Derrick
Calling oneself a Witch, possessing the ability to cast spells, and/or performing magick, does not make one a True Witch. Only proof of descent from a known Witch makes one a True Witch.
Rule Number One of the Nine Rules
*World Council of Witches*
For a moment Derrick was convinced Jessica had spotted him, even though he’d chosen his hiding place with care, then cast not one but two protection spells around his vehicle to keep her from noticing him. She didn’t strike him as a woman who would take kindly to being followed, even if he was only doing it to protect her.
But she certainly wasn’t making it easy, sitting on her friend’s front porch and discussing the situation loudly enough for all the world to hear, while under the influence of alcohol, no less.
Everyone who knew him well knew that Derrick liked a glass of whisky or two now and then—but never when there was work to be done.
And there was plenty of work to be done right now—not that anyone in this pretentious little village seemed to realize it. Derrick had never been anywhere with so many one-way streets, signs directing people to the “sea”—which turned out actually to be the Long Island Sound, and so virtually without waves—and organic coffee shops designed to look like English cottages.
Maybe that’s why everyone in West Harbor was so pretentious: they were all overcaffeinated.
Everyone except Jessica Gold, that is. She was nothing like Derrick had been expecting. He’d done his homework: she had an active and lively social media presence, as one might expect for someone who owned a clothing boutique.
But the videos of Jessica vamping around in her shop’s latest fashions hadn’t prepared him for the reality of meeting her in person: the riot of black curls that framed her heart-shaped face, the pink of that bow-shaped mouth, or, most distractingly of all, the liquid depth of those large brown eyes, and her big, happy laugh.
Why hadn’t anyone warned him? That the woman upon whom the success of this mission depended had a laugh that made his knees feel unsteady, a face the perfect shape for cupping in his hands, and a taste for miniature chocolate bars?
None of this was sitting well with him. None of this was right. None of this—
The car he was tailing pulled into the driveway of a cheerful yellow cottage a mere block from the public beach. Jessica got out of the passenger side.
“Good night!” she called to her loud friend. “Thanks for the ride!”
The friend said something indistinguishable, then drove away. Jessica climbed the steps to the front porch of her cottage. Unlike the yards of her neighbors, hers didn’t have a single jack-o’-lantern, scarecrow, sheet hung to look like a ghost, or fake gravestone. The front of her shop downtown had been tastefully decorated with artificial gold leaves to celebrate both the season and its owner’s last name, but there was no sign that Halloween was approaching outside her home.
At least until she reached the front door, when a black cat leaped from the tidily stacked woodpile and met her, arching its back in joyful greeting.
“Pye,” he heard Jess say in an affectionate tone as she reached into her bag for her keys—she did, indeed, lock her own front door, despite what the rest of the residents of West Harbor might do—and the cat rubbed itself against her legs. “Good boy. Did you have a nice day? What did you get up to? Are you ready for dinner?”
He saw the cat’s mouth open and close in reply—a pink flash, a meow too high-pitched for him to hear from where he sat. And then both Jessica and her cat disappeared through the front door into the warm, brightly lit house. A second later, the porch light flicked off, and Derrick was left alone in the darkness of her road, watching the shadows for a threat only he—
His cell phone rang. He glanced at the number on the screen, rolled his eyes, then answered it. “What?”
“And a good evening to you, too,” the caller said, sounding amused. “Why so surly?”
“Because I’m in West Harbor, Connecticut.” Derrick felt a wave of anger for having gotten himself into this position in the first place. May the Goddess forgive him. “Am I supposed to be happy about it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I can think of a few reasons why you might be. But I’m glad you followed my advice.”
“Advice?” he grunted. “Pretty sure it was an order.”
“It was advice. In any case, how is it?”
“Not exactly how you’d said it would be.”
“Really?” The caller sounded mildly curious. “How so?”
Because Jessica Gold is warm. And beautiful. And funny. And trusts him, even though she shouldn’t.
But of course he couldn’t say any of that.
“Well, first of all, because you said it was so damned urgent I get here right away,” he said, “I flew here instead of riding, so I had to rent a car when I arrived. But because it’s something called ‘leaf peeping season,’ all the decent-sized options were taken.”
The caller laughed. “Aw! Poor you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m glad you find it funny, because I don’t. All the hotel rooms are booked, too. So unless a place opens up soon, I’m going to be sleeping in this car—”
The caller’s voice sharpened. “You aren’t supposed to be sleeping at all. You’re supposed to be protecting her.”
“And I will,” Derrick said. “But it’s a little hard when you won’t let me tell her the truth.”
“Just stick to the plan.” The caller’s voice softened. “If you stick to the plan, everything should work out fine.”
Derrick didn’t express his doubts about that. The plan had been made before he’d known that Jessica Gold had skin that looked as soft as silk, and eyes that sparked like fireworks when she laughed. And how much he liked the sound of that laughter.
“How does she seem?” the caller surprised him by asking.
When Derrick replied, he kept his tone carefully neutral. “Good. A little confused, and possibly a bit frightened, but willing to take on the assign—”
“Not the Gold woman,” the caller said. “The other one.”
“Oh.” Of course. Derrick cleared his throat as he watched a blue light flicker in one of the rooms in Jessica’s cottage. She’d turned on the television. He wondered what she was watching, then found that he didn’t care. Whatever it was, he wished he was inside, watching it with her, preferably on a wide, soft bed. But a couch would be fine, too. “I haven’t seen her yet.”
“Will she be ready in time, do you think?” The caller’s voice was unsteady.
“I don’t know.” Derrick surprised himself with the honesty of his answer. He watched the blue light in Jessica’s house dance and wave. “She’ll have to be, won’t she?”
“Yes,” said the voice on the other end of the line, sounding sadder than he’d ever heard it. “We have no other choice.”