

“She’s the only person Dad’s afraid of. And the only person who wants to see me date even more than he does. She’s going to crucify him.” The self-satisfied smile I’d assumed faded as I realized what I’d said. Or, more importantly, to whom I’d said it. “Not that, uh, you know, we— And you’re, you know, you’re great—”

“Would you?” His calm question cut off my blathering attempt at an explanation—thankfully.

Then I realized I had no idea what he was asking. “Sorry, what?”

“Would you go out on a date with me?”

“Um, are you asking?”

“I’m absolutely asking. Will you go out on a date with me?”

Whoa. What to say?

Yes meant the inevitable death of a valuable friendship—but maybe the possibility of more.

No meant awkwardness without end, which would also damage our friendship—and I would always wonder, What if?

What was I thinking? I’d been secretly crushing on Jackson since he saved me from being locked out of my house. That had been ages and ages ago.

Before I could answer, the car filled with purple smoke.

There was so much smoke that Jackson couldn’t see to drive. As he pulled into the nearest parking lot, I caught the vague outline of a person in the back seat. He or she must have popped into the car under the cover of the smoke. I couldn’t see who it was through the purple haze, but I had a solid suspicion.

Jackson coughed and rolled down a window. Once a little smoke had cleared, he checked the rearview mirror. “Baba Yaga. It’s been a while.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: In Which the Purple Smoke Clears

Jackson had called Baba Yaga’s clothes and makeup dated. He’d been kind. Once the smoke cleared, her neon outfit blinded me. I blinked, and then again—because no one would choose to dress like that.

But after three blinks, the lime-green tank top didn’t get any less lime, and the bright pink off-the-shoulder tee was just as fluorescent. I averted my gaze so that I was looking just to the right of Baba Yaga’s mostly bare shoulder.

“I’m here for a progress report,” Baba Yaga said crisply. She was surprisingly businesslike…for a woman with ratted hair.

Ten years of Jackson’s sentence had passed. If he’d served it fully, where did that leave me, the friend from his very mortal life? My big crush was about to disappear into the sunset. And that sucked on so many levels.

But my feelings were a secondary consideration. I had a strong feeling Baba Yaga was about to screw my guy over. “What exactly are you going to do to him?”

“Livy.” Jackson’s voice held a note of warning. He wasn’t looking at me, but at Baba Yaga. Why then did I feel like all of his focus was on me?

I ignored Jackson’s warning—because important things were afoot. He was about to get screwed for the second time in ten years. “What happens to him next?”

“That,” Baba Yaga said, “is an excellent question.”

Jackson turned away from the supreme leader of the witching and warlocking community like she hadn’t said a word. He stared through the windshield but didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular. Then he got out of the car. Just like that. Without a word.

If anything could deflate some tension, it might be the guy you’re trying to stand up for walking out of the room. Car. Whatever.

I looked over my shoulder. “Um, so hi. I’m Olivia Kelly.”

“I know who you are.”

Right. She would, wouldn’t she? She’d know who I was, what I was…whose child I was. Just nifty. Thanks a lot, Dad.

“He has five minutes to decide.” Her cryptic statement hung in the air between us.

I felt like an idiot—but this was important, so I sucked it up. “I’m sorry, but what does he have five minutes to decide?”

“What he wants.” Baba Yaga tapped her Swatch. “Four and a half.”

I dithered between staying in the car and leaving, but what was I gonna do? Demand more time? For some question I hadn’t heard her ask? From the supreme witchy leader of Jackson’s world?

Uh, no. I got out of the car.

Jackson looked thoughtful, but not nearly as stressed out as I was. Crazy witch lady in car, supremely powerful witch lady, and I didn’t have a clue what she wanted from Jackson. Of course I was stressed out.

Jackson turned slowly. “You remember how we met?”

He wanted to talk about our past now? Forget explaining what was happening…because why did I need to be in the loop? “Sure. We had the same mail pick-up schedule.”

“No. That’s how we became friends. We met at the block party a few months before that.”

One of our old neighbors—Gary—used to throw block parties regularly. Pot luck, BYOB, music…then Gary moved away and no one else could be bothered. I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s right.”

“Oh, I know it is. We met, you made an impression, I didn’t.”

I cocked my head and held back a smile. “No, I don’t think so. I wouldn’t have forgotten meeting you.”

“That’s my point: you did. So I lightly stalked you to find out when you picked up your mail.”

I choked back a laugh. “You’re kidding.” Then I realized exactly what he meant. He’d made a very specific effort to get to know me. “Wait, are you saying you were, you know…”

He raised his eyebrows. “Interested? In you? Yes.” He shook his head, but he was smiling. “Why is that so surprising?”

As my ears tingled, I looked over my shoulder. Baba Yaga appeared to texting and unaware of our conversation.

“She’s not paying attention.” Jackson stepped closer.

“Well, she only gave you five minutes to decide what you want to do. And I think it’s getting close to that.” Although I couldn’t see any sign that she was losing interest in her phone.

“You weren’t immediately interested, and when I finally got your attention, you turned out to be nice. Really nice.”

