Chapter Five
VIOLET
Did I say one more drink? I meant two. Three tops.
Maybe it was four? I lost count after my sisters headed out. See, this is what happens when I’m left under the sole supervision of two mischievous cats, a magical deck of Tarot cards that refuse to respect personal boundaries, and the nonstop chatter of my own mind.
“To excellent company,” I slur, raising my drink, and I swear the Devil winks at me.
“I’m not talking to you.” Placing the mug on top of his smug face, I pick up the Star card and gaze into her eyes, letting her soothing energy wrap around me like a hug.
Her earlier message echoes.
If you don’t believe in yourself, Violet Pepperdine, how can anyone else?
Girl has a point. And I do believe in myself. And the café. And I’m a witch, for goddess’ sake, and a damn good one at that. Just because I won’t use magic to bring a bad-luck plague raining down on Peen Beans doesn’t mean there isn’t some kind of spell that can help me. Right?
The Star’s endless well of hope propels me off the couch and straight over to my wall of ingredients. It’s all teas and powders, leaves and flowers, moon water and crystal essences, but there’s a tall shelf on the right where I keep some of my favorite witchy books and, locked in a drawer beneath them, my laptop.
I boot up the computer and launch the massive spreadsheet that hosts my personal Book of Shadows—a project I’ve been working on for years, transcribing my favorite rituals and techniques into digital format. It’s got everything from my own recipes and experiments to stuff I’ve come across in ancient witchcraft texts, tips from my sisters and aunts, and random things I’ve read online and want to try.
But there’s one book I’ve never transcribed. One collection of spells and advice I never wanted to change from its original form.
Gigi’s Book of Shadows.
It sits in the center of the shelf, black leather spine embossed with silver moons, cracked with age and love. I trail my fingers down the worn leather, and its magic pulses, a warmth spreading from my fingertips and up my arm, straight to my heart.
Gigi gifted this book to me upon her death, hoping I’d continue to learn from her long after she passed through the veil. I’ve spent more time poring over the handwritten pages than I can count, absorbing as much as I can, carrying on her legacy. Every time I open the book, I feel her with me, a guiding spirit who’s never once doubted me.
But using her magic to get myself out of debt feels different from all that. Like a cheat, somehow. Wrong.
No. Not wrong, I realize as the heat chews through my stomach. Shameful. Like she might sense my reasons for using it and know that I just couldn’t hack it. Not even after everything she taught me. Everything I promised her.
Leaving her book in place, I select a few others instead, and the memory of her smile dims, the sharp edges of grief worn smooth by the passage of time and the alcohol both.
Magic elixirs, in their own way.
Anyway, I don’t need Gigi’s spells for this. I’ve got plenty of my own. I just need to find the right one.
Setting the magical mood, I put on some Stevie Nicks, light a black pillar candle, and dig out some clear quartz crystals to amplify my spellwork.
“There has to be something here.” I flip through one of my handwritten notebooks, noting a few potential ideas. From between its worn pages, a Tarot card slips free.
Yeah. Him again.
“You must be really into me.” I set aside the book and pluck the Devil from the countertop. “You can’t even stay away for more than five minutes.”
Ignoring the tingling heat in my fingertips, which is almost definitely probably very likely the alcohol, I prop the card against the black candle and get back to my spreadsheets. Goddess, these spells are a mess. I know I don’t use them much, but still. That’s no excuse for poor organization. Digital files are just as important as paper ones, and they deserve the same level of care and attention as the most delicate pages in an ancient grimoire.
Maybe that’s why my life is in a shambles. The Universe knows I’m unfit for adulting. And budgeting. And magicking. Holding my liquor should probably go on that list too, but that’s another spreadsheet for another day.
“Stay focused and keep it simple,” I remind my Virgo brain, Chief Executive Overcomplicater. “Right, boys?”
Grumpy and Sunshine leap up onto the counter, pawing and nosing at the laptop—Mama’s little helpers.
“Spell to Unlock Your Heart’s Desire? Good call, Sunshine. Definitely sounds promising.” I copy it into a new spreadsheet—the keepers file. “Or maybe this one—Go Forth and Prosper. If I combine that with a Road Opening spell to increase opportunities and—ooh, here we go. Abundantly Yours. Wait, this one has potential too—Bound and Determined. I’m determined, right Grumpy?”
The tabby, currently licking his privates, ignores me.
No judgments here, dude. Would if I could.
By the time I finish sorting and organizing, I’m down to seven potential spells. There’s a lot of overlap, so I cut and paste a few sections from each into a new spreadsheet, filtering first by desired outcome, then by ingredient. But it’s still too clunky to use, especially in my current somewhat inebriated state.
“Pivot table to the rescue.” I get to work populating the table, arranging everything into rows and columns, muttering pieces of the spells as I’m copying them over.
For every lock, there is a key…
Copy, paste.
The heart’s true desire lies hidden within…
The candle flame flickers. Yes! I’m so on the right track.
The road ahead is open, opportunity awaits…
Another flicker. My heart skips, excitement welling inside.
Powerful allies, hidden and true…
Bring it on!
Magic and will, returned by three…
This is going to be epic!
And thus we are bound, so mote it be…
With a sharp hiss, Sunshine darts across the counter. I look up from the laptop just in time to see the candle topple, black wax spilling, the Devil card caught in the crossfire. I reach for the card, but before I can save it, it ignites in a burst of blue flame so bright it hurts to look at.
The flame fizzles out quickly. When my vision finally returns to normal, I realize the Devil is gone. The cats are gone, too. Stevie has stopped singing. The fire in the hearth is nothing but embers.
Something is very, very wrong.
“Sunshine?” I whisper, goosebumps prickling my arms. “Grumpy-butt?”
No response. No sound at all but for the pounding of my own heart.
I’ve barely taken my next breath when a blast of powerful magic whisks through the room, surrounding me in a smoky tempest that claws at my hair and steals my breath. Without another thought, I dive beneath the counter and cover my head.
By the time the magical storm passes and the strange, sparkly blue smoke dissipates, I’m no longer alone.
There, in the center of the café, a man rises from the glittering darkness like a legendary monster from the mists of creation. Horns protrude from a head of dark, silky-looking hair, his eyes glowing red, broad shoulders pulling at the fabric of a…
Wait. Is that a bathrobe? And… some kind of… leather?
All at once, recognition hits. My heart drops right into my stomach.
“Show yourself, dark sorceress!” the Devil bellows, his commanding British tone leaving no room for argument. “And prepare to meet your end.”