A Hex of a Mess (The Witches of Hollow Cove #25)

Chapter 1

Afew weeks had passed since our battle with our evil great-grandfather, Eldric Davenport. Life returned to “normal,” or whatever our version of normal was, with Marcus at his office doing his chiefly things and me… well, at the moment in search of fresh coffee.

Which I didn’t find at Davenport cottage.

Mostly because the coffee I’d made earlier had somehow developed the texture and emotional energy of swamp water after sitting on the burner too long while I got distracted trying to stop Darian from attempting to “surf” across the hardwood floor using one of the baking sheets.

Apparently, he’d discovered that socks plus polished floors equaled speed.

And, apparently, safety was just a suggestion now.

I’d barely managed to catch him before he launched himself directly into the couch like a tiny caffeinated missile.

This felt like enough parenting for one morning before coffee. Which I knew existed only a few steps away at Davenport House.

So, after grabbing hold of Darian’s hand, we stepped out of the cottage, skipped along the small grass path and pushed open the back door of Davenport House.

“Coffee,” I declared.

“Pancakes,” added my kid.

“Already prepared,” said Ruth as she moved over to the kitchen island with a frying pan in her hand and slipped a golden pancake into a waiting plate.

“I knew you were coming.” She smiled at Darian as he climbed up the stool.

Her blue eyes shone, matching her bright smile.

As usual, her messy, white cloudlike hair was held together in a bun at the top of her head with what appeared to be a pair of tongs.

The apron wrapped around her middle read HUGS COME WITH CARBS.

The kitchen smelled like maple syrup, butter, and coffee strong enough to legally qualify as resurrection magic.

I almost cried.

“She thinks she’s clairvoyant now,” mocked Dolores, hunched over the dining room table, her long gray braid grazing the edge.

Books, papers, and pamphlets were scattered over the table, nearly taking over space completely.

Hildo, Ruth’s cat familiar, was curled into a sleeping ball of black fur on one of the dining chairs, tiny snores escaping him.

“Better than last week when she said her tomatoes were smiling at her,” said Beverly as she glided into the kitchen, wearing a pair of fitted jeans and a low V-cut green silk blouse that brought out her eyes. No one had the right to look that good, that put together before nine a.m.

Meanwhile, I was wearing leggings with what I desperately hoped was pancake batter on the thigh and not toothpaste.

I glanced down casually. Yup. Toothpaste.

Fantastic.

“Our great-aunt Matilda had the gift of sight,” said Ruth, still smiling and not at all bothered by her sisters’ skepticism as she returned to the stove.

“She also had hemorrhoids, but no one seems to want to celebrate that,” added Dolores, scanning a paper from her pile.

I snorted as I made my way to the coffee machine, grabbed a clean mug, and poured myself a cup of brown heaven.

The first sip nearly made me emotional. I hadn’t realized how tired I was until caffeine started entering my bloodstream like a tiny magical intervention.

The sound of a flutter caught my attention, and I spun around to see a tiny human in an emerald green dress with blonde hair and gleaming wings zoom into the kitchen.

“I thought I smelled pancakes,” said the fairy in her bell-like voice. “Ooh! Maple syrup.” The fairy dropped to the counter, dragged her finger along the opening of the can of syrup and stuck it in her mouth. Her eyes widened. “Sugar high coming up.”

Darian let out a laugh. “Me too! I want a sugar high.”

I cocked a brow. “Any moment now, sweetie.” Ruth’s pancake batter contained sugar, so with the added maple syrup, in about three minutes, Darian would be using the kitchen as his very own jungle gym.

Or worse.

Beverly poured herself a cup of coffee as well and stood next to me in the kitchen. “Speaking of clairvoyants,” she purred. “I once dated a Seer. We had the wildest sex I’d ever had. It’s like he knew all my fantasies before I even told him.”

“Beverly,” I hissed, looking over to Darian, who thankfully was too busy licking the maple syrup from his plate to be listening to us.

“Relax,” said Beverly with a dismissive wave. “He’s not paying attention.”

“Until he is.” I spotted color-coded tabs along all the papers Dolores was studying. “What is all that?” I asked as I pushed off the counter and made my way over to the table.

“The Spring Awakening Festival,” answered Dolores in a tone like that should mean something to me.

I swallowed some coffee. “Which is…”

“Hollow Cove celebrating the end of winter and magical renewal!” Ruth clapped her hands together, forgetting she was still holding the spatula. Pancake batter flew across the kitchen in a horrifying arc, splattering the cupboards, the floor, and Hildo, though he didn’t seem to care or wake up.

“Really?” I said, feeling genuinely curious. “And what kind of things are we talking about?”

Ruth gasped like I’d just asked her to describe paradise itself. “Oh! There’s so much. We have enchanted flower contests this year. The flowers sing now.”

