Chapter Twenty-Seven-Donny
The cemetery loomed ahead, a sprawling patch of lovingly curated earth and stone.
Most people might’ve found it creepy, but not me.
Castor’s Corner wasn’t the kind of place where the dead stayed quiet.
And honestly, that was kind of comforting.
A little spooky, yeah, but also proof that this weird, magical town of ours cared.
We honored our dead. Hell, we practically invited them to Sunday dinner.
Graves were well-tended, mausoleums polished, offerings refreshed. Because in Castor’s Corner, you never knew who was watching from the Other Side—or taking notes.
The Next Amazing Journey was a real thing, and if you thought your mama wouldn’t haunt you for letting her roses die, you didn’t know Witches.
I wasn’t here for any ancestor worship, though. I just needed to walk.
Think. Breathe.
My birthday was tomorrow, and the thought made my stomach twist.
Normally, I’d be planning a spa night with Bella and Evie, maybe matching glam spells and a few bottles of wine, but this year? I didn’t want any of it.
Another year gone, and what had I accomplished?
I was still alone.
Still slinging hair potions and dodging emotionally constipated familiars.
Still unsure if I was even worthy of being one-third of the magical Trifecta that protected this town.
I mean, what did I bring to the table?
A mean ombré? A killer pedicure with a long-lasting spell?
Hair might be sacred to Witches, but when it came to stopping ancient curses and magical upheaval? I wasn’t exactly a heavy hitter.
And to top it all off, turns out I wasn’t even a real Andrews.
Nope. I was a Castor by blood.
Daddy dearest didn’t even know, and now I had to decide whether to tell him or pretend this existential identity crisis didn’t exist.
Forking crapozoids.
As if summoned by my internal pity party, the Castorini mausoleum appeared around the bend—hulking, elegant, and ominous as ever.
I paused, staring at the names etched into the smooth stone, each one a chapter in the town’s legacy.
I circled the structure slowly, fingers trailing over cool marble and ornate carvings.
One plaque was smeared with a splash of mud, right over the name Alfonso Castor.
Figures.
Grandpa Al, even in death, couldn’t stay tidy. I rolled my eyes and wiped the mess off with my sleeve.
And that’s when the weirdness began.
A low groan echoed from the stone.
I froze.
Just for a second.
Just long enough for every hair on my body to stand at attention.
“Oh no,” I whispered. “No, no, no. Don’t you dare pull some Scooby-Doo shizzle on me right now.”
Thick black smoke started seeping from the name I’d just cleaned, coiling through the air like something straight out of a goth’s fever dream.
My heartbeat went full techno-rave. The plumes grew heavier, pulsing with shadows.
I took a step back, then another, because I was brave but not stupid.
“You have got to be forking kidding me.”
And then—because apparently the universe hated me today—a semi-translucent figure materialized from the smoke.
Grandpa Al. In all his junkless glory.
Looking like death warmed over and then microwaved for good measure.
“Donatella? Sei tu? Is that you, little one?”
His voice was raspy, his form flickering like a busted neon sign.
And okay, yeah, it was definitely him. Right down to the Ghostly hole right where his Ghostly junk should’ve been.
I winced.
Guess curses didn’t stop just because you died.
I cleared my throat and tried not to focus on his missing manhood.
“Uh, yeah. It’s me. What the fork is going on? I thought you crossed over?”
He gave a sorrowful little shrug, the kind that said well, about that.
“I almost did,” he said. “Ivan was helping me. He was channeling the magic, guiding me toward the light. But then? Poof. Gone.”
“Poof?” I echoed, blinking.
“Poof,” he repeated, voice going all high and squeaky like a helium balloon at a haunted birthday party.
Before I could snark back, the ground trembled beneath me—an actual freaking tremor.
I grabbed a nearby tree for balance.
“Careful, ragazza!”
The shaking passed, but the dread in my chest didn’t.
This wasn’t just Ghostly weirdness.
This was Big Magic stuff.
Bad juju. Like very bad.
