“Hot diggety, Baby Girl! Your daddy just received word that he’s the newest member of the Harpies!”
“Help me!” my daddy yelled in the background.
My mama hushed him and said to me, “Got a registered letter all fancy this morning. It had been postmarked last Friday, so I guess you didn’t have to do all that investigating on Patricia’s behalf after all.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “Well, you know, except for almost getting killed. Twice. It was a small price to pay for Daddy’s Harpies membership,” I added sarcastically.
“You’re a good girl, Carly Bell,” Mama said, and I wasn’t sure she understood I’d been kidding.
“In light of all that’s happened lately,” she went on, “I think it might be wise for me to postpone that lunche—”
“Praise be!” my daddy yelled.
“—that luncheon,” my mama went on, her voice tight, “until a more suitable time. You’re invited, of course. Dylan, too, on account that his mama will be there.”
I wasn’t sure that was an enticement for him any longer. “I think I’m busy that day,” I said.
“You don’t even know wha— Hell’s bells! The pair of you. It’s a wonder I love either of you so much.” She hung up.
Smiling, I hung up, too.
I walked back into the living room. “Seems my daddy is the newest member of the Harpies.”
Dylan looked ill.
Delia started laughing.
Ainsley said, “I’ll pray for him,” then glanced at the clock. “Shoot. I can’t stay, but before I go will you please try on the dress?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Really?”
“Yes, yes,” she said. “I want to see you in it.”
“Me, too,” Delia said.
Dylan smiled and nodded.
It seemed like such a Eulalie thing to do in the middle of the afternoon that the thought made me smile. “Okay, then. I think I will.”
“Need help with it?” Delia asked, already passing Boo off to Dylan.
“Sure,” I said. “The zipper up the side isn’t the easiest to manage on my own.”
Dylan raised an eyebrow. “I could have helped.”
“Too late,” Delia said, pushing me up the steps.
When we reached my room, she closed the door, and said, “Tell me everything. Talk quick.”
As I changed, I told her of my conversation with Patricia, and how I’d left things with her.
“Do you think she’ll tell him?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. I hope so. She’s been essentially lying to him for thirty years. That’s going to be a hard thing for her to admit.”
She zipped me up. “Especially for Patricia. In her mind telling him the truth now means admitting to herself that she might have been wrong keeping it from him all these years.”
“Yes,” I said softly, thinking of how Mr. Dunwoody had thought the same thing.
Patricia can’t abide being wrong.
“Wow,” Delia breathed when she walked in front of me. “Ainsley did an incredible job.”
“I want to see,” I said, brushing past her to look in my full-length mirror. My breath caught when I saw my reflection. The dress was perfection, but there was something else I noticed. It was as though Patricia telling me why she’d been so terrible to me had released a heavy burden. Knowing so brought me peace and that shone in my eyes.
“You’re so pur-ty,” Delia sang, nudging me with her elbow. She grabbed a brush and a hair clip, and in no time flat had my hair whipped into some semblance of an updo.
I smiled at our reflections, at how far we’d come in our lives, at the friendship we’d forged.
Choices.
She smiled back.
“Carly!” Ainsley yelled up the stairs. “I ain’t got all day.”
Laughing, I said, “I think that’s our cue.”
As we headed for the door, I took one last peek in the mirror and said, “You know, I never did ask you how you knew that mirror trick yesterday. The one you used on Haywood at Avery’s house.”
“A ghost taught me.”
She didn’t sound happy about it.
I set my hand on her arm. “What happened?”
Shaking her head, she said, “Let’s just say that you’re not the only one who’s had a bad experience with a ghost.”
“Delia.”
She smiled a faint smile. “It’s okay. I learned from it. And now I use it to help other ghosts from time to time. Even though sometimes there’s a bad ghost in the bunch, they help me more than I could ever help them. Seeing them cross over fills my soul. Feeds my heart. It’s what I was trying to explain to you the other day.”
“Just so you know, I learned the lesson.” I gave her a hug. “You’re a good teacher.”
