Хармони Харт

Basic Witch

Basic Witch Witches of Salem: Gemma Bradbury Magical Cozy Mystery Book 1

Harmony Hart

Eventual Mayhem Media LLC

Copyright © 2018 Harmony Hart.

All rights reserved. Eventual Mayhem and Harmony Hart reserve all rights to Gemma Bradbury Book 1, the Gemma Bradbury Series and the Witches of Salem World. This work may not be shared or reproduced in any fashion without permission of the publisher and/or author. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Cover Design © Eventual Mayhem

Basic Witch (Gemma Bradbury 1) / Harmony Hart -- 1st ed.

Contents

A Note of Thanks

Join The Witches of Salem

I. Basic Witch

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Hex & Candy

II. A Taste of Salem

Alphita’s Black Pepper Buttermilk Biscuits

Alphita’s Honey and Sage Pear Jam

About the Author

Witches of Salem World

A Note of Thanks

It didn’t feel right to start our budding author-reader relationship off without offering a bit of gratitude. THANK YOU for taking a chance on a new series, a new pen name, and a new cozy mystery universe full of magic and adventure.

The Witches of Salem World started off as a fun idea conceived over a bottle of wine (or three, but who’s counting?), but since then, it’s developed into so much more.

This series, this world, and my interactions with fellow cozy authors and readers has reignited my passion for the craft of storytelling and world building in a way I never dreamed possible. I hope you love Gemma, Titus and the residents of Salem as much as I do.

xoxo Harmony

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Dedication

To Kevin, for your unwavering love and support, and for making sure the house doesn’t fall apart around us while I lose myself in these books.

To ALAS—Claire, Julie, Jami, Amy and Alyssa— for keeping me sane and providing a safe space for my particular brand author crazy.

And to Tammi and David, for the sprinting dates, the group experiments, the lessons & the late-night laughs.

I

Basic Witch Gemma Bradbury Book 1

Craving an extra taste of Salem?

Check out these recipes at the end of the book:

Alphita’s Black Pepper Buttermilk Biscuits

Alphita’s Honey and Sage Pear Jam

1

I wrapped the ritual knife in a swath of plush violet velvet and carefully passed it to the woman, handle first. Her grey eyes lit up with mischief as she weighed it in her palms before tucking it into her messenger bag.

"It's perfect. Just the thing to amplify the energy in tonight's Samhain celebration," she said.

"Don't forget to cleanse it." I slid a small bag of sea salt across the counter toward her with a wink. "Freshly infused with frankincense oil and sage smoke." I leaned closer, lowering my voice to a whisper. "I even added a bit of smoky quartz powder to give it an extra boost, just for you."

"That's quite the mix!" She patted my arm. "You're a natural, dear. Just like your great-aunt Mavis. Are you sure you won't change your mind about joining us? We'd love to have you. You can never have too much feminine power."

"Thanks for the invite, Marnie. Maybe some other time. The only thing on my agenda for the night is my annual pumpkin spice latte and a good old-fashioned Netflix binge."

"You have an untapped power inside you, Gemma. I can sense it. You shouldn't waste it, especially not on the most sacred of days."

"Understood." I smiled reassuringly as I rounded the checkout counter and guided her toward the front door. "It's just been such a hectic month, between Mavis’ passing, moving here and taking over the shop. I just don't have the energy to meet new people tonight."

I didn't want to tell her the truth—that I wasn't even a Wiccan. Or that one month ago, I knew absolutely nothing about metaphysics. Hell, I didn't even know I had a great aunt. But when a lawyer showed up at my door to tell me I had inherited a magic shop in Salem, Oregon just as I was on the verge of quitting yet another thankless corporate job, it felt like fate opening the door to some great adventure.

So I packed up my car (and my cat) and headed west out of Brooklyn in search of my true purpose. Or at the very least, something to occupy my time until the next great adventure came along.

I fell in love with the quirky shop and the cozy apartment upstairs right away. In a strange way, it felt like home the minute I walked through the door. But actually managing a magic shop was another thing altogether. Turned out, customers who frequent shops like this usually expect you to have a working knowledge of pagan philosophy. Aside from Marnie's almost daily visits, business had slowed down to a trickle.

I knew the only way to rebuild the customer base was to actually learn something—at least enough to not look like a complete newbie—so I spent my downtime speed-reading my way through every book in the shop's extensive collection. I'd finally reached a point where I felt comfortable answering basic questions, but no way was I going to embarrass myself in front of a group of actual Wiccans. That would ruin any and all chances of transforming this shop into a thriving business.

"Yule, then?" Marnie asked. "You must join us for Yule."

"Maybe." I held open the door for her. "I'll let you know."

"Wonderful. Happy Samhain and blessed be!"

"Blessed be to you too, Marnie." She stepped out into the cool October air and turned back to face me, narrowing her eyes as she nodded toward the back of the shop.

"Oh, and Gemma? You should take that citrine pendant for yourself. It will help support your creativity. And it brings prosperity and abundance, you know." She tightened her coat around her torso and disappeared into the night.

I pulled the door shut, breathing a sigh of relief as the lock clicked into place. A quick glance at my watch revealed I still had a couple of hours until the nearest Starbucks closed. Long enough to count the register and tidy up the shop before venturing out for my beloved Halloween PSL.

As I made my way back to the register, my cat, Titus, appeared from the back room, weaving between my ankles with a persistent chorus of meows as I attempted to walk without stepping on her tail. I scooped her up, stroking the back of her neck as I walked. "Always underfoot," I chided her. "I'm clumsy enough without you creating a feline obstacles course at every step. You're going to kill us both one day."

Meow.

"Yeah, yeah." I deposited Titus on the counter, smoothing her inky black fur with one hand as I opened the register with the other. "You eat when I eat, remember?"

Meow. She stared up at me, her big amber eyes flashing with anxiety as if I might never feed her again, then stepped into the cash drawer, butting her head against my fingers as I attempted to organize the day's cash.

"Shhh. Just a minute. I'm trying to count."

Meow. Meow. Meow.

"Oh, fine!" I lifted her out of the drawer, shoved the cash back into the register and slammed it shut with my elbow. "We'll eat first. But then I need to finish up my work. No interruptions. Promise?"

Meow.

I rolled my eyes and opened the sliding door nestled between two bookcases, revealing a narrow set of stairs to my inherited apartment. As I turned to call Titus to go ahead of me—no way was I letting her trip me on those steps—a glint of golden light caught my eye.

The citrine pendant.

I caught the gold chain between my fingers, lifting it from the display stand to examine it more closely. When I dropped the crystal into my palm, I could have sworn I felt it radiating warmth. I thought of Marnie's words.

Creativity. Prosperity. Abundance.

It's not like I actually believed a chunk of rock could possess magical properties. Even so, it couldn't hurt. I draped the necklace around my neck and spun around to check out my reflection in the full-length mirror behind me.

Oversized black tunic sweater, black Lululemon yoga pants, black sweater Uggs scrunched down over my calves, a bright pink circle scarf, and hair piled on top of my head in a messy bun. The epitome of a basic white girl. I frowned. Aside from the overabundance of black, I looked nothing like the women who frequented this shop. Maybe that was part of the problem. Did I need a new work uniform? I plucked my phone from my pocket, opened my browser, and typed "Stevie Nicks wardrobe" into the search bar.

Meow.

"One second. I just need to pin a few things to my Style board." I thumbed through the images of flowing broomstick skirts and shimmering scarves, saving every photo along the way. "If you want me to make enough money to keep buying you that expensive cat food, I need to look the part."

Meow.

"Okay, okay, fine." I turned back toward the doorway, still staring at my phone, and gestured absently toward the stairs.

Meow!

Titus leaped from the counter onto my shoulder, sinking her claws into my back as she clung on for dear life. I pitched forward with a yelp and fell into the bookcase, which proceeded to rotate backward as I grabbed onto a shelf with both hands in a failed attempt to steady myself.

The bookcase spun around at a dizzying speed, opening into some sort of hidden room. I stumbled forward and released my grip on the shelf just as I felt my boot catch on something solid. I closed my eyes and put my arms in front of my face to brace my inevitable tumble to the ground.

But I never actually hit the floor. I opened one eye to see what broke my fall.

Only it wasn't a what. It was a who.

I was sprawled across the slight belly of an old, bespectacled man, lying flat on his back, his icy blue eyes wide with shock.

And he was absolutely, positively, definitely dead.

I screamed bloody murder, scrambling off of his torso just as the bookcase slammed shut over the passage to my shop, and everything went black.

I opened my eyes to see a round face peering down at me. "Oh, good! You're awake!" The man turned away from me. "She's awake, everyone!" He extended a broad, hairy hand, and I took it, allowing him to pull me up to a sitting position. Even with my butt planted firmly on the floor, he was only slightly taller than me. "Say, I don't think I've met you before. What's your name?"

"Gemma." My voice came out as a pathetic squeak. I cleared my throat. "Gemma Bradbury."

"Looks like you took quite a spill. Does anything feel broken?"

"I think I'm okay." I wiggled my wrists and ankles. "I'm not exactly the graceful type." I looked past him to see a crowd of people filing into the room through an open door. My gaze fell on the old man—the freaking dead body—I had fallen on top of, and my mouth went bone dry. "Is he...?"

“Dead? ’fraid so." He stroked his red beard. "I was just passing by when I heard you scream. Had to break the door in to get to ya, though. I sent an owl for the Chief. She should be here any minute."

"An owl?" I must have hit my head when I fell. I blinked, trying to bring the room into focus.

Suddenly, I remembered my cat. "Titus!" On cue, her furry form appeared in front of me, and she jumped into my lap. She stared up at me with those huge amber eyes and parted her mouth.

“Oh, my Bast! I finally killed us, just like you said! What happened? Where are we?” She jerked her face toward the old man's body and back to me. “And who is that?”

“I don't know!” Wait. Was my cat talking to me? I pressed my palms against my eyes. Was I dreaming?

“You can hear me? Thank Bastet! Oh, this is the best news! All those years of talking to myself and now you can finally talk back! I have so much to tell you! I—”

“Don't know what, Miss?" The bearded man looked at me like I had three heads.

“Don’t know how I got here. Or what happened.” I pointed to the dead man lying beside me. “Or who that is. Maybe you can help me?”

The sturdy man stroked his beard as he turned to look at the crowd. “Does anyone recognize this woman?” The members of the gathering crowd all shook their heads, a few of them narrowing their eyes suspiciously at me. The room grew even quieter.

A man in some sort of law enforcement uniform pushed his way through the throng of people, ambling forward with his hand on his hip, holding what looked like a baton. “Just what do we have here?”

The red-bearded man groaned. “Otto, I called for the Chief. What are you doing here?”

“That’s Detective Otto to you, troll. The Chief is busy. There’s a dead body in Salem, and it’s my job to figure out what happened.”

“I have a name you know,” the man—troll?—muttered, almost under his breath. He turned back to me. “Sorry about this, miss. If I’d known Detective Otto was going to show up, I’d have gotten you out of here before he arrived. He leaned forward and whispered, “I don’t know whose idea it was to give this yo-yo a badge and a baton, but he sure don’t make it easy to get things done around here.”

“I heard that, troll.” Detective Otto stomped over and hovered over the dead man’s body, bending forward at the waist to peer at him. He removed his baton from its holster and used the end of it to poke the old man in the side. He stood up straight with a look of satisfaction on his face and announced to the crowd, “Yep! He’s dead alright. Old Mortimer Moncrief is dead.” A collective gasp rose from the crowd, and everyone began chattering at a low volume. The Detective wheeled on me. “Why’d you do it?”

“Me? I didn’t do anything!” I winced at how shrill my voice sounded inside my head. First, I stumbled into some sort of weird secret room and literally trip over a dead body, and now I was being accused of murder?  Let’s just say I was starting to panic a bit. “I don’t even know where I am. Or how I got here. Or who that is!” I pointed emphatically at the old man’s body just as I realized I was still sitting on the floor right next to him. “Ugh!” I let out an involuntary shudder, wrapped one arm around Titus and scrambled to my feet. “I mean, I’m obviously sorry he is dead, whoever he is. But I had nothing to do with it. He was like that when I got here.”

Detective Otto frowned at me. “And what exactly are you doing here after closing time anyway?”

“I live here!” I bit my lip as I realized that wasn’t exactly true.  “What I mean is, I live in the magic shop on the other side of that bookcase.” I pointed to the shelf behind me.  “One minute I was standing in my shop, and the next the bookcase was spinning, and I ended up in this room. This man was dead when I got here.  If I killed him, why would I scream and draw attention to myself?”

“She makes a good point, Otto,” the troll said.

“You stay out of this, Troll. I’m the one with the badge here.”

“For fang’s sake!” The troll stomped his boot on the ground, causing all of the trinkets in the shop to vibrate under the weight of his foot. “I AM NOT A TROLL!”

Titus bristled and scrambled up to perch on my shoulder. Thankfully, she remembered to retract her claws this time.

“I,” Not-A-Troll stood as tall as his height would allow him to and squared his shoulders, a look of pride settling in, “am a dwarf. And my name is Christopher, as if you need reminding.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Detective Otto rolled his eyes and gave Christopher a dismissive pat on the head. “Dwarf, troll. Same difference. He pulled a notepad from his shirt pocket, scribbled something on it, then tore the page off and handed it to Christopher. “Here, Troll. Make yourself useful. Send an owl for the coroner.”

Christopher snatched the note from him and started toward the front door, pausing to look over his shoulder at me. “Don’t worry, Miss.” His eyes softened as he spoke. “I know you didn’t kill Morty. It’s going to be okay. You’ll see.”

I managed a weak smile. “Thank you. It’s nice to know someone believes me.”

“And make it snappy!” Detective Otto called out after Christopher. “And you,” he pointed a finger at my nose and balled a fist over his baton in a sad attempt at a show of authority. “You don’t move a muscle. Not until this crime scene is secured.”

I fixed my gaze on him and crossed my arms over my chest. Titus extended a paw and rested it on my cheek.

“I believe you, too.”

“I would hope so. You were here, after all.”

“Who was here?” The Detective asked.

“No one. Just me, my cat, and him.” I looked down at the body, a sudden sadness overwhelming me. I was so caught up in what was happening to me that I hadn’t stopped to think about the life the man left behind. Did he have a family? Would someone miss him? “What did you say his name was?”

“Mortimer Montcrief,” a voice called out from the crowd. “Earth Witch and Sophisticated Purveyor of Magical Goods.” I glanced over to see a tall, wiry blond man wearing round glasses and a light pink bowtie edging his way toward us. “His passing is a great loss to The Coven.”

“I’m sorry, I think my blood sugar must be low. I haven’t eaten dinner yet. Did you say something about a witch? And a coven?”

“Indeed, I did. Gilmer Gayle, Assistant to the Mayor and High Council Delegate, at your service. Or more specifically, The Coven’s service.” The man came to a stop in front of me and extended his hand. “Gemma Bradbury, I take it?”

I shook his hand. “How do you know my—”

He turned to Detective Otto and arched a brow. “I’m under strict orders to escort Ms. Bradbury to Coven Headquarters to meet with the High Council at once.”

“Not so fast, Gayle. This young lady is a suspect in an ongoing murder investigation. She’s not going anywhere.”

“Psssh,” Gilmer replied. “Murder? Mortimer Montcrief was nearly a century old. He probably dropped dead from the sheer frustration of living.”

“I’m the law in this town! I decide whether it’s murder or not.”

Gilmer cast a look of exasperation my way. “Detective.” He pulled a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, removed his glasses and set to work polishing the lenses as he spoke. “You are not the law in this town. At best, you are a legislative enforcement officer.” Gilmer fixed his glasses back on his face and frowned. “Though I continually struggle to understand why an angel like Chief Ward would trust a bumbling, mildly racist moose shifter to protect and serve.”

“Hey! I—”

Gilmer shot a smirk at Detective Otto. “As of now, Ms. Bradbury is officially in The Coven’s custody. Any questions you have for her can wait until tomorrow, and will be asked only in the presence of her Coven-appointed attorney.” He stepped next to me and offered his elbow. “Now then. If you’ll come with me.”

I stood motionless for a moment, contemplating the two choices that lied ahead of me. Gilmer seemed nice enough, if not a little bossy, but his repeated references to witches and covens gave me pause. I wasn’t exactly excited about the prospect of leaving with a complete stranger who may or may not be completely insane. But the idea of staying with Detective Otto as he persistently tried to pin a maybe–murder on me was even more frightening. Titus jumped down into my arms and nudged her cold nose against my cheek.

“I think we should go with the nerdy guy.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the mysterious bookcase that brought us here, wondering what the chances were that it would take us home, too. Suddenly, I had an idea. I nuzzled my face against Titus’s head in what I hoped looked like a show of affection for my runt of a cat. But in reality, I just wanted to be very sure that she heard what I said next.

I drew my arms in tighter, holding on to her as tightly as I could manage without crushing her, and whispered, “Trust me.”

“Okay. But we’re going with the nerdy guy, right?”

I flung myself backward toward the bookcase, clutching Titus to my chest as I spun around and threw the entire weight of my body against it, shoving back with all my might. Which, to be fair, wasn’t very much. Occasional visits to pilates and yoga didn’t exactly prepare me for moving built-in furniture.

The bookcase didn’t budge.

I boosted Titus onto a shelf to free both hands, dug my Uggs into the floor and heaved against the bookcase with a decidedly unfeminine growl.

Not. An. Inch.

“Ms. Bradbury, this isn’t the time for rearranging furniture,” Gilmer said. “I’m sure you’re quite confused about this entire situation. I assure you there is a reasonable explanation for all of this, and you’ll have all the answers you need in time. But right now, I really must insist you come with me.”

I slumped against the bookcase, defeated, and let out a huge sigh. “Starbucks is going to close before I get my Halloween PSL.”

“Yes, well. We can chat about astronomy some other time. Right now, we really must be going. Chop chop.” He extended his elbow again.

Another glance over at old Mortimer Montcrief lying dead on the floor at Detective Otto’s feet was all I needed to give me the strength to follow Gilmer into the great unknown. Whatever fate awaited me at Coven Headquarters had to be better than staying here with a dead guy and an overzealous cop. With a shrug and a silent prayer that I would wake up to find this was all a really weird dream, I looped my arm through Gilmer’s and allowed him to lead me to the front door. Just as we were about to exit onto the sidewalk, a solid ball of black fluff rammed into the back of my leg.

“Great Sekhmet’s ghost! You forgot me! I can’t believe you were just going to leave me there all alone with that crazy moose and all of those gawking onlookers. I could have been catnapped!”

“Oh, hell. I’m sorry.” I stooped down, lifted my trembling cat into my arms, and engaged our emergency petting protocol in an attempt to calm her down. “I was a little preoccupied. It won’t happen again.”

I tried not to let it show, but out of everything that had happened that night—stumbling into a hidden room, falling over a dead body, being accused of murder, and realizing I was trapped in a strange place—the fact that my freaking cat was talking to me was the thing that might finally send me over the edge.

2

One look at the town surrounding the little shop, and I knew I wasn’t in Oregon anymore. Even in the dark, I could tell the picturesque little town was like something out of a Hallmark movie, with its cobblestone streets lined with tall, brightly colored Tudor buildings and flickering gas lamps. At the end of the street, a thick canopy of moss-covered weeping willows arched above a massive, flowing fountain and an arrangement of black wrought iron benches, the kind of place meant for romantic proposals and reading for hours on end.

The rows of shops on either side of us all appeared to be closed, but intricately-carved wooden signs told me what awaited behind each door. Cook’s Fine Books. Designs by Destiny. And… Fae Fashion & Fabrics. Pixie Potions Apothecary Shop? Wendell’s Wands & Brooms?

So maybe it was less like a Hallmark movie, and more like an animated Disney film. I half expected Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather to come flitting across the sidewalk.

Titus swished her tail and flipped over onto her back, so I was cradling her like an infant. “Sleeping Beauty was okay, but I always liked The Aristocats better.”

I frowned down at my cat. I didn’t think I mentioned the fairies out loud. Or did I? Obviously I did, because otherwise, she wouldn’t be talking—thinking?—about her preferences in Disney flicks. Unless this was all some weird dream, which was beginning to seem like the most plausible explanation. In real life, I was probably passed out on the couch with some television show broadcasting snippets of weird-dream material into my subconscious. In a few hours, I’d wake up with a bad case of bedhead, and this would all be over.

With a deep breath and a long, slow exhale, I told myself, I’m not crazy.

“You’re not crazy! Except for that one time you thought about getting a dog. I was really worried we might be getting a dog. I’m so glad you changed your mind about that. I mean, you change your mind about a lot of things, really, but that doesn’t mean you’re crazy.”

Gilmer cast a mildly annoyed glance at me as we walked. “Chatty familiar you have there.”

