Chapter Two-Evie
Earlier That Same Day
It all started when my car blew a gasket.
Or tore a belt.
Or snapped a mana-link cable.
Honestly, I had no idea what actually went wrong—some kind of garage-speak nonsense that made my eyes glaze over and my brain tap out.
All I knew was the engine hiccupped, coughed like a dying dragon, and gave up the ghost.
Suffice it to say my car glitched.
I was late for work at the start of the day, and everything went downhill from there.
Which was a shame, really. Because it was Thursday, and Thursdays were supposed to be my pre-weekend happy place.
I’d been looking forward to two blissful days of taste-testing Maribella’s newest bakery experiments—possibly featuring cursed cronuts—and getting a mani-pedi from Donny, who’d just received her latest shipment of enchanted nail polish.
I’d had my eye on a color called Purple Rain, allegedly inspired by La Befana herself.
According to Donny, the glittery concoction would turn your nails into reflective disco balls—mirror magic with extra sass.
I wanted it purely for the entertainment value.
Couldn’t hurt to blind a few political adversaries with fabulous fingertips.
Yeah, okay, it was a little dorky.
But what could I say? I was a sucker for shiny things and supernatural glam.
Anyway, I should have known it was all going to hell when my coffee maker belched out thick black sludge instead of my premium French roast.
The smell alone could have raised the dead—and not in a good, “Yay! Grandpa's back!” kind of way.
By the time the truck gave out—again—I was already halfway to a meltdown.
That made three breakdowns this month alone.
And before you say it, yes, I know I should’ve replaced it years ago. But this wasn’t just any clunker.
It was my grandmother’s red Chevy pickup, handed down with pride and powered by spite and nostalgia.
She named it Lucia after her favorite opera singer and swore it was sturdy enough to outrun a Hellhound in heat.
I was emotionally attached, irrationally loyal, and maybe just a teensy bit cursed.
It was all I had left of her, aside from the house I grew up in and my long, straight, undeniably Roman nose.
Whatever. The nose gave me character. And it made me look distinguished, I decided when I was in college, especially when paired with the right lipstick.
See, I tried a magical nose job once when I was sixteen and insecure.
Huge mistake.
My nose had grown an extra inch and a half overnight, curving slightly to the left like a cursed parsnip.
Nonna, bless her twisted little heart, made me walk around like that for twenty-four hours as a punishment for magical vanity.
“Let this be a lesson,” she’d said, cackling and sipping espresso as I cried over a hand mirror. “Next time, use contour.”
Needless to say, I never attempted magical plastic surgery again.
Some lessons get etched right into your trauma.
Now standing beside my stubborn, broken-down truck on the side of Witchwood Lane, I sighed, pulled out my cell, and dialed the only person who knew how to coax Lucia back to life.
“Auto Boys! We work your body right!” came the gravelly shout of Jeffrey Hardwick, town mechanic and professional menace to HR departments everywhere.
“Jeffrey,” I said, deadpan. “How many times do I have to tell you that slogan’s gonna get you sued?”
“Hasn’t happened yet, Madam Mayor,” he said, laughing like a coyote in a cornfield. “And I ain’t changing it. It’s memorable.”
Jeff was older than sin, half Gremlin on his mother’s side, and ran the only garage in town.
The man looked like he’d rolled out of a toolbox in 1972 and just kept going, fueled by motor oil and mischief.
But despite the outdated catchphrases and tragic comb-over, the guy knew cars. And he treated Lucia with something like respect.
“Truck’s down again,” I told him. “It’s making that sputtering cough and then just dies. Like a dramatic Victorian heroine, but less poetic.”
“Again? Evie,” he groaned. “When are you gonna give up on that hunk of junk and get yourself something made in this century? Something with actual brakes and airbags that don’t smell like mothballs?”
“What would you do for work if I did?” I countered.
That shut him up for a second.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll send Mikey to grab it.”
Ah, Mikey. The long-suffering son. Lived at home. Probably played way too much Dungeons & Demons as a kid.
He once tried to flirt with me at the Founder’s Day dance by comparing my eyes to ancient magical mud pies.
Sweet kid. But too skinny.
He wouldn’t survive five minutes with me.
“You know,” Jeffrey added with a little too much casual cheer, “Mikey did mention how nice you looked the other day.”
“Forget it, Jeffrey,” I said sharply.
“Oh, come on now—”
“Goodbye, Jeffrey.”
I hung up and ordered a WUber—our town’s magical ride-share service.
