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Prologue
We’re gathered in Clarissa’s kitchen—laughing, eating, and drinking on the last night of our girl’s weekend. We’ve had an amazing time christening her newly inherited eight-room B&B in Manitou Springs, Colorado. It’s the perfect time of year to visit, as the occult is strong in this tiny community and Halloween is its favorite time of the year.
Last night we watched witchy movies, did tarot card and palm readings, and drank midnight margaritas. Today, we spent the afternoon at the Emma Crawford festival, had dinner at the Loop—more margaritas—before attending a twilight seance at the cemetery where guides told local ghost stories.
Clarissa grabs our attention by handing each of us a notecard and a pen. “Ladies, I have the perfect way to end this magical weekend. I want you to write all the characteristics of your perfect man. Physical, mental, spiritual. Be as specific as you can, but here’s the deal. Even if you have someone in mind—an old crush you’ve harbored for years—you cannot write his name or any detail that singles him out. For example: If David from high school has nine toes and is the only mechanic in town, you cannot write David with nine toes who fixes my car. Doing so violates his free will and would come back negatively on you tenfold.”
Some women cackle at the nine toes. “What are we doing, Clarissa?”
She smiles, grabbing a bundle of sage and sweetgrass from a drawer. “We’re casting a love spell to bring the perfect man into our lives.”
“Really?” Sabrina asks.
“That’s awesome!” Leonora laughs.
“Hell, yeah.” Luna exclaims.
“I love this idea.” Tricia takes her pen and feverishly writes.
“Will it work?” Stella eyeballs Clarissa skeptically.
“Of course, it’ll work. All you have to do is open yourself to the possibility of receiving love.”
I chew on my pen and focus on the man I’ve seen in my dreams. The man that I can’t see his face but I feel like I know him.
Dark hair and eyes.
Good sense of humor.
Good in bed. Duh. That’s a no-brainer. What woman is going to put ho-hum in bed.
A strong man who would walk through fire for the woman he loves.
A man who loves my curves and isn’t afraid to show me. Every day. Yeah, that’s right. I want a lot of sex. Because I’ve never had that.
Deep voice.
Hard worker.
Can do anything.
Doesn’t mind the fact that I’m scatter-brained sometimes.
Doesn’t make fun of me when I tell him I’m a little bit psychic. Not like Josh.
Taller than me. Which isn’t hard since I’m only five foot three. Half the freaking world is taller than me. Not that I’m bitter or anything. Just tired of being called pocket-sized with that dumb pat on the head.
Oh. And not patronizing.
Understanding.
Sweet.
Romantic.
One by one we make our way to the garden where the fire pit we sat around last night burns with a hint of sweet sage. Clarissa hands each of us a pink candle, instructing us to stand in a circle around the pit and hold the candle in our right hand, the notecard in our left. She then walks the circle with a bottle in her hand, placing one drop of oil on each of our cards.
“What’s this?” Sabrina asks.
