Hedgewitchin' in the Kitchen
Author: Sarina Dorie
Date: 2019-08-15 04:00:00+00:00
Publisher: Amazon.com

Hedgewitchin’

in the

Kitchen

THE WITCH’S FAMILIAR

AND

THIRTEEN MAGICAL RECIPES FROM

WOMBY’S SCHOOL FOR WAYWARD WITCHES

SARINA DORIE

Copyright © 2019 Sarina Dorie

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1095088807

NOT-SO-COZY MYSTERIES

IN THE womby’s school for wayward witches SERIES listed in order

Tardy Bells and Witches’ Spells

Hex-Ed

Witches Gone Wicked

A Handful of Hexes

Hexes and Exes

Reading, Writing and Necromancy

Budget Cuts for the Dark Arts and Crafts

My Crazy Hex-Boyfriend

Spell It Out for Me

Hex Crimes

Of Curse You Will

Cackles and Cauldrons

Hex and the City

Wedding Bells and Midnight Spells

Hex Appeal

Safe Hex

The Joy of Hex

Hedgewitchin’ in the Kitchen: Thirteen Magical Recipes

The Problem with Hedge witches SERIES

The Witch of Nightmares

A Cauldron Full of Curses

A Pocket Full of Poison

The Witch’s Familiar

SON OF A SUCCUBUS SERIES

Other Titles To Be Announced

Table of Contents

- The Belated Wedding Present
- The Witch’s Familiar
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY

- Thirteen Magical Recipes from Womby’s School for Wayward Witches

- Entrées And Savory Dishes
- Tamale Pie
- Irish Lamb Stew
- Wet Burritos
- Magical Herbal Blend
- Lasagna
- Your Just Desserts
- Turkish Delight
- Earthquake Cake Brownies
- Dirty Chai Brownies
- Seven-Layer Bars
- No-Bake Cookies
- Raspberry Cream Cheese Brownies
- Blackberry Pie
- Bacon Caramel Popcorn
- Quick Bread Cinnamon Rolls
- The Witch of Nightmares PREVIEW

AUTHOR’S NOTE

If you are reading this far in the Womby’s School for Wayward Witches series, I’m guessing you have read the other books as well. Whether you have stuck with the series because you love the quirky characters or the world of magic, I appreciate your enthusiasm.

If you haven’t already signed up for my newsletter, I want to encourage you to do so. This helps me as an author connect to my readers, lets you know when books are being released, and gives me a way to gift you with free books and short stories.

You can find the newsletter sign-up on my website: sarinadorie.com or you can go to: http://eepurl.com/dEd4oL

Happy reading!

The Belated Wedding Present

The war was over, but it wasn’t without its casualties.

Clarissa Lawrence found the book under shoes and bags in her wardrobe as she cleaned her room in preparation for the big move into Vega Bloodmire’s new castle. The book was covered in dust, and she’d never set eyes on it before. Clarissa set it aside, adding it to her sketchbooks, assuming it was a scrapbook of some sort that belonged to her husband.

Clarissa would have preferred to stay in the palatial “cottage” that belonged to Elric, Prince of the Silver Court, but Vega Bloodmire had firmly told her that wasn’t an option. Clarissa still wasn’t sure she had made the right decision to accept the dark arts and crafts position at Vega Bloodmire’s Academy for the Morally Challenged—or whatever her former roommate decided to call the school for misfit witches.

As Clarissa packed the book into a box, she paused to open the scrapbook. When she skimmed the first page, she recognized Abigail Lawrence’s handwriting. Her fairy godmother. Her throat tightened as she read over the words from the woman who had raised her. The woman she’d called “Mom.”

Dear Clarissa,

I am so proud of you! You’re all grown up, and you made your own path in life to make your every dream possible. You’re a witch, an art teacher, and a soon-to-be bride. For your wedding present, I put together a special scrapbook of your favorite recipes so that you’ll always have a taste of home no matter where you go. I hope these foods fill you with happy memories of the people you’ve shared these meals with. I’ve also included some handy tips that every kitchen witch needs to know.

XOXO,

Mom

Tears filled Clarissa’s eyes. Alouette Loraline, her biological mother, had left her a journal with a recipe for disaster. Good had come out of that spell as well as destruction, but the journey there had been no cake walk.

Her fairy godmother had left her a practical book of tips and happy reminders of what kind of person she wanted to be. Clarissa flipped through the book. She could almost taste the Irish lamb stew and wet burritos. Memories returned to her unbidden. She wished her fairy godmother were there with her to make earthquake cake brownies and make the world complete again.

The Witch’s Familiar

CHAPTER ONE

Hedge Witches with Cattitude

The trouble began when Abigail MacQuillan Lawrence wrestled her suitcases off the human-crafted bus in the middle of the Olympic rain forest, and her black cat, Lucifer, leapt out of her oversized purse. Abigail smelled an enchantment in the air before she saw the glitter of it in the Douglas firs. Her familiar stalked toward the shimmer, yowling in warning.

Abigail didn’t think she could handle one more piece of trouble right then. She was already worried enough about her daughter, Clarissa, who was in the infirmary after being attacked at the magical boarding school where she’d just started working as a teacher. Abigail didn’t need one more thing to delay her from seeing Clarissa.

Especially not something related to magic.

A brawny man stepped out from between two firs. A car sped past Abigail, nearly clipping her luggage. The driver wouldn’t have noticed the man concealed in the shadows. Even if a mortal had, they might have taken him to be a shirtless hiker with a pair of shaggy pants. With his tawny complexion and dark hair, he could have been Greek or Italian. His unruly hair made his horns hardly noticeable. It took Abigail a moment to notice the way his furry legs bent like the hindquarters of a goat.

He was a satyr, and from the way he squinted at her, he knew what she was too.

Abigail halted in her tracks. She’d been expecting some kind of treachery from the moment she’d gotten the phone call informing her of her daughter’s condition. And yet, she couldn’t not come, even if it might be some kind of Fae trap.

“Looks like you’ve got quite a few bags to carry. Need any help with that?” The satyr’s accent was Eastern European; Abigail suspected Transylvanian. He rubbed at his hairy chest, an impishness to his grin.

Abigail knew to be wary of handsome men with easy smiles. Fae men weren’t always what they seemed. Nor were the Witchkin half-breeds they sired with humans. Most likely he was sent to snatch her so that one of the Fae courts could use her to lure her daughter into their keeping.

“Lucy, come back here.” Abigail called her cat quietly, not wanting this man to grab her familiar and make a meal out of him. When that didn’t work, she used his given name. “Lucifer, come.”

Her cat ignored her. He prowled closer to the satyr.

The man looked Abigail up and down, his grin growing wider. “You’re Clarissa Lawrence’s adoptive mother?”

“It depends.” She studied his face, trying to read whether there was guile in his eyes.

“It depends on what? What kind of mess Clarissa has gotten into this time?” He laughed.

This man knew her daughter’s name. That implied he was from the school where her daughter worked as an arts and crafts teacher, but he might be from the Raven Court, intending to trick Abigail into going with him. One could never be too safe when dealing with those who used magic.

Abigail snapped her fingers at her cat and pointed to her side. Lucifer ignored her. She focused her attention on the satyr. “Who are you?”

“My name is Sam. I work as the groundskeeper at Womby’s School for Wayward Witches.” He strode forward, ignoring Lucifer.

Abigail stepped back into the road. “I was told the dean would be meeting me to show me the way.” Over the phone she’d been told to look for a man with a hot-pink shirt.

Sam nodded. “Mr. Khaba was busy disciplining a student. He caught some kid setting the toilet paper on fire again. You’ll have to put up with me instead.”

