Page 117 of The Witching Hours

“Paragliding?!?” Cass looked at me in alarm. “Aren’t you afraid of heights?”

“Yes. I’m not participating. I’m going to be a happy spectator.”

“Right. Where are you going?”

“Galveston. Of course.”

“Of course. Well, have fun.” She put on her sunglasses and lowered her voice. “We’ll talk later.”

“I’m sure of it.”

When she was gone, I said, “It’s a good thing there is plausible paragliding close by. Otherwise, I would’ve had trouble explaining how we’re managing that.”

He pressed his lips together. “I see what you mean. I need to tailor my words for your human friends.”

“Well, yes, and that would be all my friends since I have none who aren’t human.” He blinked several times. “Except you, of course.”What was I saying?“But you and I aren’treallyfriends. Yet.”You need to just shut up.

In less than three hours we were back at home. Mitch had arranged for a tandem flight with a pilot. I tried to resist, but my jin is a master of persuasiveness. I was glad he talked me into it. As soon as the contraption left earth my fear of heights evaporated. The flight down the mountain and along the beach of Oludeniz lagoon were nothing less than thrilling. It was, perhaps, the experience of a lifetime and certainly one I’d never expected to have.

It hadn’t been a wish, but if it had, I would’ve thought it was a good use of a wish.

I rose for work on Monday morning rushing because I had to be in court by nine and Houston traffic puts L.A. to shame. I wished I had my lightweight black cashmere suit to wear, but a shrimp bathed in cocktail sauce had leapt up and attacked the lapel. Sadly, I hadn’t taken it to the dry cleaners.

Pushing the section with suits back so I could decide what to wear, I found the very same cashmere jacket bagged and freshly cleaned.

“Mitch!” I yelled.

“Yes?” he yelled back. “Did you clean my black cashmere suit?”

“Yeah. Everything is clean.”

I couldn’t help it. I was standing in front of my closet grinning. I grabbed the Donald Plimer pumps and noticed the scratch on the right heel had been mended. The shoes were brand new. Literally. The soles had never before touched ground.

Don’t get used to this.

I arrived in the kitchen, grabbed the coffee sitting on the counter in a to go cup with lid, sleeve, and stopper. “Mitch, what a wonderful surprise. Would you please feed Paddy? I’m running late.”

“Already done.”

“Would it be too much to ask you to walk him? If you have time?”

“Already done.”

“That’s so great. I don’t have time for breakfast.”

“You must eat.” He handed me a breakfast sandwich that smelled like all the angels in heaven were master chefs. “I could transport you to the office. If you wish.”

I shook my finger at him. He smiled. “No. I’ll drive myself. Thanks.” I started to go, but stopped. “If somebody comes to the door, tell them you’re my cousin from Denver.”

“Cousin from Denver. Got it.”

“Since we have the same last name, that should be an easy sell.”

He smirked and shook his head.

Gradually, Mitch and Paddy and I began to establish routines.

I was more relaxed than I’d ever been in memory because everything not work-related was taken care of. On weekends I had the energy and time to do fun things because weekends were no longer used to catch up on all the chores and errand-running not accomplished during the week.

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