Her blue eyes filled with happiness. “Does that mean you’ll help next year?”
“It’s a date.”
“Carly!” Ainsley yelled. “Don’t make me come up there.”
Delia held open the door. “I’m holding you to that. Don’t think you can back out a couple of days before, planning to lock yourself inside your house and whatnot. I’ll drag you out. Don’t think I won’t. I’ll do it.”
I laughed. “My mama’s rubbing off on you.”
As we headed down the steps, she laughed. “Maybe so.”
I came off the last step and held my arms wide and twirled.
Ainsley gasped. “As I live and breathe, Carly Bell. As I live and breathe. You look like you belong atop a wedding cake.”
Dylan slowly stood, his mouth agape. I caught his eye, and he smiled.
Oh Lordy, that smile.
“It does look a little bit like a wedding dress, doesn’t it?” Delia asked. “Perfect for a destination wedding—don’t you think, Dylan?”
He glanced at her. “Subtle.”
She smiled again. “Subtlety has never been my specialty. I think it’s time you make an honest woman out of Carly.”
“Me, too,” Ainsley said, grabbing up her pocketbook. “And I’m not just saying that because I’m married to a preacher.”
I kept looking at Dylan. He kept smiling.
For the first time in a long time, the thought of a wedding didn’t scare the bejeebers out of me.
Ainsley kissed my cheek. “I’ll call you later. If you two decide to elope before then, let me know.”
I rolled my eyes, walked her to the door, and ushered her out. “Get on with you. Scoot, scoot.” As she rushed down the sidewalk, I yelled, “And thank you!”
“You’re welcome!” she yelled back.
I was about to close the door when I spotted someone coming from the opposite direction. I felt my eyes go wide.
Louella led the way as Patricia Davis Jackson strode up the front steps. A breeze ruffled her short blond hair.
“Carly?” Dylan asked as I lingered in the doorway. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said to Dylan. I held the door open wide for Patricia and she stepped inside. Louella growled at me as she passed.
Some things never changed.
Yet, some things did. “I’m glad to see you so soon,” I said to Patricia.
She swallowed hard, and I could easily see the emotion churning in her eyes. “You look lovely, Carly Bell. Truly lovely. Ivory is a beautiful color on you.”
“Thank you,” I said softly, taking the peace offering for what it was.
We both turned to look Dylan’s way at the same time. His mouth hung open.
“I, ah—” Patricia started, then stopped. “I mean, could I speak with you, please?” she asked her son. “Perhaps a walk around the block?”
Dylan’s stunned gaze shifted from me to his mama back to me.
Nodding, he headed for the door, motioned with his arms toward the porch. “After you, Mama.”
I closed the door behind them and ran to a window to spy. Delia came up beside me and peeked out as well.
“I have a good feeling about this,” she said.
As I watched Dylan and his mama walk away, I thought about what Delia had said yesterday, about how history couldn’t be rewritten, but it wasn’t too late to change the future . . .
Our futures were bound to change with the choices made today.
I just hoped they were the right ones.
Read on for a sneak peek at the next novel in Heather Blake’s Wishcraft Mystery series,
Gone with the Witch
Coming in May 2016 from Obsidian.
Sunlight burst through the front windows of As You Wish, spotlighting the pink streaks in Ivy Teasdale’s shoulder-length strawberry blond hair and the vehemence in her blue eyes.
“The integrity of our event is at stake, Darcy,” Ivy said to me, the sound of hammering outside punctuating her words like exclamation points. “Along with our sterling reputation.”
She was sitting ramrod straight on the velvet sofa across from me. Her hands were fisted, her black-tipped fingernails pressing deeply into the fleshy skin of her palms. Her perfectly sculpted right eyebrow twitched every few seconds, probably a result of too much stress or a caffeine addiction. Or both. Heavyset, she was in her early forties and as tightly wound as I’d ever witnessed another human to be.