Sam knew the correct names of the staff at the school. He probably was telling the truth. Some of her apprehension melted away, but not completely. Abigail knew never to let her guard down.

Sam strode closer, though he didn’t come out to the road. He held out his hand. “Let me help you with your luggage. It looks like you brought everything but the kitchen sink.”

If she stepped forward, she would leave the safety of the road where humans might be passing by. Abigail knew she was being overcautious. Reluctantly, she heaved her bags closer.

“It’s kind of you to come in the dean’s stead.” She was careful not to thank him. She didn’t want to owe him a favor. In this realm, one could easily lose their soul by thanking the wrong person.

Lucifer circled around them, eyes narrowed.

Sam lifted one suitcase. He took her free hand with the other, shaking it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Lawrence.” His gaze flickered to the wedding band on her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you. Call me Abby.”

He held her hand, a beat too long. “They told me I would be meeting Ms. Lawrence’s mother. They didn’t tell me to look for someone so . . . young.” He winked. “So beautiful.”

That was the moment Lucifer launched himself at the man’s face.

CHAPTER TWO

Someone Let the Cat out of the Bag

Lucifer hadn’t always been a cat or Abigail’s familiar. Once, he’d been a handsome young man with his entire life ahead of him.

Together, they’d stepped through a fairy ring and escaped the Faerie Realm as teenagers. Lucifer had assured her that his electrical magic would repel Baba Nata’s curse—and even if she did try, how could Baba’s magic reach him in another realm?

Abigail had dared to hope they’d escaped without punishment. They were together and could be happy at last. Abigail wouldn’t have to choose between the two unhappy fates she’d seen in her mentor’s crystal ball. She was making her own path and choosing a different future by going to the Morty Realm.

It had been during their first night together that the curse had struck. The forest was dark around them, their campfire having burned out. He’d woken Abigail, twisting in agony.

“Lucy?” She laid a hand on his shoulder, thinking he was having a nightmare. “It’s all right. It’s just a bad dream.”

“No. It’s her curse.” He groaned and sounded like a wounded animal.

She stroked his back, helpless to do anything since she’d been drained of magic. “What can I do?”

He shuddered. “Promise me you won’t go back. I don’t want either fate for you.”

In one possible future, her life had ended in slow dismemberment and death. In the other, her heart had grown wicked. She wished she had kept the truth to herself, for now he’d fear for her.

“If we go back, will the curse stop?” She gazed out into the blackness, uncertain she could find the way. “Will you feel better if we return?”

His voice turned into a guttural growl. “I don’t know. I don’t care. I’m not going.”

“You’re being stubborn.”

“I can’t stop it. I’m so sorry, Abby.” He twisted away from her.

He shrank, and his shape altered, his limbs twisting. Dark hair sprouted over his arms. He blended into the shadows so completely he was almost invisible. Abigail couldn’t see what was happening, but she tasted the magic in the air, starlight and herbs.

Lucifer melted away, his clothes remaining. Something stirred within his shirt. She scooted back as a dark shape wormed its way out of his collar. Luminous yellow-green eyes stared at her.

“Meow,” he said pathetically.

She’d hugged him to her chest, vowing to find a way to save him.

Abigail had thought they would get married and start a new life together. They had made plans to find Grace, the kind woman who had taken them in once before when they’d come to the Morty Realm on an errand for Baba.

Abigail told herself she wasn’t alone. Lucifer was still with her. This form surely was temporary. His magic was more powerful than Baba’s even though he hadn’t finished his apprenticeship and wasn’t as skilled as she was. It would only be a matter of time before he broke the spell. If Abigail had possessed magic, she could have helped him. As it was, she needed to figure out how to survive in the Morty Realm first.

At daybreak, Abigail followed the map Grace had left her. She found the landscape changed from when she’d been there last. More houses had been developed on the farmland. Time passed differently between realms, and Abigail didn’t know if Grace would recognize her or even still be alive.

The trees in the forest were lush and green with summer leaves, but the air was damp, and it drizzled as Abigail walked with bare feet along a gravel road. She shivered in her threadbare clothes, hugging Lucifer to her chest to keep herself warm.

Abigail recognized the hardware store from the last time she’d been there. When she showed the proprietor inside the card of paper with Grace’s address and something called a telephone number, he rang Grace up on a Morty-crafted contraption. Abigail marveled over this invention as Grace answered on the other end, her voice so clear she could have been standing in the same room with Abigail.

“It’s me. Abigail. I don’t know if you remember me,” she said.

The proprietor eyed Lucifer with wariness. The black cat’s eyes narrowed.

“How could I forget you?” Grace chuckled.

“I’m at the hardware store where we met before,” Abigail said. “You said if I ever needed anything, I could . . . that is to say . . . I don’t want to impose. . . .” Her breath caught in her throat as she admitted a hint of her desperation. “I don’t know what to do or where else to go.”

The silence on the other end unnerved Abigail. She wondered what emotions were crossing Grace’s face. Annoyance? Disgust?

“Don’t worry. We’ll be there in a jiff,” Grace said. “You just hang tight.”

Abigail waited at the counter, shivering and dripping water on the floor. All the while, the patrons of the store looked her up and down, as though she were a curiosity in her old-fashioned clothes, while they wore denim trousers and coats heavy enough to stave off the morning chill. She slipped outside, not liking the stares. Her parents had once said it wouldn’t do to stand out. People would target her as a easy mark if they heard her country accent or knew how uneducated she was—both of which she’d striven to remedy while apprenticing with the powerful hedge witch, Baba Nata.

Abigail huddled under the awning of the store, watching for Grace and her rusty pickup truck. Though Grace had been the one to answer the phone, it was a young man who approached Abigail. She stared at him warily as he waved to her, jogging across the parking lot in the rain. Lucifer hissed from where he sat on her feet to keep them warm, but the threat in his tone was lost under the rustling leaves in the trees.

The man removed his hat and grinned. “Don’t recognize me, do you?”

His face was young, but he was still older than she was by several years. The wind tossed his coppery brown hair around his face, making his features difficult to make out. Only when he was beside her under the awning did she know him as Grace’s nephew.

“Adam?” she asked, surprised by how much more of an adult he looked. He must have been five years older than when she’d seen him last. “Where’s Grace?”

“My aunt had an appointment with a client. She sent me to come get you and said I could join her later.” His expression was all sunshine, which almost made up for the gloom of the day.

“You live here?” Her teeth chattered as she spoke.

“I’m here working for Aunt Grace’s landscaping business. Just during the busy season until I get accepted to dental school.” He removed his jacket and shifted closer to drape it over her shoulders. “What brings you back into town? Is everything all right?”

She didn’t answer. Everything wasn’t all right. She had assumed it would be Grace picking her up, and she had planned on telling her the truth—or as close to the truth as she could.

“Where’s your brother?” he asked.

She gazed down at Lucifer nudging himself between them. “He wasn’t my brother.”

Adam’s expression turned serious as he studied her. “Are you all right?”

She didn’t want to answer. She didn’t feel all right. Lucifer wasn’t all right. “Nothing ails me.”

“Let’s get you inside the truck where it’s warm. I brought you something to eat.” He placed a hand on her back as he ushered her toward the truck.

Lucifer yowled and leapt toward Adam. It shouldn’t have surprised her. He’d been jealous the last time they’d met Adam. Now that Lucifer wasn’t human, he would surely feel even more threatened.

Abigail shouted, “No! Lucy! Stop! He’s a friend.”

Adam darted back as Lucifer tried to acquaint the boy with his claws. Abigail chased after Lucifer, scooping him up into her arms. A low growl rumbled in his throat, but he retracted his claws.

“Behave,” she whispered in his ear.

“You named your cat after that boy?” Adam asked.