“Thanks…I think?” I wasn’t sure what exactly was happening, but being told I was really nice shouldn’t have made me feel all warm and squishy. I mean…nice? That was the best he could do? But then I remembered the lack of zing. “I don’t get it. You weren’t interested.”

“Of course I was.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You were human.”

“But I’m not.” I felt like we were having two different conversations. He was talking in a circle, and I didn’t know where he was going.

“But I thought you were. And the more I got to know and like you, the more of an issue that became.”

“Oh. Oh.” Mortals and the magical were a rough mix romantically. Some said it didn’t work on a basic level; others said it was hard. I thought that was garbage perpetuated by people like my dad. Either way… “You’re not human, and I’m not human—so why are we talking about this?”

And how had I been crushing on a man who’d been into me for years without having any clue? How was that possible? And how could I keep Annabeth from ever finding out?

He reached down and twined my hand with his, then he pulled me close. He wrapped his arms around me—and then I felt it: his last wish zipping away.

I couldn’t nudge it in the right direction, because I didn’t have a clue what he’d wished. I tensed, waiting for some nasty echo of mischievous magic.

A few seconds ticked by and nothing seemed to holler chaos from the far edges of the universe. Then I realized my cheek was pressed against his chest, his muscular arms wrapped around my body, and thoughts of death, dismemberment, and the butterfly effect were washed from my mind.

I snuggled into his chest. “Do I want to know what you just wished for?”

“More time with you, to decide what I want.”

I stiffened.

His arms tightened around me and then his lips grazed my jaw. “Oh, I want you.”

Nuzzling into his chest, I asked, “Then what’s the issue?”

“My magic.”

For a guy I’d known and considered a friend for years, a man who was holding me in his arms like he didn’t want to let go, I really didn’t get him. I leaned back and looked into his bright, heavenly blue eyes. “Is it possible you’re being an absolute idiot right now?”

He grinned and said, “I hope so.” But the underlying worry was still there.

“You better spill. Baba Yaga isn’t going to wait forever.”

“We have time, remember?”

I slid my hands up his neck and then into the hair at the nape of his neck. His breath hitched and I could feel his chest expand. I pulled his head down, and his lips met mine.

As our lips touched and our breaths mingled, I melted. When Jackson eventually lifted his head, I realized he was literally holding me upright. I thought weak-kneed was just an expression. I took a breath and steadied myself—and saw that Jackson was grinning at me.

Great. His ego was going to balloon into unreasonable proportions.

I cleared my throat. Grasping his shoulders, I concentrated on feeling my legs and making sure they could hold me upright. Then I put a hand on his chest…a mistake. I could feel my hand slide across the hills and valleys of his pecs and lower. “Ugh, you’re a menace.” I yanked my hand away and stepped back.

“If you say so.” He stared back at me with just a glint of humor in his eyes. At least he had the sense not to laugh. Or disagree.

He may have bought some time with his wish, but Baba Yaga wouldn’t wait in my car forever. I had to figure out what the issue was. What exactly did Jackson want, and why was that creating such a dilemma for him? “Do you want your magic back?”

“Of course. It’s part of who I am, a part I learned to live without and one I haven’t missed, but still a part of me.” Jackson looked at me.

I waited for a woman with a yoga mat to pass by us. I hadn’t noticed, but we’d parked in the lot for a yoga studio. I shook my head and, after the yoga lady had stopped staring and climbed into her car, said, “But?”

“I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t like that guy. I don’t like that guy.”

I squinted, stepped back, and said, “You’re kidding.”

And for the first time since this conversation had started, he looked annoyed. “I’m not kidding. With magic, I was that warlock. You know the kind.”

“And you think that everything you are, the person you’ve become, will disappear in the face of a little magic. That once Baba Yaga returns your magic, you’ll be the man you were before.”

“Aren’t you thinking it?”

“Of course not. And I don’t know why you would.” He really didn’t see it. He didn’t see himself as he was, but as the man he’d been. And I had serious doubts as to whether that guy had been as bad as Jackson claimed. “Before I go any further, I want you to know that I trust you. I trust you to be true to yourself, even if I didn’t have proof.” I wrinkled my nose at him. “But I have proof.”

He shook his head. “I have no clue what you mean.”

For a clever guy, he was being horribly obtuse. “Hot chocolate? Our stolen chat?” But he just shook his head. “Jackson. Your three wishes. One accidental and two…” I didn’t know how to describe them. Sweet? Kind? Thoughtful? “You had magic at your fingertips, and look how you chose to use it.”

He frowned and then opened his mouth. Probably to object. But I’d never know, because I kissed him. Unlike our last kiss, this one involved tangling tongues, cheekily roaming hands (mine), and a deep-throated chuckle (his), which was finally interrupted by a cleared throat.

“Ahem. Hello?” Baba Yaga called from the rolled-down window of my car. She did not look pleased. “I do have other appointments today.” She tapped her Swatch.

Uh-oh. I disengaged reluctantly from Jackson, but he held on to my hand.

Baba Yaga leveled Jackson with a stare. “You’ve decided?”

“He has.” The words tumbled out of my mouth in my rush to speak before Jackson said something idiotic.