This bright and airy parlor with its soothing aquamarine-and-silver color palette and whimsical design usually set visitors at ease.
Not so with Ivy.
Fairly shimmering with restrained anxious energy, she said, “If she is cheating at the event, she must be caught and stopped.”
The “she” in question was villager Natasha Norcliffe.
The “event” in question was the Pawsitively Enchanting Pet Extravaganza.
“Have you been to the Extravaganza before, Darcy?” Ivy, the Extravaganza’s founder and also the owner of Fairytail Magic pet-grooming salon, wore a black-and-white polka-dot pencil skirt that hit just below her knees along with a turquoise blouse that set off her eyes. Angled to the right, her long legs were crossed tightly at the ankles. Black peep-toed heels showed off glittery silver-painted toenails.
Her stylish flair hinted at a fun-loving personality, but I wasn’t seeing any trace of it right now. All I saw was a white-hot intensity that made me question why she was so high-strung.
“No, I haven’t been yet. I moved to the village shortly after last year’s event.” Right up until Ivy had come knocking, I’d simply planned to attend the Extravaganza to soak in the fantastical hoopla of it all. “But I’ve heard all about it. Good things,” I quickly clarified so she wouldn’t glare at me with that scorching blue gaze of hers.
The Extravaganza was one of the preeminent annual events in the Enchanted Village, a themed neighborhood of Salem, Massachusetts. As a tourist destination, the village often drew large crowds to its events, which generally focused on a mystical element, thanks to its location and history.
Which was entirely appropriate, considering the village was full of witches, Crafters, who lived here secretly among mortals. We hid in plain sight working at businesses like the Gingerbread Shack bakery, the Bewitching Boutique, and of course here at As You Wish, the personal concierge service that I’d always believed to be owned by my aunt Ve. In reality, the business had once belonged to my late mother, who’d died when I was seven. A few weeks ago I’d learned that the company had actually been bequeathed to me, and had been held in a trust overseen by my aunt Ve until I was ready to take over.
As You Wish was mine.
That news had been shocking to say the least.
Since I’d found out, I had been easing myself into the daily running of As You Wish. Though Aunt Ve technically still worked for the business part-time, she was now busy doing her own thing as Village Council Chairwoman, a position that was similar to a mayoral role in the village.
As I spoke with Ivy, discussing her concerns that someone was cheating at the event, I was feeling a bit overwhelmed with all the responsibility but tried not to show my apprehension.
“You’re in for such a treat,” Ivy said. “It’s so much fun. It’s not so much a competition as a festival of sorts.” Her eyes brightened with excitement.
The glimmer was a nice change from the rabid anxiety that had been present in her gaze.
The Pawsitively Enchanting Pet Extravaganza was one of the few celebrations in the village that truly had nothing to do with witchcraft. It was completely pet-centric. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t Craft involvement . . . I knew of at least one familiar entered in the contest.
She added, “Which is why I must ensure that its respectability doesn’t suffer. Nothing untoward must happen at this year’s event.”
And with those words the brightness in her eyes dimmed, and the obsessive angst returned.
I wished my friend Curecrafter Cherise Goodwin was here to deliver a calming spell. If a person was ever in need of Cherise’s magic, it was Ivy.
Truly, I wasn’t sure whether she had good reason to be worried about potential sabotage or not. Cheating was entirely possible, I supposed. Even though I’d never attended the Extravaganza, which was set to kick off tomorrow afternoon, I knew it wasn’t just a blockbuster event for the village—it was also one for its participants.
People took their pet pageantry very seriously.
So seriously, in fact, that the illustrious competition now drew contestants from across New England, even as far away as northern Maine. Driving six-plus hours to enter Fido in the Pooch-Smooch category boggled my mind, but there was no denying the Extravaganza’s charm. There was a wait list a mile long due to space limitations at the Will-o’-the-Wisp, the reception hall that hosted the contest. Entries had been capped at two hundred forty, twenty competitors per twelve categories. It seemed as though the more difficult it was to register a pet, the more desirable the event became.