It was like Uber, but with cars, trucks, sometimes broomsticks and questionable drinks and snacks.
As I waited, I took a deep breath, glared at the broken truck, and tried to tell myself this was just a minor hiccup in a totally manageable day.
But deep down, I knew the truth.
The day was simply cursed.
I just didn’t know my truck acting up was the beginning of everything going wrong.
As for Mikey, let’s just say dating an iron-wielding half-Gremlin was not on my to do list.
Don’t look at me like that.
I’m not speciesist.
I already said the guy was half my size. I’m way too curvy for the likes of Mikey.
But since you asked, yes, interspecies mixing did occur in the supernatural world, but I had to acknowledge it could result in some strange ass looking children.
Take my cousin Waldo.
The man had yellow-tinted skin that made it almost impossible to pass in the normal world.
Lucky for him, he could always claim he had liver disease to account for the yolkish tint.
Everyone in Castor’s Corner was at least part supernatural.
As such, they were aware of the rules of our world, and keeping it secret was of the utmost importance.
That’s where the Witch Trifecta comes in.
See, I’m one of the three Witches chosen to guard our town from outsiders.
Especially non-magical ones.
My name is Evelyn Castor, fondly called Evie, or even little Evie, by the townsfolk.
Yes, I am a descendant of the town’s forebears.
I’m also a certified magical Witch, with a cache of powers I inherited from my ancestors, and my special gift is the sight.
That’s right, I can sometimes get peeks into the future, and occasionally, I can even see and chat with the dearly departed.
But on this particular Thursday, I was totally and completely blind.
I had a huge, dark, bulbous clusterfuck of a cloud system portending all kinds of doom and gloom hanging over my head.
I just couldn’t see it.
And as I waited for my WUber, I had literally no idea all hell was going to break loose later that night.
“Hey Evie, get in!” A much welcomed, and noticeably absent of late, voice boomed from a few feet away.
I stilled a moment before replying and grabbed my phone.
Looking down at the open WUber app for supernatural transport within city limits, I saw that Stanley was listed as my driver.
The app pinged, and I looked down to see he had marked himself as arrived and client retrieved.
Another ping sounded, and I frowned as I read.
The fucker gave himself a 30% tip, probably using my login.
He had set it up, after all.
Stanley knew all my secrets.
Well, most of them.
As my fabulous former administrative assistant, he sorta set up all my accounts and knew all my passwords.
Kind of made his leaving a huge pain in my round ass.
Especially when I wanted to update my supernatural social media and Date to Mate accounts.
Date to Mate was like a magical dating app created by Uncle Uzzi, the magical matchmaker extraordinaire himself.
There was also Windr, which was more like a hookup app for supes, Witches in particular.
Those just looking to get down and dirty without strings.
I happened to have a healthy attitude about sex, even if I never used the thing, I wanted to keep my options open.
Okay, fine, Stanley downloaded the app without my permission and set up an account for me.
He thought I needed to get laid because of the high stress levels of my job.
Did I mention I was the mayor?
Yeah, I did.
Okay, well, anyway, I was shocked to see him in front of me.
What the eye of newt was he doing here?
“You’re driving for WUber?” I asked, shaking my head as I got into his super clean and brand spanking new BMW.
“I have to. It’s not like you pay me enough,” he said, winking and handing me a cup of steaming hot coffee and a cruller from Maribella’s bakery.
“Am I paying you at all anymore? I thought you ran away to follow your cock, I mean heart to greener pastures,” I said, taking the goodies before he could pull them back.
“Evelyn Castor!” Stanley yelled my name in mock outrage.
I knew he wasn’t really angry.
The Wizard was bawdier than anyone else I knew.
Thank Gaia, he found a man to fully appreciate that side of him. Otherwise, I’d have to take the fucker out.
Stanley was a close friend of mine. He wasn’t one of the Trifecta, but he was next in line as one of my besties.
“You know, it boggles the mind why I’d even consider working for you,” he snarked. “Alas, Stephen has his job, and though I am too good for you, no one else can fill this position the way I can.”
“That’s what Stephen said,” I replied snarkily.
Well, as snarkily as I could manage with a mouth full of cruller.
Truth was, I was relieved as fuck.
When Stanley and Stephen got married last spring, I was devastated to lose my assistant.
The man had a superior talent for cutting through red tape and getting the city council to back the fuck down. When he announced his impending marriage and told me he was leaving—quite suddenly, mind you—I did the only thing I could.
I cried and pleaded and begged.
But the course of true love had run amok all over my fucking life. Like it had been since I hit puberty.