Chapter One-Donny
Did I forget to introduce myself before?
My name is Donatella Andrews. AKA Donny.
Trifecta Witch. Stylist. And entrepreneur.
I own my own salon here in Castor’s Corner, and I had several interests, but beauty was my number one.
See, life wasn’t always kind to the curvy girls of the world, but that just made me dig my perfectly manicured heels in harder.
I’d made it my personal mission to be a force for women—especially the ones society didn’t always celebrate.
We came in all shapes, sizes, and supernatural species here in Castor’s Corner, and I considered it my sacred Witchy duty (and aesthetic responsibility) to help every last one of them feel like the magic they were born to be.
That meant everything from waxing Shifters who went furry more often than full moon legends care to admit, to formulating wart-banishing creams for the Troll sisters who liked their skin smooth and shimmer-free for their monthly mahjong nights—they’re surprisingly competitive, and very into tea tree oil and cucumber facials.
My salon wasn’t just a place to get your brows snatched or your aura cleansed—it was a sanctuary.
A safe space.
A spell-charged, vanilla-citrus-scented temple to self-love.
As for me, Evie, and Bella?
Well, our problem wasn’t razor burn or horn polish.
It was our hips.
Specifically, the fact that they didn’t lie—and neither did our thighs, bellies, or butts.
Sigh.
You see, supernaturals typically burn calories like toddlers on espresso, but for some reason, the magical Trifecta of Castor’s Corner didn’t get that particular blessing.
While most supes could wolf down five pizzas and still fit into enchanted body-con rune-suits, the three of us actually had to watch what we ate.
Spoiler: we didn’t.
And honestly?
Fuck society’s view of what we looked like.
I wasn’t here for anyone’s approval. I was here to elevate what we already had—and in my not-so-humble opinion, what we had was a lot.
We were juicy.
Voluptuous.
Powerful.
Dangerous in the best way.
Sure, we all dealt with one form of social anxiety or another. Evie hid hers behind Mayor-level sass and vintage cardigans.
Bella turned hers into sparkly optimism and edible glitter.
And me? I wore mine under designer threads, six layers of self-confidence, and enough hair serum to smooth a Yeti.
But deep down, we felt it.
That quiet hum of not-enoughness that followed girls like us since the cradle.
And you know what?
We were so done with that.
Because all I knew—for a chubby magical trio of BFFs from South Jersey?
We were hot as fuck.
Hotter than hellfire in stilettos.
Stronger than the enchanted arches on our town square.
And ready to hex the hell out of anyone who said otherwise.
So yeah. Life hadn’t always been kind.
But we were.
To each other.
And to ourselves.
And that? That was the kind of magic this world desperately needed.
Seriously.
So what if we had curves for days? We also had humor, brains, sass, and cheekbones that could cut glass (when properly contoured). Not to mention enough magical juice to light up every crystal in a five-mile radius.
Even better? Bella, Evie, and I weren’t just besties anymore.
Turns out we were cousins, too.
Family by blood and bond.
Together, we made up one seriously powerful Witch Trifecta, reinforcing the magical perimeter of Castor’s Corner every month like clockwork since puberty.
Warding off humans, bad vibes, and the occasional cryptid with boundary issues.
Easy peasy.
Most of the time.
And we always did our duty—well, sorta.
I mean, it wasn’t always easy being a Trifecta Witch.
For example, there was that time Bella was late to our bonfire, and the wards went kaput for exactly forty-seven seconds, and a banshee wandered into town and scared the piss out of poor Old Man Clive at the grocery store.
But hey, it was once.
One time.
And technically Clive had it coming—he still uses coupons from 1997 and hits on the entire staff of every store in town.
Even the mail office—and I’m pretty sure he’s related to the postmaster.
And most recently, of course, was Evie’s recent mishap. Her tardiness was the reason we now had three maddening males in our midst.
Sure, she happened to find her fated mate among them. And good for her. But now I had to deal with seeing him on a regular basis.
Do not go there, Donny, I warned myself.
For me, being single wasn’t an accident. It was a choice.
Tell yourself that.
Sometimes I really hated my inner voice.
Anyway, the point is we always tried to be extra careful.
But shit, as they say, happens.
They talk a whole lot, don’t they?
Anyway, there we were, wrapping up another uneventful strengthening of the town’s wards bonfire night.
Easy as pie.
Nothing doing.
But honestly? Something felt off.
Maybe it was the end-of-summer air curling in with that bone-deep warning that things were about to change.
Or maybe it was just my usual low-key birthday dread starting early.
I hated birthdays.
Always had.
Too much pressure, not enough cake.
