THE LAST DAYS of LILAH GOODLUCK by Kylie Scott - Spotlight & Excerpt

 

“Be quiet and listen: He is cheating on you. The name of your soulmate is Alistair George Arthur Lennox. You will be passed over for the promotion. The winning numbers are 5-8-12-24-39-43. And I’m very sorry to tell you this, but you will die next Sunday.”

 
When Lilah Goodluck saves the life of Good Witch Willow as they’re crossing a busy L.A. street, the last thing she expects is five unwanted predictions as a reward. Who gives someone the winning lotto numbers then tells them they’ve only got a week to live? And who believes in that nonsense anyway?
 
But when the first three predictions come true within twenty-four hours, Lilah’s disbelief turns to mild panic. She’s further horrified when she nearly runs a car off the road that belongs to Alistair Lennox, who just happens to be the illegitimate son of the British king.
 
While Alistair is intrigued by her preposterous story, Lilah is adamant about resisting the heat between her and the playboy prince. If she denies he’s her soulmate, then the last prediction can’t come true, right? As the days count down, they become maybe friends…and then maybe more. But between the relentless paparazzi and some disapproving royals, finding time for love isn’t easy, especially when her days may be numbered.

HERE'S AN EXCERPT

Friday

Good Witch Willow is unhappy at me for keeping her waiting.

This is made obvious by the way she glares up at me through her wire-rim glasses while tugging on one of the

crystal pendants around her neck. Like it is going to take help from beyond to stop her from slapping me silly or

something.

“Lilah,” says my best friend with much patience, “why are you like this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Just ask her a question already.”

Rebecca (not Becca or Becky) does have a point. It’s not like I haven’t known this moment was coming for

weeks now. She wanted to do something fun for her birthday and every other entertainer had already been booked. A lot of birthday parties in March, apparently. Guess everyone has sex in the summertime.

The private room at the back of the bespoke cocktail bar off Santa Monica Boulevard is close to capacity and a

song by Hozier plays over the speakers. We stand at one of the tall round bar tables with the remains of a

charcuterie board and a flickering tea light in a vintage jar. The walls are painted a bright turquoise, but the vibe

is relaxed. It should be a great night. I want it to be for my friend’s sake. But I am anxious and distracted and not

in the mood at all, dammit.

“I honestly don’t have one,” I say. “I’m sorry. I told you this wasn’t my thing.”

Rebecca groans and downs more than a mouthful of her whiskey sour. It’s her party, she can self-medicate if she

wants to—and apparently, she does.

“What do people normally ask?”

Good Witch Willow is older with white skin and long gray hair in a braid. She’s exactly what I imaged a witch

would look like when I was a child. A dramatic long lace dress and plenty of chunky jewelry. Instead of

answering me, she glances at her smartwatch and announces, “That’s your two hours up. I’m out of here.”

Rebecca gives me a look.

Good Witch Willow wastes no time, packing her tarot cards, a travel-size crystal ball, and a collection of brightly

colored crystals back into her large velvet tote.

“I’m sorry,” I say to Rebecca for the second time. “Though your work bestie hogging her for over forty minutes

to ask about his fantasy football team didn’t help. And your neighbor that needed that emergency love potion. I

wonder if she’ll actually manage to find Keanu Reeves and persuade him to drink it.”

Rebecca just raises her brows.

“You have to give it to her, it’s a beautiful dream,” I say. “But my point is you, my friend, are popular. There are

a lot of people here. The chance of Good Witch Willow getting around to everyone was always going to be

low.”

“Just admit you’re all up in your feelings about your boyfriend again.”

“I am worried about Josh.” I take a sip from my gimlet. “He said the headache was really bad, that it was

messing with his vision.”

“That actually doesn’t sound good,” she reluctantly agrees.

“Yeah. I really think he needs to see a doctor, but you know what dudes are like.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve pretty much made it my life mission to not know what dudes are like.”

She takes another sip of her drink. “You’re going to rush home to play nurse instead of going dancing with me,

aren’t you?”

“Rebecca, can you predict the future?” I fake gasp. “And you never told me…that hurts. Wait. Did you know that

was going to hurt?”

She gives me an amused smile and raises the remains of her drink in a toast. We’ve been best friends since

sharing a dorm room in college about a decade ago. She’s petite with dark hair and olive skin. I on the other hand

am more of a robust blonde. They didn’t spare the tits and ass when they made me.

“Go on, abandon me then,” she says. “But you owe me.”

“How about I take you out to dinner next week? To that Japanese place you love?”

“No complaining when I eat all the salmon sashimi.”

“Agreed. Happy almost birthday. Talk to you tomorrow.” I set my mostly empty gimlet on the bar and give her a

hug. “Don’t go home with Priya. You know you’ll only regret it. Again.”

“But she’s brilliant and beautiful and emotionally unavailable. She’s exactly my type.”

“Oh my God. It’s like you just proved my point.”

“Get out of here, loser.”

I smack a kiss on her cheek. “I love you, Rebecca. Make good choices.”

Despite the late hour, there are still plenty of people around. The road is glossy black from a recent storm, and

puddles on the sidewalk reflect the lights from the bars and restaurants. I huddle down into my cardigan against

the cold night air. There’s a small convenience store open on the other side. Just perfect for picking up Tylenol

since I have no idea how much we have at home, and Josh might need more. Better safe than sorry.

I join the only other person waiting at the corner to cross, and she just so happens to be Good Witch Willow.