“Chatty what? Famil—oh, you mean my cat.” Of course these people—who believe they’re actually witches—would refer to cats as familiars. Because why wouldn’t they?

“Yes. I assume this feline is your witchy companion. If not, you should have a frank discussion about boundaries. He might just be the clingiest cat I’ve ever seen.”

“Hey! I heard that.” Titus bristled. My protective instinct flared, and I cuddled her closer to my chest.

“I’m pretty sure you’re working with some faulty intel. I’m not a witch. And it’s she. Titus is a female. She was a rescue kitten. She had a rough start in life.”

“My intel is quite accurate, I assure you.” He frowned. “Titus is not a female name.”

“She’s named for that character in Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt?”

“I don’t know any Kimmy Schmidt.”

“It’s a television show.”

“Television?”

“Yeah, you know. The little living room box that shows movies?”

“Honestly, Ms. Bradbury. This is no time for gibberish.”

“Nevermind.” I caught my bottom lip between my teeth as I pondered Gilmer’s responses. He came across as an educated guy, so his cluelessness about pop culture and entertainment was pretty weird. I knew people who didn’t watch television, but I’d never met someone who didn’t even know what a television was. And don’t even get me started on his confusion over Starbucks. That was just beyond weird. “Anyway, the foster program told me she was a boy when I picked her up. By the time she was old enough for us to confirm her gender, she was already answering to Titus.” I scratched the top of her head, eliciting a purr of satisfaction. “Besides, it suits her. She and her namesake share a flare for the dramatic.”

“Now that, I believe.”

“Wait, so you can hear what she’s saying?” I asked.

“No. It would be impossible to ignore that much noise, but it all sounds like typical feline sounds to me. You’re the only one who can hear her thoughts. Oh, and other familiars, of course.”

“So can Titus hear my thoughts, too?”

“Yes. Although the intensity of the witch-familiar bond dictates just how much she can hear. Many witches find they have to direct their thoughts at their familiar in order to be heard. But a particularly well-bonded pair tends to experience an open flow of telepathic communication.” He peered over at Titus, who was purring happily in my arms. “I suspect you and this… Titus... may fall into the latter category.”

“Maybe you should point out that a guy who calls himself Gilmer has no room to mock other people’s—cats’—names,” Titus complained.

“Agreed. But let’s maybe refrain from picking on the guy who rescued us from a trip to the slammer? I gave her ear a quick scratch of reassurance. Plus, it’s nice to know we can talk to each other without people overhearing, right?”

“Fine. But I reserve the right to hold a very serious grudge. And you know cats do grudges like nobody’s business.”

“Deal.”

“Right this way.” Gilmer swept his arm to the side, gesturing for us to walk down a narrow street nestled between two rows of shops.

“So, I don’t usually make it a habit of following strange men into dark alleys. Where exactly are we going again?”

“Coven Headquarters.”

“Not so fast. This whole situation,” I waved my hand toward the alley, “looks more like tomorrow’s front page news—Naive Woman Found Murdered in Dark Alley—than any sort of official coven anything.”

Gilmer pursed his lips. “Honestly, Ms. Bradbury. It doesn’t please me to admit this, but in the event of a physical altercation, I’m certain you would hold your own against me.” He motioned to his body, drawing my attention to his slight, bony frame and general lack of muscle. I wasn’t a fan of violence except when necessary for self-defense, so I almost felt bad for thinking it, but it would probably only take one solid punch to protect myself from a guy like Gilmer Gayle. “In a battle of wits, however…” he muttered.

“Rude.”

“Ms. Bradbury, I haven’t got all night. I’d be happy to tell the Coven you insisted on spending the night in jail under the careful watch of Detective Winterbottom.”

“Fine,” I replied. Whatever surprises lurked in the shadows had to be better than being arrested for murder, right? “Lead the way.”

“Remember the grudge. He touches you, I claw his eyes out.”

“Noted.”

I followed Gilmer into the alley, taking care to stay a few steps back in the name of self-preservation. His pace slowed, and he paused, spinning on his heel to face a solid brick wall. “Aha! This will do.” He drew a wooden wand from his belt with a flourish and tapped it on the brick, muttering something under his breath.

In an instant, a grand doorway appeared before us, shimmering with golden light. I gasped and took a step back. Beyond the doorway, I could see a magnificent room adorned with black marble floors, ornate carved wood and silver accents, and what seemed like endless hallways, spiraling staircases and hundreds of doors.

“Wow,” I said. “This is not what I expected.” But a random door appearing in an alley wouldn’t be the craziest thing to happen today. Or even the craziest thing to happen in the last 20 minutes.

“And what exactly did you expect?” Gilmer asked.

“Three old hags bowed over a bubbling cauldron in a dank cave?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is Salem, not Darkwater Cove.” He choked back a nervous laugh, dropping his voice to a whisper. “And besides, best not to speak of such things. Especially not here at Coven Headquarters. You’d be well-served to pretend you know nothing about it.”

I opened my mouth to tell Gilmer I was just kidding but changed my mind when I saw the anxious look in his eyes. Whatever Darkwater Cove was, he seemed pretty adamant that I stay away from it. Worried, even.

“Thanks for the advice,” I offered, patting his arm. “I appreciate you looking out for me.” He smiled, a goofy, sheepish grin framed by a rising flush in his cheeks that told me appreciation and compliments must be in short supply for poor Gilmer. I suddenly felt bad for coming off as less-than-grateful for his intervention in my situation with the Detective.

“Yes, well. I’m just doing my job.” Was it my imagination, or was Gilmer standing a bit taller now? He swept his arm toward the still-shimmering doorway. “Shall we?”

“Do we have a choice?”

“Ms. Bradbury.” And he was back to being exasperated with me.

“Enough with the Ms. Bradbury stuff. Call me Gemma.” I took a deep breath, squinched my eyes closed and stepped through the doorway with Titus in my arms, delighting in the fact that we were both still intact after passing through whatever magic lived within the doorway. I turned to watch Gilmer as he followed. “Hey, is it okay if I call you Gil?”

“It most certainly is not.”

“But Gilmer is so formal. I mean, it suits you. But you could stand to relax a little. Enjoy yourself a bit more.”

“I engage in plenty of enjoyable activities,” he protested. “There’s the Salem Historical Society, and the Basket Weaving Club, and Clara Cook’s Book Club.”

“I’m sorry, did you say basket weaving?”

“I did, indeed.” His chin jutted out with pride. “I’m an award-winning weaver, you know. “Some say basket weaving is woman’s work, but given my nimble fingers and attention to detail, I find it comes quite naturally to me.”

“Wow, Gil. I had no idea you harbored such talent.” My voice was tinged with light-hearted sarcasm, but a small part of me felt a pang of jealousy. I’d never stuck with a single hobby long enough to become an award-winning anything. Unless you count cooking, but it wasn’t like I was entering contests. I just really loved food.

Jill of All Trades, Master of None right here.

This was not a new revelation. When I got to the part in a social media profile where it asked about my interests, it was always the same: cooking, travel, reading, yoga. You know, all the activities your typical 30-something woman is supposed to love.

Which, translated into real talk about my life, would have been: Spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on my education, and never actually enjoying the careers I’d been trained for. Moving from city to city and job to job because I never quite felt like I belonged. Hiding between the pages of books because that’s where I felt most at home. Meditating and doing yoga to quell the ever-growing anxiety over not having my life figured out. Drowning my sorrows in mimosa brunches, happy hours and a string of failed relationships that made me realize that despite my open-hearted facade, I just wasn’t capable of getting truly close to anyone besides my cat.

I snuggled Titus closer to my chest, grateful for my furry companion. Ever since Gran died, Titus was the only constant in my life. But it wasn’t like my life was awful. I had plenty of interests, and I always managed to find people to hang out with. It’s just that nothing—and no one—ever stuck.

We crossed the lobby, and Gilmer pushed open a massive bronze door before ushering me in. He followed, then, facing the entrance, snapped his wand and muttered something else under his breath. As he retracted his wand, the doorway vanished, leaving a smooth stone wall in its place.

“Um. Did you just lock us in here?” My voice echoed through the room, and I winced at how loud it sounded. Something about this place seemed sacred, at least to Gilmer.

“Don’t be silly. I locked them in,” he whispered. He gestured across the room to a raised platform, where a group of people—seven in all—stood chatting among themselves.

An older woman draped in flowing purple robes, her short white hair curling around a plump, rosy face accentuated by sparkling silver cat-eye frames, looked up at us and gasped.

“Ah, Mr. Gayle! Finally! Come, come. Let’s see her.” Her voice reminded me of a cross between Professor McGonnigal and Rory Gilmore’s grandma, clipped and proper, but with a slight edge, like she could cross over into shrill at any moment. She took a seat at the center of a long, narrow table at the front of the platform, facing us, and clapped her hands twice. “Council members, please be seated! Ms. Bradbury has arrived!”

The remaining Council members—all men—filed into what appeared to be their assigned seats in oversized chairs at a long, narrow table. The woman was quite a sight, with her shock of white hair and her brightly colored attire, flanked by three muscular men on each side, each one a strikingly handsome specimen worthy of gracing the cover of Esquire magazine. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something about the whole situation seemed… off.

Once everyone was settled, the woman tapped a long, thin rod in front of her, and a peacock feather quill pen rose from the table to levitate above a piece of parchment paper. "I call this closed session of the Salem High Council to order.” As she spoke, the quill began to move on its own, as if recording her thoughts.

“Is that—” I pointed at the quill, unable to believe my eyes, but the woman kept talking.

“I am Dorthea Davenport, Head of the Coven and Mayor of Salem."

"I'm Gemma Bradbury. But it seems you already know that."

"Yes, well. It's my job to know things." The mayor cleared her throat. "Now, then. You're probably wondering why you’re here.”

“Why I’m here. How I’m here. Where here even is," I said. "Yeah, I have questions.”

“Well, you’re in Salem of course."

“This doesn’t seem like any part of Salem I’ve ever been to.”

“Of course not. You’ve only seen the human Salem up until now.” She paused, glancing over her right shoulder, and frowned. "Gilmer?" Gilmer jumped and scurried up to the platform, planting himself directly behind the mayor. She motioned to Gil with one finger, and he leaned over her shoulder to whisper. She gave a satisfied nod and turned back to me. “Salem, Oregon, is it?”

Despite all the flack I'd given him, this predicament suddenly felt pretty lonely without Gilmer to guide us. I remained glued to one spot, my fingers buried in Titus' fur for comfort. I was probably staring like a wide-eyed idiot at Mayor White-Hair and her Seven Panty-Melting Dwarves.

"Excuse me, did you say human Salem?"

"I did."

“Okay, I'll play along. If this isn’t human Salem, then what is it?”

Mayor Davenport sighed. “Didn’t your grandmother ever explain the concept of the Vortex Years to you?" She clucked her tongue. "I swear, earthly witches are getting lazier and lazier by the century.”

“No, my Gran never explained anything remotely like this," I said. The moment I said her name, my stomach twisted, and I looked down at my feet. Titus didn't say—think?—a word, but extended one paw out to touch my face, pulling me back from whatever mind-numbing guilt spiral I was about to enter. I managed a small smile and turned my attention back to the Council. "How do you know about my Gran?”

Gil leaned over to whisper again, and the mayor cleared her throat. “Forgive me, Ms. Bradbury. I didn’t realize your grandmother passed before you came of age. Had you reached the age of 18 before your grandmother died, she would have instructed you on the use of your powers.”

“Powers? I don’t have any powers.” I shook my head, barely stifling a laugh. I wanted to be respectful, but this situation was becoming more ridiculous by the second.

“I beg to differ. You harbor great power, power you obviously haven’t yet learned to use. Or control.” The quill pen moved feverishly, causing me to question my sanity for the hundredth time in the last hour.

“What kind of power?” I asked. On the off chance I wasn’t crazy, and this place was real, I didn’t want to miss out on my one opportunity for an explanation.

“Magical powers, of course. You’re a witch.”

“A witch?”

She pushed her glasses down to the tip of her nose and peered at me. “An earth witch, to be specific. And that beautiful creature is your familiar.” Titus chirped happily at the compliment.

“So I’ve been told.”

“Your grandmother Mavis was an earth witch, as well. She was entrusted with teaching you the ways of the Coven. I’d hoped she would cross over into Salem with you. Two Bradbury witches in the same era would have... Ah, well. You know what they say about best-laid plans!”

“What’s so special about Bradbury witches?”

“Not just special, child. Extraordinary. You’re a direct descendant of Mary Perkins Bradbury, founder of the township of Salem. The power flowing through your veins is the stuff of legend.” She sighed, her expression taking on a distant haze. Just as I was beginning to think I’d lost her to her daydreams, she snapped back to attention. “Now, where was I?”

“You were telling me about my lineage?”

“Ah! Yes. Nevermind that. We’ll save the history lesson for another time. For now, we must deal with the pressing matter of Mortimer Montcrief’s untimely demise.”

“I had nothing to do with it. I tried to tell the Detective what happened, but—”

“The Coven intervened the moment we received notification you had crossed over. Detective Winterbottom tends to be a bit overzealous in his law enforcement endeavors. It was best we intercepted you before things got carried away. You’ll have the opportunity to explain your involvement when he questions you tomorrow. I have no doubt you’ll be cleared of any wrongdoing.”

“And what if I’m not?” I asked. Something told me placing my faith in Detective Otto’s investigative abilities would be an exercise in futility.

“The Coven is prepared to provide you with legal representation. And we trust the Town Barrister, Bennett Covington, to consider the case quite carefully before jumping to prosecution.” She swiveled to eye a dapper, dark-haired man seated to her right.

At the mention of his name, he nodded and sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers before flashing me a debonair smile—complete with unnaturally sharp incisors.

“Excuse me, are those—?”

“Fangs? Yes.” He ran his tongue along his upper teeth before retracting them with a smirk. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Bennett Covington, Head of Salem’s Vampire Clan. Pardon my primal reaction to your scent. It’s been over a decade since we’ve had any new blood in Salem.” He arched a brow, boring into me with hypnotic golden eyes that I couldn’t seem to look away from. “The novelty triggered my more... animalistic instincts.”

“Should I be worried?” I asked. The vampire’s pointed phrasing wasn’t exactly reassuring.

He flashed another grin but didn’t answer. Yep. I should definitely be worried.

“Thank Bastet I happened to jump on that shelf when I did! What if you had left me behind? Who would have fed me? And pet me? And loved me?”

“Sorry.” I shrugged, offering a sheepish grin to the Mayor and her harem of male advisors. “She doesn’t mean to be rude. We’re just now figuring out this whole talking cat business.”

“No need for apologies. You’re the only one who can tell what your familiar is saying. All of the animals can talk to each other. And shifters like Gabriel and Kai here, when they’re in animal form, of course.” She gestured to two of the men seated at the table. “But that’s an entirely different topic. Your familiar’s soul is tied to yours, and she will live as long as you do. But contrary to popular belief, not all familiars come in the form of a black cat.”

“Leave it to me to be totally basic.”

“Basic what?”

“I just meant—nevermind.” I had more important things to do than explain the basic white girl phenomenon to an elderly witch. Something told her Mayor Davenport would be less than impressed by all the ways in which I lacked originality.

“Dear me, I’ve been terribly rude! I haven’t properly introduced the Council.” She nodded back to the irresponsibly handsome gentleman on her left. “Gabriel Black is head of the Bear Shifter Clan. He also owns Bear Mountain Lumber and Bear Mountain Cabins.” Gabriel had olive skin with broad, powerful shoulders, casually styled cinnamon hair, and a knowing smile. His grey plaid flannel shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show off his muscular chest, and when he caught my gaze traveling down to where his pecs peeked out from the open placket of his shirt, he winked.

“Evening, Ms. Bradbury.” His deep voice and honey-dripped Southern drawl were enough to melt the lingerie off a Victoria’s Secret model. “Welcome to Salem.”

“Thank you,” I squeaked out. How mortifying.

“You are not dating a man bear, Titus scolded. Bears eat cats.”

Hush.

Oblivious to the uncomfortable flirtation unfolding before her, Mayor Davenport moved on. “And this is Kai Deschaine. He’s head of the Dragon Shifter Clan and heir to Deschaine Industries.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said. Something told me I wasn’t prepared to hear what kind of industries a dragon shifter might have his hands—claws?—in.

“Gemma.” Kai raised his chin, not quite a nod, but close, giving me a glimpse of his pale grey eyes. He had a full head of thick, dirty blond hair and facial scruff to match, and from what I could tell from his tight black t-shirt, a body that looked like it had been hand-chiseled out of stone. Both arms were covered in black and silver—yes, silver, as in metallic—tattoos, and he wore gleaming black obsidian hoops in each ear. Kai looked like a brooding bad boy, the kind of guy every girl’s mother should warn her about. I made a mental note to stay far, far away.

“And Patrick McAllister.” She pointed to a fair-skinned man with a smattering of freckles and  spiky flame-colored hair. “Patrick serves as Taoiseach of the Leprechaun constituency.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Taoiseach,” Patrick answered. “Essentially means leader in this context.” His hazel eyes flashed with mischief as he wriggled his brows at me. “But no need to get fancy with it. Ye can call me whatever ye’d like.”

“Just Patrick is fine.”

“I like a woman who knows what she wants,” he replied. My mouth went dry. Like every other man at the table, Patrick possessed red-carpet-worthy levels of attractiveness. I couldn’t recall ever seeing such a good-looking ginger man in my life. But I could handle him as long as he didn’t open his mouth. I was a sucker for an Irish accent. Well, any accent, if I’m honest.

I moistened my lips and forced myself to look away. On the opposite side of the table sat a blond-haired, blue-eyed, square-jawed Adonis with his chin propped up in one hand and a pair of gossamer wings, opening and closing in a slow, lazy rhythm. This was getting ridiculous. Was “jaw-droppingly gorgeous” a prerequisite for Council membership?

“This is David Summer, Prince of the Fae. David is our newest Council member.”

“Charmed,” David said as he stifled a yawn. “Pardon me. Late night.”

“Every night is a late night for you, fairy boy.” A dark-skinned man with a salt-and-pepper goatee, a broad, gleaming smile and a pair of curved horns—because why not?—elbowed David in the ribs with a chuckle. Even with him sitting down, it was obvious he was much taller than the rest of them. As I gaped at the horns, the man caught my eye and stood, rounding the table to approach me. “Hi, Gemma! I’m Cade. Cade Asterion.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder and drew me in for a bone-crushing hug. “Welcome to Salem!” He towered over me, so much so that my face pressed into his ribcage as he embraced me. And I should note the man didn’t seem to have an ounce of fat on his entire body.

“Cade, please be seated,” Mayor Davenport said.

“In a minute,” he responded. He turned to face the table, putting his arm around me as he spoke. “Gemma here has had a hell of a night. It’s a lot to take in! I could tell she needed a hug.” He lowered his head and winked as he whispered, “Don’t let the horns scare you. I’m just a big teddy bear. But I can tell I’m going to like you, Gemma Bradbury. Anyone messes with you, they’ll have to answer to me.” He grinned, his white teeth a stark contrast against his deeply tanned face, and I couldn’t help but smile back. The Council, with its endless parade of man candy and edgy flirtations, was certainly pretty to look at. But it was nice to know at least one of the members was genuinely friendly.

“Thanks, Cade.”

He clapped his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it once before striding back to his seat. “Not every day we have guests. The rest of you could use some lessons in hospitality.”

“And I previously introduced Mr. Covington,” the Mayor said.

The vampire spoke, a sly smile playing across his lips. “It’s a sad day indeed when the deadly minotaur is the friendliest one of the bunch.” He nodded to me. “Forgive us… Gemma. Your arrival in Salem caught us by surprise. Allow me to take you out for a drink to make up for our rude behavior.”

“A drink… of me?” I asked.

“Aren’t you a delight?” Bennett tossed his head back, letting out a smooth, sophisticated laugh. “While that sounds quite lovely indeed, I’m satisfied with the donor supply. We vampires strive to be good citizens, and that means following all town ordinances. Especially with regard to not eating our neighbors.”

“That’s a relief,” I said. “I was worried you—”

“Gemma,” Mayor Davenport interrupted. “What is it you did for work back in…” She turned to give Gilmer a pointed look, and he jumped to whisper in her ear. “Oregon?”

“It’s going to sound crazy, but I just inherited a new age store about a month ago.”

“New age?”

“Tools and supplies for…” I scratched my neck, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Might as well come out and say it, I thought. Not like anyone here will judge you. Not for that, at least. “Witchcraft?”

“How convenient!” She clasped her hands together, her bright blue eyes sparkling. “The Coven is already making plans to train someone to take over Morty’s shop, which as you can imagine is essential to the everyday magical dealings of a witch. Especially since Morty has a monopoly on most of the magical goods in town. But you! You don’t need any training at all, do you? At least not on shopkeeping. It’s perfect.”