And don’t even get me started on the years my parents forgot entirely.
Nothing says childhood trauma like a half-eaten Entenmann’s and a card addressed to the cat.
No, I wasn’t in the mood for celebration.
And these two knew that.
“We just wanna celebrate you,” Bella wailed, all blonde curls and drama, her arms flailing like a caffeinated fairy godmother as she summoned a massive fluffy pink towel from thin air.
A matching blue one landed on Evie, who gave her a look like really, and started drying off her boobs with the kind of nonchalance only a Mayor-slash-Witch could pull off.
I crossed my arms and tried not to laugh.
I'd soaked them with a little glitter rain for bringing up my birthday again.
Was it petty? Maybe.
Was it hilarious? Absolutely.
So yeah, I did it again. Drenching the towels this time, too.
“Donny!” they both screeched at me, as if I hadn’t been pulling this exact stunt for the past decade.
“Love you,” I sing-songed, flicking my wrist to change into one of my favorite Lafayette 148 cashmere sweaters and wide-leg silk-linen pants.
Designer duds and magic? A match made in retail therapy heaven.
Typical Witches couldn’t cast for personal gain. Nope. That was a big no-no in the magical world.
But we weren’t the average trio of Witches.
We were curvy, magical, and fabulous—and we owned it.
Always had.
Always would.
Castor’s Corner might’ve been our hometown, but we brought the sparkle, sass, and snark to every single bonfire, bake sale, and battle with ancient evil.
Evie rocked her whole retro glam aesthetic like a pin-up librarian who could hex you into a frog and still make you blush.
Bella was pure pastel chaos in floral prints with dimples of doom.
And me? I liked clean lines, bold colors, and labels that didn’t think plus size meant potato sack chic.
And for the record?
I had never been zapped by the Goddess for magicking a Chanel blazer into a size twenty-two.
So I took that as cosmic approval.
After we all changed into dry clothes and removed the glitter bomb residue from our skin, we linked arms like the magical coven of badasses we were and headed toward the Castor’s Corner Firehouse.
And just like I knew they would be, there they were.
The Shifters.
Three larger-than-life, ridiculously handsome, and unfairly built supernatural snacks grilling half a cow over a spit like it was the Stone Age.
But at least they made it hot.
Literally hot—there were flames involved.
And biceps. So many biceps.
Some locals were there too, mingling, munching, and making nice.
Apparently, the big boys had been making themselves right at home.
And the worst part? The town liked them.
Great.
Jaxson Reid was a given.
He was Evie’s fated mate, after all.
Town Sheriff, swoony mate, and sweet on her in a way that made me both sigh and roll my eyes.
He spotted her the second we walked up and practically ran over like a golden retriever in a flannel shirt.
He swept her up into one of those bone-melting embraces that made everyone around them go awww and me go gag.
Okay, fine, I was a little jealous. Shut up.
Still, I couldn’t blame her. If someone looked at me the way Jaxson looked at Evie, I’d probably cry and drop my panties at the same time.
Which brought me to the other two Shifters standing there looking way too good for it to be legal.
Conrad Boman. Python Shifter. Tall, pale, coiled energy in a fireproof shirt, and one hundred percent obsessed with Bella.
Dude’s eyes followed her like he was waiting for her to drop her lip gloss so he could propose.
Bella, being Bella, hadn’t noticed. Or maybe she had and was pretending not to. Hard to tell with that one.
But I sure did. And Conrad Boman was definitely into the curvy little Witch.
And then there was Ryan McLeod.
Grizzly Bear Shifter.
Massive.
Broody.
Delicious.
Built like a tree trunk with arms thick enough to bench press a school bus.
He didn’t look at anyone the way Jaxson looked at Evie. He didn’t follow Bella with his gaze like Conrad did.
Nope.
But he looked at me.
Sometimes.
From under his lashes.
When he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
Spoiler alert: I always paid attention.
Problem was, I didn’t know what to do with it. My heart hadn’t exactly been open for business lately.
Hell, I wasn’t even sure the power was on inside.
Still, Ryan McLeod made it flicker.
He made something stir deep inside of me.
And that was terrifying. Alarming. Disturbing. And definitely not allowed.
So I crossed my arms, adjusted my hair, and pretended not to care.
Classic Donatella defense.
But inside?
Inside, I was gulping.
Because when a Bear like that looks at a Witch like me, all bets are off.
And I wasn’t sure I was ready to find out what happened when he finally made a move.
But I had a feeling it was coming.
And when it did?
Well.
Gaia help me.
I just hoped I didn’t melt faster than the marshmallows toasting over that fire.