Lucifer hissed. It was probably the way he said “that boy” that offended him.

“No.” Abigail regretted her quick reply. It was better to let Adam think she’d named a cat after someone. Then again, perhaps a Morty wouldn’t suspect a person could be turned into a cat.

Adam escorted her to the truck, giving the cat a sidelong glance. He hesitated at the door, his hand on the handle. “It isn’t safe to bring a feral cat into my truck. He’ll probably freak when I start driving and try to attack me.”

She looked to the open back of the truck where Grace had made her and Lucifer ride. “We can sit in the back.”

“I’m not going to make you sit in the back. It’s too cold and wet out.” He frowned. “You should leave that cat here. We can’t bring him to Aunt Grace’s house. She’s allergic.”

Tears filled her eyes. “But I love him. He’s all I have left.” She backed away, unwilling to part with Lucifer.

Adam shifted from foot to foot in agitation, his brows furrowed. He reached out as if he wanted to hug her but drew back as Lucifer’s claws extended again.

“Stop,” she said, poking Lucifer. “This is just making things worse.”

After a moment, Adam waved her closer. “How about you wait in the truck for me while I get something from the store? Hold him on your lap until I get back.” He left her inside the truck to eat a sandwich he’d packed for her. A few minutes later he returned with a plastic crate with a lid.

“It’s a cat carrier,” Adam said.

Lucifer turned his nose up at it. Abigail suspected it had to be the most demeaning thing ever to be treated as a cat. She placed him inside, feeling like she was locking away part of her soul.

Adam took Abigail to Grace’s house. When Grace returned from her meeting, she welcomed Abigail into her home and greeted her with the same warmth she had before. Her hair was grayer, but she looked very much the same.

The only sticking point for Abigail was when Grace insisted Lucifer sleep outside.

“But I can’t survive without him. And he needs me.” Abigail didn’t want to be ungracious, but she had to make Grace understand. “It’s too cold outside, and he’ll freeze. He isn’t used to the cold.”

“What about the garage?” Adam asked with a smile. “He could stay in the garage at night.”

That was Adam, full of smiles and compromises.

Abigail started her new life in the Morty Realm. Grace insisted Abigail go to school and get her GED because that was what was required in this world. When Abigail wasn’t studying or helping with chores, she assisted Grace with her landscaping business. Lucifer accompanied Abigail, much to Grace’s consternation.

At night, Abigail snuck out to the garage to suffer through the cold with him so he wouldn’t have to bear it alone. Sometimes when no one was home, Abigail took out an alphabet board she had made, and Lucifer pawed at letters to spell out words.

Mostly he complained about Adam, who was living in one of the rooms.

Lucifer stayed out of the way when Abigail carried him to work with her and was on his best behavior when in the presence of their new adoptive mother. Abigail knew that if she was to ever help Lucifer with his problem, she would need herbs. He helped her dig up the earth for her garden, and Grace marveled that he minded Abigail.

It was only when they were alone with Adam that he hissed and acted out.

“I’m going to start leaving you home if you keep on like this,” Abigail threatened.

He must not have believed her. She didn’t quite believe herself either until she did leave him home as she went to work with Adam one day. Lucifer sulked for days afterward.

Only because of the respite from his companionship did Adam dare to venture closer to Abigail. He took her out to dinner, and they went hiking in the forest. She enjoyed his friendship and thought him to be a kind person, but she closed her heart to the idea of more.

She’d been staying with Grace for four months when Adam kissed her. They were in his truck coming home from a job site an hour away. He stopped at a traffic light and stole a kiss, a great big grin on his face afterward. An overwhelming tide of joy and fear mixed with guilt and yearning filled her. She didn’t want to like him; she was saving all her love for Lucifer. She wouldn’t allow Adam to distract her from that.

She shrank away. “I’m sorry. I think I’ve given you the wrong idea.”

The smile faded from his face. “Oh.”

She wrapped her arms around herself and stared out the window the rest of the trip, barely able to contain her tears. Once they reached Grace’s, she locked herself in her room and didn’t come out for dinner. She couldn’t stop crying. Never before had she felt so alone.

Grace knocked on her door to tell her she’d wrapped up her plate of food, but she didn’t pressure Abigail to leave the room. Abigail only opened the door when she heard Lucifer meowing outside. He wasn’t supposed to be in the house, and he’d get in trouble if he was misbehaving.

She opened the door to find Adam standing there. It was hard to say which was more shocking, that Lucifer was permitting Adam to hold him without clawing his eyes out or that Adam had brought him inside despite Grace’s ban.

“I told him you might need him,” Adam said. “He always makes you feel better.”

He did. It made Abigail feel that much more guilty that she couldn’t return Adam’s affection after such a kind gesture.

Lucifer jumped into her arms and cuddled against her. She buried her face in his black fur, hiding her expression from Adam.

“I’m sorry I offended you earlier. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.” Adam cleared his throat, and it looked like he might cry himself. “Can we just pretend I didn’t kiss you?”

Abigail stared down at Adam’s stockings. She nodded.

“You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?” He swallowed, the sound an audible clunk in his throat. “Where is Lucy? Why didn’t he come with you?”

She didn’t answer his question. There was no way she could without sounding crazy.

“Has he asked for you to wait for him?” Adam asked.

“Not exactly. But I am waiting for him.”

Lucifer’s tail twitched.

Adam was friendly with her for the next few weeks, but it was clear there was a wall that separated them now. He went away for college, though he wrote letters and visited in the summer. In his letters he asked if she was still waiting for Lucy.

She said she was.

The following summer, he worked for Grace’s business again. When he asked Abigail out to dinner, she accepted and left Lucifer at home. She tried to pretend he wasn’t attempting to woo her. Each time he placed his hand on her arm, she could see the yearning in his eyes to do more. Adam was in love with her.

The night Adam proposed out back as they sat on the rusty children’s swing set behind Grace’s barn, Abigail tried to give the ring back to him.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she said. He’d only kissed her once. How could he know he wanted to marry her?

“I’m willing to learn if you’ll let me.” He took her hands in his and stared into her eyes. “Come back to Portland with me. We can live together before we get married. You can see if you can put up with me and my corny sense of humor. If you don’t like Portland, or you decide you don’t like me, I’ll take you back to Aunt Grace’s.”

“I can’t.” All she could think about was Lucy. Her gaze darted to the shadows, wondering if he was watching.

“Don’t say no yet. Think it over for a day or two.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Please, Abby.”

It was the “please” that convinced her not to give the box back to him yet, to at least pretend to think the matter over, even though she had decided she couldn’t betray Lucifer.

She retired to her room early, mostly so she could be alone and cry. Lucifer meowed from his perch on her windowsill until she let him in. He went straight for the alphabet board under her bed, dragging it out. Abigail had no doubt he would have something to say about what had happened.

She dried her tears. “I suppose you heard.”

He snorted indignantly, as if to say, “Of course.”

She took up a pen and paper and wrote down the letters that Lucifer batted at so that she could spell out the words he meant to say.

“Does he make you happy?” Lucifer asked.

She sighed. “You’re the love of my life. I don’t want to be with anyone else.” It felt like a lie on her lips. She liked Adam. If she didn’t guard her heart against it, she could fall in love with him.

Lucifer pointed to the letters with his paw. “I want to see the ring.”

Abigail took out the box and showed him.

“He has poor taste in jewelry,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “You would say such a thing.”

“I won’t blame you for marrying him. I’ll be happy for you.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll be miserable.” Abigail swallowed, thinking of the alternative. “We should go back to Baba and see if she’ll turn you back.”

“No. I’m never going back. I’m staying here with you. If you want to marry Adam, I’ll put up with him.”

“I’ll think about it,” Abigail said. “I’m not ready to think about marriage yet.”

