The Goode Witch Matchmaker: Four Sweet Paranormal Romances (The Goode Witch Matchmaker Collection Book 1)

by Cate Lawley

  Devlin had no clue what nice men had to do with anything, but if she wasn’t making sense…not good. “I’m sorry about this. I would have preferred to explain a little bit first, then have her demonstrate, but she’s a little impatient.” He shot Tara a disapproving look, but she just shrugged.

  He felt for Bedivere; she had appalling manners.

  Tara huffed out an impatient breath. “Magic is real. I can cruise through time, recent time anyway, and space. In order for the former reaper to retire, he had to find a replacement, and that’s me. The previous guy was Devlin. Got it?”

  “I get that you’re both delusional,” Felicity said.

  As soon as Tara had said “magic,” Felicity’s eyes had glazed over. He was contemplating next steps when Tara disappeared and popped back again—naked. Good thing he wasn’t attached to that blanket. And then she did it again and again. Very short distance transports could be trickier than longer distance, and doing so many in rapid succession—not the safest plan.

  Tara had just popped back in sight and was lifting her hand to snap, when Devlin bellowed, “Stop!”

  Tara lowered her hand.

  Devlin groaned. “You have got to learn to transport with your clothes. You’re about to make my eyes bleed. Or my head explode.”

  Tara said, “Enough?” But she directed the question to Felicity.

  “I’d say it’s all mirrors, but that doesn’t seem probable. And then there’s the question: why?” Felicity’s eyes were quite wide—but she looked otherwise just fine. She was taking this much better than he had all those years ago when Bedivere and Callum had dropped the magic bomb on him—or she was still in denial. And she could be wide-eyed because she was now sharing a couch with a naked woman.

  “My couch, really? Please go put some clothes on.” Devlin averted his eyes and tried not to think about the fact that Tara was basically his daughter’s age. He covered his eyes with one hand.

  Besides the inconvenience, the embarrassment, and the general incompetence, Devlin was concerned there may be a bigger picture problem. He and Bedivere had already cleaned up the significant mess made by their first reaper replacement choice. He had no interest in being recalled to fix some as yet unimaginable disaster caused by Tara’s shenanigans.

  “She’s gone,” Felicity said with a tart lilt to her voice.

  Devlin shook his head. “I feel like a grade school kid, but she’s the same age as my daughter. Even a glimpse, and I feel like a skeevy old man.”

  Felicity laughed. “I don’t think you’re that. Nuts, but not skeevy.”

  “I’m not sure what would convince you of magic, if not Tara’s dramatically irresponsible display of teleportation.”

  “Well, what are you supposed to be able to do?” She frowned after she asked. “Not that I think you can do anything special. I mean, magical.”

  “You’d be right. I don’t have any magic.” He leaned back in the armchair, relaxing his shoulders. His neck was starting to pinch from all the stress. “There are some skills that reapers have while they hold the job, but once you retire you’re back to normal and mortal.”

  “Normal and mortal. That’s what I’m supposed to be, right?”

  “As far as I know. You’d know better than I would, though.”

  Felicity’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Let’s say I buy this, and I’m not saying I do, why are you telling me? Isn’t this some huge state secret?”

  “Magic is a well-concealed fact of life, but hardly a state secret. And to be clear, I’m not a part of that world, I just visited for a while.”

  She gave him a knowing look. “You’re avoiding the question. Why? Why me? Why now?”

  “I wanted to reconnect after I retired, but it turns out that once you’re a reaper most of the world forgets about you—literally. Mass amnesia corroborated by alterations to the fabric of this reality. Your sapphire ring?”

  Felicity twisted the ring on her finger.

  “I gave that to you.”

  “No. How could you give me a ring I’ve had since high school. Wait, mass amnesia? You’re telling me that I knew you and then forgot you?”

  “Yes, we knew each other when we were kids. And I think your ring might have gone missing because its existence didn’t fit within the new, Devlin-free reality construct.” He looked into her perplexed eyes, and he hoped. “But I think you wouldn’t let go of all your memories, not completely, so the ring had an anchor to this reality.”