“Well, I mean, I only know the basics of—“

“Your magical training is another matter entirely. The Coven will assign you a tutor, of course. You have a lot to learn about Salem.”

“Magical training? I know you think I’m a witch, but I—”

“It’s settled! You’ll manage Montcrief’s Magic Shop. Bennett will draw up your employment documents.”

“Employment documents?”

“You need to make money somehow, don’t you? The Coven will pay you to run the shop, of course. And an additional salary for managing Morty’s real estate portfolio. All of those tenants to keep up with... There are just a few forms to get out of the way. Patrick here will ensure you get an account with the Bank of Salem. And of course, there are benefits. Healing insurance, a broomstick stipend, wand reimbursement, and monthly contributions to your gold coin vault. The usual.”

“Of course. The usual,” I agreed, nodding my head in an effort to conceal the fact that I was on the verge of a complete and total meltdown.

“She’ll need a place to live,” Cade interjected. “I suggest she take up residence in Morty’s apartment. Zeus knows he’s not using it anymore.”

“Shouldn’t we ask Mason if that’s alright?” Kai replied.

“Agreed. Mason is the rightful heir to Mortimer’s assets,” Bennett said.

“We can’t just assume Morty left everything to Mason,” Gabriel said.

“Of course we can. Mason is his only living relative,” David argued.

“Be that as it may, there are procedures to be followed,” the Mayor stated. “We’ll need to review his Last Will and Testament to be sure. Bennett, put in an Open Records Request with the Hall of Records.”

“Are you mad, woman?” Bennett asked. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to get a response to an Open Records Request? I’m still waiting on our last request from the last Vortex Cycle. That was seven years ago!”

“Seven years is nothing in the grand scheme of immortality,” she said. “You are the Town Barrister, and you will follow protocol. What good is a society without law and order? For now, the Coven will assume guardianship of the property, and Gemma Bradbury will assume legal tenancy and shop management responsibilities, as well as management responsibilities for the remaining properties in the Montcrief portfolio. Bennett, you’ll get her a list?” Bennett groaned, dropping his shoulders in acquiescence. “As you wish.”

“Um, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful for the offer of free housing, but are there any other options that don’t involve living in a dead man’s apartment? It just feels... squicky.”

“Well, there aren’t any other residential properties available in Salem. As we mentioned before, we only get new townies once every century,” the Mayor replied. “So unless you plan to sleep on a bench in the Town Square…” “She could stay in one of my cabins,” Gabriel offered.

“Nonsense,” the Mayor said. “Bear Mountain is too far from the shop. Gemma needs to be in town to handle her duties effectively.” After a brief pause to ensure no one else dared argue with her, she turned her head and snapped her fingers at Gil. “Call in Professor Bacchus!”

I turned to check on Titus, who in typical cat fashion had curled up in a ball and somehow managed to fall into a deep sleep at my feet. As I lifted my head and turned my attention back to the Council, a man appeared in front of me.

One look at him and every other man in the room seemed to disappear.

He was tall, with thick, dark eyebrows framing deep brown eyes, casually messy sable hair that looked as if it had just survived a particularly satisfying bedroom session, and a barely-there five o’clock shadow that made me wonder what it might feel like to rub my cheek against his face. He strode toward me with purpose, his lean, tightly muscled frame moving like a panther stalking his prey. Okay, so maybe the stalking was wishful thinking on my part. But seriously, he was the most beautiful specimen of a man I had ever laid eyes on.

“Professor Beauregard Bacchus. You can call me Beau,” he said. He extended his hand, and I offered mine in return. When our palms connected, I felt a little zap of energy followed by an incredible feeling of warmth flowing through my body. His eyes widened, but he didn’t release my hand.

“Gemma Bradbury,” I replied. “Just Gemma is fine.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Gemma. Looks like we’re going to be spending quite a bit of time together.” I mentioned that I have a thing for accents, right? Beau’s had a hint of Italian, and every word was killing me, in all the best ways. We stood there for a moment longer, our gazes locked on one another. I could have sworn I heard his heart beating in unison with mine. But I knew that was probably just more wishful thinking. I could have stayed there all night, staring into his eyes, if not for the Mayor’s interruption.

“You have quite a bit to catch up on. I’ll schedule your wand certification exam for 30 days from now. You’ll be working with Professor Bacchus every evening until you’re knowledgeable enough to pass your exam. Upon receiving a passing grade, you’ll be granted a license to purchase a full-power wand, which, as I said before, the Coven will reimburse you for. There is the background check and three-day waiting period, unless of course we happen to have a wand show in town. In that case, you can bypass the background check entirely.”

“So it’s like getting a gun.”

“Heavens, no!” Bennett exclaimed. “We don’t have guns here in Salem. We’re not heathens.”

“Now then, I think we’ve covered enough for one night,” the Mayor said. “This meeting is adjourned.” She waved her hand in my direction as the magical quill finished recording its last word with a flourish and dropped to rest on the table. “Off you scurry.”

“But where do I go?” I asked. “Last I checked, my new apartment was a crime scene.”

“Ah, good point. Professor Bacchus will accompany you to Montcrief’s to determine how long they’ll need to complete their crime scene investigation. In the event the police department needs some encouragement to speed things up, do contact the Coven at once.”

Beau glanced at me. “Shall we?”

“I guess we shall. But,” I worried my lip for a moment. “I’m kind of hungry. I just realized I missed dinner.”

“Dinner?” Titus woke up and scrambled over to my feet. “I didn’t eat dinner, either!”

“I know, I know. We’ll find dinner for you, too.”

“Oh, thank Bastet! I thought you had forgotten all about me.”

“How could I forget about you? You’re clinging to my shoulder like a needy parrot, and your nose is pressed flat against my cheek.”

“Just making sure.”

“Does Salem have anywhere we can get something to eat? Like a grocery store or a restaurant?” I asked.

“We have all of that,” Beau responded. But most businesses are closed by now for the town’s Samhain celebration.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “I do know one place. An all-night diner. We can stop there on the way if you’d like.”

“I love you,” I blurted out. Omigosh. That did not just come out of my mouth. Beau quirked a brow and inclined his head, studying me. I swallowed hard and tried again, praying my lips didn’t betray me this time. “I mean, I’d love to.” I drew my bottom lip between my teeth with a nervous laugh. “I don’t usually make a habit of professing my love to strangers,” I explained. “It’s just been a long day. And I’m really hungry.”

“That, Gemma Bradbury, is one problem we can solve.”

3

Exitus.” Beau guided me into the lobby of Coven Headquarters and tapped his wand on the same wall Gil brought me through. The same shimmering golden doorway appeared. But when we stepped through onto the street, it was glaringly obvious that we weren’t in the same place.

We slid into a booth in the corner, and a middle-aged man approached, dropping two menus on the table with a smile.

“Hey there, Professor.”

“Evening,” Beau responded.

“Welcome to Darkwoods Diner,” the man said, eyeing me. “I’m Max.”

“Nice to meet you, Max. I’m Gemma.”

“Aren’t you a pretty thing?” Max leaned in, resting both hands on the table as he examined me. Beau cleared his throat, casting a dangerous glare. Max straightened but didn’t take his eyes off me as he spoke. “Not often we get witches in here, especially not during a Sabbat celebration. What brings you in?”

“Food,” I answered. “Why else would we be at a diner?”

“Spunky, too,” he said. “I like ladies with spunk.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” I said. Mental note: be less spunky around Max.

“I thought you might be coming to check in on Mason, on account of the murder and all.”

“Word really travels fast in Salem,” I mumbled.

“Just here for a meal, Max,” Beau replied.

“Then I’ll let you folks look over the menu.”

“Wait,” I said. “Do you mean Mason Montcrief? He works here?”

“Indeed he does,” Max replied. “Best employee I’ve ever had. But of course that goes without saying. Everyone loves Mason. Even the werewolves. Shame about Morty, though.”

“Excuse me, did you just say werewolves?”

“Indeed. Just like yours truly.” He gave a hearty laugh, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Girlie, if you don’t want to be around werewolves, you shouldn’t be hanging out in The Fringes.”

“Can werewolves smell fear? Asking for a friend,” Titus said.

“Let’s hope not. Because if he can, we’re both in trouble.”

“Gemma is new in town,” Beau offered. “It’s her first night here.”

“Oh!” Max’s brows shot up, and he cocked his head. “Is she—?”

“Yes,” Beau answered. “She’s the one who found Morty. And she’s under the Coven’s protection, so you might want to spread the word that we expect Gemma to be treated with the utmost respect,” Beau warned.

Max tossed up his hands in mock surrender. “No arguments here, Professor. I didn’t realize she was spoken for.”

“As if that would stop you,” Beau said. “Be a gentleman, and we won’t have any problems.” I felt a flush creeping up my cheeks. It wasn’t enough that Beau was blindingly gorgeous and oozed sex appeal. He had to be chivalrous and protective, too? Be still, my witchy heart.

“Message received, Professor,” Max conceded. “I’ll be back to take your order in a few minutes.”

I waited for Max to disappear into the kitchen before I smiled at Beau. “Thanks for that.”

“Max is pretty harmless overall. But he does have quite a reputation with the ladies. Not all of it good,” he said, passing me a menu. “Sometimes he just needs to be reminded to mind his manners.”

“Not so different from your average human male. So what exactly do they serve at a werewolf diner?” I asked, opening the menu and glancing over it.

“Darkwoods Diner is famous for its steak and burgers,” he said. “And pie. But I’m partial to their breakfast menu.” He flipped my menu over and pointed at the back page.

“Breakfast?” My eyes widened as I read the headline: Breakfast served 24 hours. I went silent as I scanned the page, taking in the wide selection of typical American diner food. Pancakes, French toast, omelets, steak and eggs. The works. I loved food in general, but breakfast was my happy place. Especially breakfast for dinner.

Max sauntered back to the table just as I closed my menu. “What can I get you, ma’am?” He exaggerated the word with a pointed look, and I could barely contain my eye roll.

“I’ll have the buttermilk pancakes, two eggs over medium—”

“Three,” Titus interrupted.

“—sorry, three eggs over medium, hash browns and—”

“Bacon! All the bacon!”

“—two sides of bacon,” I said. Max and Beau both stared in disbelief as I kept going. “And a water with no ice. And coffee. Black.”

“Sure you don’t want to add the first two pages of the menu to that order?”

“I haven’t eaten all day.” I glared at him. “And I’m sharing with my cat.”

“Hey, I don’t judge,” he said with a chuckle. “You can afford the calories. And besides, I like a woman with a hearty appetite.” He scribbled my order onto a notepad and regarded Beau. “The usual? Scrambled cheese eggs, sausage, and toast?”

“Yes. Thank you. And black coffee.”

“I’ll have this right out,” Max promised. He returned moments later with our drinks and a small bowl of water for Titus.

“This seems like a great diner,” I said. “Is it always this empty late at night?”

“Never,” Max said. “But between Samhain and the full moon, a lot of folks are otherwise engaged. Good thing, too. Otherwise, I’d be in a heap of trouble handling the customers all by my lonesome.”

“Did Mason leave right after he got the news about Morty?”

“Leave? He was never here. His shift didn’t start until an hour ago. Why do you ask?”

I shrugged. “No reason.”

After Max disappeared, Beau narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on inside that head of yours?”

“Not much,” I said. I didn’t know Beau well enough to say what I was really thinking. Everyone on the Council seemed to think Mason was the obvious heir to Morty’s fortune. If that were true, and Mason wasn’t at work when it happened, then that would give him a motive and the opportunity to kill Morty. But as much as I loved watching crime dramas, it wasn’t my job to figure out who killed Mortimer Montcrief. That was a job for the admittedly inept Detective Otto.

I raised my coffee cup to my lips, inhaling deeply, and let the sweet, rich aroma wash over me. "It’s no pumpkin spice latte, but it’s good.”

“Pumpkin spice latte?” Beau tilted his head with interest. “What’s that?”

“It’s this seasonal drink at Starbucks—that’s a coffee shop—and to be honest, it’s terrible for you, way too much sugar. But it also tastes like autumn in your mouth. So I let myself have one every year on Halloween. I was planning to go get one after work today, but—” I shrugged, “—I ended up here instead.”

“Interesting,” Beau said. “I don’t know anything about pumpkin coffee, but we do have a coffee shop. I’d be happy to show you where it is.”

“That’s sweet, but diner coffee is okay for now. I’ll just get my pumpkin spice fix once I get back home.”

“Gemma,” he looked at me with a solemn expression. “I don’t think you understand. Salem is your home now. There’s no going back to the human realm.”

“What do you mean?” I set my cup down on the table with shaky hands as I stared back at him. “Why can’t I go back the same way I came in?”

“And here we go!” Max appeared, setting a stack of plates on the table one by one. To his credit, he even delivered a small saucer for me to share my food with Titus. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thank you,” Beau replied.

“I’m fine,” I said. I slipped one egg and two pieces of bacon onto the saucer and began tearing the bacon into small bites. I was too distracted by the revelation that I was trapped here to focus on my own food.

“Salem is cursed,” Beau began. “No one can leave. We can travel to other places within the magical realm,” he said.

“Centuries ago, the land that now makes up Salem was werewolf territory. Legend has it that a powerful witch crossed over from the human world to escape persecution by religious fanatics. She, along with the other witches she called into Salem when she crossed over, formed a protective shield around the town, ensuring that no humans could follow in their pursuit of the witches. They built the town of Salem, and it was gradually populated by other magical creatures from the realm. Over time, the werewolves grew resentful of the witches encroaching on their territory, and a violent battle ensued. The witches won. After the Battle of Salem, the wolves were pushed out into the area we now call The Fringes. And here we are.”

“So the natives were displaced by immigrants? There’s a shocker,” I said. A curse, huh? Now seemed as good a time to stress eat as any. I set about slicing my pancakes in half, then stacking one half on top of the other and cutting the double stack into bites before drizzling syrup over them. I was just about to slide a fork full of delicious diner breakfast into my mouth when I caught Beau watching me, a small smile playing on his luscious lips. “What? The pancake to syrup ratio is better this way,” I explained.

“I see. You’re an interesting woman, Gemma Bradbury.” He smirked and bit off a piece of toast.

“That’s a stretch,” I said. “This place is crawling with supernatural creatures. Wings, magic, shifters. The whole shebang. I’m just—” I shrugged— “me. Nothing super original to see here.”

“That remains to be seen,” he said. “I suspect that once you’ve been around Salem awhile, you’ll find you’re anything but ordinary.”

“So you’ve told me how Salem was created,” I said. “But that doesn’t explain how I got here. Or why I’m stuck.”

“Something to do with the Vortex Years,” he said. “No one fully understands the reasoning or magic behind them,” but scholars like me have been studying the Vortex Years for centuries. Every seven years, during the eight Coven Sabbats—Samhain, Yule, Imbolc, Ostara, Beltane, Midsummer, Lughnasadh, and Mabon—the veil between worlds is lifted, allowing those with magical blood to cross over from the human realm into Salem. From what we’ve gathered, this Salem connects with every town or city called Salem in the human realm. Many have tried to leave, but vortex pull appears to be a one-way ticket. Once someone enters Salem, they can never leave.”

“Like Hotel California.”

“But you don’t need a hotel. You’ll be staying at Morty’s apartment.”

“No, it’s a song about—” I paused. “I guess you don’t exactly have access to the Eagles here.”

“Oh, yes! We have eagles. And hawks. And ravens. And owls. All kinds of birds, really.”

“No, The Eagles are a band. From America. In the human realm.” It felt weird to already be referring to the only place I’d ever lived as “the human realm. “So every seven years, a bunch of new witches move to town?” I asked. “Why is everyone acting like my arrival is such a big deal?”

“We don’t always get new people. Sometimes we go several cycles without any arrivals,” he said. “Today was the first day in this Vortex Year. And you’re the first arrival. But you also share a name with the town’s founder.”

“You mean the witch you mentioned earlier?”

“Yes,” he said. “Her name was Mary Perkins Bradbury, and she narrowly escaped a fiery fate during the Salem Witch Trials. The Coven believes you might possess the power to free Salem.”

“That’s crazy talk,” I protested.

“You’re probably right,” he said. “I have no doubt you’re an extraordinary woman. But we’ve had Bradbury witches cross over before. And yet the curse remains.”

“So why would I be any different?”

“You may not be,” he said. “But you can’t blame them for having hope. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to live in a world without hope, even if that hope is misguided.”

I nodded as I pushed my empty plates toward the edge of the table and moved a very sleepy Titus onto my lap. I stroked her neck, more for my own comfort than hers, and wrapped my free hand around my coffee mug. It had been empty for a solid ten minutes, but it felt good to anchor myself to something real as I tried to process everything Beau had just told me. I stared at the mug, silent, as I pondered my next steps.

“Listen, Gemma.” He reached across the table, covering my hand with his. “I know this is a lot to take in. But I’m sure you’ll come to love Salem in time. And anything you need, I’ll be here for you.”

“If I really am stuck here,” I said after a moment of reflection, “I guess I should learn how to be a witch.”

“We can start your lessons as soon as tomorrow,” he offered.

“Deal,” I said. “But there’s also that pesky little problem of me being accused of murder. If I’m going to live in Salem for the rest of my life, I’d prefer not to be behind bars.”

“I’d like to tell you not to worry, that Detective Otto will suss out the real killer,” he said. “But the truth is, he probably won’t. He’s not a bad guy, but he’s not the brightest star in the sky.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that,” I said. “I have a feeling my best chance of exoneration is to find the murderer myself.”

“I would tell you to let the Chief’s office handle it, but we’ve already established that’s not the most promising path. And even if it was, I have a feeling you wouldn’t listen to me anyway.”

“You’re a perceptive guy,” I said. “I’m not about to let my forever fate rest in someone else’s hands.”

“No,” Beau said, gazing at me thoughtfully. “I don’t imagine you would.”

I sat back in the booth, considering my own words carefully. As a quintessential people pleaser, I’d been content to let other people dictate my actions for years. Well, maybe content was an overstatement. More like, scared that people wouldn’t like me if I stood up for myself, which in turn bred a simmering resentment over my self-inflicted situation that eventually came boiling to the surface in an epic volcanic eruption that incinerated everything in sight. And then, once I was satisfied I’d burned every bridge in the vicinity, I’d pack up and move on to somewhere, something, someone new.

But this situation was different. I could feel my resolve strengthening within my core, demanding that I face this challenge head-on. Was this a side effect of being a witch? Maybe crossing over into Salem had changed me somehow.

“So talk to me about Mason Montcrief,” I urged. “Did he have a good relationship with Morty?”

“Ask anyone in town, and they’ll tell you Mason is the nicest guy you’ll ever meet,” Beau said. “As for his relationship with Morty, it was as good as could be expected. Mason did his best to be there for Morty, running errands and fixing things up around the property. Morty was always cranky about it, insisting he didn’t need anyone’s help. But Mason didn’t mind. He still dropped by Montcrief’s every day to check on him.”

“It sounds like Bennett was right,” I said. “Mason should be the rightful heir to Montcrief’s.”

“I don’t disagree with you there,” Beau said. “But the powers that be in Salem are quite particular about following the rules, even though the constant bureaucracy seems to slow everything down. They’ll have to confirm Morty’s estate plans with the Hall of Records, which…” he sat back and closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly. “... is about as expedient as a drunken snail.”

“It sounds like Morty was a pretty wealthy man.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “And Mason worked here, which doesn’t strike me as a glamorous life. Is it possible Mason killed him to gain access to his money?”

Max, who was diligently cleaning the table a few booths down from us, paused and shook his head. “No way,” he said. “Mason loves working at Darkwoods Diner. Morty always pushed Mason to follow in his footsteps and take over the shop, but Mason wanted a simpler life. Real point of contention between them, too. No way he’d kill Morty just to get his hands on the very thing he always turned his back on.”

I frowned. I swore I was speaking quietly enough to keep our conversation private. “How did you—?”

Max wriggled his eyebrows and pointed to his ear. “Werewolf ears.”

“Oh. Right.” I flashed an innocent smile.

“Hey, Max? Y’all obviously think Mason isn’t capable of killing Morty. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. Maybe it’s best we keep my initial suspicions to ourselves. I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with Mason before we even meet.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweet cheeks. I’m good at keeping secrets. You remember that, in case you ever want to keep something else just between us. If you know what I mean.”

Ew. I bit back my immediate reaction, smiling once more. “I’ll keep that in mind, Max.”

Beau was silent, but his tightly clenched jaw betrayed his annoyance. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin, depositing it on the table as he stood. He extended his hand to help me up, and I took it, nearly crashing into him as I slid out of the booth with as much grace as a newborn deer.

