Hairy Goat (Hat Witch #1)

Chapter 1 Gracie

Suggested Listening: Suspicious Minds by Elvis

T here are moments I want to step back through time and twat punch my bitch ass self. I knew that owning a dispensary was going to come with a certain level of absurdity in life. But some days really just take the whole joint and leave nothing but ashes.

Dad is going to laugh his ass off when I tell him about this later. Maybe it’ll be funny by then? I can only hope.

I stand in the hallway leading from the office to the front of the shop and pinch the bridge of my nose. I wish things like this were a little less common, though even this is a first.

I’d been mid-meeting with my two best friends, co-owners, and housemates—Briella and Poppy—discussing the utter disaster that is our current personal financial situation with the coven when our budtender burst in saying there was a problem. The fact it wasn’t Ezra, the half-vampire store manager, coming to get me already told me this was a big-fish-problem. AKA something only I can handle.

“Do I want to ask?” Briella loops her arm through mine and gapes at the scene playing out in front of us.

Poppy sets her chin on my other shoulder and lifts a medallion of almost translucent stone to peer through it. The stone is useful for seeing trace amounts of magic that aren’t visible to the naked eye. She uses it a lot in product processing our witchweed. “Oh, wow. Someone let her into the good stuff .”

What the hell does that mean? Do I want to know? Is this going to be a liability concern?

“Grraacciiee…” Ezra tries—and fails—to fend off the grabby hands of the elderly customer. “Please, help me!”

Facts are he could break her like a twig with just his pinky fingers, but Ezra is a truly gentle soul. Which means he is entirely unequipped to deal with the woman who could be a double for Sofia from Golden Girls. Complete with bedazzled walker and color coordinating tracksuit. The woman has s-t-y-l-e .

Honestly, this is one of those unique problems that’s only ever going to happen here. There’s nowhere else this situation could ever play out.

Ezra keeps glancing at me with his big, blue eyes pleading for help while the Sofia lookalike clings to his shoulders. It’s a strange tableau and I’m still soaking it all in while fantasizing about hanging an old woman by her meat flaps.

How is this my life? I cannot seriously want to tit-flick an old woman because I’m jealous. What is wrong with me?

Ezra is my best friend . My store manager. And my personal rock. I cannot, under any circumstances, catch feelings for him more than I already have. The only person who knows is Dad, and his input hasn’t been all that great. His last advice was that I couldn’t count Ezra out until I’d given him a test drive. That was the last time I’m ever asking him for emotional support when it comes to dating. Besides, Dad’s very much in his honeymoon stage with his long-term girlfriend and all aboard the everyone-needs-to-hook-up train. At least the woman in his life is someone I actually like and trust this time.

I have to schedule some time with my vibrators if I’m this cranky. I haven’t exactly been the best company since my boyfriend up and vanished on me six months ago without a word. Ezra has been a buffer between me and the rest of the shop. Otherwise, I might have turned some of them into ladybugs. At least then they’d be more reliable helping out with the crops than they are with the shop.

The Sofia lookalike throws her other hand up in the air. Ezra flinches and holds his arms out, ready to catch her if she falls.

“Someone turn on the smoke machine!” Sofia cries out.

Okay, that gets a chuckle out of me.

I can’t blame her for thinking we might have one. The store decor has a unique contemporary-tavern-meets-club vibe that doesn’t help with that misconception. We wanted to marry a sleek, modern design with a witchy, tavern aesthetic. And then we got high and bought a bunch of neon lights to throw into the mix. I’m not sure if we achieved that, but customers do love posing in front of the timber wall with the neon Witchweed Dispensary sign in the background with the glowing potion bottles. Since we don’t—yet—have an online store, it’s really helped bring in the younger locals and tourists looking for a cute social media photo moment to go with their elevated treats.

With the recent federal legalization of cannabis, everyone has something to say about it. Or at least to use it as a social media prop. Whatever the purpose, it’s bringing more money to our coffers.