I blinked. “Sing?”

“Yes!” Ruth nodded enthusiastically. “Last night one of the tulips performed a very emotional ballad about pollen.”

“That flower was possessed,” muttered Dolores without looking up from her paperwork. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when it stops singing and prefers to chomp off your hand.”

Ruth ignored her. “Then there’s the magical maypole dance in the town square, potion tastings, the shapeshifter obstacle races—”

Darian perked up instantly. “Race!”

“You’re too little to race,” I told him.

His lower lip pushed out.

Ah. Great. Tiny emotional manipulation. Marcus would be so proud.

“There’s also the witch familiars pet parade,” continued Ruth. “And magical matchmaking booths!”

Beverly brightened and stuck out her chest. “My booth.”

Dolores let out a long-suffering sigh. “Tramp booths.”

“You have a matchmaking booth?” I asked, genuinely intrigued.

“Of course I do,” Beverly replied, sounding offended that I’d even question it. “People need romance, Tessa. Passion. Chemistry. Unbridled lust beneath the spring moon.”

“You wrote that on the sign-up sheet,” said Dolores flatly. “I had to censor it.”

Beverly took a sip of coffee. “Dictator.”

“And don’t forget the fertility blessing ceremony,” added Ruth happily.

Beverly pressed a hand against her chest. “My favorite part.”

“Of course it is,” grumbled Dolores.

I frowned. “Wait. What exactly happens during a fertility blessing ceremony?”

Ruth opened her mouth.

Dolores pointed at her sharply. “Do not explain it.”

Ruth closed her mouth.

“Okay. Now I’m afraid,” I admitted.

“You should be,” said Dolores.

Beverly waved dismissively. “Oh, stop. It’s perfectly harmless. A little dancing, flower crowns, fertility charms, flirtation…” She sighed dreamily. “Last year a minotaur proposed to me beside the cider tent.”

Why didn’t that surprise me. “Really?”

Beverly let out a long sigh. “He cried when I said no.”

Ruth stared at her sister, her face screwed up. “Why did you say no?”

“He wore Crocs,” answered Beverly grimly.

Okay then.

Still, this festival sounded like something Iris would love, and I made a mental note to text her later and tell her all about it. Ronin would love it too. They both would.

Dolores suddenly slammed a stack of papers onto the table hard enough to make me jump. “None of this matters because nothing is ready.”

Ah. There it was. Mayor Dolores in motion.

The woman had been vibrating with stress since I’d walked into the house.

“The festival starts tomorrow,” she continued, pulling off her glasses from the bridge of her nose.

“Tomorrow. And the decorations aren’t finished, the vendor permits are incomplete, the enchanted lanterns haven’t been calibrated properly, half the flower displays are still at the greenhouse, and someone approved a live cockatrice petting booth. ”

Ruth slowly raised her hand. “That would be me.”

“Cockatrices are wild and dangerous creatures, Ruth,” snapped Dolores. “One turned a wizard into limestone three years ago.”

“He got better,” Ruth said weakly.

Beverly rolled her eyes and leaned against the counter. “Dolores loves power. She’s been waiting her entire life to tell people where to put decorative moss.”

Dolores pointed a finger at her sister. “This will reflect poorly on me as mayor.”

“You say that like you’re running for president instead of organizing magical hayrides,” Beverly replied.

Dolores straightened. “Hollow Cove deserves standards.”

“Hollow Cove once elected a ghost as comptroller for six months and nobody noticed,” added Beverly.

My tall aunt glowered at her sister. “And Marcus isn’t helping.”

My head snapped toward her automatically. “Marcus is busy. He has a job. Remember? He’s the chief. He’s doing chiefly things.”

“He’s supposed to be securing part of the downtown core,” Dolores shot back. “Nothing’s been set up. No barricades. No magical perimeter markers. No patrol routes.”

“He’s the chief. Not your personal event planner,” I replied before I could stop myself.

Oops.

Dolores narrowed her eyes at me.

I narrowed mine right back.

Beside us, Darian happily shoved another piece of pancake into his mouth like he wasn’t witnessing the beginning of a magical family cold war.

Tinker Bell shot up and around the kitchen and landed beside his plate. “Ooh!” she chirped. “More pancakes!”

Darian grinned at her and pushed half a pancake covered in syrup toward the fairy.

Tinker Bell sat cross-legged next to the plate and dipped her hands in the syrup like a tiny sugar-drunk goblin.

I felt eyes on me and looked back at Dolores who was still staring at me. “What?”

“You’re in charge of the Awakening Beast Ceremony,” responded Dolores.

I blinked. “The what now?”

“The Awakening Beast Ceremony,” repeated Dolores calmly, like she hadn’t just ruined my entire morning. “You’ll lead the opening walk through the town square tomorrow evening.”