Baba Yaga lifted one eyebrow. “First you lock me in a car with a leprechaun wish, then your mate gets cheeky. You’re a match made in heaven.”

“Thank you.” Two simple words—but he said them like he’d never meant anything more.

“Humph. We won’t speak of this again.” She narrowed her eyes and, looking as deadly as a neon-attired witch could, shifted her gaze to me. “Not to anyone.”

I swallowed my grin and nodded.

“My work here is done.” She snapped her fingers and disappeared in a puff of purplish smoke.

EPILOGUE

Six Months Later

“Don’t muck this up.” A woman’s voice startled him, and he jerked his head up to find…Baba Yaga.

Jackson stepped back into his bathroom, almost tripping over the bath mat. Who else would appear in his house, just as he was stepping out of the shower? He eyed her suspiciously. The last time she’d appeared in his home, he’d been equally wet, surprised, and confused.

And she’d turned his life upside down. In a good way, but still…today was too important to trust that she wasn’t here to create havoc.

She waited impatiently amidst the sparkling lights and purple smoke.

He tied the towel around his waist tighter. Livy would kick his butt if he flashed any woman besides her. And she’d find out; the woman was a truth magnet. “What can I do for you, Baba Yaga?”

“Consider this a final evaluation before your parole ends.”

Since he’d had no idea he was on parole, he didn’t comment.

She tapped the toe of her high-top aerobics shoe. “The ring?”

So it was no coincidence Baba Yaga had shown up today. “What about it?”

“I’d like to see it. Chop-chop.”

Jackson clutched his towel and retrieved the ring from his nightstand.

Baba Yaga was shaking her head when he turned around with the small velvet box.

“What?” he asked, trying to keep the uncertainty from his voice. A guy was allowed to be sensitive about a few things, and his future wife’s engagement ring was one of them.

“Your nightstand?”

The ring had been in his safe for the last three months. “Give me a break. I just moved it last night.”

She didn’t reply, waved her fingerless-lace-gloved hand for him to hurry.

Careful not to get too close, he opened the box and showed her the ring inside.

A feline smile stretched across her face. “That will do.”

A knot in his stomach loosened at her words. He’d opted for a less traditional sapphire, because Livy didn’t like diamonds. She’d never said why, and he hadn’t wanted to press and ruin the surprise. So he’d just made a note: no diamonds. He knew she liked the style, but the stone had been a bit of a gamble.

In a brisk tone, Baba Yaga asked, “And what are you wearing?”

He wanted to ask how this related to his parole—but pissing off the supreme witch of all witches on the day he planned to ask the love of his life to marry him didn’t seem like a smart move. So he bit his tongue and retrieved his tux.

She snapped her fingers and his towel disappeared, to be replaced by his tux. If he hadn’t been distracted by the “why” of her visit, he might have been annoyed. At least she’d left the minions at home, so he missed out on flashing them his junk. That was something to be thankful for.

“Nice.” She made a circular motion with her finger.

But that was a step too far. He wasn’t a piece of meat for her inspection. His feet remained firmly planted. “It fits. Trust me.”

She sighed, and in a huffy voice said, “Fine. What’s the plan?”

He crossed his arms. “No.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I’m asking the woman I love to spend the rest of her life with me. It’s a private matter.”

And, shockingly, no lightning bolt struck him. No disco lights blinded him. In fact, nothing at all happened.

And then the supreme leader of all witches smiled. “Consider your sentence commuted.” And she vanished with no fanfare at all.

Jackson stopped and took a breath. Then he picked up the ring box, checked the ring was still snugly tucked inside, and placed the box inside his coat pocket.

He was more than ready, and the woman he loved was waiting.

The End

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Jodi Vaughn

THE GOODE WITCH MATCHMAKER

Timely Love

Ghostly Love

Deathly Love

Forgotten Love

The Goode Witch Matchmaker Collection

VEGAN VAMP

Adventures of a Vegan Vamp

The Client’s Conundrum

The Elvis Enigma

The Nefarious Necklace

Writing as Kate Baray

LOST LIBRARY

Lost Library

Spirited Legacy

Defensive Magic

Lost Library Collection: Books 1-3

Witch’s Diary

Lost Library Shorts Collection

The Covered Mirror: A Lost Library Halloween Short

Krampus Gone Wild: A Lost Library Christmas Short

SPIRELLI PARANORMAL INVESTIGATIONS

Spirelli Paranormal Investigations Season 1

Entombed: A Spirelli Investigations Novel

About Cate Lawley

Cate writes and lives in Austin, Texas, (where many of her stories take place) with her pack of pointers and hounds. Cate has worked as an attorney, a manager, a tractor sales person, and a dog trainer, but writing is the hands-down winner. When she’s not tapping away at her keyboard or in deep contemplation of her next fanciful writing project, she's sweeping up hairy dust bunnies and watching British mysteries.

Cate also writes paranormal (Lost Library) & urban fantasy (Spirelli) as Kate Baray and thrillers (Beauregard) as K.D. Baray. Visit her website for more information: http://www.katebaray.com/