Her stereotypical pointed boot taps impatiently as she rummages through her colorful velvet tote in search of

something. Being a witch must be interesting. Not that I believe in all that. Divination and spirits and so on never

seemed particularly probable to me. My father is an atheist and taught us to question everything and always

demand proof. I’m also a librarian, and librarians like facts. An established truth is a beautiful thing. They help to

prop up society and keep us warm at night. Or they used to.

The walk light flashes, and Willow’s gray braid swings as she steps off the curb. I follow with my mind

wandering, thinking about what else Josh might need and whether I should buy him some soda. But out of the

corner of my eye, I see it—a sleek vehicle that doesn’t stop like the others. It doesn’t even slow down. It is, in

fact, speeding straight toward us with headlights dazzlingly bright.

There’s no time to think. I grab the older woman from behind as I propel us both back toward the curb and

tumble to the ground. Had she been any bigger, it might not have worked. But my years of infrequent gym

attendance finally come in handy. Wheels screech and the horn blares as the sports car roars past us. It’s so damn

close I can feel the rush of air in its wake.

But we don’t get hit.

Holy shit. My heart is hammering. Willow’s elbow digs into my stomach as she rolls off me onto the pavement.

Whatever. I am just honestly amazed to still be amongst the living.

“Asshole!” Good Witch Willow hollers at the fading taillights.

The cool damp ground is hard beneath me, but overhead a star twinkles in a gap between the clouds. Parts of me

hurt. My hand is bloody and scraped, and my hip is bruised. There’s also a tear in the tiered skirt of my new pale

blue mini dress, not to mention numerous stains from the wet and dirty sidewalk. Odds are also good that I just

flashed my panties at the entire street.

Willow raises a brow at me. “Oh, it’s you.”

“You’re welcome,” I reply dryly.

A young man standing nearby caught the whole thing on his cell. And is still filming. A jogger stops and offers

Willow his hand. He gently pulls her to her feet before doing the same for me. Which is nice of him.

Willow brushes herself off, gathering the items that fell from her tote. Breath mints, hand sanitizer, and such. “I

didn’t see that car coming at all.”

Were I not still catching my breath, I would definitely make a smart-ass comment about her supposed

prognostication abilities. Or at least give it serious consideration. But my hip is aching and my hand stings. I

wince as I pick a piece of gravel out of one of my deeper scratches. What a mess.

“You’re the one who wanted to know what people ask me, aren’t you?” She tosses her braid over her shoulder

and narrows her gaze on me. Like she’s attempting to stare into my soul or something.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “Are you okay?”

She nods. “Falling on you made for a soft landing.”

“Great.”

“There’s a lot that people would like to know,” she continues. “But the most popular questions tend to revolve

around love. Are they cheating on me? Will they come back to me? Who’s my soulmate? Things like that.”

“Makes sense, I guess.”

“Then they tend to move on to more mundane issues, like if they’re going to get that promotion, or are they on

the right career track? Then you’ve got the ones who think they’re funny. They like to ask me for this week’s

lotto numbers.”

I snort. “That is kind of funny.”

“Not when you’re hearing it for the hundredth time, it isn’t. And then there are the ones who want to know when

they’re going to die.” She cocks her head and sighs. “That car would have hit me if you hadn’t been there. Given

the speed it was going, I doubt it would have ended well for me.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I keep my mouth shut.

“It would seem you’re owed something.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Be quiet and listen.” Willow draws herself up to her full height, and her gaze turns hazy. As if she’s staring into

the middle distance. Then in a sonorous tone, she announces, “He is cheating on you. But I think you already

know that deep down. The name of your soulmate is Alistair George Arthur Lennox. What a mouthful.”

My smile is bemused. “Wait a minute. You don’t mean—”

“You will be passed over for the promotion. They really don’t appreciate you. I have no idea why you’ve stayed

there so long.”

“It’s complicated. You’re actually predicting all of this, aren’t you?”

“Five, eight, twelve, twenty-four, thirty-nine, and forty-three. And I’m very sorry to tell you this, but you will die

next Sunday.”

“What?” I shake my head. She cannot be saying what I think she is saying. Because there is not a chance in hell

that this is real. “No. That’s not possible.”

“You might want to say goodbye to your loved ones and get your affairs in order.”

My laughter is brittle with an edge of disbelief. “Are you serious? I mean, you’re joking, right?”

Willow blinks several times and blows out a breath. Like she’s coming back to herself or returning to her version

of reality or whatever. Maybe she hit her head on the pavement. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Though she

believed in all the supernatural stuff to begin with. Which just goes to validate my belief that people are wild.

“Right,” she says. “Goodnight.”

“Did you mean right as in you were joking?”

But without another word, she heads off into the night, leaving me standing there stunned.

I ask the night at large, in a not so quiet voice, “What in the actual fuck?”

But no one answers. Even the dude with the cell phone has disappeared. Despite the drama and weirdness, no

one so much as spares me a glance. The world keeps turning and life goes on. Insert big sigh here.

What I need is to buy the Tylenol, go home, check on Josh, down some of the previously mentioned painkillers

(for my poor sore hip and hand), have a long hot shower, and then go to bed.

 

Excerpted from The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck by Kylie Scott. Copyright © 2024 by Kylie Scott. Published by

arrangement with Harlequin Books

Kylie is a New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today best-selling, Audie Award winning author. She has sold over 2,000,000 books and was voted Australian Romance Writer of the year four times by the Australian Romance Reader’s Association. Her books have been translated into fifteen different languages and she is based in Queensland, Australia.

Contact her at info@kyliescott.com

or: PO Box 13, Fernvale QLD 4306 Australia