Chapter Four-Evie
Let Me Explain
Every month, like clockwork—or, more accurately, like magically attuned Witches who couldn’t afford to mess up the full moon schedule—the Trifecta gathered in the pine barrens behind town for our sacred ritual.
Yes, we lit a bonfire deep in the woods.
Yes, we danced under the full moon like fairytale rejects.
Yes, we chanted spells, sang our magic into the air, and—because fate has a twisted sense of humor—yes, we did it all butt-naked.
Birthday suits and boundary spells.
You know, totally normal Thursday night for a thirty-something single mayor in a town full of paranormal misfits.
These rituals were sacred, old, and necessary.
They helped strengthen the wards around Castor’s Corner, cloaking it from outsiders and keeping our supernatural community safe from meddling normals and wandering riff-raff.
In exchange, we offered Gaia—the goddess supreme—our bare buns and best intentions.
Which was great—magically speaking—except for the part where I forgot my ride was dead.
“Shit,” I growled, coming to a full stop outside City Hall, staring at the empty space where my beloved but perpetually useless truck used to be.
I had no broomstick (blame budget cuts), no magical portal key, and no choice.
So, I ran.
That’s right.
Ran.
Me.
Evelyn Castor.
Mayor of this fine town.
Forced to haul my fluff-and-caffeine-fueled ass eight city blocks to our sacred patch of pine scrub like a sweaty woodland creature in wedge sandals.
By the time I stumbled into the clearing, lungs wheezing, thighs protesting, and soul questioning every life choice I’ve ever made, I was running on fumes and sheer Witchy spite.
Note to self: never again eat a donut, a double bacon cheeseburger, chili cheese fries and a pumpkin muffin with cream cheese frosting on the same day as a full moon sprint.
That was just irresponsible adulting.
Salad tomorrow.
Ugh. Fine.
Salad and one cookie.
Maybe two.
“OMG, Evie!” Donatella shrieked, her voice echoing across the clearing like an angry banshee in yoga pants.
“You are so late,” Maribella huffed, doing that annoying disappointed head shake while—I kid you not—shoving what was very clearly one of her sinfully good peanut butter chip cookies into her face like she thought I couldn’t see her.
Heifer.
And not the magical sacred cow kind.
The straight-up snack-hoarding, sister-betraying kind.
I didn’t have the breath to argue, so I just threw them both a wide-eyed are-you-kidding-me look and motioned for them to get on with it while I tried not to collapse dramatically in a pile of forest mulch.
Donny, clearly still miffed, clucked at me like an angry hen for a few more seconds before flipping her long, dark hair over her shoulder and thankfully launching into the first spell to amplify the bonfire.
She shrugged off her short silk robe mid-incantation, because of course she did.
Like the fire wouldn’t light properly unless her naked ass was perfectly framed under the moonlight.
Meanwhile, Maribella kicked off her chef’s coat and pants in a well-practiced synchronicity of moves, revealing a pastel floral bra-and-panty set that somehow managed to be cute, flirty, and supportive.
I wasn’t staring. I wasn’t.
But the girl hit me with her pants and then blew me a raspberry when I looked up, so now I had to add get revenge and ask where she got that lingerie to my to-do list.
Later. Much later.
Like after I could breathe normally again and remember how to form complete sentences.
By this point, the fire had started to crackle, golden-orange light spilling over the clearing like a spotlight summoned for moonlit mischief.
Our magic always sang louder during these gatherings.
There was something about shedding everything—clothes, burdens, expectations—and standing in your truest form under the stars.
It was powerful. Beautiful. Slightly drafty.
I started to shimmy out of my own clothes, grumbling the whole time about running and ghosts and the betrayal of peanut butter treats.
And just as I stepped closer to the flames, ready to join the others and officially begin the ritual, something shifted.
Not in the clearing.
Not in the bonfire.
In the air.
A ripple. A pull. A flutter at the base of my spine that felt nothing like cold wind and everything like a warning.
My magic prickled.
My heartbeat kicked up.
And that little voice in the back of my head—the one that sounded suspiciously like Nonna—whispered to me in my mind’s eye.
Something’s coming.
I didn’t know what. Not yet.
But I had the sudden, undeniable feeling that this was going to be the last normal bonfire we had for a while.
And if the way the moon flickered overhead was any indication, then normal was about to get roasted.