Chapter Eleven-Bella
Thirty-Nine Minutes Later
I stood there like the world’s most patient shopkeeper (read: lying through my teeth) while the old biddy peered into my display case, squinting as though the last remaining tray of day-old biscotti might suddenly reveal the mysteries of the universe.
Spoiler: they would not.
Half the shelves were bare—I’d already started clearing things away for tomorrow—but there she was, humming and leaning in like the fate of Castor’s Corner rested on whether she went with a cinnamon scone or a sugar cookie.
Lady, I had things to do.
A wall to paint, for one.
And after that? Haul my curvy Witch butt out to the pine barrens for our monthly Trifecta gathering.
That’s right. It was that time again.
And no, not that time of the month—our collective hormones were none of your business.
I was talking Trifecta time.
Every month, like clockwork, my cousins-slash-besties-slash-fellow-hot-Witches and I hiked out to our little hidden clearing deep in the forest—right on top of some serious ley lines—to give the wards around our town a magical tune-up.
There was always a bonfire.
There was always singing, chanting, and communing with the Goddess.
And yes, there was always some enthusiastic naked dancing under the moonlight—because nothing says protective barrier magic quite like three buxom Witches shaking what their ancestors gave them in the flicker of open flame.
You think I’m kidding.
I am not kidding.
It kept Castor’s Corner safe from mortal eyes.
Which was important.
The last thing we needed was a tour bus full of non-magicals rolling into town and Instagramming their way through our secrets.
And sure, a few Shifters had slipped through over the years.
Not our fault.
Mostly.
To be fair, Jaxson made an excellent Sheriff. Ryan was a great Fire Chief and in my kitchen, he was magic. And Conrad—ugh.
Conrad was making a name for himself as both a Deputy, a firefighter, and an electrician, and I was thrilled for him.
Really.
Couldn’t be happier.
Also, I really hated the way we’d left things.
Because Conrad was confusing.
One second, he was all heat and smoldering snaky kisses.
The next, he was cool enough to chill the butter in my mixing bowls.
He turned on and off faster than my set of magical mixing bowls.
I mean the man kissed me like I was his last meal, then poof! He vanished for days.
And me? I was right to say no.
I simply wasn’t built for that kind of emotional roller coaster.
Why couldn’t the man just be happy with a little no-strings boinking?
Was that so unreasonable?
The fact was relationships and I, well, let’s just say we’d never been on speaking terms for long.
The second I agreed to be someone’s girlfriend, the diet books would mysteriously start appearing, followed by lectures about healthy lifestyle choices and necessary self-improvement.
Newsflash, boys, I liked myself just fine.
Also, fork off.
I mean, yes, I had Monday-through-Sunday underwear, but that’s called being organized.
And yes, my Monday panties said Bakery Girl Forevah on them, but that wasn’t just laundry—it was a lifestyle.
Even pudgy, I was cute as hell.
And if a man couldn’t appreciate that? Well, I had an entire drawer full of battery-operated optimism.
Sure, sex with an actual person was better, but it also came with things like feelings and the possibility of heartbreak.
And I wasn’t interested in falling into that trap just because one six-and-a-half-foot-tall Python Shifter could kiss me into next week.
Which brought me back to the current problem: I still needed to get Mrs. Gennaro out the door before I was late to the bonfire.
Donny and Evie were counting on me, and the former might take it as a personal betrayal if I showed up after moonrise, jeopardizing their joint wedding.
See, if the wards weren’t reinforced then Castor’s Corner was likely to get hit by some horribly inconvenient force—magical or otherwise.
And no one wanted that on any average day, never mind, with two of the town’s Witch Trifecta’s nuptials coming up.
“Mrs. Gennaro, have you decided what you’d like?” I asked, inching toward polite-but-firm territory.
“What, dear?” she said, blinking up at me like I’d just spoken in Parseltongue.
“I said, what can I help you with?”
“Oh, well,” she sighed and looked around at the mostly empty shelves. “Everything goods been put away. Am I really late again?”
“In fact, I was just about to close—”
“Well, I’m glad I caught you then! The Castor’s Corner Charmed Embers Women and Witches Social Club is having a special meeting tonight.”
“That’s nice,” I said through my customer-service smile.
“Yes, and we’re not just doting Grannies talking knitting patterns, oh no. We have important issues to discuss.”
“I see. So, how can I help you?”
“As Vice President, I said I’d get the goodies for tonight’s emergency meeting. Don’t you want to know what it’s about?”
She paused for dramatic effect.
My eyes flicked to the clock.
Tick tock, tick tock.
“Um, sure. Why not?”
“Well, Mr. Dorian is at it again, accusing someone’s pet of eating his zinnias and prize marigolds. Can you believe the nerve? Downright insulted us, he did—accused us of being bad pet owners!”
“Oh my,” I said, already picturing Donny’s face when I showed up late and covered in powdered sugar.
Because clearly, the Goddess was testing me tonight.
Tick tock. Tick tock.
“So, we are starting a neighborhood watch and we are gonna find whose little furry bundle is up to no good,” Mrs. Gennaro said, nodding with the gravitas of someone announcing the capture of an international jewel thief.
“I see. Well, that is fascinating. Sounds like hungry work. How about I put together a variety box just for you gals?” I offered, pasting on my biggest please-take-the-hint-and-go smile.
“Oh, I don’t know. I might take my time and look around,” she hedged, tapping her long fingernails on the counter in an almost slow-motion taunt.
I knew that look.
She was stalling.
Typically, when one of the older customers wanted to linger and chat, I obliged.
I mean, I liked being the friendly neighborhood baker-slash-listener-slash-keeper-of-town-gossip.
But tonight? Nope.
Not an option.
I had things to do.
Magic to cast.
Cousins to meet.
Wards to strengthen.
And possibly a small emotional crisis to continue having over a certain infuriatingly sexy deputy, but that was my business.
“I’ll do it for half price,” I blurted, instantly regretting it.
My voice came out like I was announcing a Black Friday sale, not desperately trying to make my customer choose a cookie and move along.
Her eyes lit up. “Deal!”
Well, I’d just been played. Again.
I hurried around the counter to grab one of my multicolored pastry boxes while Mrs. Gennaro watched with a predatory gleam in her eyes.
The woman was a sly old fox—not literally.
Literally, she was half Witch, half Ostrich Shifter.
That explained her knobby knees, ridiculously long neck, and tendency to stare at people like she was assessing whether they were worth pecking.
Her great-great-grandfather had immigrated to Castor’s Corner from Australia after WWI, bringing his unique Shifter genes with him.
Honestly, it made her sort of cool.
Well, when she wasn’t single-handedly making me late.
“Here you go,” I said, tying the string into a neat bow.
I took her cash, thanked her, and herded her out the door like a one-woman ostrich wrangler.
The moment she was out, I flipped the sign to CLOSED with a flourish.
Then I turned toward the back. “Petyr! Got the paint?”
The door creaked open, and my familiar shuffled in, his little claws clicking against the tile.
Petyr was not your average Witch familiar.
No bat, owl, cat or talking zebra, like the one Mrs. O’Reilly kept in a stable in her backyard,
Oh no. Not for me or my girls.
Domovyks were their own category of supernatural—super strong, ridiculously loyal, magically gifted, and entirely incapable of blending into polite society.
Where most familiars were decidedly normal, Petyr was well, imagine a three-and-a-half-foot-tall furball with shaggy gray-and-black hair, bulbous eyes, curled ram-like horns, and a tail that dragged like he was sweeping the floor everywhere he went.
Add a dash of Slavic house-spirit mythos and the attitude of a retired mob boss, and that was my Petyr.
Goddess, help me.