Ezra lifts his hands up in the air as the small, frail woman clings to his shoulders. Her hands keep slipping off, though. Ezra likes his black budtender shirt skin tight, so you can see every ridge and dip of muscle decorating his chest. I’ve wondered if it’s a vampire thing, but Briella went through his social media from before his turning, and no. It’s just an Ezra thing. He used to be more clean-cut and preppy looking, but something about turning into a half-vampire has him looking like a less-toxic, cinnamon roll version of Lestat from those Anne Rice books, but during a surfer boy era.

“Boss,” Ezra groans and stares at me when Briella and Poppy are right here alongside me. We’re all three his boss. We all three helped save his life. But for some reason, he always looks at me. And that’s not good for my heart.

I cannot fall for Ezra. No matter how many times he gives me a shoulder to lean on or hands me tissues, I can’t let anything happen between us.

Besides, whatever he’s feeling is probably just misplaced gratitude. I did break the link to his sire, after all. That’s kind of a big deal. Also why he’s only a half-vampire. I think. Honestly, not very sure. A lot of things aren’t adding up, but it isn’t like we can call up his sire to ask questions.

I wish he’d stop acting like this. Like he expects or wants something from me. I’ve got enough on my plate just keeping us afloat. I don’t want to think too hard about Ezra because then I’ll have to confront some very complicated emotions I’m not ready to face. There’s just too much on my plate right now.

Fuck. And here comes that headache I’ve been dreading all day. It feels like someone is driving the toe of a boot into the back of my head over and over again. This isn’t going to help my mood.

“I’m gonna dance with The King!” the old lady says as she thrusts her hips.

“What in the name of the goddess is going on?” Briella whispers over my shoulder. I glance at her and do a double-take. Her neon red hair is still jarring to look at. Poppy convinced her to put a fire engine red dye over her already red hair and the result looks like fire. Especially when she leaves it down and allows her natural wave free rein. With her fair skin and green eyes, the whole look is striking. Especially since she’s been wearing nothing but long, dramatic black dresses lately. I know she’s in her feelings about her weight, but if I were into women, I’d totally be into her. I know I need to check in with her. I just haven’t had the spoons to deal with anything more than my own shit, the shop, and the bills.

Poppy crosses her arms under her generous chest on my other side and grins. She has dirt and plant debris clinging to her pastel pink and purple mushroom print overalls. Seriously, where does she get this stuff? But it goes with her latest split dye job. She’s got neon pink hair on one side and lime green on the other. Her cheeks are plumped and pink from grinning and laughing at the ongoing scene. She twirls the medallion a few times before sticking it back down the front of her crop top. She’s been all about the crop tops since one of the elders suggested that women her size should cover up more.

I might have intentionally worn a crop top when dropping off our loan check just to see the guy’s eyes bulge. I’m too self-conscious about my size, so I’ll likely never wear it again. But the expression on his face was worth it.

“Seriously.” Poppy nods at Sophia. “She got into the good stuff .”

Whatever Poppy is trying to tell me, I don’t understand. I’ll have to figure it out myself, I guess.

“Will one of you please help?” Ezra begs, yet he’s still looking at me. “Boss, please ?”

“We’re caught in a trap,” Sofia begins to croon. “I can’t walk out! Not until you give me the magical syringe!”

I stare on in increasing horror until a laugh bubbles up out of me. Okay, maybe I do understand what Poppy is hinting at.

My reaction is not professional. Nothing about the situation is.

When the budtenders that aren’t Ezra rush in for help, it’s usually because some busty customer can’t take no for an answer and has backed Ezra into a corner. It happens weekly, with no provocation or flirting on his part whatsoever. I’ve reviewed the tapes. Seriously, the guy is too nice for his own good. They all hit on Ezra, and I can’t blame them. The man is a snack. But no human needs his baggage. Not to mention I don’t know that Ezra can control himself yet. As far as I’m aware, he still only feeds on bagged blood.

Ezra steps back, forcing Sofia to make a decision. Is she going to keep her grip on him or her walker?

The walker wins out, and she grasps it while her hips swing and gyrate to a beat we cannot hear.

“Oh. My. Goddess,” I whisper.