Beau was quick, catching my elbows to steady me as he grinned. “If Detective Otto had witnessed that near-disaster, your story about tripping over Morty might seem more plausible.”

“Ha-ha,” I replied. My tone may have been sarcastic, but every inch of my body danced with electricity as I realized just how close Beau and I were standing. I felt my face flush, and I lowered my gaze, as we walked to the door.

“Oh, my Bast! You like him!” Titus exclaimed.

“Hush. I do not.”

“I bet he doesn’t cuddle like I do.”

“Don’t be weird. No one is cuddling anyone.”

I was too embarrassed to admit it, even to myself, but the cat was right. We had only been here a few hours, but I already had a hopeless schoolgirl crush on my new professor.

"Do you mind if we walk?"

"Not at all," I said. "If I'm going to be stuck here awhile, I might as well get to know the town a bit."

He held open the door, and as I brushed past him, his delicious, masculine scent wafted into my nose. I thought I might melt into a puddle right at his feet. Instead, I plastered my best casual smile on my face and hoped he hadn't noticed me breathing him in.

Beau offered me his arm—apparently a common custom for gentlemen in Salem—and I looped mine through his, resting my hand on his wrist.

I fell into step with him, Titus sulking as she followed at our feet. We rounded a corner and found ourselves surrounded by a gloomy forest on one side and a row of dilapidated warehouses on the other.

"Are The Fringes always this spooky?" I asked. "Talk about the perfect setting for a slasher film."

“The Fringes can be intimidating at night, but I think you'll find the area more welcoming in the light of day." He pointed to the bare black tree trunks rising up from a blanket of gray fog. "However, those are The Darkwoods. Best avoided entirely.

A cold wind whipped through the trees, sending a shiver through my body. "I'll take your word for it."

Beau cupped his free hand over mine and slowed to a stop. "You're freezing," he said.

"Maybe a little chilly. I didn't have a chance to pack a jacket before being ripped from my home by the magical bookcase from hell."

He frowned, shrugging off his coat before draping it over my shoulders. "You'll need a coat. An entire wardrobe, in fact." He furrowed his brow. "And a bank account. And money."

"I don't even know where to begin," I said.

"I think the Coven is taking care of the logistics, but I’ll check in to make sure they expedite things.”

“Thank you.”

“It's been years since someone crossed over into Salem,” he said. “I forget how jarring it can be."

"That's an understatement."

"You'll want some help settling in. I'll introduce you to some fellow witches tomorrow, and we'll make a list of what you need."

"A cup of tea, a hot bath, and a warm bed would be more than enough for tonight," I said.

"Simple requests," Beau said. "Consider it done." He wrapped an arm around me, drawing me close to him as we began walking again.

And it wouldn't hurt to have you as a snuggle partner, I thought.

“Hey! I'm your snuggle partner!” Titus whined.

“You literally sleep on top of my neck. I'm not sure I'd call that snuggling. More like strangling.”

“It's a love strangle.”

“I’d be safer sleeping alone.”

“I am a fierce protector.” She puffed out her chest and tail, making her furry black form appear medium-tiny as opposed to just regular tiny.

I stifled a laugh. But speaking of spending the night alone… "Beau?"

"Yes, Gemma?"

"You don't think Morty's killer will come back, do you?"

"I'm not sure. It seems unlikely the killer would return to the scene of the crime, at least so soon.”

“Unless they came back to hide something. Like the murder weapon,” I pointed out.

He frowned. “You’re right. I'd feel better if you had someone stay with you for a few days."

"Yeah?" Oh, sweet stars above. Say that someone will be you.

"Mortimer has a sofa. I can sleep there tonight," He cast a sidelong glance at me. "If you don't mind a strange man bedding down in your newly inherited apartment."

"No! Not at all. I'd love it if you slept over," I replied, not even masking the eagerness in my voice. Tone it down, Gemma. "I mean, after the day I've had, some company would be reassuring," I said. That's better. Play it cool.

"It's just..." he pressed his lips together, "I can't leave my familiar alone all night. I’d never hear the end of it. Would you mind if I brought him over? He’s a cat."

"Of course not. I love cats!"

"What about Titus?" He peered down at her.

"Titus loves cats, too. She'll be fine."

"Only if you're certain," he said.

“I do not! I do not love cats,” Titus complained.

“How do you know? You've never even met another cat.”

“I know enough to know I don't like them.”

“But you are a cat.”

“Irrelevant.”

“You will be nice, or I won't share my breakfast with you tomorrow.”

“See? This new cat isn't even here yet, and he's already coming between us. I hate cats. Hate them!”

I rolled my eyes at her and tilted my face toward Beau with a smile. “I’m certain.”

The walk back to Montcrief’s took longer than I expected, but I didn’t mind. How could I, when every step through the cold October air added to the time I spent cuddled up with Beau? It had been a long time since I’d had any real interest in a man. Beau had me feeling as giddy as a teenage girl on her first date. I wasn’t going to let anything—not even a pending murder investigation—ruin that feeling for me.

It did strike me as odd that Coven Headquarters was so close to both Montcrief’s and Darkwoods Diner, but the distance between the shop and the diner seemed so great. As we made our way back to my new home, Beau explained.

“Coven Headquarters actually doesn’t exist on the surface of Salem. It’s everywhere and nowhere all at once. The founders designed it that way—hidden in plain sight—to serve as a safe haven for the early Salem witches in the event of another werewolf uprising. So if you’re a witch—” he paused, throwing me an apologetic look—“a witch who has passed her Basic Witch Exams, at least—you can access Coven Headquarters from pretty much anywhere in town. All it takes is enough wall space to create a doorway, a wand, and the right incantation. The wards around Coven Headquarters can sense witch blood, and won’t open for anyone else.”

“So someone like me needs an escort to come and go from Coven Headquarters?”

“Until you’ve proven you can control your most basic powers, yes. But something tells me you won’t have any trouble finding volunteers to accompany you.”

“So how do all of the Council members get in? The ones who aren’t witches?”

“Council Chambers serves both as a meeting hall and a courtroom. It’s not actually part of Coven Headquarters. We just use the lobby to access different parts of Salem more quickly. You can leave headquarters the same way you enter, but having a clear intention is much more important upon exit. Visualize your destination in your mind’s eye, and leave no doubt about where you want to go. Otherwise, things could turn disastrous.”

I started to ask him to elaborate, but as we rounded a corner and came to a stop across the street from Montcrief’s, my mind flashed back to the memory of Mortimer’s body lying cold, stiff and lifeless beneath me.

And as a dark, hooded figure appeared in the doorway, his broad jaw stretched into a macabre smile against his bare, bone-white skull as he carried Morty’s corpse out into a wooden carriage, I was certain the chill spreading through my body wasn’t because of the weather. The figure paused to adjust the scythe strapped to his shoulder and caught my eye, his hollow sockets trained directly on my face. He lifted his free arm and wriggled his bony fingers in my direction, and my mouth went as dry as sandpaper.

Death himself had come for Morty. And from the looks of things, he’d set his sights on me, too.

4

Evening, Brian!” Beau called. My feet dragged on the ground as we approached the grim reaper. He placed Morty’s body in his cart and turned to greet us.

“Professor! What a coinkydink! I was just thinking about stopping by the winery when I got the call about, uh…” He hooked a bony thumb toward Morty’s body. His voice was rough and full of gravel, a stark contrast to his friendly, boisterous demeanor.

I leaned in and whispered to Beau, praying death didn’t have the supersonic hearing like werewolves. “Um, is that The Grim Reaper?”

Titus bristled, backing into my ankle. “Oh, spell nah!”

The corner of Beau’s mouth turned up as he angled his face toward mine. “A grim reaper. But he’s the only one in Salem. Brian is the town Coroner.

“Brian?” I raised a brow at the shadowy skeleton standing before us.

“He’s harmless,” Beau insisted. “In fact, I should check out the apartment upstairs. Wait here. Brian will keep you company. I’ll be right back.”

“Are you leaving me with—?” Before I could finish the question, Beau had disappeared through the doorway, abandoning me to make small talk with Brian.

“I’m going with him!” Titus sprang after Beau and vanished into the shop, kicking the door closed behind her.

“Oh, now you like him!” I protested. “Traitor.” I pivoted and gave the grim reaper a weak smile.

“Howdy there!” He called. “You must be Gemma!”

“Nice to—” My introduction was interrupted when Brian spread his arms wide and lunged at me. I cringed, squeezing my eyes shut as I braced myself for… a hug? His spindly fingers pressed against my back in a hearty embrace. Not exactly what I expected from the literal embodiment of death.

“Whoops!” He backed up with an awkward laugh—if you could even call it that. It was more like a fragile death rattle rising in volume and intensity from the back of his throat. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable! Prolly should’ve asked first, but I just get so excited about making new friends!” He opened his hands out to each side with a shrug. “What can I say? I’m a hugger!”

“Wow. Um...” I brushed a loose piece of hair from my forehead and tucked it back into my up-do. “It’s okay. Really. I just wasn’t sure what was happening at first.”

“Aw, man!” Brian’s jaw dropped open, and he dropped his head back in frustration. “Not you, too!” His shoulders sagged as his head dropped forward again.

“What?” I asked. “What did I do?”

Brian simply shook his head, refusing to look at me. I waited patiently. Sometimes people just need to be given the space to open up. Maybe Death Himself was no different. Finally, he spoke.

“You thought I was going to take your soul, didn’t you?” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his black robe and scuffed a boot-clad foot against the ground. “Everyone always thinks that.”

“No, I…” I sighed. This was usually the part where I told a little white lie to avoid hurting someone’s feelings or avoid some nasty emotional backlash like them not liking me anymore. But as I stood there before a disappointed Death, I felt compelled to tell him the truth. “Actually… yes. But it’s nothing against you, personally. I mean, in the human world, that’s what the Grim Reaper does. I wasn’t expecting you to be so… nice.”

He lifted his face to meet mine. “Really? You think I’m nice?” His teeth clacked as he chuckled to himself, visibly relaxing beneath his hooded robe. “Wowie! What a sweetheart you are!”

I offered a confused smile, which probably came across as more deranged than anything, and stepped back toward Beau. As nice as Brian seemed, I hadn’t yet moved beyond the whole skeleton-who-harvests-the-dead-for-fun-and-profit vibe.

After Brian stopped laughing, I took a chance on leveraging our newly established friendship for a bit or information. “Say… Brian?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Do you know what happened? To Morty, I mean?”

“Of course!” He reigned in his enthusiasm before he continued speaking. “But I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Oh,” I replied as I cast a long look at Morty’s body. “I understand. It’s just that… well, I found his body. And I’m sure that’s old hat for you, but that’s not an everyday occurrence for me. It’s been pretty scary. And I think I might find it easier to sleep tonight—in the same place where he passed—if I knew he died of natural causes, you know?”

“Aw, shucks, Gemma.” Brian raised an arm to scratch his skull with one bony fingertip and let out a sigh. “I guess I can tell you a little bit. In the name of being a good neighbor and all.” He lowered his volume so I could barely make out the words between his raspy breaths. “But keep it between us?”

“Of course!” I leaned in closer so I could hear him better. Not the most comfortable position I’ve ever been in, but it wasn’t every day Death confided in me, so I might as well make the most of it.

“Morty didn’t die of natural causes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. This is my area of expertise. If there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s death.” He beamed at me proudly.

“How did he die?” I tried to brush off the discomfort creeping through my body as Brian cupped a hand over his mouth and whispered. “Blunt force trauma to the head. One good whack to knock him down, then another when his noggin bounced off the ground. That’s the one that cracked his skull.”

I swallowed hard. “That certainly sounds deliberate. Did they find a murder weapon?”

“Not yet. Detective Otto is on it. But you know how that goes.” He shrugged.

“Not really,” I said. “But I think I’m starting to get the picture. Thanks for the info, Brian. Your secret is safe with me.”

“How did you find out?” Brian grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the carriage, his voice taking on an urgent tone. “Who told you about them?”

“Find out about who?” I asked. “I just meant I wouldn’t tell anyone that you shared Morty’s cause of death. What secret are you talking about?”

“Oh! Haha. Same.” Brian released my arm and nudged me with his elbow. “Sorry for the drama! Just a little game I like to play with my friends, you know? The Secret Game.” He twiddled his thumbs as he backed away.

“That really doesn’t make any sense, but okay,” I offered. “I, uh…” I gestured to the shop entrance. “I should really get going. It’s been a long night.”

“Righty-o!” Brian answered. “I should probably get this guy back to the morgue.” He latched a gate across the back of the carriage and gave me a salute. “Goodnight, new friend!”

“Goodnight, Brian!” I waved to him as I backed up to the shop door. I kept one eye on him as I fumbled with the knob and pushed the door open, then spun inside and slammed it shut, latching it behind me with a sigh of relief.

“Hiding from someone?” Detective Otto’s slow drawl scared me out of my brief moment of relaxation. As if I needed any help with the whole general-anxiety thing.

“No, I just…” I took a deep breath and faced the moose shifter. “Kind of. I just met Brian.”

“Ah. No need to get all bent out of shape,” he said. “Brian’s harmless.”

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me. Maybe I’m just a little on edge, considering.”

“Returning to the scene of the crime, eh?” He ambled toward me, his eyes filled with mistrust. “Enough to make anyone nervous. What’s the matter? Coven decided you weren’t worth protecting after all?”

“Actually, they told me I could live here. And they want me to run the shop.” I silently wished Beau would hurry up.

“Aha!” Detective Otto cried. He pointed a finger at my face, regarding me with suspicion. “Motive! We already have the opportunity. Now all we have to do is find the murder weapon, and you’re done for, Missy.”

“I didn’t kill Morty,” I insisted.

“Like I said before, I’m the law around here. I decide who’s guilty.”

I started to snap back with a retort about the court system, but I wasn’t sure if Salem’s criminal justice system worked the same way as it did back home, so I thought better of it. No use making him dislike me even more. But since we were on the subject, I couldn’t refrain from prying a bit. “So you’ve determined it was a murder, then?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Oh, I understand the investigation is in your capable hands,” I lied. “But… you don’t think the murderer will come back, do you?” If the damsel in distress routine worked on Death Himself, maybe it would be equally effective on Detective Otto. “It’s my first night here, and I hardly know anyone. Should I be worried?”

“Come on now, Miss.” Right on cue, the Detective softened, his shoulders relaxing as he propped one hand on his utility belt. Do you really think I’d leave a lady unguarded after a gruesome crime like this?”

“You mean you’re going to stay?” Abort! Abort! An intimate evening with the not-so-friendly neighborhood moose shifter was so not where I pictured this interaction going.

“If you want me too,” he said. He pointed to a tattered sofa near the fireplace. “Down here, of course. Keep it strictly professional.”

“That’s awfully nice of you, Detective.” Please for the love of everything, go home. “But I think Professor Bacchus is on sentry duty tonight. Coven’s orders.” I crossed my fingers behind my back, hoping the embellishment didn’t come back to bite me.

“Ah. Well, then. You should be safe enough, I suppose.” He almost looked disappointed. I got the feeling the Salem Chief’s Department didn’t see much action. Might as well throw the poor guy a bone.

“I’m happy to talk to you about Morty’s death again tomorrow, after we’ve both had some sleep. Maybe something else will come back to me by then? The Coven said I could meet you for an official interview at the Chief’s station? At your convenience, of course.”

“Three o’clock,” he barked. “At the station.” He started to make his way to the door and gave me a nod. “You should lock this behind me.”

“I will. Thank you.” The sound of footsteps echoed down the stairway, signaling that Beau was finally coming back down.

Otto loosened his hold on his belt and cleared his throat. “We, uh… appreciate your full cooperation.” It was almost as if he wasn’t sure how to verbalize a simple concept like gratitude.

“Absolutely, Detective. I’ll see you tomorrow. Three o’clock.”

With a tip of his hat, Detective Otto excused himself, leaving me alone with Beau and Titus in the Little Shop of Horror. At least I wasn’t spending the night in jail.

Finally, Beau reappeared, Titus hot on his heels.

"The apartment is fine,” he said. “Musty, and probably not your style, but it will make a suitable sleeping space until we get it spruced up and redecorated to your liking. I turned on the lights and started a fire in the bedroom and living room to warm it up a bit.

"That's so thoughtful. Thank you."

"I'm going to stop by my house to pick up a few things and retrieve my familiar. Go on upstairs and get settled in. Lock up behind me. You'll be safe here until I get back. But if you need anything before I return, just send an owl.”

“An owl?”

“It’s how we send messages quickly around town.”

“Like in Harry Potter?”

“Harry who?”

“Forget it.” I didn’t even want to think about a world without Hogwarts. “Where do I find an owl?”

“It’s simple enough. You just ring a service bell. An owl will fly right over, pick up your message, and deliver it right away.

“How will I know where to send it?”

“Don’t worry. They know how to find anyone in town. It’s part of what makes them so efficient.” He paused, reconsidering his statement. “That’s not exactly true. The owls are efficient when they choose to work. It’s convincing them to actually make an effort that’s the problem. There’s been some pushback from the Union over the collective bargaining agreement with the town, and…” He trailed off, a slight smile of embarrassment flashing across his face. “My apologies. This isn’t the time for a deep dive into Salem politics. I’ll, um… I’ll just be going. I won’t be gone long.” He turned to leave, but I called out before he reached the door.

"Wait!" I peeled his coat off and offered it to him. "You'll need this."

"Thank you." He smiled, a warm, genuine smile that showcased his perfect white teeth and made the corners of his eyes crinkle. And may or may not have set a hundred butterflies alight in my stomach.

I watched him glance over his shoulder to wave as he walked out the door, then closed it behind him and locked it. I leaned back against the heavy wood with a sigh, feeling every bit like a twitterpated heroine in a Disney movie.

I allowed myself a few moments of lust-addled bliss before straightening to head upstairs. Just then, Titus jumped up on the checkout counter next to me, sending a stack of handwritten receipts flying in a flurry across the room. Startled, she vaulted off the edge of the counter to cower between my ankles.

“Did you see that?” Her amber eyes were as wide as dinner plates. “It just came at me! A vicious attack!”

“Jeez, Titus. Calm down. It’s just paper.” I scooped her up and stroked the back of her neck in an attempt to soothe her as I surveyed the mess of paper strewn all over the ground. “A whole lot of paper.” I yawned, exhaustion taking over. “Let’s get upstairs. We could both use some sleep. I’ll clean this up in the morning.”

“If we live that long. This place is a death trap.”

“Well, my feline friend, after all the weird stuff we’ve seen today, I’m afraid that statement might not be too far off base.”

5

As soon as I crossed the threshold into Mortimer's humble abode, I had regrets. The kind of regrets that made me want to run screaming into the night, begging Beau to take us to his house instead. But I had a feeling I didn't want to cross Mayor Davenport, or the Coven. If this was where they wanted me, this is where I would stay.

I set Titus down on the wood floor. “Don't break anything,” I warned.

Not that anyone would notice. The shop downstairs was cluttered, but Mortimer's apartment was a prime candidate for the season finale of Hoarders.

Piles and piles of books, tattered volumes stacked from floor to ceiling, teetering precariously with every step I took. Mountains of paperwork, half-empty teacups, and dusty knick-knacks covered across every surface.

The kitchen was small, yet functional. But that was as far as I could go in the way of compliments. The stove—which appeared to be a gas-powered vintage model sporting an avocado green finish—was scratched and worn. The counters were covered in glass canisters of all sizes, none of which were labeled, and the sink was piled high with dishes. A peek inside the matching refrigerator revealed a glass bottle full of milk, a wedge of cheese, and half an onion. Thank goodness Beau had taken me to eat. If the Detective hadn't declared Mortimer Montcrief's death a homicide, I would have assumed he starved to death.

I crossed the room and made my way down a narrow hallway, opening doors along the way. A bedroom with a wardrobe I didn't dare open, a full-sized iron bed made up neatly with a threadbare patchwork quilt, and a lopsided dresser, all cast in a golden glow from the second fire Beau had built. A closet stuffed to the brim with who knows what—I slammed the door shut just as the contents shifted and started to spill out. I'd deal with that tomorrow. A bathroom, complete with a cracked mirror over the sink and an enormous clawfoot tub that, under any other circumstances, I would love to sink into for hours on end. You know, if it weren't so grimy. I shuddered and backed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind me. I grasped the cast-iron doorknob of the last remaining door and let out a long, slow breath. Every room had been worse than the one before it. There was no telling what nightmares awaited beyond this threshold.

I twisted the knob and eased the door open, flinching as it let out a long, aching creak. Nope. I yanked the door closed and rushed back into the living room. No way was I walking into a spooky murder-house room by myself at midnight on Halloween. Whatever was behind that door could wait until Beau got back. Or better yet, until daylight.