The next day at breakfast, Adam said, “Just in case it makes any difference, I made sure the apartment I’m renting has a policy that allows cats.” His mouth curved upward in the start of a smile. “I won’t make Lucy sleep in the garage like Aunt Grace does. And there’s a patio. You can plant an herb garden in planters outside.”

Aunt Grace set down a forkful of blueberry pancake Abigail had made. “Do you mean to tell me you’re trying to bribe my Abby into moving in with you?”

Adam grinned.

Abigail liked how Grace called her “my Abby,” like she was family. She’d been with Grace for a year, and she had shown her more love and affection than Baba ever had.

Grace shook her head at her nephew and turned to Abigail. “You make that boy marry you first before you agree to move in with him.”

“I don’t think I’m ready to be married just yet.” Heat flushed to Abigail’s face.

Grace leaned in conspiratorially. “Then tell him he’d better do a good job courting you, eh?”

Adam grinned. “It sounds like I’d better give Abigail gifts of chocolate and flowers.”

Grace nudged Abigail with an elbow. “More like cat food and flea collars.”

Abigail shook her head, but she laughed in spite of herself.

Later that night Abigail found a small box under her pillow. Inside was a pink collar with rhinestones spelling out the name “Lucy.” When she showed Lucifer, he hid his face under his paws.

The way to Abigail’s heart was through her cat.

Adam stayed to work for Grace during the summer. When he returned to Portland, Abigail and Lucifer left with him. Abigail MacQuillan became Abigail Lawrence shortly after.

* * *

Using magic was dangerous business in the Morty Realm, and Abigail had been drained, which meant she had nothing left to use. It didn’t stop her from going to used bookstores and New Age shops in search of spells that might cure Lucifer of his curse. Over the years, Abigail sought out others who she thought might be Witchkin. Many of those she found were charlatans who would have swindled her out of her money if she hadn’t known how to spot real magic when she saw it. Worse yet were those whom she encountered who possessed genuine magic, but who didn’t understand how to use it.

To use magic in the Morty Realm without constructing wards to disguise it was worse than not having it at all. The Fae could claim such people, and what they did to Witchkin was worse than death. Over the years, Abigail’s magic started to return in small bursts, mostly related to the growing and preparation of plants to use in potions. She couldn’t help wondering how much the return of her affinity might be Lucifer’s influence, his passive magic strengthening the little she had left. She took care to hide what she was from Morties and Fae alike. When Adam and she adopted two children—Witchkin, though he didn’t know it—she protected them with wards and infused potions to keep their magic dormant. Always she kept Lucifer near to amplify her abilities.

As the years passed, Lucifer’s temperament grew surlier. He tolerated her children less as teenagers and provoked other people’s tempers like an ornery old man. Though he comforted Abigail after her older daughter died and when Adam died in a car accident three years after that, Lucifer often came and went as he pleased. She kept her alphabet board out so he could speak to her, but he rarely had anything to say. When he did, his answers were curt, matching his temperament.

All the while, Abigail worked on finding a cure to Lucifer’s curse. When Clarissa left the Morty Realm to teach at a magical school, Abigail threw herself into finding a cure with renewed vigor. She was elbow deep in a clay poultice she had to hand stir in a cauldron, when the phone call came from Womby’s School for Wayward Witches. Abigail’s twenty-two-year old daughter had been attacked while working at a magical boarding school for at-risk youth.

Abigail set down the phone, clay smeared across the receiver. In a panic she told Lucifer the news. He snorted in disgust. Abigail suspected his disgust was aimed at her.

“I’m sorry. Your cure is going to have to wait,” she said, wiping her hands on a towel. “My daughter needs me right now.”

The Unseen Realm, a dimension in between the Morty Realm and the Faerie Realm was the last place Abigail wanted to go, but she saw no other choice. As she had said, Clarissa needed her.

The problem was Lucifer.

Abigail didn’t go anywhere without her familiar. Not on a two-day road trip to Disneyland when her children were little—much to the protests of her husband and children, who would have preferred to leave her ornery black cat alone at home. Not on an airplane to visit her husband’s relatives, even though Lucifer refused to take sedatives, and he was mischievous enough to escape his pet carrier to stalk the dinner cart and an unsuspecting flight attendant.

But this was different. This was another world she would be going to. One where she couldn’t protect him.

Lucifer watched her pack from the hallway outside her bedroom door.

“Would you prefer to stay home? I can get the neighbor to feed you,” Abigail offered. “Or would you prefer to come with me?”

He sauntered forward and nuzzled his face against her leg by way of an answer. Sometimes Abigail wasn’t certain how much of the boy she’d once known remained in him and how much of him had turned feral. She yearned to be able to set him free of his curse, but it was possible that would take powerful magic and skills she didn’t possess.

Abigail packed her suitcase full of earthquake cake brownies from her freezer, ingredients for kitchen alchemy, potted herbs, and flowers. She packed her cat in her purse—it was a very large purse—as she traveled via Amtrak, Greyhound, the city bus, and traveled from the realm of the mundane mortal world into one of witchcraft and wickedness.

That was how she thought of the Unseen Realm, where she intended to go. It wasn’t a surprise her adopted daughter, Clarissa Lawrence, had been hurt there. Now Abigail was returning to that ominous dimension that she had left behind.

From the way Lucifer hid in her purse the entire bus ride, she knew he didn’t find it any more welcoming than she did. She hadn’t wanted to bring him back into the realm they’d escaped, but she didn’t want to leave him at home either. It was her job to protect Lucifer after he’d been cursed to remain as a cat for the rest of his days. She couldn’t take care of him if she was nursing Clarissa back to health.

After she’d set out, Abigail chided herself for her rashness in setting out for the school. She should have made an infusion of lavender water infused with the essence of rose quartz that had been placed under a full moon to produce a calming effect. If she had given Lucifer a dishful before embarking on her trip, he might have been less anxious about witches, Fae, and other magical creatures who had hurt them both in the past.

Abigail would have given anything to break the curse that had transformed him from a laughing, kindhearted young man into a cat. She would have sacrificed her fingers and toes if she thought it would help restore him. But Abigail didn’t think it would help. Magic could never be trusted to bring the results one wished for, especially when it was a mischievous witch working the magic.

CHAPTER THREE

Cat Got Your Tongue?

As Lucifer launched himself into the air to attack the satyr, Abigail realized she hadn’t taken enough precautions—namely to protect everyone else from Lucifer’s temper.

The satyr screamed and shielded his face as Lucifer attacked.

“Lucy, stop! He isn’t a threat!” At least she didn’t think he was. Abigail left her suitcases by the side of the road and dove through the brush after her familiar.

By the time she reached Sam and her cat, the satyr was rolling around on the ground, cowering as he covered his face.

“No, Lucy! That isn’t nice.” She snatched him up.

Immediately, he retracted his claws. He touched his nose to hers and snuggled up against her neck. He continued to eye Sam with malice.

“We talked about this. It isn’t going to help us if you make enemies,” Abigail said. “If you don’t behave, I’ll put a muzzle on you and keep you in the cat carrier.” It was an idle threat. She hadn’t brought either, but she would find a way to keep him from lashing out if he continued to misbehave.

Abigail crouched beside Sam. “Are you all right?”

He flinched back from her. She didn’t blame him. She was still holding Lucifer.

“I’m so sorry about this. My familiar has a difficult time with strangers. He’s overprotective.” Jealous, in this case, but she didn’t say that. “It looks like he’s scratched your face and hands.” She shifted Sam’s curly hair out of his eyes. Lucifer hadn’t scratched his eyes at least.

Lucifer batted her hand. No doubt he didn’t like her touching the other man.