“I’ve been stuck in the in-between ever since,” Grandpa Al said. “I’m tired, Donatella. So tired. I can’t reach anyone. Only you.”
“Why me?” I asked, completely serious for once. “Why not Evie? Or Bella? I’m just the third wheel on the enchanted tricycle.”
“No. You’re the key,” he said, his voice fading. “You’re the one tied to me. You’re the one who can set this right.”
“Set what right?” I demanded, stepping forward. “You messed around with your mistress, got cursed, and died. And now I have to clean up the cosmic aftermath?”
He blinked at me with watery Ghost eyes. “Please, my bellissima granddaughter. I want to get to the Next Amazing Journey. I don’t want to vanish into nothing.”
And then he did. Poof—he vanished.
I spun in a circle.
“No, no, no! Don’t you Ghost me, old man!”
CRACK!
Thunder overhead.
“Fucking hell!”
I slapped a hand over my mouth too late and ducked behind a tree just as a pink lightning bolt zapped the air where I’d been standing.
“Goddess has no chill,” I muttered.
When the sky stopped trying to smite me, I scrambled out of the cemetery, heart pounding, heels clicking, and Ghost-haunted words echoing in my ears.
I was the key?
That was a load of sparkly bullshi—stuff.
I wasn’t a hero. I was a stylist with a bad temper and a drawer full of battery-operated disappointment.
But deep down—where the truth likes to whisper—I knew I couldn’t ignore this.
Something was coming. Something big.
And apparently, the only thing standing between my Ghostly grandfather and oblivion was me.
Goddess, help us all.
I closed my eyes and sucked in a breath, trying to gain my bearings.
When, of course, something scared the begeezus out of me.
“Are you alright?”
That voice.
That deep, sexy, gravel-dipped-in-honey voice.
My entire body went stiff. And not the fun kind of stiff, either.
The still-blonde hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up as I whipped around like I was in a horror movie.
Except instead of a chainsaw-wielding lunatic, I was greeted by a very different kind of monster.
A big, sexy, Bear Shifter shaped one.
“What the fork?!”
Ryan McLeod stood just beyond the cemetery gates like something out of a supernaturally sexy lumberjack fashion spread—seven feet of solid Shifter, his green flannel rolled up over those thick forearms I may or may not have dreamed about licking.
The second I turned, he pushed off the wrought iron with a soft smile and wide, hopeful eyes that almost made me forget the Ghost trauma I’d just endured.
Almost.
Then he opened his arms.
That was all it took.
I launched myself at him like a magical missile.
No hesitation, no logic, just pure, unfiltered Donny energy.
And the big guy caught me like I weighed nothing more than a particularly enthusiastic cat.
He spun me once, and I let myself laugh—a real, from-the-gut, spark-shooting laugh I hadn’t heard from myself in weeks.
Ryan nuzzled my neck, his nose brushing that ticklish spot beneath my ear, and I almost forgot we were standing next to my dead grandfather’s mausoleum.
“I got you, Honey. Easy,” he murmured, lips ghosting kisses across my cheek.
My heart squeezed. I could feel happiness flowing into me through our connection.
Not just his—mine too.
It was like plugging into a live wire of joy. Damn it.
“I have to call the girls,” I said quickly as my feet touched the ground again. “We’ve got trouble. The Ghost kind.”
“Okay, but I’m bringing you to see them,” Ryan said without missing a beat. “They’re at the firehouse. I was supposed to come get you—”
“Why? What are you hiding?” I cut him off, arms crossing.
Oops, forgot how to behave there for a second. My inner Jersey girl was showing.
“Well, uh, they’re planning, um, well, happy birthday, Honey,” Ryan said and looked away from my narrowed gaze, scratching the back of his neck in that sexy way all hot boys seem to know.
“A surprise party? Are you forking kidding me? I told them not to!”
“If you don’t want to go,” Ryan said, all calm and easy, “I’ll take you somewhere else. We don’t have to stay. Just let me drive you, okay?”
