Paranormal Dating Agency: Something Different (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Kiki Howell

  Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Latin Goddess Press, Inc.. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Paranormal Dating Agency remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Latin Goddess Press, Inc., or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Something Different

  A Paranormal Dating Agency Story

  Kindle Worlds

  First Edition

  Kiki Howell ©September 2017

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

  No part of this book may be adapted, stored, copied, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  About The Author

  Something Different

  A Paranormal Dating Agency Story

  by Kiki Howell

  Chapter One

  The sound of her mother sifting flour elicited a shallow sigh. Her eyes glazed over, blurring the familiar image of the large mug that served as a flowerpot in the middle of the table where she sat. Her mother's wavering voice, loaded with agitation, cut through her tranquility, tightening her features, interrupting her body's desire for a cat-like stretch. Hell, even the cat that had been resting nearby took off for another room with a few sporadic leaps.

  "Samantha, you are so unpredictable and headstrong," the woman snipped, gripping the handle of the sifter harder, moving it faster despite the screeches of the metal sliding against metal. "A dangerous combination if you ask me."

  "I didn't ask," Sam replied, a coy smile growing on her face as she waited for her mother to look up from her measuring to glare. "But, I love you mom and value your opinion," she continued, tongue in cheek, eyes wide, her new, endless smile making her mother crack one, too, despite her best efforts to stay frustrated with her daughter.

  "Okay, add smart-mouthed and conniving to that list, but I think a man could change all that for you," her mother stated, undeterred, that frantic tone seeping back into her voice making Sam's shoulders rise to her ears. A minute of comic relief over, just like that.

  She sucked in a deep, cleansing breath, counting to four as the air swept into her lungs, then paused, trapping the breath, before releasing the pent up air to a count of six. Well, truth be told, she saw those weird lights in front of her eyes about the count of five during the exhale, but she'd counted to six anyway. A breathing technique she taught her yoga students, she failed to practice on her own when her mother began a tirade about the fact that her only daughter, and only child to compound the issue, had yet to marry.

  "You need someone to share your magic with," her mother continued, not noticing her daughter had yet to respond to the last statement she'd uttered.

  "Mom, I don't need anyone to share my magic with. I have you."

  What I need to share is a good fuck with a man, not my magic, Sam thought, looking into her water bottle as if it, at any minute, would reveal the mysteries of the world to her, or maybe turn into some alcohol to calm her. While she practiced yoga when she could to better her life, sometimes only a tall Long Island Iced Tea could do the trick.

  A witch by birth, Sam thought she had quite the full life with her magic and now yoga, plus her mother and friends. A yoga instructor who now owned her own studio, she proved yoga was for everybody as her curves filled out her yoga pants and t-shirt. Her magic, kept private in the family, she practiced daily which granted her a peace like nothing else could, only adding to her yoga practice now. She had friends to talk to, cousins and a mother to practice her spells with, and a yoga community who balanced out her life perfectly. Her studio had become just another place of solace for her. Men, well they were trouble, needed only to scratch physical urges from time to time when the silicone versions of their anatomy wouldn't do.

  Always the go getter, which some called aggressive and her mother called unpredictable, Sam allowed her magic in the studio, secretly, for herself and others who chose to accept it as a way to harmony, happiness, and health to others. Her magic only helped to enhance the peacefulness of the place. She'd thrown all she had, money, time, and sweat, into the studio. A strong, single woman and entrepreneur, she didn't desire tying her life to another's. However, her mother just wasn't worth the fight. Sam considered it the act of a loving daughter to appease the woman as much as she could from time to time on the whole dating and marriage issue, by at least going on a date. Though, truth be told, and she would not tell it to her mother, a family and kids were just not going to happen. It ended with dinner and maybe a movie, sometimes a good romp between the sheets.

  So, from time to time when her mother got like this, she listened, tried to keep her center of calm, and eventually relented into a date or two with whoever her mother wanted to set her up with. She could agree to a friend of a friend's son, or whomever, for a time. The possible partner her mother found always initiated these lectures, until she relented and agreed to a date with the man her mother had currently fallen in love with as 'the perfect match for her unattached daughter.'

  So, today, as always, she waited the woman out, let her rant and complain. She'd tire eventually and go for broke, tell Sam she'd found the man of her dreams for her. Then she'd have to get dressed up, sit through the small talk, and then, finally, duty done, get on with her life. If she were lucky, she'd end up with at least a good meal out of it. If she got really lucky, she'd find the guy attractive enough to work a little sexual frustration out of her system.

  As her mother continued, not yet to the who I'm hooking you up with part, Sam mentally wandered through the items in her closet, wondering what she had there to wear for any situation. Not big into clothing like fancy dresses, you could find her in stretchy pants, along with a t-shirt or sweatshirt depending on the season. To her, dressing up mean wearing one of her two pairs of jeans and a sweater, maybe a little make-up.