Sam inched back. “I’m fine. I’ve got a few tree familiars. I know how protective familiars can be.” He laughed, but his eyes were wary now.

“I’ve got a bit of salve in my bag.” She stood.

“You don’t need to go to any trouble for me.” He wiped at the blood on his jaw. “I’m fine. Really. I get worse injuries weeding blackberries.”

“It isn’t any trouble.” She left him and went to her suitcase, which had fallen over. She found the ointment she’d made in the front pocket. She dug deeper in the bag, pulling out a tin of brownies. She’d specifically kept them separated from the ones in the airtight Tupperware and Ziplocs because she knew how sensitive some Fae and Witchkin were when it came to plastics, BHT, and Morty chemicals.

She set Lucifer down. “Stay here and guard my bags. You’re going to be a good boy for me, won’t you?”

He leapt up onto one of the suitcases and sprawled across it. She gave him a scritch behind the ears to show him she appreciated his efforts.

“I’m fine,” Sam said again, eyeing the jar and metal tin with suspicion.

Everyone could be bribed by a taste of heaven if one knew what tempted their hearts. Abigail hoped brownies were the temptation that would lull Sam into complacency. She opened the treasure box of goodies.

His eyes lit up, and he inhaled deeply. “Is that coconut and pecans?”

She handed him the box. He selected one. He moaned upon tasting her earthquake cake brownies. He ate as she applied a green smear of ointment to his injuries. A spoonful of sugar had distracted her two daughters when she’d treated their booboos as well.

Especially when it had contained a hint of magic to make them complacent.

“Your salve smells like lavender and honey,” Sam said.

“That’s to mask the garlic. I use that to prevent infection, though the honey has antibacterial properties as well.” She dabbed more salve onto the backs of his hands. “And the honey helps bind the herbs together.”

“I bet I’m going to look ridiculous returning to school with green smears all over me.” He laughed. He didn’t sound too broken up about it.

Abigail found herself smiling along with him. Now that she’d seen Sam’s vulnerable side, and witnessed he could be taken down by a cat, she could see he didn’t pose a threat. And anyone who fell under the spell of her brownies wasn’t likely to attack her—unless it was to obtain her recipe.

Lucifer butted his head up against her leg, nudging himself between her and Sam. He wasn’t going to aid her in gaining allies at her daughter’s school. Abigail hoped he wouldn’t cause more problems, but she knew him well enough to suspect he would.

CHAPTER FOUR

Something Fishy

The school was a strange mishmash of architecture, parts of it medieval, Gothic, and modern attesting to the stages that it had been built over time. The building looked like a sickly weed, each wing that stretched out from the center asymmetrical and unbalanced.

The principal and a man Abigail suspected must be the dean of discipline by his hot-pink shirt greeted her on the front steps of the school after she and Sam hauled her luggage through the woods, across a portal from the Morty Realm into the Unseen Realm, through more forest, and onto school property.

Teenagers in gray-and-black school uniforms walked by, eyeing Abigail with curiosity. The school looked like what she imagined a private school would look like, not that she’d ever been to one herself.

Abigail pushed Lucifer’s head down and zipped her purse up so he wouldn’t be able to leap out and claw the school’s administrative staff. She left a corner open so that Lucifer could poke his muzzle out to breathe.

The dean stared at her purse, his eyebrows knit together.

Her daughter had spoken highly of these men. Clarissa hadn’t mentioned that Mr. Khaba, the dean, was a pureblooded Fae. It was difficult to tell how much his hot-pink shirt glittered from magic and how much was because it was made with metallic threads. He was bald, his dark skin and accent placing his heritage somewhere in the Middle East, or somewhere equivalent in the Faerie Realm.

Principal Jedediah Ebenezer Bumblebub was just as Clarissa had described in her letters, a cowboy wizard. Even the brim of his pointed witch hat was shaped like a Stetson’s. A red bandana peeked out from under his snow-white beard, his mustache was curled at the ends like a cartoon villain’s, and he wore the largest belt buckle she’d ever seen, though his large belly hid most of it.

“It’s a delight to make your acquaintance,” Principal Bumblebub said in a Texan accent, shaking her hand.

Lucifer’s paw darted out of her purse, ready to slash at the man’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Abigail shifted her purse to her other shoulder and pushed his paw back inside. “How is my daughter? Is she all right?”

“She’s recoverin’ just fine,” the principal said. “I’ll escort you down to see her in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

The principal introduced the dean. Mr. Khaba’s palm tingled against hers as he shook her hand, his Fae magic so powerful it made Abigail’s eyes water.

Lucifer hissed. Abigail yanked her hand back from Mr. Khaba, holding on to the cat to keep him in check. She couldn’t understand why an institution concerned about the welfare of children would hire a powerful Fae who might put those children in danger.

Mr. Khaba’s smile faltered as his gaze flickered to a black paw slashing at the air. “We don’t allow pets on the premises.”

“I traveled all day to get here. I don’t have anywhere else to keep my familiar.” Abigail glanced at the ominous stone structure of the school, feeling the weight of responsibilities pressing in on her.

Lucifer wasn’t a pet. He wasn’t even a true familiar, not that she trusted these men with that information. She was uncomfortably aware of the way Mr. Khaba eyed Lucifer. Perhaps it would have been safer if she had left Lucifer at home where he would be farther from the Fae who would harm him, but she suspected he would have tried to follow her.

The principal chuckled, his belly jiggling like a bowl of jelly under his brown flannel shirt. “Come now, partner. I reckon a witch needs her familiar.”

There was something odd about the principal—besides the fact that he was a cowboy wizard. His accent wasn’t quite right for being Texan. He was too much of a caricature, his cheerfulness forced.

Mr. Khaba eyed Lucifer with disdain. “It specifically says in the code of conduct, students and staff are not to keep pets on school grounds.”

He was going to be a stickler for rules. Abigail knew how Fae liked to use rules to their advantage. The wording of a bargain, wish, or rule would always be to their advantage.

Abigail lifted her chin. “I am not a staff member or student. I am a guest.”

The principal winked at her. “It don’t say nothin’ about guests of staff, does it?”

“No.” Mr. Khaba’s lips pressed into a line. “But I advise against it.”

She had gotten in on a loophole. If Mr. Khaba was anything like the vindictive Fae she had met in the past, he wouldn’t allow her to get away freely.

“Don’t you worry, darlin’.” Principal Bumblebub winked at her and slapped the other man on the back. “He’s all cattle and no hat.”

Abigail stared at him, puzzled.

Khaba grimaced. “I believe the expression is ‘all hat and no cattle.’”

Abigail had worked hard to lose her accent and build a persona of normalcy when she’d journeyed to the Morty Realm so that she wouldn’t stand out. She knew how to spot a faker. She didn’t believe the principal’s dumb act for one minute. It was about as real as his accent, though she couldn’t imagine why he would want to adopt the persona of a fool.

“How about you let this business about pets slide, partner?” The principal elbowed Mr. Khaba. “Mrs. Lawrence has already got her familiar here with her. We’ll ask her to leave her cat home next time, eh?”

Mr. Khaba crossed his arms. “As you wish, sir.” The dean turned away.

The ink outline of a tattoo was visible on the back of his neck, just above the pink collar. It was an image that resembled Aladdin’s lamp.

This man was a djinn, the most powerful of the Fae. He granted wishes. Though from his stern expression and narrowed eyes, it was unlikely he would grant Abigail a wish.

Abigail glanced down at Lucifer. If she could ask for one thing in the world, there was one wish she would ask, not for herself, but for him. Being a stickler for rules, Mr. Khaba would ask for a price in exchange for granting a wish—if she convinced him to do so.