“I’m out.” Briella turns back toward the office with a dramatic twirl of today’s skirt. “I cannot handle that.”

Poppy and I look at each other and a dozen thoughts pass between us. We’ve been friends for so long that some things don’t need to be said. Briella’s anxiety has never been this bad. I’m surprised she’s even here today. Most likely she’s been stressing about being here without saying anything to either Poppy or I. I’d never expect her to deal with the little old lady. The wine moms take enough out of Briella just doing deliveries.

Between Poppy and me, she has a gentler touch and a longer relationship with Briella. I can be a bit too much tough love for her at times. It’s best if we divide and conquer.

“I’ve got it,” I mutter.

Poppy nods once. “I’ll go talk Bri off that ledge, look over the books, and get started.”

They’re free to look all they want. It isn’t going to change our situation.

Ezra, free from Sofia’s grabby hands, rushes across the store to stand behind me.

I have to snort and roll my eyes. “The big, bad vampire’s scared of a little old woman?”

“I’m not a real vampire,” he mutters while eyeing the Sofia lookalike. “What if I hurt her? She’s so frail, Gracie. I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt her. I think… I know I messed up. But please. Please, help?”

I reach up and tousle his long, blonde hair. It’s so soft and fine. I want to run my fingers through it. My hair is sturdy-soft, but not like this. Even when I can see my fingers in his hair, it doesn’t feel quite real. Nothing except a chinchilla should be this soft.

Right. I might be a tiny bit high. I’ve been micro-dosing to try to stave off the migraine today, but must have overdid it. Oopse.

“Gracie,” Ezra whispers, the word layered with pleading. There’s lipstick on his neck that matches the bright berry color Sofia has on.

I sigh and massage my temples.

The things I do for my people.

Tomorrow is going to be a high pain day. I can already tell. And I don’t have any more days I can spare to take-off. Briella has to go make her wine mom deliveries and Poppy is trying to speed up our next crop so we can fulfill our increasing wholesale orders. We’re operating at maximum production and one hiccup will throw everything off. We’re so close to being free, though. We can’t stop now.

I can do this.

The store closes in just a little while.

The other customers, mostly humans, are watching the elderly lady with a mix of amusement and understanding. Anyone who partakes of either cannabis or witchweed has had a day like this, where they flew too close to the sun. I’m not sure what she’s taken or how much, and now I have to find out. It’s best if it’s me. I’m the only one with any kind of medical training. Lot of good getting my pharmacy tech license does me. I’d be in a better place if I didn’t have the school loans, but that’s hindsight for you.

I watch Sofia croon a bit more about loving too much. Her unbridled joy makes it easier to smile. It reminds me that this is why we settled on a dispensary. To help people who fall through the cracks. Who need another kind of help that they can’t get through traditional medicine.

My witch gift is spellcrafting. Anyone can write a new spell, but for me it comes easier. I’d wanted to hone my gift to work in the medical field. Too bad I didn’t understand witch and coven politics before going to college. There are a handful of witch families that control that industry on the magical side. And because my witch ancestry is a mystery, they aren’t willing to hire or allow me to do business. Which is when I turned to cannabis and witchweed.

The old woman turns a bit and I catch her eye, grinning right back at her as I approach slowly. I’m not sure if she’s medicated already, taking something else, escaped her family, or just has a loud personality, but she’s here and I’m going to help her. It just might not be the help she wants.

“Hi there,” I say.

“Dance with me!”

She grabs my hand with a strong grip and abandons her walker, slinging her other arm around my waist. I blink over her head at Ezra, watching me with wide, helpless eyes as I begin to sway with her. She rests her head on my shoulder while humming the tune to Elvis’ hit song. I close my eyes and breathe in her baby powder and rose scent. Her soft, curly white hair tickles my nose.

“We’re caught in a trap. I can’t walk out,” I sing along with her.

The little old lady steps back and holds up her arm. I have to duck to twirl around, and then it’s her turn. It’s more of a scoot around in place, but she’s so fun and flirty about it.