  “Or I just really liked the ring. I mean, if this altering reality thing were true.” She wrinkled her nose up. “The Grim Reaper? Really?”

  “Yeah. It’s a job with decent pay, a few perks.” Devlin didn’t think now was the time to mention he’d been terminally ill. Baby steps to the truth, that’s what he was aiming for.

  “On a whim, the magic-free, retired Grim Reaper decides to look me up, and that’s why I need to know about magic? “

  “We dated.”

  She waited, leaning forward slightly.

  “We dated a long time and were engaged.”

  She stood up. “No. I’m sorry, but no. How can you expect me to believe that I could have forgotten my fiancé?”

  He didn’t try to stop her, because that wouldn’t help anything. Maybe time would help—but time wasn’t usually a friend to magic.

  After she’d left, he found that Tara had quietly transported herself—and his entire blueberry pie—out of the house. Likely as soon as she’d heard which way the wind was blowing with Felicity.

  Which left him a whole lot pissed off and with no target for his anger and disappointment but himself. And with no pie.

  Chapter 16

  “I might have fumbled the magic reveal with Felicity.” Tara’s voice, much less confident than her normal brash tones, came from behind the fitting room door. She’d transported herself to a backroom of The Goode Witch Shoppe a few minutes prior.

  “Oh?” Glenda tossed a summer dress over the changing room door.

  “A dress?” The girl sighed and then said with a touch of reluctance, “Thank you.”

  “What happened?”

  “I told her I was the Grim Reaper and popped around the room a bit. She didn’t buy it.”

  Glenda grinned at the image of a naked Tara zipping around the much more circumspect Devlin’s house. Adopting a firm tone, she said, “And is that all you did? What about Devlin? Surely he had some plan. He’d have the best idea of how to break the news.”

  “Yeah, he wanted to talk to her, ease her into the idea. But, really, who doesn’t want to believe in magic? I mean, I can prove it. I did prove it—she just refused to believe what she could see with her own eyes.” She opened the door and stepped out, clad in a 1950s sundress. She frowned down at the bust. “Can I wear this without a bra?”

  Glenda raised her eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d care. But yes. The bodice is lined; you’re fine.”

  She’d been saving the dress for just the right person, and Glenda rather thought Tara might be the one.

  “Thank you. It’s very…pretty. But what do I do? I think I might have ruined your match.”

  Glenda tweaked the lay of the skirt then stepped back with a smile. “Gorgeous. No, don’t worry. It will take more than one impetuous but well-intentioned woman to ruin a match between those two. Come along.”

  Glenda headed into the main area of the shop then leaned behind the counter for her purse. She handed her car keys to Tara. “Don’t get stopped. You’ve got no license and that always complicates matters.”

  Taking the keys, Tara said, “Where am I going?”

  “To Felicity’s, of course. You’re going to apologize and you’re going to make it right.”

  A panicked look crossed over her face. “But you said—”

  “That it will be fine. And it will—especially if you don’t muck this up.” Glenda gave her an encouraging smile and then spun her around by the shoulders and pointed her in the direction of the door.<
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  “But what do I say? I’m terrible at apologizing. And I know I’m right. The truth was right there for her to see.”

  Glenda paused with her hand on the store door. “You’re fortunate. You saw magic everywhere and in everything even before you had proof. Most people simply don’t see the world that way. Try to think like a pragmatist.”

  “Or a blind cynic.”

  But Tara’s complaining only made Glenda smile more. If the girl was grumbling, then she was feeling much more certain of herself. “Off you go.”

  Chapter 17

  Felicity couldn’t quite make it out of her kitchen chair.

  She’d walked the short distance home with no difficulty. Then she’d come in the kitchen, placed the pie she had in her hands on the kitchen table, fetched a fork, and sat down in front of her blueberry pie.

  She glanced down. She’d eaten about a fourth of it. No milk, no tea, just pie. A good thing it was particularly juicy and not overly sweet. She really had done a nice job on this one.

