Shamrocks & Second Chances (Evershift Haven #6)

Chapter 1—Bella

THE MORNING RUSH AT Moonwake Café is in full swing, and I’m in my element. I wipe my hands on my apron, which is a handmade creation covered in coffee stains and spell dust and survey my domain with pride.

“Espresso machine’s acting up again,” I mutter to the gleaming copper contraption. I tap it twice with my wand, and it gives a contented hum in response. “That’s better. Now behave yourself. We’ve got a busy day ahead.”

The café smells of freshly ground beans, cinnamon, and the subtle undertone of magic that permeates everything in Evershift Haven, my little corner of supernatural paradise. Outside, the town square bustles with activity as residents prepare for the spring festival. The ancient oak tree at the center—the Heart of Haven—has begun sprouting tiny luminescent buds that will soon burst into enchanted blossoms.

A small golden-brown blur zooms past my feet, nearly tripping me.

“Hecate. What have I told you about running indoors?” I call after my familiar.

The tiny Yorkie-Chihuahua mix skids to a halt, her fluffy tail swishing indignantly. “I wasn’t running. I was strategically relocating at high velocity.” She hops onto a barstool, her moon-shaped collar charm glowing a mischievous orange. “Besides, I’m checking the perimeter. Security is important, Bella.”

I roll my eyes and continue preparing for the morning rush. “The only security threat in here is you stealing pastries when you think I’m not looking.”

“Slander and lies.” Hecate sniffs dramatically. “Also, I had a dream last night. A prophetic one.”

“Was it about you finally admitting you’re not descended from dragons?” I arrange fresh-baked muffins in the display case, their tops glistening with sugar crystals.

“I am so descended from dragons. My great-great-grandmother breathed fire after eating spicy food.” Hecate puffs up her tiny chest. “No, I dreamed about...him.”

My hand freezes mid-arrangement. There’s only one “him” that makes Hecate use that tone.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I straighten the muffins with unnecessary precision. “Seamus O’Connell is long gone. Probably off charming some other poor woman with those green eyes and that stupid crooked smile.”

“And those broad shoulders,” Hecate adds helpfully. “And the way he used to bring you wildflowers that sang when you touched them.”

“Not helping.” I flick a dish towel in her direction, which she dodges with practiced ease.

“I’m just saying, my prophetic dreams are never wrong. Remember when I predicted Mrs. Thornberry would turn her husband into a toad?”

“That wasn’t prophecy. You overheard her threatening to do it at book club.”

Hecate waves a paw dismissively. “Details. The point is, I think he’s coming back. Today, and when he does...” She bares her tiny teeth, “I’m going to bite his ankles.”

“You will do no such thing.” I point my wand at her sternly. “No ankle-biting in my café. That’s bad for business.”

“Fine.” She huffs. “But I reserve the right to judge him silently and with great intensity.”

The bell above the door chimes, signaling our first customer of the day. I plaster on my professional smile and turn to greet them.

“Welcome to Moonwake Café, where every cup is—” The words die in my throat.

Standing in the doorway, backlit by the morning sun, is Seamus O’Connell. His wild red hair is longer than I remember, pulled back in a loose knot at the nape of his neck. He wears a fitted green shirt with intricate Celtic embroidery that matches his eyes perfectly. Those mesmerizing green eyes, still as striking as ever, lock onto mine, and for a moment, the world stops spinning.

“Told you,” Hecate whispers, her collar charm turning a smug purple.

Seamus steps into the café, bringing with him the scent of rain-soaked earth and magic. He looks exactly the same, yet somehow different. More weathered around the edges. His smile, when it comes, is hesitant and nothing like the confident grin I remember.

“Hello, Bella.” His voice washes over me like warm honey with an Irish accent.

I grip the counter to steady myself. “Seamus. What an unexpected surprise.” My voice comes out cooler than the iced lattes I serve in summer.

He approaches the counter slowly, as if I might bolt if he moves too quickly. He’s not wrong.

“You look wonderful.” His gaze travels over my face, down to my hair, bespelled vibrant green for the upcoming LoveLuck festival. “Green suits you.”

“Thanks,” I say automatically. “What are you doing here, Seamus? Last I heard, you were headed back to the fae realm. Family obligations, wasn’t it?” The bitterness in my voice could curdle milk.