  She'd rather go hiking than to a fancy restaurant, but the guys her mother chose always tried to impress her mother with some elaborate meal that required a flowing hemline and godforsaken hooker heels. Sam kept two dresses on reserve for such occasions, both of which matched the same set of misery foot apparel. So, date three had to remain out of the question. Sometimes she did talk them into a more casual second date, but again, a third date still would not happen. That was the point where emotions could spark, bonds begin to sprout, and none of that mess was for her. She'd married her studio, and that was enough for her magic, her health, and her well-being—body, mind, and soul.

  When the doorbell rang, she thanked her lucky stars for the person who dared intrude on her mother's time to talk her into a husband.

  "Hold on," her mother said, setting down the spoon she'd been using to stir up a cake, the poor utensil being moved faster and faster, in accordance
with her mother's voice rising. "I invited a friend over to meet you."

  "What? Mom!" Sam complained, her back suddenly ramrod straight from where she'd been slouching on her chair. "I came straight from teaching two classes. Hard classes. I'm a half still sweaty, half sweat-dried mess. You really want me to meet someone like this?"

  Then, purposely more exaggerated this time, she slouched again, thinking her current state may just get her out of this impending date altogether if luck were on her side.

  "Bring him in," she grumbled to herself as her mother walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a decorative dish towel, the spitting image of a fifties housewife with her monogrammed apron yet minus the pumps.

  "Samantha," her mother said sharply to gain her daughter' attention as she walked back into the room where Sam remained with her head down, resting on her arms. Sam rolled her forehead enough to look toward the door, as her mother stepped aside to let in a woman. "I would like you to meet an old friend of mine, Gerri Wilder."

  Stunned, Sam muttered something of a hello as she glanced over the small woman decked out in a power suit and heels with her white hair cut into a neat bob.

  "Gerri doesn't go out of her office often, but for her old friend, she's made an exception," her mother continued, moving past them back to her cake mix.

  "Well, when I heard the desperation in your mother's voice when she called the other day, I offered to take a little road trip this way and get to work," the strange woman ground out.

  Though her petite size may have fooled Sam at first, the woman exuded confidence and expectation in both her voice and her stance. In one single sentence Gerri pretty much summed up that she meant business and putting Sam a little on edge.

  "Work?" Sam managed to squeak out only to continue on without waiting for an answer. "Desperation? Is everything okay, mom?"

  "No, dear, it is not. Haven't you been listening to me?" Her mother talked to the pan she currently buttered, fingers swiping furiously over the now shiny surface of the round pan as if the more frantic the arm movements, the better this conversation would go. "My daughter is getting to be of a certain age and is not yet married. So, yes, I'm desperate. Therefore, I called in a professional. Gerri."

  "Professional?" Sam blinked and cocked her head, wondering when she'd been relegated to the role of parrot.

  "Yes, a professional," Gerri confirmed, her voice bordering on enthusiastic. "I own a paranormal dating agency. Now, while I mainly deal in shifters, I wanted to help your dear mother. She once used her great powers to help with a pesky problem, so I'm returning the favor in doing this job."

  "You are going to set me up? With a shifter?" Sam asked before she turned to her mother. "And, you are okay with this?"

  "Desperate times," her mother scolded. "A witch and a shifter can make a fine match. I've read all about it online."

  Sam gaped at her mother. "I'm regretting getting you that eReader and showing you how to get on the Internet with it. That was to research recipes, not dating options. You can't be serious."

  "I've used it advantageously now for both. I can show you the stories, success stories about witches and shifters, what they can offer each other."

  "No need. I believe you. I guess it has been known to happen," Sam stuttered over the words, still in shock at this whole turn of events, and not liking being outnumbered. It unnerved her more the vibe she got from this Gerri. In another time and place, she felt she'd really like the woman.

  "Gerri is an expert. She has quite the remarkable record for matches. It's like a sixth sense to this woman, finding those lost and lonely souls who belong together."

  "Maybe it is. Anyway, look, baby," Gerri stated, a big smile on her lips as she patted Sam's hand. She'd already made herself at home on the stool beside her. "I have a savior for you. He's a very special man, in a lot of ways, if you know what I mean." She stopped to wink, but then grimaced a bit.

  Sam figured it the scowl on her own face and the tightness of her lips that gave the woman pause for just a moment. "A special savior? I don't exactly need saving, and I am not really lost or lonely either, but what does that mean exactly?"

  "A big dick and a tons of muscles," Gerri responded with a hearty laugh, which only increased when Sam's eyebrows rose though her scowl remained.

  "Well now, not that that doesn't sound grand, but I'm not interested in that type in the least. I'm sure my mother has told you that, since you and her have obviously discussed fixing me up. I'm sick of the type. I work with those meatheads sometimes because some doctor sent them in for yoga to save their tendons or back or what have you from the ravages of the gym. And let me tell you, the big dick, the washboard abs, they are just not worth the mindless chatter you have to deal with in between the sex. I can't eat another meal with a guy who can only talk about how much weight he can lift in comparison to what the other guys in the gym can't. Please, give me a man with some substance, maybe one who has, I don't know, read a book or something."