  But then thoughts of magic and grim reapers and amnesia intruded.

  She ate another bite of pie. Blueberry pie made everything better.

  Eventually, she set the fork down, but she still didn’t get up. It seemed such an effort. And what was she going to do anyway? She was in no fit state to work. Which was silly, because she didn’t believe in magic, so why would she care if someone else asserted its existence?

  Unless that someone was Devlin.

  Maybe one more bite of pie. She lifted her fork and said, “To all the nice men out there, wherever you may be.”

  She hadn’t realized she could get drunk on berries, sugar, and carbs, but it was looking that way. Her doorbell rang before she could get too maudlin.

  She thought about leaving it, but remembered it could be a package. She always had supplies for the business coming to the house. With a groan of annoyance, she leveraged herself out of the kitchen chair.

  But when she opened her front door to find Naked Tara—thankfully clothed this time—standing on her porch, she closed the door without a thought.

  “Wait—please.”

  Tara almost sounded sorry.

  Since Felicity couldn’t believe she’d almost closed the door in someone’s face without a word or even a second thought, Tara’s plea was enough to give her pause.

  Slowly, Felicity cracked the door. “Yes?”

  “Can I come in? I need to apologize. I mean, I’d like to apologize.”

  Good manners warred with common sense, and Felicity hovered uncertain at the doorway.

  “Five minutes?” The girl had to be well into her twenties, and yet everything about her said “girl” rather than “woman.” Certainly not naïve, just very, very young. Felicity couldn’t put her finger on what it was about Tara that gave her that impression.

  It was even harder to say no to a kid.

  Felicity swung the door open and motioned for Tara to come in.

  Tara looked around the entryway as she walked in. “I heard that you’re a painter.”

  The kitchen seemed the logical choice, but she wasn’t sharing her pie. She shoved the pie into the middle of the table and sat down. “I’m an artist. I paint, but I also do ink sketches and dabble in a few other mediums. Five minutes, remember?”

  Tara sat down across the table. “I like Devlin. He’s a really good guy, and he’s a great dad. I mean, he and his kid get along like you wouldn’t believe.” She stopped and frowned. “I screwed up, and I wanted to make it right.”

  She looked like she needed some kind of response. Felicity didn’t particularly want to make this easier for her, but she also wanted her out of the kitchen. “Okay.”

  “Devlin wanted to explain everything first, about how you guys met in high school, and how you dated through college, and got engaged. And he said, you’d have gotten married, but your parents are pretty uptight—um, conservative, and they weren’t into you getting married until you were both out of school. He didn’t say what happened, but I guess you guys broke it off when you were a senior and he was starting law school.”

  Felicity couldn’t hide a pained expression. “You do see how impossible it is that I would have forgotten all of that, don’t you?”

  “I mean, no, not really—because it’s magic. That’s how magic works.” Tara huffed out a disappointed breath. “I don’t get how other people don’t see it.” She chewed on her lip and then she brightened. “What about the ring? Does it remind you of anything? Or maybe something you guys have talked about has jogged your memory? Or you’ve had really bad déjà vu?”

  And that’s when Felicity remembered: the subtle familiarity of Devlin’s name, the feeling that she knew him, the speed with which she’d made a connection—against all odds and her personal history.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” Tara sat up straighter in her chair. “You remember something, don’t you?”

  “No, I mean, not really.”

  Tara gave her a knowing look. “Are you trying to have a poker face? Because you need to not play cards. What did you remember?”

  “It’s nothing. I mean, it’s not nothing, it’s just not a memory. I have this feeling.” She shrugged with one shoulder. “You know, like a familiar feeling. That’s all.”

  “Ha! I knew it. I show you the teleporting stuff—which is by far some of the cooler magic, visually speaking—and you have this instant, awesome cosmic connection with Devlin, and still you don’t believe in magic? What are you, like the magic Scrooge?”