I wrapped myself in the beige quilt and moved into the kitchen, taking three clean teacups down from an open shelf before snagging a few of those glass canisters. I opened each one and gave them a sniff to confirm my assumptions about the contents. Lavender. Chamomile. Lemon balm. A perfect combination for a relaxing herbal tea.

I grabbed the tarnished copper teakettle from the stove, flicked on the kitchen faucet, and filled the kettle with water before returning it to the stove. But that was where my domestic abilities ceased.

I peered down at the range, searching for a place to switch on the burner. There were no knobs. I narrowed my eyes and took aim at the counter full of canisters, sliding them away from the wall in hopes of finding a light switch or some sort of mechanism for turning on the burner, but to no avail. I backed up, examining the front of the oven door and the range hood before crossing my arms and slumping against the kitchen island, baffled. What kind of stove had no controls?

I stared at the tea kettle, eyeing as if I could will it to boil on cue. Just as I was pondering my options, I heard a soft knock at the door, followed by a familiar voice.

"Gemma? It's me." Beau.

"Come in!" I called. He opened the door slowly, easing in with his overnight bag before a massive, fluffy calico with giant white paws and tufted ears lumbered in behind him.

"This," Beau said, "is Smallish."

"Smallish?" I laughed. "There's nothing Smallish about this cat."

"I know," he responded. He lowered his voice before continuing. "She's part Maine Coon and part... just big. But she's sensitive about her weight."

Smallish narrowed her pale green eyes and let out a raspy meow.

"Well, hey there," I said. I squatted down to greet Beau's familiar. The cat made a beeline for me, rubbing her broad face over my calves, and then trotted over to the fireplace, her ample belly swinging as she jogged. She eyed Titus with curiosity, then flopped down on the rug beside her. Titus opened one eye, peering at her, then went back to sleep without a word.

“Well, that was suspiciously easy,” I said.

Beau set his bag down near the loveseat and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I hope I didn’t get your hopes up with my glowing review of the place.”

“Are you sure I shouldn’t find a hotel?”

“It’s… quaint.” He dropped down onto the couch, sending a cloud of dust into the air. He jumped up, coughing and waving a hand in front of his face. “And dusty.”

“Oh, for… That’s disgusting. You can’t sleep there.” I braced my hands against his back, gently pushing him into the bedroom as he continued coughing. “Look,” I said, gesturing to the bed. “By some small miracle, this is the only clean spot in the entire place. It’s big enough for both of us.”

His coughing fit finally over, Beau wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Gemma. We can’t sleep in the bed together.”

“I trust you to be a gentleman.” But I’m still hoping maybe you’ll be just a teeny bit ungentlemanly.

“It’s not that, it’s…” He raked a hand through that gorgeous head of hair and blew out a breath. “You’re pretty.”

“You can’t sleep in the bed with me because I’m pretty?” Normally I’d be swooning at the compliment, but I had a feeling this line of conversation wasn’t leading to a whirlwind romance. “You are very, very, very pretty. And clever. And interesting,” he continued.

“You just said very three times in a row. Surely, an educated guy like you can come up with a better adjective?”

“But that’s not the point.” He drew his mouth into a hard line. Apparently, Beau didn’t like having his vocabulary called into question, even by a very, very, very pretty woman. “The point is that it doesn’t matter how pretty or clever or interesting you are. You’re my student, first and foremost. It’s my job to teach you, not sleep with you.”

“Easy, now. No one said anything about sleeping together.”

“You know what I meant.” He leveled his dark gaze at me, making my knees go weak in an instant.

“I’m not your student, yet. Our lessons don’t officially start until tomorrow. And as much as I’d like to continue arguing semantics with you, I’m really tired. And really creeped out by this whole situation. And I’d really, really like it if you stayed in here with me tonight. Nothing scandalous. Just sleep.”

He stared at me, considering my proposal, then finally nodded. “It’s probably best we don’t mention this to anyone. I wouldn’t want people getting the wrong idea.”

“Of course not,” I said.

And I meant it. Not just because they might think Beau was taking advantage of a student, which, in my mind, still seemed like a ridiculous concern given the fact that I was in my thirties and more than capable of making my own decisions about my dating life. But also because I didn’t particularly want to be seen as the easy new girl in town. Cut me some slack. Embracing the whole idea of feminine and sexual agency isn’t as simple as it sounds.

Beau pulled the covers back, and I yanked off my boots before sliding in, fully clothed, and snuggling under the threadbare blankets. He drew his wand and tapped it against the wall, whispering, “Tenebris,” and the room went dark. But even in the shadows, I could see his lean, muscled form outlined by firelight as he removed his shoes and pulled his sweater over his head, then stripped his undershirt and belt off. I held my breath as he paused, his fingers playing at the button of his jeans for a moment before he changed his mind and decided not to take them off. He slipped, bare-chested, into bed beside me, and laid on his back, drawing the blankets up to his chin.

We were both frozen, silent, in the near-pitch blackness with only the occasional flicker of dying flames illuminating the room. My heart raced in my chest, and I was too nervous to breathe.

It wasn’t like Beau was the first man I’d ever seen half-undressed before. Or even fully undressed. But it was almost as if his presence alone had an undeniable effect on every system in my body. What in the world was coming over me?

I shivered, finally giving into the chill in the room.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“Freezing,” I answered.

“Me too.”

We were quiet a moment more, and I almost thought he had fallen asleep. Suddenly, Beau blurted out, “This is ridiculous.” He rolled onto his side and wrapped a strong arm around me, pulling me flush against his chest. I eased back, allowing our legs to intertwine as he spooned me and snuggled his chin against my shoulder.

“Not a word to anyone,” he reminded me.

“My lips are sealed.”

Beau let out a long sigh, and I felt my breathing fall into sync with his as his warmth radiated through my body and lulled me into deep relaxation, and then, finally, sleep.

6

When I woke up the next morning, I wasn’t sure where I was. But as my bleary eyes widened and the room came into focus, the unbelievable events of the night before came rushing back to me.

I stretched my arms over my head and snuggled closer to the center of the bed, expecting to feel Beau’s warmth at my back. What I got instead was a black ball of fluff who was quite displeased by my selfish disruption of her sleep.

Beau was gone.

“Hey! Stay on your own side. Some of us are trying to sleep here,” Titus complained.

“Says the cat who thinks my face is an appropriate napping spot.”

“It’s the only way I can muffle the sounds of you snoring,” she said.

“I do not snore!”

“How would you know?” She opened one eye and peered at me. “It happens while you’re asleep.”

I didn’t want to admit it, but the feline made a good point. “I might have liked you better when I couldn’t hear you talking.” I flung the blankets back and sat up, swiveling to plant my bare feet on the cold wood floor.

“Five more minutes.”

“Fine,” I said. “I’m going to take a shower.”

I padded into the bathroom and stripped down, nearly recoiling when stepped into the bathtub. My brain must have consciously blocked out the filth I discovered last night. I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes and turned the faucet, bracing for an onslaught of ice-cold water to rain down on my head.

But nothing happened.

I opened my eyes and squinted up at the showerhead for a moment before growling in frustration. I stomped over the edge of the tub, barely avoiding a violent collision with the ground, and snatched up my clothes. I pulled on my yoga pants, yanked my sweater over my head and shoved my feet back into my boots. I wadded my wilted socks and yesterday’s panties, shoving them into an empty basket on a shelf. At least I could grant myself the one small dignity of not traipsing around my new town in dirty underthings.

I wound my wild mess of waves into a loose top knot on the way to the kitchen, where Titus was waiting expectantly.

“Mew.”

“You don’t have to do the cute-meow-for-food thing anymore. You can just tell me you’re hungry,” I told her.

“But my cuteness is so effective. Why reinvent the wheel?” She stared up at me and blinked her eyes. “Mew.”

“Oh, for…” I bent down and stroked her back. “The mealtime meow is pretty freaking cute. You can keep it. But that doesn’t solve our breakfast dilemma.”

I opened the fridge, taking out the bottle of milk. “This is pretty much your only option.” I poured some milk into a saucer and started to set it on the ground, then changed my mind when I saw the cobwebs collecting along the base of the cabinets. If there was ever a time to let my cat hang out on a kitchen counter, this was it. “You can eat on the counter. But only until this place has been properly cleaned,” I warned.

“This will do for now.” She jumped up and began lapping the milk as I perused the herb-filled glass canisters in search of coffee. A few minutes later, she pawed at my arm.

“What?” I continued to lift each jar lid in succession, sniffing the contents, as I used my free hand to pat her head absently.

“What about second breakfast?”

“Already?”

“I’m a growing cat!”

“You are not.” I sighed. “But I am dying for some coffee. It seems like people take their pets everywhere around here. Maybe we can find a place where we can both eat.”

“I liked the place from last night,” she chirped.

“Me too. But a diner all the way across town that’s frequented by werewolves is hardly the best place for a small cat to hang out. Besides, it just occurred to me that I don’t have any money.”

“Yes, you do.” She purred and pranced over to a small blue velvet bag sitting on the edge of the counter. After nudging the bag with her nose, she set about shredding the piece of paper folded next to it.

“Hey! What are you tearing up?”

“Nothing important,” she said.

“Give me that!” I swiped it out of her grasp and unfolded it. My heart skipped as I saw the signature at the bottom. “It’s from Beau.”

“Like I said. Nothing important.”

Gemma,

Deepest apologies for leaving without saying goodbye this morning. I had an early class and didn’t want to wake you. The Coven is arranging for your signing bonus and salary to be deposited in the Bank of Salem, but until then, you’ll need some money to navigate around town. This should be enough to take care of breakfast, pick up some essentials and buy some new clothes. It’s chilly outside. I left my coat on the hook near the shop entrance. I’ll return at noon to take you to lunch.

Yours,

Beau

Yours. I let out a wistful sigh. It hadn’t even been a full day, and Beau was already proving to more chivalrous than any man I’d ever dated. Not that we were actually dating. Yet.

I picked up the bag, which was unusually heavy for its size, and loosened the silver drawstring to peek inside.

An entire bag full of gold coins? Well, that was different.

“It’s your lucky day, cat.”

“Yaaasss!” She leaped off the counter and darted for the door. “Second breakfast, here we come!”

“Technically, it’s my first breakfast.”

“Semantics.”

I draped my scarf around my neck, opened the apartment door and made my way downstairs, pausing to slip into Beau’s coat as Titus waited impatiently at my feet.

“Okay, Lovie. Ready for our first daytime excursion into Salem?”

“I’m ready for breakfast. And remember, you promised to share if I was nice to Smallish. And I was. I didn’t even hiss or anything!”

“It’s not like you won’t get your own breakfast, but whatever. You’re right. I’ll share.”

With a deep breath, I unlatched the door, pushed it open, and ventured into the bright autumn morning with my feline familiar at my side.

7

Salem’s retail district was pretty at night, but it was breathtaking during the day. A scattering of trees adorned in rich fall colors of ruby red, burnt orange, burnished gold and emerald green lent a charming New England feel bolstered by the already-bright canvas of the main street. As we made our way toward the Town Center, I spotted a pretty blonde woman with a sea grass basket swinging on one arm, her silky silver wings beating rapidly as she glided along with her feet just inches above the ground.

“Excuse me,” I called. “Do you know where I might be able to find some breakfast around here?”

She spun around, her eyes widening with shock as she planted her feet on the ground. “Oh, my!” She flashed me a gorgeous smile and flitted over to us before taking my hands in hers. “It’s you! Gemma, right?”

“Gemma Bradbury.” I quirked a brow and glanced down at her hands, which were still clasped over mine, but she didn’t release me. Might as well go with it.

“I’m Destiny. Destiny Summer. Of Destiny’s Designs?”

“Oh, right!” I said, “I noticed your shop just a few doors down from… mine. Pleasure to meet you, Destiny.”

“I was just telling my brother David how eager I was to meet you. And here you are!”

“This place is like a high school gossip mill,” I said. “Is there anyone in Salem who doesn’t know about me?” I asked.

She tossed her head back, the air around her sparkling with her melodic laughter. I mean, literal sparkles. I stared in amazement at the flecks of iridescent glitter swirling about her flawless face. “Sorry! Fairy dust.” She giggled as she swatted at the sparkles. “We can usually control it, but sometimes when we get too excited, it just does its thing.

“Oh! Well aren’t you a beauty?” She knelt down to give Titus a quick chin scratch, eliciting a purr of satisfaction.

“I like her.”

“I’m surprised she let you pet her,” I said. “She’s usually a huge scaredy-cat.”

“Aw, is that true?” she asked, more of Titus than me. “You’ll find your confidence soon enough.” She swiped a handful of glitter from the air and sprinkled it on my cat’s forehead. “Take a bit of fairy mojo with you for an extra boost.” She winked, then stood and turned her attention back to me. “Now then! Breakfast? I bet you’re starving!”

“Yes, please! Where should we go?”

“I know just the place!” She looped her arm through mine and began walking. “Breakfast is on me. And then we’ll stop by my brother’s store and see about getting you a coat that fits!”

“That would be great,” I said. “This one actually belongs to Professor Bacchus. I’m sure he’d like it back.”

She gasped. “Beau lent you his coat?” She brought my arm up and pressed her nose to the fabric of my sleeve. “Mmm. Smells like a heaven full of dreamy men, doesn’t he?”

“I guess,” I said. I tried to appear lackadaisical, but the heat spreading across my cheeks betrayed me.

“Oh, girl. Stop. You don’t have to play coy with me. Every single woman in Salem wants to ride that man’s broomstick.” She nudged me with her elbow and gave me a knowing look. “Don’t pretend you’re any different.”

“Okay,” I admitted. “I may have thought about his broomstick once or twice.” My blush spread into a full-fledged crimson glow, and Destiny giggled.

“That’s more like it!”

“Wait, was that a euphemism, or did you mean an actual broom? Because of the whole witch thing?”

She giggled again. “Oh, I can’t tell you how excited I am to have you here!” she sang. “We’re going to be fast friends, just watch!” Had we been back in the human realm, I might have been annoyed by Destiny’s sunshine and rainbows persona. But after a night of murder and a restless night in that musty apartment, I welcomed her joyful attitude.

She pointed out important landmarks as we walked—the Farmers’ Market, the Bank of Salem, the Healing District—and chatted, mostly about Salem’s most eligible bachelors. By the time we arrived at the little cafe, my stomach was growling.

“Here we are! Alphita’s Bakery and Cafe,” she said.

“Do they have coffee?”

“Sure! Just your basics, but we can always grab a latte at Aurora’s on our way back. Alphita’s makes the most divine breads and desserts,” she said. “But I come here for biscuits. Talk about a mouthgasm!”

I followed her into the bakery, inhaling the warm, yeast-scented air with a sigh of contentment. “I can already tell I’m going to love this place,” I told her.

“Stick with me, Gemma. I’ll show you everything you need to know about Salem, and more. Grab a table. I’ll get our food. You’re going to love it!” Destiny flitted up to the counter and placed an order, pausing to call out and ask me what I wanted in my coffee. I posted up at a table near the front window, a perfect spot to read a book and watch the residents of Salem as they roamed about town.

Destiny appeared a few minutes later with a silver tray topped with two cups of coffee, three soft-boiled eggs in porcelain eggs cups, a stack of small, golden, pepper-flecked biscuits, and an assortment of butter, and jams. I helped her by moving everything from the tray to the table, then broke a biscuit open, allowing the steam to waft up as I slathered whipped butter across the top. I placed one half on a small plate, along with one of the soft-boiled eggs, and set it on the ground beneath my chair for Titus.

“Alphita’s Black Pepper Buttermilk Biscuits are the stuff foodie dreams are made of,” Destiny proclaimed.

One bite, and I was sold. I moaned with satisfaction as the flaky, buttery goodness soothed my hungry stomach. “Oh my goddess,” I mumbled. “This is freaking incredible!”

Destiny pushed a small jar toward me. “Pear and Sage Honey Jam. You need it in your life.”

I unscrewed the top and dipped my knife into the jam, then spread it across a second biscuit before taking another bite. “Wow,” I murmured. I sat back in my chair, staring at the table in disbelief. “Do they use magic in these?”

She laughed. “No, but it sure tastes like they do!”

“I seriously might never leave this place.” I tipped my coffee cup against my lips and sipped.

“Alphita’s has gotten me through many a heartbreak,” Destiny said.

“I can see why. With baked goods like this, who needs men?”

“Not me! These are amazing! Can we take some home?” Titus asked.

“How about we clean the kitchen before stocking it with delicious food?”

“Unless we’re talking about Beau Bacchus, am I right?” She winked, and I couldn’t help but laugh with her. Destiny’s natural glee was contagious.

“So right.” I relaxed against the chair as I sipped my coffee. “Speaking of gorgeous men,” I began. “What’s up with the High Council?”

“Girl,” she put her spoon down, growing serious. “You don’t know the half of it. Salem Men are stupid gorgeous. I guess the women are, too. Which is probably why the dating scene is so competitive. But my goddess.” She slapped a hand on the table and leaned forward. “So who did you like best? Dish.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I spent the most time with Beau, so—”

“Nope. No way. You’re not getting off that easy. The first time I saw the High Council all lined up in one place, I nearly died from a testosterone overdose. We already established that Beau is a hot commodity. I wanna hear how you fared in that room all by your lonesome.”

I pressed my lips together in an attempt to hide the smile threatening to break out. It had been forever since I engaged in inane girl talk like this, the kind that just makes you forget all of your problems while you bask in the glory of the world’s finer things. Destiny blinked her pale blue eyes at me and rested her chin on both hands, making it clear she wasn’t going anywhere until I spilled.

“Okay, fine,” I said. “They were all smoking hot. But if I had to choose three? Bennett Covington, Gabriel Black, and… Cade Asterion.”

“Fine choices,” she agreed. She pointed her coffee cup at me. “You’ve got a thing for older men.”

“Do I?”

“Oh, yes. How old are you?”

“Thirty-three.”

“Me too! See? Meant to be BFFs!”

I wasn’t sure how being the same age translated into premium friendship points, but I didn’t argue. “Beau doesn’t seem that much older than me.”

“He just ages well. They all do. Beau is in his mid-40s. Gabriel, too. And Bennett? He stopped keeping track after a few centuries, but he’s up there. Anyway, I hear the added years translate to a more satisfying experience… if you know what I mean.”

I knew exactly what she meant, but I wasn’t ready to go there with her yet. Maybe on our third friend date. Better to steer the conversation to a safer topic. “Are you seeing anyone?” I asked.

Please don’t say Beau. Please don’t say Beau. Please don’t say Beau.

“Well,” she teased, “there is this one guy… we’ve gone on a few dates. And I’m beyond smitten. But my brother would kill us both if he knew. So it has to be a secret.

“My lips are sealed.”

“Patrick McAllister.”

“The leprechaun Taoiseach?”

“Eeeee!” She covered her face with her hands. “I know! I know! David would be livid! But he’s so hot, Gemma. And he has a real naughty streak that I can’t wait to see more of.”

“Wait. David the Fairy Prince? He’s your brother? Does that make you a… an actual Fairy Princess?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t let the title fool you. Fairy Princesses are a dime a dozen around here. Literally. I’m one of twelve girls. As the only boy in the family, David is Daddy’s pride and joy. That’s why he got the Council seat.”

“Why wouldn’t David approve of you dating Patrick?”

“Fairy politics,” she said. “I won’t bore you with the details, but the Fairy seat on the High Council is supposed to govern all fae in Salem—fairies, pixies, elves, banshees, leprechauns—there are too many to count, really, but the point is, someone has to keep the peace, and our family has been Fae Royalty since Salem’s creation, so the task fell to us.” She emptied her coffee cup and continued. “Anyway, at some point the leprechauns tried to overthrow our family and take charge of the fae population. They claimed that because they controlled the money in town, they should be granted more power. My family disagreed, but the Coven granted the leprechauns a seat on the High Council to keep the peace. That was two hundred years ago, and the two factions have been feuding ever since. Patrick says he wants to keep it casual. If either of our families found out about it, it would be an epic battle. But I really, really like him, Gemma.”

“It sounds like a tough situation,” I said. “Maybe see how things play out with Patrick before you commit to risking a magical war?”

“You’re probably right,” she said. “Hey, listen. Thanks for the talk.”

“Of course.” I shrugged. I didn’t do much talking, but it was clear Destiny needed a confidante. “What are friends for?”

We bussed our table and headed back out to the street.

8

So is it creepy, sleeping in a dead man’s apartment?”

I let my head drop back and blew out a breath. “So creepy. And it smells weird. Like death. If I’m honest, I’m not exactly thrilled about living or working there.”