She grins at me and dives in for a hug. I pat her shoulder, unsure how to react, since I’m not confident about her mental state. Can’t rule out that she’s on the run and not of sound mind.

“Oh, bless you, you beautiful, beautiful girl,” the old woman says. “I need the magic syringe.”

“Sorry?” I say slowly and glance at the security guard posted at the door.

Tito shrugs, his face scrunched up, then gives me a thumbs up. Which is the signal that means she has a driver’s license and a medical card.

The medical card isn’t completely necessary, but we give discounts for medicinal purposes. We also limit some of our farm-to-bong products if a person doesn’t have a card. Our prices for our home-grown-bud are competitive enough that we’ve had issues with people reselling our product under our brand or acting like they’re somehow attached to the store.

Last month, we finally got the guy shut down masquerading as the delivery arm of the store via social media. What with the coven breathing down our neck, we had to squash that real quick due to liability concerns, opening up an opportunity for the coven to attempt to wrestle control of the dispensary away from us. They still hold the deed to the property. At least until they cash the damn check.

The elderly woman leans in closer and speaks slowly. “I came in yesterday and bought a syringe from the nice young man over there.”

We both glance at Ezra, who is still haunting the hallway, looking traumatized.

“Would you mind pointing at what you bought yesterday?” I ask to get a feel for how deep we’re into the weed here.

“Yes.”

She turns and starts walking across the shop, away from the cannabis display, around the corner and toward the witchweed products.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I get it now. This is what Poppy meant and I feared.

She’s human with a drop of a gift. Some bit of non-human in her ancestry.

The store floor is an open, L-shaped space. The cannabis products the humans come in for are up around the door, while you have to walk around the corner to see the witchy things. Including the various products that include a magical component. The only way you can see them is if a customer has magic in their blood or a spell to reveal the unseen.

My gaze snaps back to Ezra. He’s already backpedaled down the hall toward the office, hands up as if to defend himself.

Forget twat punching myself. I’m going to dick punch Ezra for this.

Most people think that the Witchweed Dispensary name is just a cute, branded name. Typical humans think of witchweed as an invasive, parasitic plant that causes problems with crops. And if they were only discussing the common varieties, they would be correct.

There are several strains of magical witchweed, which is a fundamentally different plant that has little to no similarities to their more common sisters. The witchweed we grow and sell has similar psychoactive compounds to cannabis. Only they’re much more potent. Witches have been using it for ages to enhance spells or for recreational purposes. Before the modern era, it was used as anesthesia for complicated medical procedures. Seers have been using it to increase the potency of their visions since the dawn of time. At one point, it was widely used to help with postpartum depression. There are also spells that use it as an ingredient due to its magical nature. And that’s barely scratching the surface of how it can be used.

The thing is, unless a person has some magic in them, they cannot see the type of witchweed we carry. It’s how we grow it on public property next to our house in the flood zone with no one the wiser.

And this adorable old lady can see it.

Fucking fiddlesticks. I doubt she has any idea she’s got a drop of non-human in her. It would have to be a very small amount, or she’d have figured it out by now. She’s probably been able to see all sorts of things humans shouldn’t and simply dismissed them as her active imagination.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and sense Ezra creep closer. He’s on the other side of the counter, where he’s relatively safe from Sofia. I briefly consider that nasty little spell I wrote to pinch a dude’s balls, but quickly discard it. I wrote it in a jealous fit of grief after Puck’s disappearance three months ago. I haven’t had a reason to use it—yet.

“I didn’t— please —Gracie?”

I hold up my hand. Dealing with him comes later. He should know better. This customer isn’t our first and won’t be our last unsuspecting human. I need to be able to rely on my budtenders to be thorough when assessing our customers and their purchases. Usually, Ezra is the absolute best at checking everything. But he isn’t perfect. He can still make mistakes.

I follow the elderly lady and calmly stare into the display case with her. This part of the shop is more witchy. There are also a few tables and chairs, plus two sofas. Typically, we pull new or nervous customers aside to talk about their specific needs to help find the strain that’s right for them in what I like to call our consultation service. There’s a small spell on the space to encourage humans to be quick with their business so they don’t linger close to the witchweed. It helps congregate the customers around what they can purchase.