Most likely it would require a great sacrifice from her. As much as she wanted Lucifer to regain his human form, she also feared what kind of tithe Khaba would collect from her if she approached him about making such a wish.

CHAPTER FIVE

Scaredy-Cat

Abigail stifled a cry as she caught sight of her daughter’s appearance. Her hands were wrapped in bandages, and her lips were black with scabs. The distinct charred odor wafting from the bed suggested she’d been burned. Her pink hair spilled across the pillow, unusually tangled and frizzy.

Abigail stole forward, hardly daring to breathe.

Clarissa was asleep in a luxurious canopy bed that made her petite frame appear even smaller. As Abigail sat on the edge of the bed next to her, her daughter didn’t stir.

Lucifer leapt onto the foot of the bed, but he didn’t need to be told to stay back. He sat on the edge, his ears occasionally twitching as he eyed the room. He reminded Abigail of a guardian, tall and regal, a feral angel looking out for her daughter.

Whoever had tended to her daughter’s wounds had been competent in wrapping the wounds. Abigail picked up a jar of salve on the nightstand, inhaling the aroma of comfrey, calendula, and what she suspected was Hypericum perforatum. The medicinal blend confirmed her suspicions her daughter had been burned. Whoever had made the salve knew herbs as well as any hedge witch or healer.

It reassured her someone was taking care of her daughter.

Abigail unpacked, arranging therapeutic plants around the windowless room, setting out her daughter’s favorite art supplies, and tiptoeing to the bathroom to set out her toiletries. The mosaics in the water closet rivaled the craftsmanship and beauty of a Roman palace. She peeked at the attached personal spa room with a miniature waterfall, hot spring, and exotic collection of plants. Despite the lack of windows, the room emanated light from a magical source. True, the dungeon she’d walked through to get to Clarissa’s room was a bit moldy, but once she made it past the creepy museum of historic torture instruments—and the classroom full of desks and chairs that resembled modern torture devices—she found the living quarters spacious and the furnishings elegant. It wasn’t at all what she expected from a school with the severe budget cuts her daughter had spoken of.

As Abigail opened the bag of brownies, the heavenly aroma of chocolate filled the room. Clarissa stirred. Lucifer meowed, nodding toward her.

Abigail seated herself on the edge of the bed. Clarissa’s eyes fluttered open.

“How’s my baby?” Abigail asked.

Clarissa managed a weak smile. “Everything is perfect now that you’re here. How was the trip?”

Abigail considered telling her about her misadventure with Lucifer and the groundskeeper but decided to save that for another time. She smoothed her daughter’s pink hair out of her eyes and kissed her forehead. She wanted to sit Clarissa on her lap like she used to when she was a child and to make her promise to stay away from witches and bad people who used magic, but Clarissa was now grown up. She had chosen her path. A dangerous path.

Tears filled Abigail’s eyes. “I missed you, honey.”

“I missed you too, Mom.” Clarissa inhaled deeply. “You smell like chocolate.”

Abigail laughed. “I brought your favorite.” She set the brownies on a plate and brought them to her daughter.

Clarissa selected the largest one with her bandaged hand. “Thank you, Mom! You’re the best!”

“That nice professor asked me to bring you brownies when he called. I take it you shared a few with him from the way he raved about my baking.”

Clarissa choked. Abigail brought her a glass of water. Abigail fluffed her daughter’s pillows and rearranged her blankets, trying to make her more comfortable. Lucifer kept to the shadows. Slowly he stalked toward the plate of brownies.

“Chocolate isn’t good for cats,” Abigail said, shaking her head at him.

He meowed pitifully.

Clarissa flinched, seeing Lucifer for the first time. “Why did you bring Lucifer with you?”

“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I bring him?”

Clarissa tried to cross her arms, but she winced and stopped. “Because he’s evil.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed.

Abigail picked him up. “Don’t say that about him. It hurts his feelings.” She petted his head before setting him on the floor. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” At least he had been once. These days, it was hard to say.

Clarissa rolled her eyes. “He’s probably going to rake his claws against my wounds in my sleep.”

“He will not!”

“Remember the time he gouged his claws into my hand when I was a teenager?”

Abigail offered Clarissa the plate of brownies, hoping her daughter would be soothed by the chocolate and kitchen magic she’d infused into them. “That was because you were reading those Lord of the Rings books after I told you not to. He was trying to protect you from obsessing over magic.”

Clarissa set her brownie down. “And the time he peed on Missy’s cheer bag?”

The mention of Abigail’s other adopted daughter made her heart ache. For all her interventions, she hadn’t been able to save Missy from going down the path of dark magic. “Missy had something in her bag she was using to hex someone. He was trying to prevent her from using magic.”

Abigail knew her familiar could be ornery, but usually he was trying to help. It was just hard to express oneself when claws and teeth were the easiest means of communication. If only Abigail could have been a powerful enough witch to turn him back to his true form.

“What about the time he scratched Dad in the face? Was he trying to hex someone?” Clarissa’s eyes were heavy with fatigue.

Abigail frowned down at him. Lucifer slouched, guilt in his frame. Whenever Adam had been the victim of an attack, Lucifer’s motivation had been out of jealousy. Her late husband had been a saint putting up with Lucifer. Abigail’s heart played a note of regret, thinking about him. He’d been a good husband and father. He hadn’t deserved Lucifer’s wrath.

When Abigail looked back at her daughter, she found her eyes were closed. She found a napkin and dabbed at the chocolate from the corner of her mouth and washed her sticky fingers just as she had when she’d been a child.

Lucifer butted his head against her leg.

She stroked him behind the ears. “You will be careful with Clarissa and her injuries, won’t you? I don’t need you trying to keep her from using magic now that she’s learning how to control it.”

He purred against her. Now that Abigail had returned to this realm, she was surrounded by magic. Surely there had to be witches here who didn’t eat children and curse teenagers into the form of an animal as a punishment. Someone out there must know the remedy to his curse. But that meant she would have to reveal what he was to someone, why he’d been punished, and the reason Baba Nata wanted him so badly.

Abigail feared the danger of revealing his secrets to the wrong person.

CHAPTER SIX

What the Cat Dragged In

Abigail sat at her daughter’s bedside as Clarissa slept. Eventually Professor Felix Thatch came in, dressed in a gray tweed suit that made him appear more like a shadow than a man.

He closed the door quietly and stopped abruptly upon seeing her. “Mrs. Lawrence, I beg your pardon for not coming sooner. The principal hadn’t informed me of your arrival.” His accent was refined and British. He spoke formally, like someone trained to be proper in every way. Lucifer had spoken with a similar accent. They probably hailed from the same province in the Unseen Realm.

Abigail nodded, trying to think of something nice to say, but she couldn’t. Every muscle in her body tensed. She told herself this man wouldn’t have called her over the phone to inform her about her daughter’s condition if he hadn’t wanted her here, but her last encounter with him in the Morty Realm had been less than friendly.

From Mr. Thatch’s rigid posture to his immaculate suit, everything about him was precise—all save for his wild mane of dark hair that he’d tamed by cutting it shoulder length. He was young and beautiful in the otherworldly way many descended from Fae often were, though it was hard to say how much of his features were from a glamour and how much was natural.

Lucifer hissed. Abigail picked him up.

Felix Thatch’s gaze flickered to Lucifer and then the plants, his lips turning down. “I see you’ve brought your trusty familiar.” He set a glass jar full of amber fluid on the dresser next to the plate of brownies.

Abigail stroked Lucifer’s head, murmuring in his ear so that she wouldn’t embarrass him. “Remember what we talked about, sweetie.” Mr. Thatch had already experienced a close encounter of the cat kind previously when he’d tried to break through the wards on her house to speak with her about Clarissa’s magic. Mr. Thatch didn’t need another cat attack.