He pointed to a royal blue pickup parked along the cemetery gates.
It gleamed like maybe he'd polished it just for me.
Sweet.
I rolled my eyes, but the gesture warmed me.
“No, it’s fine. We’ll go. But we’re doing it my way.”
Before he could protest, I grabbed his hand and flew us straight to the Castor’s Corner Firehouse, magic whipping around us like we were in some kind of supernatural romcom with a high production budget.
We landed with a soft whoosh outside the big brick building, my heels touching down just as the party started yelling inside.
“OMG! She’s here! Everyone hide! Dim the lights!” Bella’s voice rang out like a panicked squirrel.
Sparkles—pink and aqua, of course—blasted across the ceiling like celebratory fireworks on a sugar high.
I stepped through the door, Ryan at my side, and I took in the scene.
Banners, floating cupcakes, shimmering disco balls, and a life-size cutout of me in full stylist regalia holding a curling wand like a weapon.
“For the love of glam,” I muttered. “I know about the dang party, Bella,” I said loudly over the music.
“Surprise!” Celeste yelled over the mic, and everyone kind of froze with wary smiles on their faces.
“How’d you know?” Bella asked, blue eyes tearing up.
“OMG, Bella, don’t cry! You guys throw me one every year even though I beg you not to.”
Half the town was there.
Celeste was behind the DJ booth with some guy in a sushi hat—like an actual futomaki handroll on his head.
I couldn’t tell if he was supposed to be Wrap or Roll, but he looked thrilled.
Realizing I’d just walked in like a literal thundercloud of magical trauma and bad attitude, I drew a deep breath and softened my voice.
“Thank you, everyone. Sorry for being a-a big ol’ party pooper. I really do appreciate it.”
Celeste nodded and dropped the beat.
Dr. Dre and Snoop filled the firehouse like it was ’94 all over again, and Witches, Warlocks, and Shifters alike started getting their groove on.
I made a beeline for Evie and Bella.
They looked like two guilty puppies caught chewing on spell books.
“Donny,” Evie said, wringing her hands. “We’re sorry. We just wanted to make you feel special.”
Bella’s chin wobbled, and I melted. Damn her sweet marshmallow heart.
“No way,” I said, grabbing their hands. “I love you both. And even though I didn’t want to celebrate my birthday, I’m glad you ignored me. Kind of.”
“We’re family,” Evie said, her voice fierce and her grip tighter. “Always have been.”
“She’s right,” Bella added. “And Donny, not all change is bad. It’s been a weird year for all of us, but I think it’s time we reinforce our Trifecta bond. Not just for the town, but for us.”
I felt it then—my magic stirring.
That low hum I hadn’t realized I’d been missing until it came roaring back like a much-needed coffee IV.
Evie grabbed my hand. Bella grabbed the other. We closed the circle.
Power surged.
Comfort. Connection. Love.
We were stronger together. That was the truth. Always had been.
“You know what this means,” Evie said, eyes sparkling with danger and disco.
“NO. NO WAY, EVIE CASTOR!” I yelled.
But it was too late.
With a wave of her hand, the music switched.
“It’s CONGA TIME!”
Oh, sweet Sparkles. She did it.
Suddenly, the party morphed into a Miami nightmare—Shifters trying to dance in sync, Witches casting sparkles into the air, and Warlocks dodging rogue heels.
I just hoped no one got concussed this year from errant boob-swinging.
“I’m wearing a bra, Donny!” Bella hissed, reading my mind like the Witchy soul sister she was.
“Then Goddess help us all,” I muttered, and joined the damn conga line.
Because that’s what you do when you’ve got your girls, your magic, and one absurdly hot Bear waiting just off to the side with a cupcake in one hand and a look in his eyes that promised I was the only thing he’d be unwrapping tonight.
Oh well. Fork it.
If you can’t beat ‘em, try hitting them with a love spell or a hex! Wasn’t that the saying?
Anyway, maybe this birthday wasn’t such a bust after all.