  "Samantha Lynn Morgan!" her mother scolded. "Gerri drove an hour to be here. She took the time to match you up. You will hear her out, say thank you, and go on a date. End of story!"

  Sam deflated. She didn't feel like fighting it out today. In fact, she rarely did, hence the parade of one bad date after another thanks to her mother's meddling. The woman was obsessed with getting to plan at least one wedding in her life. Not that she wouldn't be amazing at it, but Sam didn't view marriage the same way she did. Her mother had had the fortune to meet an amazing man, be swept off her feet, and remain blissfully married for many years until her husband, Sam's father, passed away unexpectedly. Sam didn't want to take the risk of what she watched her mother go through after her father had passed away, one day there, the next gone with no warning thanks to a car accident.

  "Okay, mom."

  "I hear you, Sam," Gerri said, interrupting her sad thoughts, "loud and clear. I've met a few meatheads in my time, too. So, I get it, but to prove you wrong, that a man with muscles can have brains, as I was saying, I have a savior for you. But, it is going to be tricky making this happen."

  "I really don't need a savior," Sam mumbled, earning her a look from her mother than warned hush or you won't get a piece of this flour, sugar, and butter I have tortured into a cake as I've dealt with your nonsense.

  Her mother a stress baker, she'd been getting that look for years. However, she'd yet to be denied a piece of cake, and had the figure to prove it. However, it wasn't her fault the world's view of women paired skinny with beautiful. She remained happy with herself, and while on her yoga mat she could teach women about loving themselves as they were.

  Gerri had stopped, and Sam surmised her eagerness by the quirk in her eyebrow and crooked, but tight smile that she contemplated this latest arrangement of hers with great excitement. The woman sat on the edge of her chair, hands clasped tight in front of her, eyes wide, smile growing, making Sam more than a little nervous as to the diabolical plan she as cooking up.

  Sam caved. She'd take the date, whoever it was with, and get the cake, the one bright spot in this whole episode. She'd appease her desperate mother, and then move on, maybe not visit for a few weeks. She'd buy her own cake next time she had a craving for one.

  Maybe the guy would be all right, if Gerri were being truthful that he had both brains and brawn. If the woman truly had found such a miracle guy, then maybe she'd get laid, too. A two for one special: her mother happy and hopeful for a time, and Sam could end her current sexual dry spell. Not a bad deal, right? Truth be told, sex surpassed yoga any day of the week for that sense of total relaxation, assuming the guy gave a crap to care for the woman's needs as well. She'd coached more than one of the selfish sons of bitches.

  "What are you cooking up over there, Gerri?" Sam's mother asked, upping Sam's nervous quota for the day even though she didn't know the woman.

  This visit had undone all her classes had gained her this morning. Her shoulders were back to supporting her ears, her brea
ths had become short and erratic, while a headache building from the tightness in her neck threatened to ruin what remained of the day. She'd be going back to the studio to do a few hours of restorative poses after this. Thankfully the studio closed to the public on Friday and Saturday nights, leaving her the option.

  "Oh, Samantha," her mother belted out in a high pitched tone, tightening the muscles in her lower back, too, "I've seen the woman do her magic before, pair up shifters, have them fall madly in love. I can tell she is onto something good here for you."

  Madly in love. It wouldn't happen to her, she wouldn't let it, but still, this pensive, almost worried rush of emotions that mixed with Gerri's excitement hit Sam like a tornado. Something mischievous twinkled in the woman's blue eyes, like she seriously contemplated a profitable crime or something.

  "You are creeping me out here, Gerri," Sam voiced as her heart felt like it had exploded in her tight chest, making it nearly impossible to catch her breath.

  The walls of her mother's kitchen began to close in on her, the red cabinets and white appliances appearing too bright and making her blink her surroundings away. While the kitchen had never been to her personal taste, it held a sense of comfort for Sam. So many good times past had in that room. When they'd bought the place, the kitchen's old metal cabinets had been red, and rather than spend the money to replace them, her mother had accented with patriotic decorations. Again, while not what Sam would have chosen to do, the place had grown on her, she'd come to love it because of all that had happened within it, the good and the bad, the memories of her childhood.

  "Okay, look, this guy, he's really special," Gerri finally began talking again, "and he's really worth it. But, much like you, he isn't interested in me fixing him up. However, unlike you, he has no family to help me out, to talk him into it. We have to get at him another way, through his friends, but in a more subtle fashion. So, while this is way out of character even for me, I need to hook you up with an acquaintance of his first. And, you may have to go out with this guy a few times before the match, the man I'm thinking of, will find an interest in you."