Unless he proved he deserved it.

“It was good of you to come on such short notice.” Felix Thatch eyed the brownies next to the jar.

“Of course I came. Clarissa is my daughter.” Her only family now. She needed to protect her from this big bad world of Fae and witches.

His voice was flat, the droning monotone of a history teacher—though it was more likely he taught alchemy, black magic, or some such class. “Indeed. I just mean that I didn’t make the best of first impressions on you. I realize I don’t exactly endear myself to people. I had no idea whether you would trust my word and come.”

She laughed at that. “It wasn’t your first impression that was the problem. It was your second impression.”

A fleeting smile laced his lips before his face returned to an expressionless mask.

The first time she’d met him, he’d been in disguise. She wouldn’t have known he was the one who brought Clarissa to her as a baby, except that he’d recounted every detail over the phone. He was the one who had wanted Clarissa to be safe in the first place after her biological mother had died. He had chosen Abigail because he’d secretly observed her interactions taking care of Missy, and he’d known she would love Clarissa as her own. She wouldn’t be cruel to Clarissa as Abigail’s own adoptive mother had been to her. Baba Nata had never loved her or been a true mother or grandmother to her. She’d always treated Abigail as a useful apprentice—until she’d lost her magic and stopped being useful.

If Mr. Thatch had told Abigail he was the one who’d brought her Clarissa sooner, she wouldn’t have sicced Lucifer on him when he’d come to her home.

Lucifer waved a paw toward Mr. Thatch, trying to tell Abigail something, but she couldn’t decipher what he wanted to say.

Mr. Thatch looked from Abigail to the brownies. “Are those brownies?”

“Would you like one? I stored them in a plastic bag, and I know how you people can be about not wanting to pollute your bodies with—”

“Plastic doesn’t bother me.” He selected one from the plate and ate it so fast he practically inhaled it.

She was surprised he hadn’t used a spell to detect poison—or magic.

Lucifer squirmed in her arms. She didn’t put him down. She couldn’t trust him to behave. At any moment, she expected Mr. Thatch would leave, but he selected another brownie instead, chewing more slowly.

Abigail waved a hand at the elegant canopy bed and the matching dressers. They had to be a hundred years old. “This is a spacious living area for a new teacher. I expected something smaller.” And messier, considering her daughter’s untidy tendencies. It was oddly devoid of art for being the room of the school’s art teacher.

He coughed and glanced away, a sudden stiffness in his frame. “This isn’t your daughter’s room. It’s mine. Years ago I furnished it myself.”

“Why is my daughter in your room instead of her own?” The hard edge of suspicion crept into her voice.

“I felt it would be in her best interest to stay out of sight so that students—and staff—didn’t talk about the . . . nature of her injuries.”

“What do you mean? I thought you said she was attacked by another teacher.” Her voice rose despite her effort to remain quiet and not wake Clarissa.

“Indeed. And your daughter did an admirable job defending herself. Her attacker is dead.”

Clarissa had killed someone? A chill settled over Abigail. She could only imagine how traumatizing the experience had been for her baby. This was just like Missy and Derrick all over again.

Clarissa had caused the accidents that had resulted in her adopted sister and friend’s deaths. Only this wasn’t an accident. Clarissa’s magic had killed someone—on purpose. Surely she wouldn’t have hurt someone intentionally unless the other teacher deserved it. Abigail wanted to believe this realm wasn’t changing her daughter and turning her into a monster.

“Who attacked Clarissa?” Abigail asked.

Mr. Thatch’s eyes cut over to where Clarissa lay asleep. “Might we have a private word in my office? I would prefer not to disturb our patient.”

Abigail set Lucifer on the bed. He snagged his claws into her sweater, clinging to her, most likely not wanting to miss any juicy gossip.

“I need you here watching Clarissa. Will you do that for me?” She rubbed him behind the ears, and he nuzzled her hand, a definite yes.

He looked to Mr. Thatch and then to her, waving a paw in the air toward the man. Lucifer wasn’t hissing, so she assumed that meant he didn’t see the man as a threat, but there was something he was trying to tell her. She wished he could speak.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t worry,” she said.

Abigail brought the plate of brownies to Mr. Thatch’s office. People always opened up if they were distracted by delicious food. Especially when she’d placed a charm for health, healing, and happiness on the brownies.

Felix Thatch’s office was tidy. A birdcage containing a raven attested to a familiar of his own. The bird watched her with intelligence in those beady black eyes. Abigail wondered how he had avoided Mr. Khaba’s ban on animals.

“I believe you are aware of the unusual nature of Clarissa’s magic.” Mr. Thatch raised an eyebrow.

Abigail nodded. She appreciated his discretion. He was obviously aware that her daughter’s affinity wasn’t plant magic like hers.

“If Clarissa were to be treated in the infirmary, it would raise too many questions. The nurse—or perhaps another staff member—might notice that she is suffering from electrical burns.”

Electrical.

Abigail swallowed. Long ago when Lucifer was still a boy, he had told her that electricity was forbidden in this realm because it could drain other Witchkin of their powers. Abigail had long suspected Clarissa’s affinity was similar. Her daughter would give away her affinity and draw more attention to herself. People would think she was a wicked witch like her biological mother—if they didn’t already.

“It is out of the question for Clarissa to stay in her own room as she has a roommate who will not make resting the easiest option, nor do I expect Vega Bloodmire would be willing to help change Clarissa’s bandages, even if I trusted her to do so. Josephine Kimura, one of Clarissa’s friends, would be willing, though it would be best for her not to see the extent of damage Clarissa did to herself.”

That meant none of the other teachers knew what Clarissa was. “You were the one who saw to her wounds?” He was the one who had made the salve and taken care of her daughter so competently before she’d arrived?

“Indeed. I found her and wrapped up her injuries before the principal or dean would have a chance to see.” His eyes were so gray and melancholy they looked like they contained the gloom of thunderstorms.

That meant Mr. Thatch didn’t trust these people. He didn’t want the Fae dean to know Clarissa had unleashed enough forbidden magic to kill someone. Clarissa’s magic was like Lucifer’s. She had secrets she needed to keep from other Witchkin. Abigail hated knowing her suspicions were true.

“Does the dean know about . . . ? What I mean is, the man who attacked Clarissa, does the administration know he’s . . . dead?” Abigail asked.

“Indeed, but they think it was an accident on Clarissa’s part, a lack of skill and faulty training on my part for an unwillingness to give her proper magic lessons. As her magical mentor, they blame me.” He selected another brownie and smiled.

Abigail suspected she must have accidentally included too much of her special ingredients if he was that happy. Sometimes Lucifer’s magic drew out more than she intended.

Mr. Thatch went on. “The man who attacked Clarissa was another teacher, possibly in the employment of the Raven Court or another Fae court. That means the Fae had a reason to spy on Clarissa and wished to use her, possibly to harness her magic for their own uses. It is imperative no one else discovers what she is.”

Abigail couldn’t imagine what the Fae would want to use Clarissa’s affinity for. Yet if one Fae court had reason to use Clarissa, Abigail worried who else might be out there who would do her daughter harm. The dean? The principal? She couldn’t allow them to discover Clarissa’s secrets—or Lucifer’s.

Abigail was grateful that Felix Thatch—whom she had assumed was her daughter’s enemy—had gone to such lengths to cover for her. Yet, these witches seldom did anything without wanting something in return. It was unlikely Clarissa had learned that lesson yet.

“Why are you helping my daughter? I thought you disliked her biological mother.”

His lips pressed into a line. Abigail wondered if she’d asked too personal a question.