Hecate growls low in her throat, the sound surprisingly menacing for such a tiny dog.

Seamus glances at her, then back to me. “I deserve that. I deserve worse, actually.” He runs a hand through his hair, dislodging a few strands from the knot. “I need your help, Bella.”

I laugh, the sound sharp and humorless. “You need my help? That’s rich.”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” He leans forward, lowering his voice. “Someone’s stolen my gold.”

Despite myself, I’m intrigued. A leprechaun’s gold isn’t just currency. It’s the source of their magic, and their connection to the fae realm. Without it, Seamus will be vulnerable. “And this concerns me how, exactly?” I cross my arms over my chest.

“The thief left a note.” He pulls a folded piece of parchment from his pocket and slides it across the counter. “It’s addressed to both of us.”

I unfold the note cautiously, half-expecting it to be hexed. The ink shifts and swirls across the page, forming and reforming into different patterns—a magical signature I don’t recognize.

“‘To the witch and the leprechaun,’” I read aloud. “‘Your gold is safe, for now. Consider this a game, if you will. Follow the clues, work together, and you might recover what was lost. Refuse, and the gold returns to the earth from whence it came.’”

I look up at Seamus, suspicion narrowing my eyes. “Is this some elaborate scheme to get me to talk to you again?”

“I swear on my magic, it’s not.” He places his hand over his heart, and I see the faint golden glow that accompanies a fae oath. “I woke up this morning to find my vault empty except for this note.”

Hecate hops onto the counter for a better look, her nose twitching as she sniffs the parchment. “Smells like magic and mischief, and something else... Something old.”

The bell chimes again as more customers enter. I quickly fold the note and hand it back to Seamus.

“I can’t deal with this right now. I have a business to run.”

“I understand.” He steps back, disappointment evident in his expression. “But please, think about it. I’ll come back at closing time.”

Before I can respond, he turns and walks out, nodding politely to the entering customers—a family of woodland sprites who frequent the café for my special honeysuckle lattes.

“That was dramatic,” says Hecate, her collar charm cycling through colors as she processes what just happened.

“Not now, Hec.” I straighten my apron and force a smile for my customers. “Welcome to Moonwake Café. What can I brew for you today?”

The day passes in a blur of orders, small talk, and magical brewing. I serve enchanted espressos to exhausted night shift workers from the hospital, mood-matching macchiatos to teenagers from Enchanted Elderflower High School, and my famous divination dark roast to Madam Threads, who owns the clothing shop down the street.

All the while, Seamus’s visit and the mysterious note linger in my thoughts. By closing time, I’ve convinced myself I want nothing to do with his problems. He walked out of my life without explanation two years ago, so he doesn’t get to walk back in and ask for favors.

As I wipe down the last table, Hecate materializes on a nearby chair, having spent most of the afternoon invisible.

“He’s coming back, you know,” she says, grooming her paw with exaggerated nonchalance.

“I know.” I spray the table with cleaner that smells of lavender and moonlight. “And I’m going to tell him to take his problems elsewhere.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? Someone powerful enough to steal a leprechaun’s gold could be dangerous.”

“Not my circus, not my monkeys.” I move to the next table, scrubbing harder than necessary.

“But what if—”

The bell chimes, cutting off Hecate’s question. Seamus stands in the doorway, silhouetted against the setting sun. He’s changed clothes and is now wearing dark trousers and a leather jacket with intricate knotwork designs along the edges.

“We’re closed,” I call out, though the sign still says ‘Open’ and I haven’t locked the door yet.

“I know.” He steps inside anyway, closing the door behind him. “I just want to talk. Five minutes, and if you still want me gone, I’ll go.”

I sigh, tossing the cleaning cloth onto the counter. “Fine. Five minutes.”

Hecate jumps down from the chair and trots over to Seamus, circling him suspiciously. “You smell different,” she says. “Less magic. The gold theft is affecting you already.”

Seamus nods, kneeling to address my familiar directly. “Aye, little one. Without my gold, my connection to the fae realm weakens. In a week, I’ll be as magical as any human.”

“And you came to Bella because...?” Hecate prompts, her tail swishing.

“Because she’s the smartest, most talented witch I know.” He looks up at me, sincerity shining in his eyes. “And because the note was addressed to both of us, which means whoever took my gold knows about our history.”