It helped, too, that the Extravaganza wasn’t a prim and fussy pet competition. Nine years ago, Ivy had created it with the intent that it be lighthearted and fun. All household pets were allowed to enter including dogs, cats, hamsters, birds, ferrets, guinea pigs, and even turtles. If it lived inside a house, it was welcome.
Given all that, it didn’t seem so far-fetched to imagine someone going a little overboard to ensure a win for their pet. But to go so far as to hurt someone as Ivy suspected? That was taking overzealousness to a whole new level.
Ivy reached into her purse and pulled out an official-looking name badge, a frilly clip that had a laminated purple-printed number (240) attached, a folder of paperwork, and a fancy pen. “Here is everything you need, Darcy. The badge is secretly marked as all-access, which grants you the ability to roam around without being questioned. The paperwork includes the rules and regulations as well as a map of the booths and the facility. The clip attaches to Missy’s collar.”
I took it all from her outstretched hands. The badge read DARCY MERRIWEATHER, ENCHANTED VILLAGE. On the clip, beneath the purple 240, was my dog Missy’s name printed in a curlicue font along with the category in which she was entered: Easy on the Eyes.
The Extravaganza boasted twelve categories ranging from Splish Splash (swimwear) to Wag It (best tail), and the winner of each would be featured in the event’s highly sought-after calendar. From those twelve pets a grand-prize winner would be chosen to grace the coveted spot on the calendar’s cover. Landing the cover spot was quite the triumph.
For the past three years running, that cover girl had been Titania, a beautiful black ragamuffin cat with owl-like amber eyes, who belonged to Natasha Norcliffe.
And for the past two years, Natasha’s top competitors had suffered an unfortunate accident or illness that had required them to withdraw their pet from the event at the last minute. The mishaps had begun the year before last when Marigold Coe, whose cat, Khan, had been rumored to be a favorite to win the grand prize, had tumbled down a crowded set of steps and broken an arm and ankle, and had needed immediate surgery to repair both.
During last year’s event, villager Baz Lucas
had come down with food poisoning hours before the winners were to be announced, and he and his wife, Vivienne, had to withdraw their dog, Audrey Pupburn, a black-and-white Morkie (a hybrid breed of Maltese and Yorkshire terrier), from judging so he could seek treatment at a local hospital.
After the latter, Ivy had started to become a little suspicious that these incidents had not been accidents.
Which was where I had come in.
Ivy had hired As You Wish to sniff out a possible cheater.
Missy, my miniature Schnoodle, and I were going undercover.
And I was nervous about it.
Nervous enough that I found myself secretly hoping that Ivy would simply wish for what she wanted. Though my father had been a mortal, on my mother’s side I hailed from a long line of Wishcrafters, witches who had the ability to grant wishes using a spell. The ability came in handy, especially in my line of work—and it was from where the name of our business, As You Wish, derived.
The wishes of mortals were granted immediately if they abided by Wishcraft laws and regulations. However, because of previous egregious abuses of our powers, wishes from other Crafters now had to first go through the Elder, the Craft’s governess, in some sort of magical judicial system. In an instant, she decided if a wish was pure of heart and could be granted immediately, or if the wishee had to be summoned before her to plead his or her case.
As far as I knew, Ivy was a mortal, but she certainly wasn’t taking any cues from the name of the business, and it was against Wishcraft Law to solicit a wish, so I paid close attention to everything she was telling me.
“The pen,” Ivy said loudly, wincing as the hammering outside continued, “is a spy pen. It has a camera in it so you can document any wrongdoing you may witness by Natasha.”
The hammering came from two doors down, where my new home was being renovated. The house, which was zoned as a home-based business, had been bought as a new location for the As You Wish office by Aunt Ve, who’d been acting as a trustee on my behalf. The funds for the purchase had come from my mother’s estate, an inheritance I’d known nothing about until Aunt Ve had handed me the keys to the house . . . and the news that I was now in charge of the company.
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