“Oh, but you have to, Gemma! The town understands that you need a few days to get settled in, and it’s only right to close the shop until after Morty’s funeral. But if you don’t reopen soon, people will start to panic.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t the Coven tell you? Mortimer Montcrief has a monopoly on magical goods in town. He gets the plants, crystals, and essential oils from the farmers and miners, and wholesales them to other businesses. If Montcrief’s shuts down, a lot of businesses in Salem will have to cease operations. The apothecary, the salon, the day spa, the candle shop, all of the healers.” She counted off on her fingers as she listed them. “Oh, and the wandmaker! What a disaster that would be!”

“Can’t they just buy directly from the source?” I asked. “Now that Morty’s dead, it seems like it should be easy enough to break up his monopoly.”

“Oh, no!” She shook her head. “The contracts are iron-clad. Everyone knows that. I suppose someone could challenge them, but they’d have to put in a request with the Hall of Records first, and then—”

“Nevermind,” I said. “I understand.”

“It really is a mess,” she said. “Everyone’s frustrated by the bureaucracy, but what can you do? Just the other day, I was talking to Kayleigh from Pixie Potions, and she said Clarence—that’s the Jinn who owns Golden Lamp Plantation—was trying to negotiate a better deal on Morty’s herb supply contract, and things got pretty heated. She said the old man was yelling so loud she could hear him all the way over at her shop, and when she rushed out to see what was happening, she saw Clarence storming out.”

“Morty really must have struck a nerve with him,” I said.

“Morty was a cranky old man, for sure. But Clarence is one of the most patient souls I’ve ever met.” A conspiratorial expression crossed her face. “Whatever they were arguing about, it must have been really important to him. Otherwise, I can’t imagine him getting so angry.”

“Interesting,” I said. “I should probably introduce myself to Clarence, see if we can revisit those negotiations before I reopen the shop. Where did you say the plantation is?”

“On the southern edge of town,” she said. “But you’ll want to freshen up and change clothes before you go.”

“What’s wrong with how I look?” I glanced down at my outfit consisting of yesterday’s clothes and Beau’s coat.

“Girl, trust me.” She grabbed my arm and dragged me through the door of Fae Fashion & Fabrics, where she planted me in front of a mirror. She stepped back, examining me, then called out, “David!”

A pair of silver silk curtains parted in the back, and the Fairy Prince appeared, looking bored as ever. But when he saw me, he brightened.

“Gemma Bradbury, as I live and breathe.” He approached me with caution, taking every inch of me in with a scrutinous eye as he peeled back the lapel of Beau’s coat to check out my clothing. “Is this the same outfit you were wearing last night?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “It’s all that was available to me this morning. And the coat is borrowed.”

“Obviously.” He caught my topknot in his fist and looked into the mirror with me. “And what is this?”

“I couldn’t figure out the shower. It’s the best I could manage.”

“We’re going to pay Clarence a visit,” Destiny offered.

“Oh, honey!” David cried, slapping his hands on both knees. “You do need help. But you’ve come to the right place. Destiny, you send an owl ahead to Legend’s and make sure they can fit her in as soon as we’re done here.”

“You got it,” she said.

He shuffled me over to a room filled floor-to-ceiling with gorgeous fabrics, and flew through the aisles, tapping particular bolts as he went. The fabric bolts glided across the room to land in a neat stack near a massive mirror. Satisfied he had gathered everything he needed, David came to a stop and beckoned me over to the mirror.

“Now,” he said as he helped me out of Beau’s coat, “talk to me about your personal style.”

“Um… it’s pretty much like this,” I said. “Leggings, slouchy sweaters, comfy boots.”

He closed his eyes, giving a slow his head a slow shake, then fixed his gaze on me as he gripped my shoulders in both hands. “Gemma. While I applaud your sense of… comfort… there is a time and place for yoga pants, and a time and place to be a little more adventurous. Think of this as adventure time. I like to start with the shoes,” he said. He waved a wand, and a silver shoe box appeared in front of me. “Take a peek!”

I tilted the lid open, revealing a pair of four-inch blush pink stilettos with hot pink soles. The shoes were stunning by any measure, but there was no way I was slipping those on for a walk through Salem. I slapped the lid shut and glared at David.

“Are you insane? Have you even been outside? The cobblestone will destroy those in a millisecond. And you’ll find me lying on the ground with a broken ankle.”

“But you’ll look fantastic,” he teased with a wink. When he caught my exasperated look, he smiled. “Never fear. There’s a reason people shop here. All of my shoes are graced with self-balancing heels and anti-fatigue insoles. You’ll never wobble, lose your footing, or experience pain in a pair of these babies. Guaranteed.”

“Pain-free high heels?” I asked, eyeing him with suspicion. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“Give them a try!” David urged. “You can always carry your—” he looked down at my cardigan Uggs with disdain, “—whatever those are… with you just in case.”

“Hey! I love these boots.”

“Like I said, Gemma. Time and place. Now try on the heels.”

“Are all fairies this bossy?” I asked as I tugged off my boots.

“Most of us, yes.”

I slipped into the heels and felt my jaw go slack as they molded to my feet. I took a few steps and stared at David in awe. “This is like walking on a cloud!”

“Ye of little faith,” he said. “Those are perfect. Now, for the outfit.” He stepped back, evaluating me with his chin in one hand, and snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! Just be still. This won’t hurt a bit.”

After a furious storm of wand waving, fabric flying, and dizzying design tweaks—all of which lasted no more than two minutes total—David spun me around to face the mirror. I had to admit it. I looked amazing.

The black skinny pants and fitted blush pink scoop neck sweater did incredible things for my body, accentuating my minimal curves in all the best ways. David had topped off the look with a three-quarter length wool pea coat in a muted fuschia, and a pair of rose quartz stud earrings.

“Perfect!” He exclaimed. “How do you feel?”

“Astonished,” I said. “This entire outfit is unbelievably comfortable.”

“Then my work here is done. Come along,” he said. “I’ll bag up a few more options, some pajamas, and whatnot—on the house, of course—along with yesterday’s clothes. Oh! And before I forget…”

He handed me a cream leather cross-body satchel with gold hardware, the kind of handbag that would cost about three thousand dollars back in the human realm.

“David, this is exquisite!”

“It’s a beauty, isn’t it? But it gets better. Stick your cat in there.”

“What now?”

“Do not stick your cat in there!” Titus protested.

“It’s okay. Just slide her right in,” David urged. “It’s a familiar tote.”

“This is made to carry cats?”

“Or whatever. Anything small enough to get trampled on during a long day of exploration. Like this little creature here.”

He had a point. And he was right about the shoes, after all.

“Here goes!” I swept an arm under Titus’s belly and lifted her into the air.

“I do not consent to this!” Titus yowled as I held open the satchel and lowered her in, feet first.

“Humor me,” I said.

“Hey!” She mewed happily and peeked her head out. “This isn’t half bad!”

I frowned, hefting the bag with one hand.

“But it doesn’t feel any heavier,” I said.

“Almost as if it were magic!” David grinned. “It expands to give your familiar the exact amount of space and support it needs to feel comfortable and eliminate any strain on you. Even with the cat inside, it will feel light as a feather.”

“David, I can’t thank you enough. This is mind-blowing. And the outfit…” I snuck another peek in the mirror. “I feel a like a million bucks.”

“You’ll thank me again after you get a peek at Clarence Hakim,” he said.

“Why is everyone so obsessed with Clarence?”

“Face of a god. Built like a minotaur. Richest man in Salem. Oozes kindness and generosity. Oh, and did I mention single… and looking?”

“I’m not really looking for—”

“You’ll see,” David promised. “Just don’t ask any questions about the plantation workers. He’s a little sensitive about the whole situation.”

“What situation?”

“It’s kind of a long story. You’ll see.”

9

I bounced out of Fae Fashion feeling more stylish than I had in… ever.  Despite her protests, Titus had curled up in a content little ball, falling fast asleep inside our new satchel before we even made it onto the sidewalk.

“That outfit!” Destiny squealed.

“Thanks! It feels good to be in clean clothes. Your brother has a great sense of style,” I told her.

“He really does. It’s too bad Daddy doesn’t support his creative endeavors. But David somehow manages to balance the store and his political obligations. Being the only son of the Fairy King is a tough gig. I’m just glad I don’t have to bear that burden!” ” She giggled, but this time her laughter sounded forced. Time to change the subject.

She took my packages, including Beau’s coat, and rang a bell just outside the shop door. A massive brown owl appeared, looking quite perturbed when he saw the number of bags she held up. “Montcrief’s Magic Shop,” she said firmly.

The owl captured the bag handles in his beak and lifted off in the direction of my apartment.

“I can’t believe he’s carrying all of those bags!” I said.

“The owls are a lot stronger than they’d like you to believe. Don’t let them give you attitude about carrying your packages home. Ever. You let those birds slide one time…” Destiny trailed off, shaking her head.

“So what do you do?” I asked. “Did you say something about art?”

“Interior design,” she answered. “I own my own studio, right near your shop. In fact, I’m one of your new tenants! Which reminds me, I should probably introduce you to everyone. Stella and Kayleigh from Pixie Potions, and Wendell—he’s our resident wand and broom craftsman, and Clara from the bookstore, though you could probably live your whole life without meeting her and not be any worse off for it.”

“Interior design? That’s interesting,” I said. “Did you ever have Mortimer Montcrief as a client?” I had to tread lightly here. If she said yes, I would know to keep my apartment decor woes to myself.

“Ha! No,” she replied. Thank goddess. “Morty wouldn’t even let anyone but Mason into that apartment of his. But based on the general state of the shop, I can’t even imagine what a nightmare he would have been as a client.”

“You have no idea,” I said. “Destiny, it was horrible.” I recounted my entire experience from the night before, conveniently leaving out the parts about a bare-chested Beau sleeping in the bed with me, and us spooning all night.

“I would love to get my hands on that place,” she said. “Please, please, please let me redecorate for you. It’ll be so fun!”

“Um, yes. Definitely,” I agreed. “As soon as possible.”

“Brilliant. Ah! Here we are!” She halted under an elegant sign with the words Legend’s Salon, taking my hand to lead me through the glass doors and over to the reception desk, where a pale, slight young man was studiously examining his midnight blue fingernails.

“Malachi, darling,” Destiny greeted him. “How are you?”

“Surviving,” he said, his world-weary tone laced with a Kardashian-style vocal fry. He leaned forward in his chair to stage whisper, “Which is more than I can say for old Mortimer Montcrief, right? Dreadful news, just dreadful.” He scrutinized me for a moment before glancing back at Destiny without addressing me. “And who is this?”

“This is Gemma Bradbury. She’s the one I mentioned in my note,” Destiny explained.

“Ah, yes. Going to visit Clarence Hakim, are we?” He stood, pushing his chair back with a dramatic sigh, and beckoned me to follow him. I passed my satchel off to Destiny, knowing Titus would not take kindly to the sounds of running water or blow dryers, and crossed the room with Malachi. He stopped at a row of white and chrome salon chairs and pointed at the only empty one. “Sit!”

“Legend!” He called. “The new witch is here.” Malachi cast a sidelong glance my way before adding, “You might need reinforcements.” He tapped me on the shoulder, whispering, “Good luck,” with an inflection that indicated he might not actually mean it, and sauntered back to the reception desk to continue the back-breaking work of inspecting his manicure.

“Hellooooo,” a male’s voice sang out from behind me. “And what do we have here?” A pair of slender hands grasped my shoulders, spinning me around in my chair. I was surprised to see a tall, willowy man with beautifully coiffed black hair. Although he was standing upright, his lower half looked like that of… a horse?

I cleared my throat. “Gemma.” I knew it was rude to stare, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his hooves. I pressed my lips together, struggling to form words.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he chided me. “Haven’t you ever seen a satyr before?”

“Actually, no.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re from the human realm, aren’t you?” He bit off the words as if my origins were something to be ashamed of. “Is that where you learned that it was acceptable to do… this—” he motioned to my top knot “—to your hair?”

I touched the top of my head self-consciously. “It’s just easy. And comfortable.”

“Honey, it’s a disaster, that’s what it is.” He looped a finger under my hair elastic, sliding it out of my hair in one quick motion before tossing it on the counter. “We can do a quick blowout today, but you really should come back for an afternoon. We can address these split ends, do a deep condition, and maybe do something about these grays coming in.”

“Hey! I do not have grays,” I argued. But Legend and I both knew I absolutely had gray hair. I just wasn’t prepared to admit it yet.

“Yes, well…” He pursed his lips. “Blowout it is. This will only take a few minutes.” Legend swung a white cape over my shoulders, then snapped his fingers, and a pair of stylists appeared. First, a young male who hovered his palms over my head, drenching my hair with a fresh-scented liquid, then a small, rotund woman who, after framing my head with her hands, conjured up a tiny, isolated windstorm at the crown of my head, drawing it down in a slow journey to the ends. In a flash, my hair was dry. A quick glance in the mirror revealed it was also shiny, smooth and full of volume.

“How did you do that?” I asked.

“Nymphs,” a woman next to me said. “Water and air, to be exact. I understand they don’t have nymphs in the human world?”

“No,” I answered. “Not that I know of, at least.”

“I’m Clara. Proprietor of Cook’s Books.”

“Oh,” I said. The tenant Destiny warned me about. “Aren’t you right next door to Montcrief’s?”

The woman rotated in her chair to take me in. Her shoulder-length platinum hair was styled in careful finger waves, and bright blue eyes bored into me from behind a pair of black cat-eye frames. She smoothed the skirt of her crimson dress down over her lap before speaking again. “Yes,” she said. “My family’s bookstore has been there for generations.”

“Nice to meet you, Clara. I’m Gemma.”

“I know who you are.” She pushed her glasses up higher on her nose. “I saw you with Beau Bacchus last night. He walked you home, and then he didn’t leave again until this morning.”

I froze in my seat. Aside from the fact that her knowledge of our comings and goings was beyond creepy, I felt a duty to protect Beau’s reputation.

“It’s not what you think,” I explained. “The Coven asked him to help me get settled in, and I was a little on edge last night. He offered to sleep on the couch so I would feel more comfortable. That’s all.” Not that I should have to explain that to you, Stalker Barbie.

“Hmm,” she said. “Will he be staying with you long, then?”

“Maybe? Until Detective Otto apprehends Morty’s murderer, I guess. He’s giving me witch lessons in the evening, so at least it’s convenient.”

Clara’s nostrils flared. She continued to stare at me as a gorgeous stylist with silver hair tucked the last few curls into place. Finally, she opened her mouth again.

“You should come by my store,” she said. “I can make some book recommendations.”

“Thanks for the offer,” I said. “I’ll probably drop by to see you later this week after I’ve had a chance to review Morty’s account ledgers and bring myself up to speed on all of his tenants. Sometime between reopening the store and soaking up whatever Beau has to offer me,” I said. Clara remained still, but I couldn’t help but notice her dainty knuckles turning white as she gripped the arm of her salon chair. So the thinly veiled comment about Beau was a cheap shot, but it felt good. Served her right for being so creepy.

“All done!” Her stylist sang.

Clara stood and shook out the skirt of her fitted A-line dress, flashing me a dirty look before plastering a fake smile on her face. “Afternoon, Jenna.”

“Gemma,” I corrected her.

“Hm.” She shrugged, tossing a half-hearted wave in my direction as she stomped off, her black high-heeled Mary Janes clicking across the salon floor with every step.

Malachi guided me back to the reception area where Destiny was waiting for me. She stood, transferring the familiar tote—and Titus—back to me.

“Sweet stars above, girl,” she said. “You look spectacular. But how on earth did you manage to sit next to Clara Cook for more than two minutes without strangling her?”

“I was about ten seconds away,” I replied. “Is she always that… intense?”

“Yes. Always,” Destiny confirmed.

Malachi edged in, cupping a hand near his mouth as if it would somehow lower his stage whisper to a volume where the whole salon wouldn’t hear it. “Clara’s got a real bee in her bonnet over the rumor that Beau Bacchus is going to be spending so much time with Gemma,” he said.

I cast an exasperated look at Destiny, who just shrugged. “It’s a small town. Gossip happens.”

“Why does Clara even care?” I asked. “Are they dating or something?”

“No,” Malachi said. “But not for her lack of trying. The woman is in here every single morning without fail, making sure her hair and makeup are situated just so for her staged run-ins with Beau.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Beau usually visits Montcrief’s a few times a week—during his lunch hour—to replenish his classroom supplies. Clara is so obsessed with him that she waits outside the bookstore every day on the off chance that she’ll ‘accidentally’ run into him when he stops by. And,” he leaned in, his whisper growing more dramatic and—dare I say—louder, “that whole 1950s librarian thing she’s got going on? Tsk, tsk. All started when Beau politely told her she looked nice one day. She immediately went to Fae Fashion and commissioned an entire wardrobe full of shoes and dresses in the exact same style. And now she has a standing daily appointment here at Legend’s to replicate the same makeup and hairstyle she was wearing on that fateful day when Beau Bacchus noticed her for five whole minutes.” Malachi shook his head, one finger making a circular motion near his ear.

“Wow,” I said. “So she really is crazy.”

“As a bedbug!” Malachi laughed. “Honestly, I have no idea how she’s able to afford her shopping and salon habit, what with the meager earnings a bookseller must make. But as long as the cash is rolling in to pay my salary, who am I to complain?”

“Thanks, Malachi.” I fished into the velvet bag for a gold coin, which he eagerly accepted, dropping it into a chrome lockbox.

“Should I—” He sauntered off, and I looked to Destiny, whispering, “Do I need change?”

“If you did, you shouldn’t have checked out with Malachi,” she answered. “He doesn’t give change.”

“How convenient for him.” I made a mental note to figure out exactly how much these gold coins were worth, and how much I should expect to pay for things here, so I didn’t get taken advantage of again.

“You look so good, Gemma. Clarence is going to die.”

“Maybe not the ideal reaction to hope for,” I said. “I’ve had enough dead men for one week.” Besides, I only have eyes for Beau. Speaking of…

“Beau!” I turned in the direction of the shop and picked up my pace. “I almost forgot I was supposed to meet him back at the shop!”

“What time?” She asked.

“Noon,” I said. “And I didn’t think to ask anyone for the time.”

“That’s easy!” She pointed to the clock tower at the end of the street. “You have seven minutes. Plenty of time! Listen, I have to go meet a client, but I’ll drop in this afternoon to take a look at your apartment and go over some ideas. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve a stylish, cozy space.”

“I’ll send an owl after my meeting at the Chief’s Office,” I said. “I don’t want you to have to wait around on me, especially after you spent your entire morning making me feel better.”

I didn’t share what I was really thinking: If my interview with Detective Otto didn’t go well, Destiny wouldn’t need to worry about Morty’s apartment, because the only place I’d have for her to decorate would by my prison cell.

10

I hustled back to the retail district, reaching the shop just as the clock struck twelve—and miraculously, my feet didn’t hurt a bit. I had to remember to thank David for the magic stilettos. I had just opened the door and set my familiar tote—and sleeping familiar— inside when a deep, rich voice growled my name.

“Gemma Bradbury?”

I turned around to see a towering hulk of a man with broad shoulders, massive biceps, a dark goatee, and flowing dark hair twisted into a haphazard bun at the back of his head. He was clad in tight black jeans and a sheer long-sleeved navy tee that showed off a handful of tribal tattoos scattered over his arms and revealed every single curve of his brawny chest. He fixed his crystal blue eyes on me and smiled, the kind of captivating, intoxicating smile that promises fulfillment of your every fantasy.

“Hi,” I squeaked. Now I understood what all the fuss was about.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying you are a sight to behold,” he said. “I’m Clarence Hakim. “He offered me his hand, which dwarfed mine as I accepted. Clasping my hand in both of his, he bowed, planting a soft kiss on the back of my fingertips. “I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances. How are you enjoying Salem so far?”

“Circumstances could be better,” I agreed. Hold it together, Gemma. He might be a murderer. “But Salem is lovely. Aside from… you know.”

“Yes, I can imagine your crossing over came as quite a shock. And to find Morty like that....” Clarence shook his head, his eyes filling with a gentle sadness. Okay, so maybe the sexiest, nicest murderer ever, but still possibly a murderer.

“Do you mind if I come inside?” He asked.

“Oh, um…” I cast an awkward glance at the shop door, which Clarence picked up on immediately. He raised his hands in apology.

“Forgive me. I wasn’t thinking. Of course you aren’t comfortable inviting a strange man into the place where you just found a dead body. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

“Thanks for understanding,” I said. “We could talk out here, though. I’m waiting for someone, but he’s seems to be running a bit late.”

“I assume you’ve heard about my disagreement with Morty,” he said.

“A bit, yes. I was actually planning to come talk to you about that. What were you arguing about?”

“Morty has been pressing me for a better deal on my magical herbs,” he said. “But my prices are already as low as they can go without cutting into my ability to pay the workers a living wage.” He shrugged. “Morty threatened me, saying he’d stop buying from me and bring his supply in from Avalon instead. Which would be fine for him. He could buy from any supplier he chose. But I’m under strict contract not to sell magical goods to anyone but Morty. And now, you, I suppose.”