I cross my arms, ignoring the flutter in my stomach at his compliment. “I still don’t see how this is my problem.”

“It might become your problem.” He stands, pulling the note from his pocket again. “The thief knows about us, knows we were together. What if they’re targeting you next?”

“I can take care of myself.” I snatch the note from his hand, rereading it. The ink continues to shift and change, never settling into a fixed pattern. “This is powerful magic. Old magic.”

“That’s what I thought too.” Seamus moves closer, his scent washing over me. “Please, Bella. I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m just asking for your help.”

I study his face, searching for any sign of deception. His eyes are clear, his expression open. Whatever else Seamus might be, he’s never been a good liar.

“I’ll think about it,” I say finally. “That’s all I can promise right now.”

Relief washes over his features. “Thank you. That’s more than I deserve.”

“Yes, it is.” I hand the note back to him. “Now, your five minutes are up. I need to close the shop.”

He nods, backing toward the door. “I’m staying at the Moonlit Inn if you decide to help. Room 7.”

“Of course you are,” I mutter. The Moonlit Inn is run by Etienne and Crystal St. John, a vampire couple who’ve been together for centuries. They’re hopeless romantics who probably put Seamus in room 7 on purpose—it was our anniversary date, the 7th of March.

After Seamus leaves, I lock the door and flip the sign to “Closed.” Hecate materializes on the counter, having disappeared during the last part of our conversation.

“You’re going to help him,” she states matter-of-factly.

“I said I’d think about it.”

“Which means you’re going to help him.” She stretches lazily. “You never could resist a magical mystery. Or those green eyes.”

“His eyes have nothing to do with it.” I begin counting the register, focusing intently on the task.

“Sure, sure.” Hecate yawns dramatically. “I’m going to take a nap in the window seat. Wake me when you’re ready to admit I’m right.”

As she curls up in her favorite spot, I finish closing procedures, my mind racing. Seamus is right that whoever stole his gold possesses powerful magic. The kind of magic that could be a threat to everyone in Evershift Haven, not just him.

I’m wiping down the counter one last time when something catches my eye—a corner of parchment peeking out from beneath the espresso machine. I pull it out carefully, recognizing the same shifting ink from Seamus’s note.

“Hecate,” I call, my voice tense. “Come look at this.”

She materializes beside me, suddenly alert. “Another note?”

“Seems like it.” I unfold the parchment, reading aloud. “‘Where stories are whispered and secrets are kept, find what you left before you wept.’”

“That’s... cryptic.” Hecate’s nose twitches. “And it smells like the first note. Same magic.”

I turn the paper over, but there’s nothing on the back. “How did this get here? It wasn’t here earlier.”

“Magic, obviously.” Hecate rolls her eyes. “The question is, what does it mean?”

I read the clue again, the words tugging at my memory. “‘Where stories are whispered and secrets are kept...’ That could be the library at the Moonlit Inn. They have that special section of books that whisper their contents to readers.”

“And the ‘what you left before you wept’ part?” Hecate asks.

A memory surfaces—Seamus and I in the library, arguing in hushed tones. Me storming out, tears threatening to fall. The book I’d been reading, abandoned on a table.

“I think I know.” I grab my coat and bag. “Come on, we’re going to the Moonlit Inn.”

“So we are helping him,” Hecate says smugly, jumping into my bag.

“We’re investigating a magical mystery that might affect the whole town,” I correct her, though I’m not entirely convinced myself. “It has nothing to do with Seamus.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Her voice is muffled as she burrows deeper into my bag. “But for the record, I still think we should bite his ankles. Just a little nip. For old times’ sake.”

I lock the café door behind us and step into the cool evening air, the note clutched in my hand. Despite my reservations, excitement bubbles up inside me. A magical hunt for stolen leprechaun gold? It’s certainly not how I expected my day to end.

As we walk toward the Moonlit Inn, its Victorian facade glowing with enchanted lanterns, I can’t help wondering if I’m making a huge mistake. Getting involved with Seamus again, even just to solve this mystery, feels dangerous, like poking at a wound that’s only half-healed.

Yet the note in my hand pulses with magic, calling to me, and deep down, beneath the hurt and anger, I’m curious. Why was the gold stolen? Why involve me? And most importantly, who has the power to pull off such a theft? Somewhere in the Moonlit Inn library might be the next clue to this bizarre search.