Gently, I touch her elbow. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“I’m Sally.” She leans in closer, eyes sparkling. “Maybe you’ve heard of me? Sally Jessy Raphael?”

“Um, sorry—”

“I’m kidding!” She lightly smacks my arm and grins.

I shake my head and laugh. “You look like a Sophia to me.”

She straightens up and peers over her glasses at me. “You talking about me?”

I snap my fingers, matching her sass. “Who else is worth my time?”

She throws her head back and howls. “Oh, you’re a precious baby, aren’t you? I get that compliment a lot!”

We giggle and grin at each other.

If I had a grandmother, I’d want her to be like Sally. I don’t think there’s a single thing wrong with her. I think this is just her. Being herself.

I point at the collection of Hairy Goat syringes. No one knows who first called it that, but the why is pretty obvious. First time users often indulge way too much and end up on a mind-bending trip where they get so high they sometimes lose control of their bladder. Goats were once a common witch familiar and it just so happens that male goats pee on themselves to attract a mate. Since the effects of witchweed can often inspire amorous feelings and the loss of some bodily functions at high doses, well, the name stuck. Despite the unfortunate name and history, it’s my favorite strain.

“Sally, you said you bought one of these yesterday, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes. But I only bought one because I didn’t know if it would work. I’ve got some pain in my joints that won’t go away. My doctor keeps wanting to put me on those pills that stop you up. You probably don’t know the ones. But they make you feel like it’s Thanksgiving afternoon and you’re down for a fifth plate because the extended family didn’t show up and your mother-in-law doesn’t do leftovers.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Anyway, my doctor said I needed to get some of the cannabis and try that instead if I didn’t want to take my pills. That it would help my joints and appetite. My girlfriend gets the edibles, but I can’t do all that sugar. Makes me feel gross. That lovely young man recommended—what did he call this?”

I pause in nodding. I’m aware of what she’s referring to. And cannabis does have anti-inflammatory properties. It’s one of the reasons I often microdose.

I tap the glass. “RSO?”

The one in front of us is labeled as W-RSO, but Ezra should have pointed her at the cannabis version.

Her face scrunches up. “What does that mean, dear?”

“It stands for Rick Simpson Oil. He was a Canadian engineer who suffered from tinnitus and became a cannabis cultivator and activist.”

“Tinnitus. That ringing in your ears?”

“Yes, ma’am. He came up with the process to reduce cannabis down to just the oil so he could use it to treat his symptoms.”

“I see. What an inventive young man!” She lays her hand over mine and glances over her shoulder. “And you’re telling me cannabis can help with that, my joints, my tummy, and give me a show?”

“Medically speaking, there are studies being done about all of those points. So I can’t officially say one way or another. Cannabis has been used throughout history for a wide range of medicinal purposes before it was criminalized. These days, many people choose to use it instead of manufactured drugs. It’s all about what works best to meet your needs.”

She scoffs. “Of all the things to criminalize. I’m glad those old farts got their heads out of their asses. Anyway, this right here is what I got yesterday. I want five of them. The King and I have a date later.”

Sally begins to dance in place again. She’s humming and shimmying her hips.

Oh boy. Shit. Okay. I can handle this.

“Um, Sally?”

“Yes, dear?”

“How much of that syringe did you take last night? And can you tell me what happened?”

Her face lights up. “Oh, it was lovely! I took the whole thing with dinner, just like the nice man told me to do. He was very clear that I needed to eat, so the syringe would work better. Anyway, I took it and settled in to read my dirty books. I love my dirty books. Do you read? I was reading about these two hot young things, putting this girl through her paces when…” She gasps and pats my hand all coy like. “Guess who walks in?”

Goddess, save me.

She took enough W-RSO to knock out an elephant. Whatever is in her bloodline has to be sturdy. Orc, maybe? Her teeth are quite prominent, but she’s pixie sized.

“Who?” I croak.

“The King! Elvis!” Her eyes roll back up in her head and she grins so wide.

