Chapter 1
It was too late to turn back now.
We’d been on the road for two days straight, switching into a passenger carriage outfitted with horizontal runners for the final leg of our trip. It glided over the snow-packed terrain, picking up speed in direct response to my rising dread.
I gripped the armrest, white-knuckling it as we barreled toward our destination.
To most, a week’s stay at a cozy country cottage with their significant other would sound like a dream. To me, it was a potential nightmare.
After I’d used up my last excuse, Derrick had finally persuaded me to go home with him to meet his parents, and, frankly, there wasn’t enough wine in the kingdom to calm my nerves. Actually, there was enough wine, but it wouldn’t fit in the carriage because of our luggage, gifts for his family, and my wretched attempt to appear like a normal girl who baked.
I squirmed in my seat, second-guessing every decision I’d made in preparation for our trip.
“Are you sure your parents like mincemeat pie? Because I’m worried I should have chosen apple.”
Derrick draped an arm over my shoulder and pulled me against his side. “Last night, you were worried you should have picked blueberry. Relax. It doesn’t matter what flavor pie you baked—they’re going to love it, and they’re going to love you too.”
I made a face, remembering the lumpy pastry I’d pulled from the oven. It had taken me a few tries to make it since I insisted on baking it from scratch. And by “scratch,” I mean “without magic.”
Easier said than done.
Potions and illusions might be tricky, but they had nothing on the finicky measurements of baked goods.
The crust had turned out less golden brown and more charred to a crisp than I’d planned. And don’t get me started on the filling. How something could be overly sweet and bitter at the same time was beyond me.
Needless to say, I had regrets.
Taking a cleansing breath, I banished the depressing image from my mind and nestled deeper into the cushion, resting my head against Derrick’s shoulder. I pulled a gold medallion from the pocket of my cloak and weaved it absently between my fingers. The repetitive action was a sufficient diversion for my thoughts.
“Where did you get that?” Derrick asked.
I let the golden circle drop into my palm and examined the intricate design. “Vivian gave it to me before we left. She said it’s her lucky medallion. I figured I could use all the help I can get. Besides, she mentioned if things go sideways with your family, I could pawn it to get a carriage ride home.”
Derrick chuckled. “I don’t know whether to be offended she thinks I’d let you leave on your own or impressed by her resourcefulness.”
“You know Vivian—she leaves nothing to chance.”
I’d thought it was funny when she gave it to me, accepting it for the caring gesture she intended, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little troubled. As excited as I was to meet Derrick’s parents, I couldn’t help but worry what they’d think of me. Things did not bode well considering their only previous encounter with a witch had left them conned and heartbroken after their daughter’s death. It was going to be an uphill battle convincing them that not all witches were cruel, money-hungry con artists.
Sure, I may have helped bring their daughter’s killer to justice, but stereotypes were hard to erase, and I wasn’t exactly a model citizen with upper-crust wealth.
“You wrote to let them know I was coming, right?” I tucked the medallion back into my pocket and twisted my hands together, imagining their shocked faces as they read Derrick’s letter. They were probably expecting their son to bring home a princess, not a pauper who could mix potions.
“Yes, for the tenth time, I wrote to them before we left.” He ruffled my hair, teasing the ends, then ran his fingers along the base of my neck.
I closed my eyes as he massaged away the tension that had become my permanent companion. “Good. I’m hoping when you tell them about your promotion at the agency, it will overshadow the horror of you bringing home a witch.”
Derrick’s hand stilled. “I’m thinking about turning down the promotion.”
“What?” I turned in my seat, dislodging the woolen blanket draped over my legs. “You can’t turn it down. They want to make you Director of the Royal Agency—it’s what you’ve worked so hard for. Need I remind you of the huge pay increase?”
He barely contained a smile. “No. You’ve mentioned it nonstop since I told you about it.”
I ticked the benefits off on my fingers. “You’ll make more money, have more prestige, and achieve the honor of being the youngest director ever to hold the position.” I waggled my eyebrows. “Not to mention the most handsome. So what’s the problem?”
“You.”
“Me! What did I do?”
