Chapter 1: Wish Granted, Trouble Delivered

Thanks for the invite—at least, I think that’s what I’m supposed to say here. I just woke up—seriously, I’m still a little out of it, and I’m just now realizing I’m in some kind of secret room.

The air was cool, almost musty, and there was this faint smell of old wood and candle wax drifting in from somewhere I couldn’t see. I blinked a few times, trying to shake the sleep from my eyes, my mind still foggy and slow. The silence pressed in. It was broken only by the distant creak of floorboards above me, as if the house itself was holding its breath.

How did I end up like this? Well, it all started with that wild Leonid meteor shower! I mean, of course it did—because my life can never just be normal, right?

It was one of those nights when the sky looked like a velvet blanket sprinkled with diamonds. I’d been sprawled on the hood of my friend’s beat-up Chevy, shivering under a thrift-store blanket that smelled faintly of lavender and old dryer sheets, watching the shooting stars streak across the November sky. My phone was full of blurry photos and half-joking wishes, but that night, something felt different—like the universe was actually eavesdropping for once.

Honestly, I just squeezed my eyes shut and wished with everything I had: Please, let me fall in love with a gorgeous guy who’s rich and sweet! Or, honestly, a hot bad boy would work too!

I remember grinning at the sky, feeling a little silly, but hey—if you’re gonna wish, wish big. My breath fogged in the cold. I squeezed my eyes shut so tight it almost hurt. Just hoping, you know, that something magical would happen.

Apparently, two shooting stars heard me at the same time and decided to team up to help me out. Because of course they did.

I didn’t know it then, but I swear, there was a shimmer in the air, almost like the night itself was holding its own secret. Two streaks of light zipped past, close enough to make me gasp. I laughed, thinking, “Double or nothing, right?”

Anyway, next thing I knew, when I opened my eyes, there was a breathtaking guy with long hair in front of me, eyes closed, shirt half undone—and somehow, my hands were on his belt!

My heart practically leapt out of my chest. He looked like he’d stepped out of a rock band’s music video—long hair, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, and that impossible, effortless cool. My hands were frozen mid-motion. Was I still dreaming? Had to be. For a split second, I wondered if I was still dreaming.

That wish came true way too fast. Seriously, thank you, universe. And thank you, Leonids.

For real, I almost wanted to pinch myself. If this was a dream, I didn’t want to wake up. Adrenaline buzzed in my veins, and for the first time ever, I actually felt like the main character in someone else’s story.

Honestly, I was giddy. I reached out to undo his belt. But it was so complicated, I couldn’t get it open no matter what. Just as I started to panic, a hand suddenly grabbed both my wrists, and he flipped me over, pinning me beneath him. My breath caught in my throat.

His movements were quick, almost catlike—I didn’t even have time to yelp. Suddenly I was staring up at him, my back pressed against the floorboards. The room spun a little, but all I could see were those intense, stormy eyes.

"Kid, do you really want to make this happen?" the long-haired guy asked in a low, rough voice, sounding like a rock star who’d smoked a pack a day.

His voice was husky, the kind that could make any girl’s knees go weak. But 'kid'? Really? Was that supposed to be endearing or just plain creepy?

I mean, who calls someone 'kid' in a moment like this? Han Solo, maybe—but why me?

I didn’t care—I blurted, "Hurry up, I’m in a rush!"

I was too caught up in the rush to bother correcting him. I paused, then shot back, “Let’s go, Romeo. Chop-chop!” My voice probably sounded way more confident than I felt.

A flicker of disbelief crossed his eyes, then he let out a couple of short laughs. "Now’s not the time."

He shook his head. A crooked grin tugged at his lips, like he was in on some joke I didn’t get. The tension in the air crackled. Before I could protest, everything changed in a heartbeat.

No sooner had he finished than I heard a sharp woman’s voice: "Pastor, look! They’re over here!" My stomach dropped.

The shout cut through the moment like a cold slap. I jerked my head toward the door. My heart was pounding, as footsteps thundered closer.

The long-haired guy immediately collapsed on top of me, totally out cold, leaving me stunned. Just like that.

He went limp so suddenly, it was like someone flipped a switch. His weight pressed down on me, and I could barely breathe, eyes wide as the door burst open.

A crowd gathered around us. Some had white beards, their eyebrows just as snowy. But they all had one thing in common: long hair and those flowing black robes—like something out of a gothic novel.

It was like stepping straight into a Tim Burton movie, minus the stop-motion. The room filled with murmurs and gasps, and I caught the scent of incense and old paper, the kind you only find in church basements or antique bookstores.

My heart skipped a beat. Did I… just get thrown into another world? No way.

For a split second, I wondered if I’d hit my head and was hallucinating. But the icy prickle at the back of my neck told me this was all too real.

The girl who’d just shouted and ruined my big moment saw us and got so angry her face went beet red. She pointed at me and snapped, "Shameless!"

Her voice rang out, high and sharp, like she was auditioning for the role of ‘self-righteous town gossip.’ I almost rolled my eyes. But I bit my tongue instead.

Then she turned to the white-bearded men and pleaded, "Pastor, Elder, Uncle Joe, Aunt Martha, you have to stand up for Ethan!" She started sobbing. (And no, Uncle Joe and Aunt Martha aren’t actually my relatives—just small-town elder nicknames.)

She clung to the nearest elder’s sleeve, tears streaming down her cheeks. It was the kind of dramatic display you’d see at a high school play. I had to fight the urge to slow clap.

I rubbed my temple. Why does it feel like you’re the one in the wrong here?

Honestly, the way she was carrying on, you’d think I’d just robbed the church collection plate. The hypocrisy was almost impressive.

He tried to sound kind: "Aubrey, sweetheart, shouldn’t you explain yourself?"

He cleared his throat, glancing nervously at the others. His voice was gentle, but you could hear the 'please don’t make this worse' in his tone.