Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
ROSE
Igroan as I pull on slacks and button up my shirt, bracing for another day at work. The buttercream-yellow blouse patterned with white daisies—usually my favorite—stares back at me in the mirror. Yellow is supposed to be a happy color, a symbol of positivity and light.
At least, it used to be.
“One foot in front of the other, Rose. You’re a strong, powerful witch. You don’t need some man to define you,” I tell my reflection, studying the sallow tint of my cheeks. I pinch the skin, paste on a smile.
If only it were that easy.
Grabbing my toothbrush, I squeeze out a glob of pink shimmer-berry toothpaste and attack the invisible plaque with a vengeance that would make the tooth fairy proud. But even my favorite kid-flavored toothpaste tastes like ash.
When did I go from party girl—happy-go-lucky, ready to take on the world—to this wreck?
Since the night you found your boyfriend, on your anniversary, fucking some blonde bimbo.
My fists clench around the sink. The light bulbs flicker with the surge of my magic.
Pull it together, Rose. He’s not worth it.
My phone buzzes against the porcelain, my heart stuttering, but I ignore it.
Instead, I twist my long auburn hair into a business ponytail, slicking down flyaways with a dab of pomade.
With summer’s heat creeping in, I’ll never fully tame the waves, but spring’s chill gives me a fighting chance.
I finish with SPF moisturizer and a touch of mascara. Simple but efficient.
Fake it until you make it. Right?
The phone buzzes again. Twice. My jaw tightens. Maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s Netti, or my parents, or a delivery notification, I tell myself as I flip it over. Hell, I’d settle for spam.
Jett: Hey, Babe.
Buzz.
Jett: Please text me back.
Buzz.
Jett: Babe, it’s been over a week. Are you done ignoring me?
Nope. I delete the messages and flip the phone over, nausea churning in my stomach.
I should block him. But every time I try, guilt needles me. People make mistakes, right?
I just wasn’t ready to forgive him. If ever.
Netti had warned me long before that night to kick him to the curb. She never liked him. I thought she just didn’t get him like I did.
Now I wonder if I ever did.
I push the thoughts aside. He isn’t worth any more of my time—mental or otherwise. I have a good job, my own house—
Barking erupts outside, followed by a yowl.
What the hell?
I snatch the broom by the front door and rush outside, the irony of a witch with a broom not lost on me. I might not be able to fly away, but it’s still a decent weapon—for intruders or ex-boyfriends.
The cold spring concrete bites at my bare feet as I creep across the crisp grass, broom clenched in my fist. But nothing waits at the side of the house, only tall old trees with fresh green leaves unfurling, buds tight at their roots.
“Maybe they ran off. I don’t have time for this.” I turn back toward the front door when a soft meow halts me.
Peering down, I spot a fluffy orange ball, no bigger than a grapefruit, poking its head out from under a bush against the house.
“Well, hello there, little one. Where did you come from?”
I scoop the orange tabby into my arms. Wide blue eyes blink up at me, pink-padded paws dangling, tiny body squirming. Definitely a boy.
“Easy there, mister. We don’t want you falling.”
I tuck him into my chest, scanning for his mother. His purr vibrates against me, sparking my magic to life.
“You’re so tiny. Nothing but skin, bones, and fluff. Where’s your family?” I whisper against his soft head, but there’s no one around that I can see or sense.
Inside, I pour him a bowl of milk, which he greedily laps up before curling against my ankles.
“I can’t keep you. I’ve got too much going on to take care of another creature. We’ll find your family. What’s your name?”
As if he’ll answer, I lift him, fingers brushing over his soft stripes in search of a collar or tag to identify him. Nothing.
Perhaps he’s chipped? I could take him to the shelter tomorrow if I left lunch early to check.
He purrs and nuzzles my palm, licking my thumb with his sandpaper tongue. Warmth floods me. I’ve been lonely since Jett—
Don’t. Don’t go there, Rose. Don’t name the cat. You can’t rescue every stray. Even if he is fluffy and warm and feels like home.
My phone buzzes again, and I toss it into my purse without looking. Can’t he take a hint?
“Okay, kitty. I have to go to work, but tonight we’ll post flyers. Tomorrow we’ll check for a chip.”
He meows, then hisses at my buzzing purse.
“Good boy,” I murmur, stroking his head.
Maybe keeping him wouldn’t be so bad if no one claims him. Every good witch needs a familiar, right?
“Fine.” I crouch beside him, tapping my chin. “Tiger? Honey? Max?”
He stares at me as if saying, really lady?
I reach out to pet him, and he nips my finger.
“Hey there, Gingersnap—” He starts purring and licks the offended digit. “Ginger? You like that? You are quite spicy.”