  Felicity was certainly starting to feel that way. But then she reminded herself that she was in the majority. Most people were on her side. The not-believing-in-magic side. Like everyone, except Devlin and Tara. And maybe Zelda, which would also mean Mark. Still, that was only four people. That she knew of. She was Alice, and she could feel herself slipping into the hole.

  “Okay, let’s say I’m considering the options. Can you show me anything else? For example, can you do any other kind of magic? I mean, something that won’t have you bebopping around my house without any clothes?”

  “Oh, yeah. A friend gave me this dress, so I really can’t lose it. Um, yeah. I can do my scary reaper spiel. How about that?”

  “Well, what are we talking about? You turn into a skeleton or a zombie or a tall thin guy with a dark cloak? I don’t do rotting flesh. That’s just nasty.”

  “No, I’m still me. But I can conjure my sick scythe.” Tara looked downright gleeful at the thought.

  “Sure, why not?”

  “You’re not going to go all girly and scream or anything, right?”

  Felicity just rolled her eyes. Scary movies were like candy to her. Or pie.

  With a snap of her fingers, a smallish, handheld scythe appeared in Tara’s right hand. “Cool, right?”

  It seemed unlikely that such a tiny thing could do everything they advertised. Cleaving souls from dead bodies—that tiny thing? Then it hit her. The story.

  “Ohmygosh,” Felicity pointed at her. Her finger jabbed repeatedly at the air. “Ohmygosh.”

  “Hey, you said you were cool.”

  “No.” Tara waved her hand in the air dismissively. “That’s it. That’s the thing.”

  Tara sank back in her chair and slouched down. “I know I should be grateful, because it’s definitely been more than five minutes—but you’re seriously not making any sense.” Her lips twitched, then she said very slowly, “Use your words, Felicity.”

  Felicity’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a little snot sometimes. I meant your scythe and your eyes. You know your eyes go red and glow when you’re holding that thing?”

  “Yeah, cool, right? But I still don’t get why you got all freaky with the blade.”

  “Zelda’s prom date and Devlin with all his work stress and then he did some Halloween scary thing? Ugh. He told me; I just didn’t know what he meant. But now…”

  “Oh, yeah. Everyone knows that story. He scared the nose hairs off that kid. And that was
totally illegal, too. We’re not supposed to use our appearance or our tools to threaten or intimidate.” She rattled the sentence off as if by rote. “It’s in the handbook.”

  “The Grim Reaper has a handbook?”

  “I mean, no. Not literally. But they tell you the rules, and tell you and tell you.” Tara cocked her head. “How do you know that story? It’s a legend in the magic community, but you know, it’s a secret society and everything, so I wouldn’t figure you’d have heard it.”

  “Well, shoot. He told me. And now I have proof, and I know exactly what he was talking about. Great; I have to apologize. Again.” Felicity grabbed the pie and pulled it closer. “And I will, just as soon as I get over having a serious meltdown.”

  “Uh, Felicity? That was a whole pie like an hour ago. Maybe you shouldn’t have any more? Won’t you get sick or something?”

  “Shush. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

  After ushering Tara out the door so she could stress-eat in peace and then proceeding to consume about half of that blueberry pie, Felicity hadn’t been up for an emotional apology. Or an unemotional one. She needed some alone time to process the whole magic thing, so she went to bed early.

  After a surprisingly decent night’s sleep, she’d come to the conclusion that magic was simply science that had yet to be explained. Which meant that she wasn’t nuts to believe in magic, she was simply aware of cutting-edge science that others weren’t.

  Sure, that argument didn’t hold up to any serious scrutiny, but it got her out of bed at seven o’clock. No small task considering her pie hangover.

  After she’d cleaned up and put on her favorite summer dress, she headed over to Devlin’s. Delay would only make it worse, and she’d already come up with her list of demands.

  She knocked briskly on the door and waited for Fred’s bark. Nothing, so she knocked a second time. And then she heard it. If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d just woken up the household. Perhaps it was petty, but she felt a certain satisfaction in that. After all, Devlin had upended more than just a morning’s sleep by coming back into her life.