Knitting for the entire array of grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, and friends so close they’d become honorary Rosewood-Levines was too daunting a task for a man with only two hands and two knitting needles. For the most part he only knitted for his immediate family, but his second cousin had just announced her pregnancy so he had roughly six months to make his traditional “welcome to the family” baby blanket.
Lots of knitting, which normally wouldn’t be a problem . . . if he hadn’t currently been preparing to expand the Emporium. His business took up the majority of his time, and arranging the permits, construction, decorating, supplies, and staffing for the expansion had resulted in a lot of lost sleep over the preceding months. But failing to produce gifts for his family was unthinkable, so if he had to cut back on sleep even more, he would.
Ben was reaching for his crochet hook when the doorbell rang. He set the knitting aside and stood, brushing sandwich crumbs off his T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. It was a Saturday, and though normally he’d be at work, the builders had requested no hovering as they finished installing appliances. So here he was, catching up on projects at home while fretting about everything that could possibly be going wrong at the office.
He padded to the front door on bare feet and opened it to see a griffin with a palm-sized package in her beak and a clipboard held between two claws. A brown company vest announced the griffin’s employment at a prominent shipping chain.
The griffin spit out the box into Ben’s hand before holding out the clipboard. “SIIIIIIGN,” she shrieked.
Griffins were highly intelligent but struggled to speak non-avian languages intelligibly, considering their beaks. They also smelled downright terrible to sensitive werewolf noses. Ben smiled politely and took the clipboard, ignoring the stench. He might smell equally bad to the griffin, after all.
“I didn’t order anything,” he said, looking between the box and the paper. The sender was listed as THE WITCH IN THE WOODS with no return address, and the signature line on the receipt sat beneath text saying “I assume full responsibility for the hellion, no take backs,” which struck him as nonstandard language.
“SIIIIIIIIIIIIIGN.”
Maybe he’d bought something online for the store and forgotten about it. It was definitely his name and address. Ben didn’t want to make a fuss, so he nodded and signed. “Thanks,” he said, waving awkwardly at the griffin before she launched into the air to continue her route.
Back in his living room, he sat on the couch and opened the box. Beneath layers of glittery tissue paper was a small plastic bag with a blue faceted stone inside, no bigger than his thumbnail. His brow furrowed. This was vaguely familiar, but why?
The stone proved to be plastic when he pulled it out. He studied the overhead light through it. Why had he ordered a fake plastic jewel? He sniffed it a few times, and whoa, it smelled great. Sweet in a luscious, spicy, complicated way even his rarest lilies couldn’t match.
A piece of paper was nestled in the bottom of the box. The paper was fragile and browned with age. On it was written: Eleanora.
A vague memory surfaced—something about eBay? He grabbed his phone and scrolled through his email. Sure enough, there it was—a receipt from two weeks ago informing him he had won the auction for Dark Arts Sexy Succbus She-Vampire TALISMAN PARANORMAL POSSESSED BLUE CRYSTAL DARK ARTS SEXY CONJURE ROCK.
He laughed, surprised all over again by the bonkers listing. No one else had bid, and now for the low price of $0.99—well, $4.28, once shipping was included—he owned a plastic rock that supposedly housed the murderous, red-haired lover of his dreams. He could only imagine how the seller must have cackled realizing some poor sap had fallen for the scam.
“Well, Eleanora,” he said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The plastic jewel, predictably, did not respond.
Feeling silly and rather sleep-deprived, he dramatically lowered his voice. “Show yourself, succubus.”
A sudden wind whipped around the room, rustling the papers on his desk and making the curtains flutter. To Ben’s shock, the crystal began glowing electric blue. The wind and light swirled into a tiny cyclone in his palm, which grew and grew before spinning to the middle of the room. Then the blue light flared white-hot, making him shield his eyes.
When he lowered his hand, there was a woman in his living room.
And not just any woman.
The most beautiful woman Ben had ever seen.
She had wavy, waist-length red hair, green eyes, and an hourglass figure that defined the term bombshell. Her lips were full, her cheekbones high, and her skin a smooth porcelain he felt the urge to brush his knuckles over to see if it was as soft as it looked. Her form-fitting blue shirt was the same shade as the jewel, and she wore black leather pants and thigh holsters containing knives that took Ben back to his formative crush on Lara Croft.