“That must have made you really angry,” I said.

“It did,” he admitted. “And I’m not a man who angers easily. But I also don’t believe Morty would have followed through with his threats. The logistics of importing goods from Avalon alone are enough to drive a man mad.”

“I don’t know how I’d react if someone threatened to ruin my business,” I pressed.

“I know what you’re thinking. But I didn’t kill Mortimer Montcrief.”

“Where were you at the time of the murder?”

“I spent the afternoon at home, napping. We harvest our magical herbs beneath the light of the full moon, and I wanted to be well-rested.”

“Can anyone account for your whereabouts?”

“Any member of my household staff,” he said. “You’re welcome to speak to any of them.”

“How about someone who’s not on your payroll?”

“No. Just me and the staff.” Clarence gazed at me thoughtfully. “No wife or girlfriend. In case you were wondering.”

“Thanks for clearing that up,” I said with a small smile. “I want to believe you.”  And I really, really did. The idea that a man as breathtakingly beautiful, and by all accounts, as kind, as Clarence Hakim could murder an old man just didn’t sit well with me. But that didn’t mean he was innocent. “What happens with your contract with Morty now that he’s dead?”

“You’d think it would be considered null and void,” he said. “But Coven contracts don’t work like that. They don’t expire on death. The rights outlined in the contract pass to the rightful heir—at the moment that’s you, but it may eventually be Mason—and the same guidelines stay in place unless new terms are negotiated.”

“I see.” If Clarence couldn’t guarantee he’d secured a contractual win after Morty’s death, what would be the point in killing him?

“I can see why my last encounter with Morty would cast suspicion on me,” he said, “But his death has created more complications for my business, not fewer. I’m now faced with mounting uncertainty over whether I’ll even be able to sell my crops to anyone. I can afford the legal fees to sort through all of this, but I can’t afford to waste time in doing so. Are you open to renegotiating my deal with Morty?”

“Yes,” I offered. “But I’ll need some time to study the business before I can make an educated decision. In the meantime, why don’t we assume that I can continue to buy from you as the same prices as before? If anything changes, I’ll let you know.”

“Perhaps,” he began, taking my hands in his, as he inclined his head toward mine, “we can discuss it over dinner?” His pale blue eyes, accented by occasional flecks of gold that shined like the desert sun, fixed on mine, staring so intently I thought he might be peeking into my soul.

“Discuss what over dinner?” At the sounds of Beau’s voice, I snapped back to reality.

Clarence straightened, releasing my hands with a sultry smile. “Our relationship.”

“Oh?” Beau arched an eyebrow, smiling at me through slightly clenched teeth. “That was fast.” “Our business relationship,” I clarified. Beau’s jaw relaxed a bit, and he inched toward me.

“Sorry I’m late,” Beau said. “Minor magic emergency back at the College. Are you ready for lunch?” He held up a basket filled with a bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, and a selection of meat, cheese, and fruit.

“Sure,” I said. “Meet you inside?”

He frowned, glancing at Clarence and then back at me. Clarence seemed nonplussed, so I took a cue from the jinn and smiled calmly back at Beau, which only seemed to fluster him more. After a few moments of deliberation, he went inside.

“Apologies,” Clarence offered once Beau closed the door. “I didn’t realize you were involved.”

“I’m not,” I said, perhaps a bit too quickly. “I mean, I’m his student. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“You strike me as a woman worth breaking a few rules over,” he said. “I accept the terms offered regarding the purchase of magical herbs from my plantation. But my dinner invitation stands.”

“Can I think about it?”

“I certainly hope you will,” he said. He kissed my hand once more. As he withdrew his fingertips from mine, the lower half of his body was enveloped in a dark blue swirling mist—what I imagined was his true jinn form—and he vanished into the sky.

11

What was that all about?” Beau asked. He had spread our lunch out across a picnic blanket on top of the bed—the one clean place in the whole apartment—and we had just finished eating a mostly silent meal. I sat across from him, feeling mildly contrite about my attraction to Clarence, even though I knew I had nothing to feel guilty about.

Well, not much at least. Purposely stirring up a bit of jealousy in Beau may have given me a thrill, but it wasn’t the most mature way to behave.

“Clarence? He came by to talk about his contract with Morty,” I explained. Honesty worked just fine here. “I took the opportunity to chat with him about their argument, and ask him a few questions about where he was when Morty was killed.” I studied his reaction as I sipped from my wine glass.

Beau’s expression gave away nothing, much to my chagrin. “What do you think?”

“I don’t think he did it,” I said. “Because he’s too attractive to be a murderer?” Beau asked.

“What? No!” I said, my pitch going up an octave. Way to play it cool, Gemma. “He seemed like he was telling the truth about his disagreement with Morty, and he has an alibi. Of course, I haven’t had a chance to confirm it yet, but I believe him.”

Beau poured another glass of wine and sat back against the headboard, watching me. “So what now?”

“I still think Mason Montcrief is the most likely suspect,” I said. “I need to talk to him.”

“He’s been busy planning Morty’s funeral,” Beau said. “But I’ll ask him to come by tonight.”

“While you’re here, right?”

“Of course.” He eased himself off the bed and started gathering the remnants of our lunch. “I need to get back to class.” “Please,” I said. “Let me clean up. It’s the least I can do after you fed me.” “I won’t argue.”

“And Gemma?”

“Yeah?”

His gaze traveled the length of my body and came to rest on my mouth for a brief instant. Finally, he met my eyes. “You look spectacular.”

“Beau,” I warned. “You probably shouldn’t say things like that if…”

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. But I couldn’t let it go unsaid. Gil will stop by to escort you to the Chief’s office in a couple of hours. Keep the door locked until then?”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

“See you this evening for your first lesson. I’ll bring dinner.”

“I’ll be here,” I said.

I followed him to the front door, where we ran into Clara. Beau made a few minutes of uncomfortable small talk with her, much of which involved her running her hand up and down the length of his arm while batting her eyelashes, as I glared at her from the doorway. Once he managed to extricate himself and disappeared down the street, I threw one last dirty look her way and slammed the door.

“Hey! Some of us are trying to get some shuteye!” Titus whined.

“You’ve been sleeping all day,” I said.

“There’s a reason they call them cat naps. Because cats are really good at them.”

“I can’t argue with you there,” I said. I took in the mess of receipts she had scattered across the room last night. “Go back to sleep. Don’t worry about this mess. I’ll clean it up.”

“Thanks,” she purred. Titus hopped up into the front window, circling in a particularly sunny spot, and curled up to slumber yet again.

“I was being sarcastic,” I mumbled out loud.

I set to work picking up the receipts, stashing them neatly in an envelope. I’d need to go through them later in the week, but for now, keeping them safe from another feline-fueled accident would be enough. As I was filing the receipts away, I noticed a curious note scribbled on the back of one: CC Notice 10/31.

I flipped the receipt over and studied the front: 332 — $0. I slipped a few more receipts out, noting that each one showed a three digit number and a dollar amount, then tucked them back into the envelope and hid it between two books on a shelf near the checkout counter. I wasn’t sure what they meant—if anything—but I certainly wasn’t in the mood to lose any potential evidence that might be able to exonerate me.

In the meantime, I had a lot to learn about running this shop. I pulled out a few of Morty’s ledgers, and, after locating a fountain pen, cracked them open and dove in, losing myself in the mindless task of organization until I heard Gil’s knock on the door.

By the time Beau showed up with dinner that night, I was famished.

My meeting with Detective Otto had been uneventful—mostly me recounting what I had already told him, and him giving me one hundred eye-roll-inducing reasons why I was the most likely suspect. I did share my initial suspicions about Clarence but also told him I didn’t think he was the killer. To his credit, the Detective said he had already confirmed Clarence’s alibi with several members of his household staff.

He also told me they’d determined there was no sign of forced entry at the shop, not aside from where Christopher Irons busted down the door to get to me when he heard me screaming. He was adamant that the door was solidly in place before he kicked it open, and had several witnesses who saw him go in just seconds before them—all of whom spotted me sprawled across Morty’s body.

That only left me, and Mason, who had a key to the shop. And while the Detective hadn’t spoken with Mason yet considering all that had to be done for his grandfather’s funeral, he had it on good authority than Mason was actually at the Bank of Salem around the time of Morty’s murder. In Detective Otto’s eyes, that only left… me. Which brought us back to square one.

Luckily, Gil was able to convince him to hold off on making any arrests until they had a few more days to investigate. After all, it wasn’t like I was a flight risk.

Destiny met me back at the shop, a cinnamon cappuccino in hand, to begin the process of redecorating. In just a few short hours, we had made plans to completely transform the upstairs apartment. Titus was already looking forward to basking in the glory of her new fireside cat bed. Destiny would be coming back in a couple of days to do the actual redecorating, and I couldn’t wait to show Beau our plans.

But first, we had a meal, and then a wand lesson, to get through. I left one last tenant ledger on the checkout counter and joined Beau on the tattered green shop sofa.

“I can’t believe you have Chinese food in Salem,” I mumbled through bites of chicken lo mein. “This is delicious.”

“If you look hard enough, we have nearly every cuisine you can think of.” He bit into an eggroll, chewing thoughtfully. “Assuming it was around at least seven years ago,” he added. “When people cross over, they usually search for ways to recreate what they miss most from home. For a lot of people, that translates to food.”

“Thanks again for bringing dinner,” I said. I filled him in on the day’s events—saving the upcoming apartment transformation as a surprise—and updated him on my progress with organizing the shop.

“I was able to move through the property management books pretty quickly,” I said. “I only have one tenant ledger left, but I can’t quite figure that one out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Despite his outwardly messy tendencies, Morty kept pretty detailed notes on all of his tenants. Except one. That ledger doesn’t have any entries. Ever.”

“Which tenant?”

“Cook’s Books.”

“Interesting. The bookstore has been in Clara’s family for decades. It doesn’t make sense that Morty wouldn’t have any records on it.”

“No sense at all. Maybe it’s a new ledger. I haven’t had a chance to go through those bookcases over there. I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

“I’m confident you will.” He cuffed my chin with his thumb and winked at me. “Clever witch.”

“Save the compliments on my intelligence for after our lesson,” I said, shifting our focus to my studies.

“The first lesson you need to master is a simple immobilization spell,” Beau said. “For that, you’ll need a wand.” He produced a narrow black box and passed it to me. I unlatched it, removing the contents—a long, slender dowel of pale wood—and curled my lip at him.

“This is it? This is my magic wand? It looks like an oversized popsicle stick.”

Beau chuckled. “It’s not much to look at. I’d like to follow that up with an encouraging statement like, ‘But it does the job,’” he continued. “But the reality is the Coven-issued training wands are pretty worthless.”

“Then what’s the point in using them?” I asked.

“Safety, mainly. Preventing young witches from accessing the power enabled by a custom wand until they’ve proven they can control the most basic spells. At least that’s the Coven’s position. I have a different opinion on the matter, but that’s not important.”

“Okay. So what do I do with it?” I gripped the wand in my hand, swishing it around until Beau caught it between his fingers.

“A wand is not a toy. It is a conduit for magical energy. Please don’t go waving it around like that. You could hurt yourself.”

“You’re right.” I set the wand down in my lap. “I’m listening.”

“The first spell is a defensive spell that immobilizes a person or object. First, we’ll master an object. Then, an animal. And finally, another person,” he said. “As in most magic, intention is everything.” He drew his own wand and pointed it at the fireplace. “Inmotus.” All at once, the crackling flames froze in place.

I grabbed his arm, awe-struck. “That is so freaking cool! Show me again!”

He showed me twice more before asking, “Are you ready to try?”

I nodded eagerly, brandishing my wand. With a flick of my wrist, I snapped it toward the fire and repeated Beau’s incantation. “Inmotus!”

With a deafening whoosh, the flames exploded into the room like a deadly backdraft. Beau dove, taking me to the ground with him, and aimed his wand at the unexpected inferno. “Extinguo!”

As suddenly as the flames came, they were gone. I panted, trying to catch my breath as Beau hovered over me, the weight of his body pressing against mine. He examined me quietly, concern painted across his face. Once he was satisfied that I wasn’t injured, he leaned back on his heels and helped me up.

“Spell’s bells, Gemma! What was that?”

“I—I don’t know!” I stuttered. I was too stunned to say much more.

“I think that’s enough for one night,” he said. “Maybe we should get some rest. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” I said. I tucked my training wand back into its box. I wasn’t so sure I’d be ready for another mishap like that anytime soon.

I downed my glass of wine in one gulp, then shuffled up the stairs, stopping to pet Titus and Smallish where they dozed by the fire. I pulled my new blush pink satin pajamas from my shopping bag with a half-hearted smile. At least I didn’t have to sleep in my clothes tonight.

After changing into them, I slipped into bed without a word, waiting silently until I saw the lights go dark and felt the strength of Beau’s arms wrapped around me. I snuggled back against him, grateful that he recognized my need to be held, and even more grateful that he was allowing me to wallow without judgment.

I settled into a pattern of slow breathing, replaying the unfortunate wand event over and over in my mind until I finally passed out from exhaustion.

12

After yet another an unsuccessful struggle with the shower, I changed into one of the new outfits selected by David— dark wash skinny jeans with a fitted v-neck sweater in a rich shade of teal, paired with caramel stiletto over-the-knee boots, a pair of gold and vivianite earrings with a matching pendant, and a form-fitting camel coat. Despite my annoyance at not being able to shower, I didn’t feel dirty. My hair still had a commercial-worthy gloss and bounce, and cascaded over my shoulders in soft curls. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d ever looked so good.

Still, I needed to find someone to fix the inoperative plumbing in my apartment. And while I was thinking about it, show me how to work the stove.

Smallish and Titus were still curled up in the same fireside spot we left them in last night, so I tiptoed across the apartment to head downstairs. I told Beau our familiars could stay here today. I had a lot to accomplish. My errands would be easier without Titus in tow, but I wasn’t quite comfortable leaving her alone here. I felt much safer with a more experienced Salem cat keeping an eye on her antics.

I ducked behind the checkout counter and dragged out the weighty coin lockbox before wrestling it into my familiar tote. I lifted the satchel with ease, delighted to find it was as lightweight as ever. I wondered if David knew his gorgeous creations had so many practical applications, like hauling massive amounts of heavy coins to the bank.

I swung the satchel over my shoulder and left to meet Destiny at Aurora’s Coffee Shop. Over cinnamon cappuccinos—good goddess were they delicious!—we discussed the continuing murder investigation.

“I have to say, I agree with Detective Otto, which isn’t a phrase I’ve uttered often in my life,” she said. “I just can’t see Mason killing anyone, especially not Morty.”

“Is he really as nice as everyone says he is?” I asked. “I mean, seriously. No one is that nice.” I brought my coffee cup to my lips, allowing the artfully prepared combination of coffee, cinnamon, honey, and milk to wash over me like a soothing balm.

“Mason is,” she said with a shrug. “And Clarence.” I paused, setting my cup down at the mention the jinn’s name. “Aha! I knew you two would hit it off!” She pointed at me. “I can’t wait to tell David! Tell me everything!”

“There’s not much to tell,” I said. “I mean, he’s—,” I sighed, unable to find the words to describe the jinn. “He’s everything everyone said he would be. And he seems so kind! Like, genuinely caring. Sensitive, even. But still so masculine. And not in that annoying, possessive, testosterone-overload kind of way.” I shook my head, hoping it would shake the sticky memory of Clarence’s lips brushing across my skin. “He did ask me to dinner, though. I told him I needed some time to think about it. And he was okay with that.”

“Don’t spend too much time thinking,” Destiny said. “A hundred women are clamoring to get their pretty fingers on Clarence Hakim.”

“I’m not too concerned. Clarence seems incredible, but I’m afraid Beau stole my heart the moment I met him,” I said.

“You and every other single witch in town,” she said. “Just be careful with Beau. As beautiful as he is to look at, he’s notoriously noncommittal. Married to academia, with no room for romance in his life.”

“He does seem really hung up on me being his student,” I said. “So, there may not be a future for us, anyway. Maybe I’m imagining Beau’s attraction to me. It’s entirely possible it’s all in my head. Men are generally territorial. They can usually pick up on another man’s interest in a woman, but Clarence wasn’t even phased when Beau showed up with lunch. Beau seemed a bit agitated to find him there, but Clarence just glossed right over it.”

“That’s not surprising,” she said. “Clarence is a class act. When I think about how good he is to his plantation workers… Such a good guy.” She smiled, taking a sip of her coffee. “Which brings us back to Mason. You’re really convinced he’s the murderer?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said. “I haven’t even met the guy yet. But I know I didn’t do it, and I haven’t found any other suspects. When Beau repaired the front door lock, he confirmed the magical wards were still in place on the shop, so it’s unlikely someone was able to get in and out undetected. With no sign of forced entry, who else could it be?”

“Maybe you’re right,” she said. “I just hate to think of Mason as a killer, you know?”

“That seems to be the general consensus. But still… I have to stop by the Bank of Salem to make a deposit for Montcrief’s and open a personal account. I thought I could check out Mason’s alibi while I’m there. I just hope someone will be willing to talk to me about him.”

Destiny looked thoughtful. “You know… there’s one person there who’d probably be happy to confirm Mason’s alibi,” she said. “I could ask Patrick. He and Mason go way back. If Mason is innocent, he’ll want to help clear him of suspicion.”

“Are they close enough that he’d lie for Mason?”

“In most cases, yes. But not in this one. Mortimer Montcrief was old money, one of the bank’s best customers. And there is nothing more important to a leprechaun than money. Drinking, fighting, and women come in a three-way tie for close second. If Mason had anything to do with Morty’s death, Patrick is duty-bound, as Taoiseach, to tell the truth. Even if that means hurting a friend in the process.”

“Seems like leprechauns have an interesting moral code,” I said.

“Girl, you don’t know the half of it. I’ll walk to the bank with you, just two friends handling their financial business. I’ll ask Patrick about Mason’s alibi while you make your deposit.”

“Are you sure it’s not an imposition?”

Her melodic laughter rang through the coffee shop. “Honey, I don’t offer to do things unless I actually want to do them,” she said. “Besides, hanging out with the new witch in town is more fun than I’ve had in ages.”

“In that case, let’s go play detective.”

The Bank of Salem was unlike anything I’d ever seen, even in movies. As we crossed into the lobby, I was overwhelmed by the sheer size of it—much larger than it seemed just by looking at the building facade—but also by its opulence. The floors and walls were made of seamless white marble with sparkling gold veining, and aside from a massive stained glass skylight depicting a pot of gold sitting in tall, green grass at the end of a rainbow, the ceiling was covered in gold leaf. A long, gleaming gold teller desk staffed by several preoccupied leprechauns, each wearing a uniform of emerald green blazers and gold satin ties, sat at the far end of the lobby.

Destiny nudged me and pointed at the tellers. “You’ll make the shop deposit there,” she said. “Once you’re finished, meet me at the base of the stairs. I’ll go find Patrick.”

“Thanks,” I said. I crossed the room, my footsteps echoing through the massive lobby as I approached the desk. No one else was in line, so I chose the closest teller—a gangly older man with round wire-rimmed glasses and a cartoonish manner. “Hi, there,” I said. “I need to make a deposit into the business account for Montcrief’s Magic Shop.”

“Place your deposit on the scale,” he said, motioning to a huge gold plate in front of him. I heaved the lockbox out of my tote and emptied the contents onto the scale, then tucked the now-hollow box back into the bag.

As I did so, a magnificent rainbow appeared from overhead, beaming straight through the skylight onto the scale. The gold coins began to sparkle, turning translucent, then shimmering into nothingness as the rainbow vanished.

“Um…” I cast a questioning look at the old man. “Where did that money just go?”

“To Mortimer’s pot, of course.”

“Pot? As in an actual pot of gold?”

“Where else would it go?”

“You keep the bank deposits in literal pots of gold,” I repeated.

“Yes, at the end of the rainbow.” He pulled his glasses down to the end of his nose, peering at me with concern. “Is this your first time in a bank, Miss?”

“Sorry. I’m new here.” “Ah, the new witch! That makes sense, then. All of our funds are stored in high-quality pots cast from the finest dwarf iron and guarded, collectively, at the end of the rainbow in the Fear Gorta Fields.” He motioned to the skylight above us.

“And the Fear Gorta Fields are...?”

“Special place, it is. Acres and acres of soft jade grass, that, when stepped on, make a person unnaturally hungry. So hungry, in fact, that anyone who tries to cross the fields without prior permission becomes ravenous. Most end up turning back in search of snacks,” he said. “But those unfortunate few who have attempted to brave the distance always end up dying of starvation before they reach the gold.” He passed me a receipt showing the amount of my deposit.