I swallow and try to keep my face neutral. “Sally, did you… I mean, did I hear you right? You took the entire syringe?”

She waves a hand at me. “Darling, when you get to be my age, anytime someone tells you to take something, you double it.”

“Sally.” I look up at the ceiling and shake my head. “Oh, Sally.”

“Don’t worry. My doctor does the same thing. I’m still kicking!”

“You’re a medical wonder. That’s what you are, Sally. Unfortunately, I can’t sell you more than one syringe of that in a week. This is not just RSO. My adorable store manager must have misunderstood what you were looking for. This syringe…” I glance around while I decide what story I’m going to tell Sally. Our last-minute customers have cleared, so it’s just the staff, me, and Sally. We cannot keep the witchweed products in the store proper after this. I didn’t want to have to put it behind a door, because that feels sketchy, but this will not happen a second time. “Sally, this particular product has a stronger psychedelic component.”

“Like mushrooms?”

“Something like that.”

“And you can’t…” Her already large eyes go owlishly large behind her glasses as she proceeds to pout at me. “You can’t let me buy another? This one time?”

“Oh, Sally. You get everything you want, don’t you?”

She lifts her shoulders and smiles at me. “What’s it going to hurt? I’m eighty! I saw Elvis when I was a girl. He picked my bra up off the stage and showed it off! A little mushroom juice ain’t going to kill me. I just want to see those hips move one more time…” She holds onto her walker and begins to gyrate. It finally makes sense. That’s her Elvis impersonation. “Hunka, hunka, burning love!”

There’s no fault in her logic. But too much W-RSO and I’m worried about what she’ll do or how it might react with the drop of non-human blood in her. If she suddenly wakes up to find out she’s part fire djinn, for example, she could burn the whole city down. It’s too many risks. And I’m not going to play with someone’s life like this. She’s eighty. She doesn’t need to learn a whole new world at this point in life. Especially when it can be so ugly.

I hear the soft whoosh of the door opening and groan inwardly. I’d hoped we wouldn’t get another customer before the store closed, but today is not working in my favor.

“Sally…” I sigh and rub my face.

She scoffs. “Don’t be a square, stick-in-the-mud. Whose rules are these?”

Mine, but not something I can tell her. It’s not like witchweed is a regulated product.

“Boss?” one of the other budtenders calls out.

I swear, some days, I’m the only person with a brain cell here. Can’t they handle one thing without me? I’m drowning in responsibility, trying to hold it all together for everyone else.

For once, I wish there was someone who’d take care of me. Who would think of me first and not what I can do for them. Just once. I thought that was Puck, but he left without a word.

The groan escapes me despite my clenched teeth. “What?”

“Just sell it to me under the table,” Sally suggests. “I won’t tell no one!”

“Sally…”

“Boss?” the budtender’s voice rises an octave.

And then I hear it. A sexy, low, rumbling voice uttering two words, “Hey, Gracie.”

My eyes pop open, I turn slightly, and I stare at a face I haven’t seen in six months .

It hurts to look at him. There’s this physical ache that makes my bones and joints hurt and the breath catch in my throat.

Goddess, he looks good. Thinner than the last time I saw him. And less hair. But good.

Anyone else will see an extremely attractive, stylish Black man in his early thirties wearing a light gray shirt with a comically low cut V-neck and painted on jeans with gray and white sneakers that haven’t seen a speck of dirt. But what they see is a pale comparison to what he’s hiding. The fact I can see through his disguise means a lot of confusing things. That he hasn’t used it or had need of it is at the top of the list. A disguise spell like his is only good for a moon cycle. He’s been gone for six.

He isn’t the tallest guy. He will claim all day long he’s six feet, but that’s a lie. He’s five eleven, which is more than tall enough. But it’s always bothered him. I just never point out that he likes boots and shoes with a higher heel for a little oomph to his height. His true skin is dark, almost a true black, while his glamor is a deep brown that makes me think of polished wood aged by time.

