Chapter Twenty-One-Evie
“Good morning,” Stanley called out like we were about to brunch instead of confront whatever dark force was creeping around the Castor family cemetery.
He was leaning against his shiny hybrid like some kind of Pinterest apocalypse model—camouflage pants, a sheer mesh khaki long-sleeved shirt that showed off his surprisingly toned frame, and a pair of oversized sunglasses perched on his slicked-back hair.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, genuinely baffled and maybe a little suspicious he’d glamoured himself out of an editorial shoot.
“I’m your assistant,” he said dryly, like I’d just asked him what two plus two was.
“Yes, but it’s Saturday,” I replied.
He blinked. “And?”
“And you don’t work on Saturdays.”
He scoffed and opened the car door for me with a dramatic flourish.
“A certain buxom blonde might have casually mentioned you were headed into the dead zone to investigate two missing children, so I figured—just a thought here—that maybe your assistant should assist?”
He shut the door after I got in, jogged around the hood of the car with the energy of someone who maybe did cardio twice a year, and collapsed into the driver’s seat, breathing like he’d run a marathon.
I stared at him. “Stanley, are you winded?”
“No!” he panted. “I’m dramatically overwhelmed by the burden of your poor organizational choices.”
Still, I was touched.
It wasn’t often someone volunteered to follow me into creepy magical danger, let alone someone in mesh.
“Where to, boss?” he asked, peeling away from the curb like we were in a buddy cop movie.
“The cemetery,” I said, trying to channel my inner badass despite the peach dress I was still wearing—the same one I’d thrown on for Miss Spritely’s door-pounding extravaganza.
Stanley pulled up to the cemetery gates, and I hopped out before he could launch into some monologue about ghost chic or graveyard fashion.
I took three steps, froze, and looked down at myself.
“Drat.”
“Problem?” Stanley called from the car, adjusting his sunglasses like this was a photoshoot for ‘Supernatural CEO Weekly.’
“I’m about to trudge through ancient mausoleums and god knows what else in a floaty dress and pumps. Gaia help me.”
There was only one solution. I closed my eyes and whispered a quick spell:
“Gaia on high,
Grant my ask,
Change my outfit,
To prepare for this task,
A Witchy mayor
Is all that I am,
Your grace be with me,
And the children of Castor,
Be with us again.”
The sky flashed.
Thunder cracked.
Purple and blue lightning spiraled overhead like a disco party hosted by the Divine.
I looked down. Still peach dress. Still heels.
“Rude,” I muttered. “Was it the rhyming? Was that not up to par?”
“You look radiant,” Stanley said. “Like a sacrificial virgin in a high-budget horror movie.”
“Thanks,” I deadpanned. “That’s exactly the vibe I was going for.”
“You ready?” he asked, reaching into the glove box for what I assumed was something useful.
“Stanley, that’s a lint roller.”
“A tactical lint roller,” he corrected.
I sighed. “Look, I need you to stay here.”
“But—Evie—”
“No buts. If something goes wrong, I need someone to call in the cavalry. Or at least the Coven.”
He opened his mouth to argue again just as someone else shouted my name.
“Evelyn!”
I turned, and my ovaries did a backflip.
Jaxson.
Tight jeans.
Black T-shirt.
Biceps that could carry me—and they did last night.
One look at the big sexy Wolf and all my emotional baggage seemed to dissipate.
And behind him? Ryan and Conrad—looking like a bunch of magical henchmen no one asked for, but everyone wanted.
Ryan had grown a beard that was giving me ‘Mountain Daddy’ vibes, and Conrad was dressed in all white like he was about to summon an out of planet experience or host a very exclusive rave.
“Maribella told us what was going on,” Jaxson said. “And we want to help.”
Of course, she did.
Then, as if the universe had just unlocked a new level of chaos, I heard them.
“Evie!”
I turned again to see Maribella pedaling her bakery bike like the Wicked Witch of South Jersey—with Donny, in full glam and heels, perched on the handlebars like it was a runway challenge.
“Are you out of your damn minds?” I shouted.
“Don’t you dare try this without us,” Donny snapped, hopping down and wobbling slightly before regaining her footing like a warrior queen in Louboutins.
“You wore killer heels to the cemetery?” I asked.
She adjusted her leather trench coat. “I’m wearing enchanted insoles. Witch, please.”
“Look,” I started, raising my hands. “I appreciate the concern. Really. But I am the mayor. I have to go in there. It’s my responsibility—”
“You’re not doing it alone,” Maribella said, climbing off her bike with the grace of someone who regularly jumps curbs with cupcakes.
“This is our town,” Donny added. “We’re the Trifecta. You go, we go.”
Jaxson crossed his arms and gave me a look that said you’re stuck with me, sugar.
“And I’m not letting you walk into danger without backup. You’re my—”
He paused.
“You’re important to me.”
“Besides,” Conrad said, holding up a wand made of what suspiciously looked like a baguette. “We brought snacks.”
“And protection.” Ryan unleashed his claws.
I blinked at them all.
My heart felt like a carousel of chaos and love and possibly carbs.
“Fine,” I huffed. “But if anything comes flying at us, Donny’s on decapitation duty.”
Donny cracked her knuckles. “Finally. Something fun.”
“Maribella, you’re the shield. Stanley—”
“I’ll handle logistics and document the moment for posterity,” he said, already pulling out his phone.
“And Jaxson.” I met his gaze. “You’re with me.”
He smirked.
“Always.”
Together, we stepped toward the iron gates, my peach dress flapping in the breeze like a flag of slightly unhinged courage.
My motley crew behind me, the weirdest support system a Witch could ask for.
Let the creepy cemetery showdown begin.