“That’s… horrifying,” I said.

Foolproof security, it is.” He beamed at me, clearly proud of the bank’s deadly foil to would-be robbers. If nothing else, I guess I could rest easy knowing the money kept here was safe.

“Thanks, um…” I looked for a nametag.

“Darby,” he answered. “Darby O’Dowd. Assistant bank manager.” He leaned forward to whisper. “Really, I do all the managerial duties and oversee all deposits. The majority of the work here falls on employees. The Taoiseach is a mere figurehead. Even if he does get all the credit.”

“Sounds like most jobs I’ve had back in the human realm. And it’s very nice to meet you,” I said. “I’m Gemma Bradbury. I’ll be taking over Morty’s shop, so I may have a few questions during the transition.”

“Of course! Anything I can do to help,” he offered. “Morty was a dear friend. He’ll be sorely missed.”

“That reminds me,” I began. “Did you happen to see Mason Montcrief in here yesterday evening, sometime before closing?”

“Indeed, I did,” he said. “Mason was here for a few hours, in fact. He was looking into cosigning a small business loan for a friend.”

“That’s nice of him.” “That’s our Mason! Always putting others first.” Darby pulled out a large gold notebook. “Ah, yes. Mason arrived at 1:18 pm, and was here until we closed at 7:00 pm.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I really appreciate your help, Darby.”

“My pleasure, Ms. Bradbury. I do hope to see you again soon!” He grinned, giving a little wave.

I smiled back at him and crossed back toward the lobby entrance, where Destiny was waiting by the stairs.

“Any luck?” She asked.

“Darby confirmed Mason’s alibi,” I said. “Either everyone is right about Mason being the world’s nicest guy, or he’s the world’s most convincing sociopath. Either way, there’s no way he could have gotten to the shop, killed Morty, and left without anyone seeing him before I stumbled over the body.”

“I’m glad you were able to get confirmation, at least. I’m still waiting on Patrick. He’s dealing with a situation.” She inclined her head toward an office on the other side of the staircase, where Patrick stood, stone-faced, as a near-hysterical Clara Cook ranted and raved. I couldn’t hear what she was saying through the glass windows, but it was obvious she was upset.

“What’s going on there?” I asked.

“Who knows? Probably overextended on her credit again,” Destiny said. “That’s an every month thing. Makes sense, considering what Malachi said about her frivolous spending habits. I’m surprised she’s able to keep her business going at all.”

“Destiny? What was Morty like as a landlord?”

“Strict, but fair. Lenient to a point. If you had a bad month or two, he’d usually find a way to make it work. In all my time in Salem, he never made a tenant leave. He had a soft spot for the old retailers like Wendell’s and Cook’s Books but was also open to new blood like me and David coming in to shake things up. Why do you ask?”

I relayed my confusion over the mysterious ledger. “If Clara was overextended at the bank, it’s possible she wasn’t paying her bookstore rent, either.”

“You know, I did hear whisperings from Patrick that Morty had asked Bennett about Salem’s eviction laws.”

“So that could be a motive,” I said. We watched Clara screaming through the glass window, both cringing as she stabbed a pointed finger into Patrick’s chest. “I can’t believe Patrick is letting her behave that way.” When he didn’t react, she threw her hands up in the air, shouting as she paced around him in circles.

“He finds it amusing,” she said. “The calmer he is, the more she rages. A bit of drama to break up an otherwise humdrum day. He’ll put a stop to it once he’s grown tired of her lunacy.”

“But still no murder weapon, and  that doesn’t explain how she would get into the shop. I can’t just go accusing her without proof.

“She certainly seems to have a killer temper,” Destiny mused.

If I could just get into her Cook’s Books without her knowing...”

“I have an idea,” she whispered. “But we’re going to need Beau’s help.”

13

Remind me again why I’m doing this?” Beau asked. He frowned at me as I adjusted his tie and smoothed his suit lapel. It had taken me two days, and one successful immobilization spell, to convince him to ask her out on a date.

“Because Clara Cook is obsessed with you, and you’re the only one I can trust to keep her away long enough for me to snoop around her place,” I said.

“I don’t love the idea of you breaking and entering,” he pointed out.

“It’s not breaking and entering if you have a key,” I said.

“What happens if you get caught?”

“I have a very plausible neighbor-and-landlord-appropriate story. I’ll just say I thought I heard a noise and went to check on Clara. When she didn’t answer the door—because she’s out on a date with you—I got worried and let myself in. It’s not too much of a stretch. And besides, if there’s any chance that Clara killed Morty, I’m willing to risk a few hours of questioning over a minor violation of her tenants’ rights.”

“Send for me if you need help.”

“Will do. The cats have promised to stand guard. Smallish will hang out near the end of the street, and call out to Titus if anyone approaches. Titus will be posted up at the front door, close enough to relay any messages of danger. Besides, I have my wand!” I held up the plain wood dowel and wiggled my eyebrows.

“Oh, gods, Emma. Please don’t use that while I’m gone.”

“I thought you said I was getting the hang of it,” I argued.

“You managed to immobilize a candle flame without burning the building down. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He grasped my hands in his as he gazed at me, his dark eyes shadowed with concern. “You’ll be careful?”

“Of course,” I nodded as I pushed him out the front door of my shop. “It’ll be easy as pie.”

Spoiler alert: it was not easy as pie.

I waited for Beau and Clara to disappear into the darkness, watching through my living room window as I tamped down the stabbing pangs of jealousy that assailed me when she draped her arm through his. I knew the date wasn’t real, not for Beau at least. But I couldn’t help but feel a bit envious of the fact that he was taking her out in public for dinner.

Beau was still on edge, thinking someone might get the wrong idea about us if we were seen spending too much time together. Every meal we’d shared so far had been enjoyed  behind closed doors here at the shop, or in my apartment.

I did my best to disguise my annoyance every time he uttered the phrase “the wrong idea.” So we hadn’t kissed. Yet. But considering we spent every night cuddling while sharing the same bed, whatever conclusions people might draw about us if we went out to dinner together wouldn’t be too far off base.

As soon as the coast was clear, I crept downstairs—as if walking like a normal person through my own apartment would somehow cause Clara to hear me and alert her to my plan—and, after sidling up to her door, let myself in.

The bookstore was marvelous, with floor to ceiling shelving on every wall and shoulder-height bookcases lined up in neat rows, the selection illuminated by sconces mounted on the end of each shelf. The musky scent of old leather-bound books mingled with the fresh aroma of bergamot. In the center of the store was a cozy seating area with a couple of cushy sofas in much better condition than the ones at Morty’s, along with two wingback chairs arranged in front of a fireplace.

On another night, in a less murderous situation, I could have lost myself for hours in that store.

I tiptoed through the store, making my way to the office. With a deep breath, I reached my hand up to turn the doorknob.

Locked.

“Oh, for fang’s sake!” I muttered. I tried every key on the ring, but none of them worked. She must have had this lock installed without Morty’s involvement. I jiggled the handle, but it didn’t budge. I paced the length of the room in silence as I attempted to work out a plan in my head.

If I knew more wand spells, I probably could have opened it with magic. But the single immobilization spell I had learned wouldn’t do a thing for me in this situation. I let out a sigh, my shoulders slumping with disappointment, and eased back out onto the sidewalk, beckoning to Titus as I locked Clara’s front door. She let out a vocal mew, and I knew she was calling Smallish to return home with us.

Once we were all safely back inside Montcrief’s, I flopped down on the shop sofa, wallowing in self-pity. Trapped. Accused of murder. Sitting at home alone as the man of my dreams took a perfectly awful woman out on a date at my request. And I couldn’t even perform the most basic magic spells.

Some witch I was turning out to be.

“It’s okay if you can’t do magic,” Titus said as she hopped up onto my lap, placing a soft paw on my arm. “You still have me. And Smallish.” The giant calico jumped onto the sofa, dropping onto my feet as she purred. “Smallish is a good cat. And she likes you.”

“Aw, sweet girl,” I replied. “Tell Smallish I like her, too. Thank you both for your help tonight. I’m sorry I didn’t get the job done.” Titus snuggled her face into mine and went to sleep. I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to her if I went to prison. Maybe Beau would take care of her. I pushed the thought out of my head as quickly as it came, hoping she hadn’t heard it.

I let out a long, drawn out sigh as I pulled out my wand, pointing it at a candle sconce flickering on a bookcase across the room. Might as well get something done while Beau was busy romancing Creepy Clara.

“Inmotus.” Nothing happened. Maybe I didn’t give it enough oomph. “Inmotus!” Still nothing. The candle flame continued to dance wildly, mocking my inability to perform even the most basic spell. I aimed the wand again, closing one eye, and exhaled, focusing all of my attention on—

“Inmot-ow!” Right as I was mid-incantation, Titus stretched her leg out and extended her claws, piercing my skin just enough to distract me from the spell. I heard a quiet rumbling coming from the direction of the bookcase, and I clenched my teeth, not wanting to see whatever chaos I had just unleashed. I just hoped I could clean up my mess before Beau got back and lectured me about practicing wand spells unsupervised.

But as I turned around and drank what I had done, my dismay evolved into wonder. No fires, no destruction. But the bookcase where the candle sat had moved forward several inches before sliding over to reveal an opening into another room. A secret passage, just like the one that brought me here. Only this one led directly into...

I leaped up from the sofa and peered through the doorway.

Clara Cook’s office.

“Titus,” I thought. “Keep a lookout.”

“Hello? Lack of opposable thumbs? We can’t go outside without your help.”

“That’s fine, just watch out the window.”

“That I can do,” she said.

I inched into Clara’s office, moving furtively toward her desk, which was piled high with books and paperwork. As I shuffled through documents, most of which were late payment and collection notices, my peripheral vision trained on a familiar sight. Sitting on a bookcase across the room was the same type of leather-bound ledger Morty used to keep track of his rental income, only about five times as thick. Maybe Clara’s financial records would give me some insight into her arrangement with Morty.

I crept over and slid the ledger out, then carried it back to the desk to take a peek. It was much heavier than I expected. As I walked, a letter slipped out of it and floated to the floor. I set the ledger on the desktop and bent over to pick up the paper just as Titus skidded into the room.

“Incoming! Elf incoming!” She yowled.

I snatched up the document, which had the words Eviction Notice stamped in red ink across the top. It was dated October 31, the day of Morty’s murder.

I gasped. So Clara really did have a motive to kill Morty. And with a secret passage leading from her office into Montcrief’s, she had the means to get in and out of the shop undetected without even going outside. I tucked the eviction notice into the ledger. I still didn’t have a murder weapon, but I was convinced I had enough to put Detective Otto on the right track.

“She’s at the front door!” Titus shouted.

“Spell’s bells! We have to get that bookcase back in place!”

“Gemma. I know you’re in here, Witch.” Clara called out. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to show up at someone’s home uninvited?”

Clara stepped in the doorway, all done up in her date-night best, lips painted cherry to match her flared red dress. She clucked her tongue, shaking her head as she moved toward me. “Nosy, nosy witch.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?” I asked.

“I was,” she said, running her fingertips along the bookcase as she sauntered my way. “But then I started thinking, ‘Why would Beau suddenly show interest in me, after all these years? Why would he ask me out on a night when he’s supposed to be tutoring his favorite student?’ It just didn’t add up,” she snapped. “So, I excused myself to go to the ladies room and ran back here.” She eyed the ledger sitting on the desk. With the cover closed, I could see a large, rust-red stain on the leather.

“Is that—?”

“Mortimer Montcrief’s blood?” She asked in a sing-song voice. “Mmmhmm. I tried to clean it off, but the old man didn’t know how to properly care for books. The leather hadn’t been oiled in ages, and it was so dry and cracked that it just soaked his cranky blood right up!” She laughed, a high-pitched, nervous cackle. “So, I decided to keep it as a trophy, a celebration of my accomplishment.”

“What accomplishment?” I moved behind the desk, putting as much distance between us as possible. “Go,” I told Titus. “Get help!” Clara eased around the edge of the desk, and Titus vaulted across it, sprinting down the hallway into Cook’s Books.

“Door is open! I’m getting help!” she cried.

“Why, saving my family’s legacy, of course,” Clara explained. “This bookstore has been here for centuries. It’s was my father’s pride and joy! And that nasty old man was going to evict me,” she shrieked. “Can you imagine the nerve?”

“That’s what happens when you don’t pay your rent,” I said.

“You—” she stalked toward me, pointing her finger at my chest, just like she had done with Patrick McAllister. “—don’t know the first thing about what it’s like to be a woman in Salem. She stabbed her fingertip into my breastbone, and I swallowed hard, gritting my teeth.

If I could just be patient enough to let her devolve into a full-fledged temper tantrum like the one she threw back at the bank, she might be distracted enough for me to escape through the passage. But that meant holding my tongue and not reacting to her outburst.

“You just prance in here, with all your newness and your helpless magical idiocy, and all of the eligible bachelors fall all over themselves to stand at your side.”

“That’s hardly the case,” I argued.

“Oh, please,” she said. “I heard about Max Townsend hitting on you. Word at Legend’s is that every single man on the Council is thinking about asking you out. And I saw Clarence Hakim fawning over you like a precious jewel.” She narrowed her eyes, glaring daggers at me. “And do not get me started on Beauregard Bacchus. Now that you’re in his life, I’ll never have a chance with him.”

She had me cornered. All I could do was try to reason with her. But how do you reason with a crazy person?

“I never intended to hurt you, Clara. I was just trying to protect myself from going to prison, same as you were trying to protect yourself from being evicted. We’re not that different, you and I.” Except for the fact that you’re a total psycho, I thought. I offered her a hopeful smile, praying my eyes didn’t betray my true opinion of her. I slid a hand down to my belt and wrapped my fingers around my wand, willing myself to focus. It was a long shot, but if I could immobilize her long enough to get around her, I might be able to escape with my life.

“You’ve ruined everything with Beau,” she shouted as she grabbed the ledger from the desk, raising it high overhead. “I won’t let you ruin my store too!”

And I won’t let you take another life, I thought.

She lunged at me, bringing the heavy book down with a thud as I ducked, narrowly missing her strike. She screamed, pivoting toward me before taking aim at my head again. I drew my wand and pointed it at her, drawing on every ounce of focus and energy I could muster.

“INMOTUS!!!” I screamed.

My incantation was deafening, enough to make the crystal trinkets on the bookcase rattle. I gasped as I saw Clara, frozen in place before me, the deadly ledger poised just inches from my face. I snatched the ledger from her hands and scrambled over the desktop, making a beeline for the front door.

As I rounded the corner of the hallway into the bookstore, I slammed smack into a solid wall of muscle.

“Beau!” I panted. “Clara killed Morty. Ledger… secret passage… office.”

“Shh,” he whispered, smoothing my hair. “Get outside. Now. I’ll take care of Clara.”

“But the passage—” I protested. I wasn’t sure how powerful my freeze was, and I didn’t want her escaping.

“Detective Otto is circling around through Montcrief’s. We’ll handle this.” He drew his wand and pushed me toward the front door. “Go!”

I stumbled outside, clinging to the ledger as I called for Titus. She flew out of the shadows, frantically dancing at my feet.

“I tried!” she said “But Smallish was stuck in the shop, and Beau couldn’t understand me like you do! But I tried! I was afraid I wouldn’t make it on time. And then who would feed me, and pet me, and love me?”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” I whispered. And neither did I, thank goddess. “You did great, sweet girl.”

The door to Montcrief’s opened and Clara walked out, guided in handcuffs by a smug-faced Detective Otto as she twisted and squealed, trying to break free of his one-handed grasp. The Detective nodded at me, a silent promise that I was finally off the hook for Morty’s murder, and I finally released the breath I’d been holding.

Beau appeared, taking the ledger from my shaking hands and passing it off to Detective Otto before gathering me into his arms. I melted against him, my breath ragged with anxiety.

“Thank goddess you came,” I said. “I didn’t think I’d make it out alive.”

“But you did,” he said. “And without my help.”

“No, you don’t understand,” I argued. “Clara, she was—”

“Still frozen in place when we found her. You achieved the third level of the immobilization spell, just when it mattered most,” Beau said. He stepped back and stared at me, his mouth parted in surprise as if he was seeing me through new eyes for the very first time. He caught my face in one hand, brushing the pad of his thumb over my cheek as he whispered, “Clever witch.”

Those two little words were all it took to break the dam holding back my tears. All the fear, the frustration, the joy, the pride, the relief came rushing out in a flood of salty sobs. I flung my arms around him, holding on for dear life as I cried.

To his credit, he didn’t try to stop me. He simply held me as I finally let go—for the first time in forever—and allowed him to see the real me, the messy, broken parts, the weakness and jealousy and feelings of inadequacy, all mixed in with a strength and sense of fierce loyalty I never knew I possessed.

And when I was finally finished crying, he draped an arm around me and guided me inside. And then the saint of a man set a tea kettle on to boil while he spruced up the tub—with a magic spell, but still—and drew me a hot bath. Which, in case you’re wondering, does not actually involve running water. Something about not wasting the earth’s resources when we could use magical energy to clean things. It’s no wonder I nearly drove myself insane getting the faucet to work.

I laid back in the bathtub, every muscle relaxing into a blanket of golden, lavender-scented heat.

Somewhere in the living room, I could hear Beau laughing as Titus and Smallish chattered in short, chirping mews.

And for the first time in my life, in this rundown old-man apartment with its shabby furniture and Hoarders-worthy collection of nonsense, harboring unknown powers and navigating a tenuous potential romance...I felt like I was home.

Hex & Candy

Gemma Bradbury Magical Cozy Mystery Book 2 is coming soon! Preorder your copy on Amazon now!

II

A Taste of Salem

Alphita’s Black Pepper Buttermilk Biscuits

Ingredients:

4 C Einkorn flour

1 t sea salt

2 T coarse ground black pepper

4 t baking powder

1 t baking soda

12 T cold salted grass-fed butter

1.5 C cold buttermilk (or milk + 1T vinegar)

1/2 C heavy cream

4 T salted butter, melted

Cracked black peppercorns, for garnish

Maldon sea salt, for garnish

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 450 degrees F. Line a baking sheet with a silicone baking mat or parchment paper.

Dice butter into small cubes. Return to refrigerator or freezer to keep cold.

Mix flour, sea salt, course ground black pepper, baking powder, and baking soda in a food processor. Pulse three times to distribute the ingredients evenly. Drop the butter over the top of the flour and pulse seven times until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Add the buttermilk and pulse until the mixture combines in a dough.

Place the dough on a lightly floured surface. Press into a square about ¾ inch thick. Use a 2 inch round cutter to cut the dough into biscuits, placing each one on the baking sheet as you go. Repeat until all the dough has been used.

Brush the tops of the biscuits with heavy cream and sprinkle with cracked black pepper. Bake for 15 minutes or until golden brown.

Remove from the oven and brush the tops with melted butter. Finish with Maldon sea salt.

Alphita’s Honey and Sage Pear Jam

Ingredients:

8 lbs ripe pears, cored and peeled

3 lbs organic cane sugar

9 oz fresh squeezed Meyer lemon juice

2 oz raw local honey

3 drops unfiltered apple cider vinegar

1 bunch fresh sage

Instructions:

Dice the pears into 1/4 inch pieces. Combine pear, sugar, and lemon juice in a large bowl, stirring to combine. Cover with parchment paper, weighing the paper down so it touches the surface of the mixture, and allow to macerate in the refrigerator overnight.

The next day, remove pear mixture from the refrigerator and transfer the contents of the bowl into a copper jam pan or large nonreactive pot, stirring well.

Bring the mixture to a boil over high heat, stirring every few minutes. Cook until the mixture starts to thicken and the pears appear translucent, 15-20 minutes. Remove from heat and transfer 1/3 of the mixture to a food processor. Puree, then transfer the pureed pears back into the pan with the remaining diced pears.

Continue to cook over medium high heat, stirring until the jam has thickened, about 15-20 minutes.

Stir in the honey and apple cider vinegar. Place the whole sage bunch into the jam, stirring gently to fold it into the mixture. Allow to cook for another five minutes, then remove the sage sprigs.

Preserve jam using a pressure canning system, or ladle into glass jars to store in the refrigerator for up to four weeks.

About the Author

Harmony Hart writes paranormal cozy mysteries featuring smart, sassy heroines and a world of witchy fun.

Harmony loves lip balm, bookstores, bubble baths, and tea. Oh, and alliteration. She's probably making some sort of list right now. When she's not writing, Harmony can be found experimenting in the kitchen, binge-watching ALL THE TV, cozied up with a good read, or attempting not to kill the plants in her fledgling garden.

Harmony lives in Austin, Texas with three fickle rescue felines and her magical-to-her musician husband.

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Content

Хармони Харт Basic Witch