It’s the length of his pointed ears that set him apart from other fae. They jut out from the side of his head like two knives, extending out and back from his head a good six inches. Gleaming black rings dangle from the lower edge of his ear lobe all the way to the point where he has delicate caps clamped around them. He once told me it’s a fashion hold-over from more violent days when fae used to try to cut each other’s ears off in battle. The length of his ears indicates that he’s from one of the royal lines. With the way the fae procreate, that both does and doesn’t say much. There have been a lot of royal lines, but there are still a few that people will only whisper about in reverent tones.

I always thought a crown would not be at all out of place on his regal head.

The only truly surprising thing is that his locs are gone. Shaved down to just a thin layer of dark curls. It’s jarring to see his profile cut so perfectly without the halo of hair. I know it means something. With the fae, everything is layered in meaning. And for as long as I’ve known him, Puck has taken care of his hair better than anyone else I know. And I live with two women who negotiated with our house to have their own spa room, for goddess’ sake. Puck was delighted by it while living with me, though technically he never moved in. He just spent the night perpetually.

I blink and shake my head, but he’s still there.

Our paths brushed a few times growing up. Not that he would have noticed a chubby teenager like me. He’s around three hundred years old, after all. No, he didn’t notice me until he came into the shop a few years back. He browsed and would buy a single pre-roll, then head out, only to pop back in the next day or a few days later. This was back when Briella and I were still working the shop because we couldn’t afford to hire anyone. Back then our security was a spelled scarecrow. That’s how poor we were.

Puck would hang around talking to us, and every time he left Briella would sigh about how it wasn’t fair that the only reason Puck was coming in was to see me. Of course, I didn’t believe her. Why would I? He’s so far out of my league crushing on him would not only be pointless, I considered it a form of self-harm.

But she was right.

And Puck swept me off my feet.

But he’s always been smarter than he is pretty. A truly dangerous combo.

I never asked questions. I never wanted to pry too much. So I have no idea where he’s been for the last six months. No fucking clue. Because I’ve come to realize I don’t know this man.

Puck has never admitted who his family is or if he belongs to the light or dark court. I’ve gleaned what I know from others and my own assumptions. The only bit of truth he’s ever told me was the nature of his powers. It’s the one secret I’ve held onto because sharing it with me meant something. He was trusting his life in my hands with that knowledge.

A fae’s court isn’t a matter of birth. It’s down to the gifts a child displays. And Puck’s magic is one of the more dangerous I’ve run across. That anyone has run across. Which makes him a dark court fae. The type people whisper about.

The few times I asked about his parents, he got all tight-lipped and changed the topic. The most I could get out of him was that his father collected children like some people collect cards. And Puck ran away to live in the human world. That’s literally all I know. But it was enough to tell me he’d run from me, too. Eventually. Too bad I didn’t realize that until he’d gone.

What a stupid hussy I’ve been. I was just so happy to have someone that would listen to me, make me tea on the really bad days, and just hold me, that I never stopped to think through any of it. I bought into the vision that he would want me . And I can’t lay the blame for that at Puck’s feet. It’s not his fault he’s a beautifully built specimen of fae strength and beauty, rolled into one tantalizing package. I knew better, and I still gave him my heart.

I had no defense against him. I wouldn’t say I’m in better shape now, but I wear my anger and hurt like armor. And it makes it easier to meet his dark gaze without flinching.

Six months and no word. No call. No text. No message of any sort. He has enough power he could have sent me a sign. Something. Anything at all.

I thought seeing him again would be more emotional. That I’d fall apart or cry or possibly beg him to never leave me again. But I learned something about myself in the last six months.

I’m stronger than I realized.

There’s twenty minutes until the store closes. Tonight, for the first time in ages, we’re closing early. I am at my limit for the day.

Sally looks from Puck to me and back again.

One problem at a time.

I turn to Sally and pull her walker over so it’s within easy distance for her. “Sally, I’m sorry, but I cannot sell you five of those at a time. If you like, you can get the normal RSO syringes at a discount. I’ll look at the policies and see if there’s another solution for you we can put into effect next week. That’s my one and only offer. If you say yes, I’ll throw in a gummy for free that should allow you to still have that date with Elvis tonight, but safely. How’s that sound?”