I chuckle as he nuzzles his head against the back of my hand.
“Ginger it is, at least until we find your family.” I pat his head, and with my spirits lifted, I head to work.
The drive to work is a blur, as is the rest of the morning.
A yawn slips out as I stretch before slumping back into my chair. Work at the event hall keeps me busy—busier than I’d like—but even the chaos can’t quiet the part of me that dreads going home. The stillness waits there, heavy and hollow. I need… something else. Something I can’t quite name.
My hand drifts to my chest, rubbing at the dull ache that never really leaves.
It’s been there for over a year now—a constant tug, like an invisible thread pulling taut from somewhere I can’t see.
Doctors ran tests and shrugged it off, chalking it up to anxiety and stress.
And yes, I carry plenty of both—running the event hall full-time, living alone in a town far from family and old friends. But this feels different. Deeper.
I even turned to the magical community for answers.
Netti—my best friend and one of the most talented potion witches I know—threw everything she had at the problem.
Potions that fizzed and sparked, teas, charms, even her infamous enchanted baked goods.
Dozens of remedies, and not one of them touched the ache.
Because it isn’t just pain. It’s grief without a name. Longing without a reason. Loss without ever having lost. And still, life presses forward. I have my work. I have my cat. I have enough. Or at least… I should.
If only my magic worked on me the way it does on others. Maybe then I could magic away this ache, even for a moment.
My phone buzzes. Anxiety hits like a wave, my body locking up. I thought I’d set it to Do Not Disturb so I could focus. What turned it off?
If he found a way to bypass—
I turn over the phone and stare at the caller ID. My chest constricts, breath stolen, heart hammering wildly as my palms grow clammy with sweat.
Angelique DeThistle. The Angelique DeThistle. Renowned owner of the Opal Pearl Lounge on the East Coast. I’d worked with her once, as an understudy during an internship project, and I’d sell my left kidney for the chance to work with her again.
“Rosemary Sinclaire speaking,” I answer, praying I sound calmer than I feel.
“Ah, Rosemary.” Angelique’s French accent pours over the line. “I was hoping to reach you. I have a proposition.”
“Of course. How can I help you?” I spin in my chair, yanking a notepad and pen from the desk drawer.
A million thoughts crowd my head, each one louder than the last. But the sharpest of them all—why is Angelique DeThistle calling me?
“After the project you worked on with me last year, I knew I needed to reach out when I heard you had relocated to Greyhaven.”
I nearly knock over my coffee as her words sink in. I’d heard rumors she was planning to open a lounge for supernaturals on the West Coast. What I hadn’t heard was where.
My phone buzzes with a text notification, rattling against my cheek. I grit my teeth. I only need one guess who that is. When will he stop?
“Rose? Are you still there?”
“Sorry, yes.” I tap the pen against my temple, struggling to focus on her words instead of the flood of unwanted memories.
“Well,” Angelique continues, “I’ve acquired a location in Greyhaven where I’d like to open a new lounge for supernaturals, and I’d love your help.”
“A lounge here? In Greyhaven?” I echo, her words spinning through my head. Right in the backyard of the event hall I already manage.
“Yes. The contractors will be finished with the remodel in less than a month, but I’d love your feedback on the final touches. And, of course, I’d like you to run the grand opening night.”
My stomach plummets. She wants me not just to weigh in on the remodel—she wants me to run the entire grand opening?
“I’d be honored,” I reply, hoping I don’t sound as breathless as I feel. The Angelique DeThistle wants me. She wants me. All those extra hours finally paying off. This could be the perfect opportunity for my resume.
And the perfect distraction I need.
Except… I already have a full-time job. Running a grand opening for a lounge to rival the Opal Pearl would take every free second I have—and then some.
“Fabulous. Meet me at seven tonight? It’s on the corner of Thirteenth Street and Pathos. We can go over the details.”
“That would be—wait, tonight?” I glance at my to-do list, then picture the kitten I left unsupervised, no doubt wreaking goddess only knows what havoc at home.
“Yes, unless that’s an issue…”
My phone buzzes again, and I resist the urge to hurl it against the wall.
“Nope, not an issue. I can make that happen,” I squeak, eyes darting back to my overflowing list. I’d planned to leave at five, grab cat food, then spend the evening alone with my thoughts, a cold gin and tonic, and one of the romcoms Netti sent me.
“Wonderful. I’ll see you then,” she says, and the line goes dead.
If I leave exactly on time, I’ll have just enough time to swing by the grocer, feed Ginger, and make it to the lounge by seven.
I go to toss my phone in my purse, but the screen catches my eye—twenty-one missed text messages.
It should be easy to move on from Jett—he wasn’t even that good a lover, for goddess’ sake—if only he’d stop fucking texting me.