Sally sighs. “You drive a hard bargain, young lady. I’ll be here first thing in the morning next week, you hear me?”

Even with the chaos going on around us, I can’t help but smile at her. “Loud and clear, ma’am. Let’s go get you checked out. Don’t want to miss that date, do you?”

“No, I do not! He’s got a hunk of something else I’m hoping to see.” Sally throws her head back and cackles.

I hold out my arm and usher the firecracker of a woman toward the register, belatedly realizing that means passing by Puck. I steel my spine and aim my stare past him at Ezra. But I’m surprised to see the half-vampire in the middle of the store glaring at the back of Puck’s head like the two have beef. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not like the two ever really spoke or interacted willingly.

“Ezra, can you get Miss Sally an RSO syringe and one of those Green Broke gummies Poppy brought in?” I ask to get one of the creeps moving.

Ezra stares at Puck for a moment longer before turning and stalking toward the register. “On it, boss.”

Sally saves us all by crooning and dancing her way to the register. Tito snickers and tries to not laugh from behind his hand along with the one budtender on the clock right now. I almost wonder if Sally is trying to lighten the mood.

Tito keeps attempting to catch my eye, no doubt to ask me if I want him to get rid of Puck.

I’ve spent six months thinking about what I want to say if he showed back up. I’m not letting this opportunity slip through my fingers.

Ezra smiles and helps Sally through tapping her debit card for the purchase then walks her to the door. No one else speaks or moves much until the door closes behind Sally.

“Ezra, stay right there for a moment, will you?” I ask him as he closes the door. “Tito, Jenn, you two are good to go. We’re closing up a few minutes early today. Fill out your time card until the hour, please. And thank you.”

I don’t bother to tell them why I’m thanking them. If they need me to spell it out, we can do that tomorrow.

Tito looks from Puck, to me, then Ezra before nodding his head. “Sure thing, boss. See you tomorrow.”

Jenn scampers into the office, no doubt to warn Poppy and Briella. The crash that comes a moment later just confirms that.

With Tito and Jenn cleared out I turn to face Puck and draw myself up to my full height.

He’s so handsome. I’m angry and happy and sad all at once. For six months, I didn’t know if he was alive or dead or what. But now I do.

He takes a step toward me. “Gracie—”

“No.” I hold up my hand. “No, you have been gone for six months . That’s six months of not hearing from you and fearing the worst. Well, I can see you’ve been just fine. Hopefully, all those sleepless nights were good for something. I’m sure you have some very good reason for vanishing and appearing now, of all times. But here’s the thing, Puck. I don’t care. I don’t care why you were gone or what was so important you couldn’t leave me a note. We’re done. I’m so glad you’re okay and you came back, because I really hate when things are left hanging. This is good for me. It’s a clean break. So, thanks for dropping in, and goodbye, Puck. Don’t come here again.”

His eyes go wide, like he never expected I wouldn’t be happy to see him. “Gracie!”

Before Puck can take a step, Ezra shoves the front door open. From one blink to the next, Ezra goes from standing in front of the door to standing in front of Puck. Ezra shoves Puck backward. He goes flying out of the open door, hits the concrete, and rolls. My heart hurts watching him land like that. I wince and bite the inside of my cheek to keep from rushing to him.

Puck isn’t human. I’m sure the fall stings, but it won’t leave him in pain for days. Hell, he probably isn’t even scratched up. The worst damage might be to his pride and my heart.

I’m still watching Puck rock around on his back, no doubt wondering how he got there, when Ezra pulls the front door closed with a jangle. That’s when Briella and Poppy rush out from the office with Jenn following on their heels to gape at the scene.

“I don’t know about you girls, but I need to get out of here,” I announce.

“Go,” Ezra says and gestures at the back entrance. “I’ll close up shop, boss. I’ve got this.”

“You sure you don’t want something now?” Poppy asks me.

I shake my head. “Not until I’m home.”

Because I’m going to fall apart. I didn’t just like Puck, I loved him. And he left me.