“Dislike would be putting it mildly. Alouette Loraline betrayed me.” He stared at the plate of brownies. “I wasn’t always enemies with Alouette. Once upon a time, she was a good person. I promised her I would keep her daughter from harm and do all that was in my power to keep her out of the hands of the Raven Queen.” His eyes narrowed, determination there. “I intend to keep that promise. Even if your daughter’s stubbornness and accidents make it difficult to do so.”

Abigail nearly laughed at the sentiment. As much as she had tried, Abigail had never been able to nudge Clarissa out of her stubbornness.

He cleared his throat. “I intend to keep Clarissa safe from others who would use her and do her harm. Much as you have. I give you my word I shall do my best.”

Tears filled Abigail’s eyes. For all this man’s stiffness, he had a good heart. Warmth suffused through Abigail at the idea that her daughter wasn’t completely alone at the school. She had friends who were looking out for her. Mr. Thatch was her daughter’s guardian angel.

She wanted to thank him, but she knew she couldn’t. If she did, she would owe this man a favor. She held out the plate of brownies. Nothing spelled out gratitude like chocolate.

* * *

Abigail’s hours were spent caring for her daughter, changing enough bandages to wrap a mummy, helping Clarissa shuffle her way over to the restroom, and attempting to add flavor to the school’s unappetizing meals. While Clarissa slept, Mr. Thatch told Abigail how to get to the school’s gardens and greenhouses. Sam the satyr took her on a tour of the grounds, helping her collect herbs and introducing her to students. He was probably relieved she’d left Lucifer behind to guard Clarissa.

In the greenhouses, Sam introduced her to Grandmother Bluehorse, an old woman with moss and ferns growing out of her witch’s hat. Abigail didn’t need an education at a school to know the woman had a plant affinity like her.

“I’ve been admiring your selection of Violaceae. It’s impressive.” Abigail waved a hand at the tray of violets on the nearest table.

The old woman eyed the basket of herbs in Abigail’s hands. “Who gave you permission to take cuttings from my plants?”

Sam shifted from hoof to hoof uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry,” Abigail said. “Sam and Mr. Thatch said it would be all right. I didn’t know I was supposed to ask your permission.”

The old woman gouged her mossy staff into the earth. “Of course they wouldn’t tell you to ask. Those clods have no respect for how hard it is to grow anything.”

Sam inched away. “Um, I think I have some weeding to do out back.”

Grandmother Bluehorse pursed her weathered lips. “So you’re that girl’s adoptive mother? You do realize who her real mother is, don’t you?”

“I am Clarissa’s real mother. I raised her as my own daughter.” Abigail forced a smile. “I would like to think I taught her the kind of values it takes to be a good person.”

The moss on Grandmother Bluehorse’s hat shook as she spoke. “You know what they say, ‘An apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’ We can only hope that won’t be the case with your apple, and she doesn’t go off on a murder spree like Alouette Loraline did when she was headmistress here.”

Abigail had a feeling it would take more than brownies to befriend this woman.

She could understand Mr. Thatch’s reluctance to trust other people at the school. Even if they weren’t suspicious about Clarissa’s magic, there was too much residual resentment about Alouette Loraline and her evil ways. Even Abigail, sheltered from the happenings of the Unseen Realm, had heard rumors about the former headmistress and her reign of destruction.

“Were you a teacher at the school during the former headmistress’s time?” Abigail asked.

“That’s right. I’ve taught for fifty years at Womby’s. I started here because of my husband. My late husband.” The sorrow in Grandmother Bluehorse’s eyes spoke of the depths of that wound.

Abigail spun her wedding ring around on her finger, thinking about her own husband. “I’m sorry to hear about your loss.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “My husband died in a car accident four years ago. You think the heartache will lessen with time, but it never completely disappears, does it?”

The older woman looked at her again, her brow furrowing. “Twenty-three years feels like just yesterday.” She seemed to see Abigail with new eyes.

Abigail placed a hand on the older woman’s arm. “Was your husband one of the people who died because of what the headmistress did?”

The old woman turned away, wiping tears from her eyes. “The administration expected me to help pick up the pieces and take charge of the students, as if I wasn’t dealing with enough while mourning the loss of my husband.” Grandmother Bluehorse sighed heavily. “Jeb asked me to rebuild the greenhouse after a week. Can you believe it? They didn’t even give me time to grieve.”

“That must have been difficult.” Abigail listened to the old teacher explain school politics for another ten minutes.

Some of the herbalism teacher’s irritation at Abigail had lessened by that point. Abigail couldn’t tell whether Grandmother Bluehorse’s anger at Clarissa for being related to the wickedest witch of all time had dulled or that would take more time.

By the time Grandmother Bluehorse went off on a tangent about unicorns trampling her prized orchids, Abigail had a fairly good idea of the woman’s weakness.

“Do you like orchids?” Abigail asked. “I happen to have brought some with me. Perhaps I could leave a potted plant with you to make up for the herbs I took.”

Grandmother Bluehorse’s eyes widened, and a delighted smile spread across her face. “I love orchids, dear. That’s so kind of you to offer.”

Abigail had a feeling she’d made an ally. She might need one later.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Catawampus

Abigail slept in the room with her daughter, the two of them fitting easily on the large bed, with Lucifer curled up at their feet. Mr. Thatch slept in an empty dormitory room in the men’s section of the school.

During the day while he was teaching, Abigail spent most of her time with Clarissa. She was recovering smoothly, though Abigail worried how things would go for her after she recovered. It only took a few more encounters with the staff for Abigail to see how the other teachers resented Clarissa because she was Alouette Loraline’s biological daughter. Abigail wanted this place Clarissa had chosen for herself to be a safe environment where people would look out for her. Abigail couldn’t stay to protect her daughter forever.

Lucifer was restless, becoming agitated anytime one of Clarissa’s teacher friends came to visit or Mr. Thatch brought her medicine. Abigail didn’t blame Lucifer for not trusting witches after being cursed by one.

While Clarissa napped in the afternoon, Mr. Thatch brought in a stack of essays to correct and sat at Clarissa’s bedside, relieving Abigail of her duties.

“I’m fine. You don’t need to inconvenience yourself for the sake of giving me a break,” Abigail protested.

“You need fresh air and sunlight.” He took her by the shoulders and walked her to the door, the gesture almost playful more than forceful, despite the serious expression on his face. “You’re a witch of nature and plants. A hedge witch. Am I correct?”

Abigail didn’t consider herself a witch. She wasn’t like these people with their showy magic and fancy school education. Her powers were small. They’d been that way ever since she’d been drained of her magic. Whether she considered herself a proper witch or not, she was Witchkin. She did need nature.

She walked around the grounds, taking Lucifer with her. She met some of her daughter’s students and more of the faculty. Lucifer even tolerated a couple of the students petting him. Abigail inquired about when she could use the kitchen that wouldn’t inconvenience the staff.

Lucifer behaved surprisingly well. It was only when Abigail returned to the dungeon that he started to behave unusually again. He squirmed out of her arms and stalked over to Mr. Thatch, who sat in a chair, still correcting papers. He butted his head up against the teacher’s leg like he did when he wanted attention. When Mr. Thatch leaned down to pet him, Lucifer backed away, staring into his eyes in challenge.

“What is it, Lucy?” Abigail asked.

He waved a paw at Mr. Thatch and meowed. He was trying to communicate something, but she couldn’t fathom what.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A Taste of Magic

After a late night of baking, Abigail returned to the room to find Felix Thatch seated in the chair beside the bed. His arm was circled around Clarissa’s shoulders, sitting her up as she drank from a goblet of amber fluid.

“Just a smidge more if you can manage it.” His voice was soft, more of a lullaby than his usual monotone.

The gray of his eyes was less like a thunderstorm, the threat of gloom gone. For a moment she thought she was seeing a different person. Something about the smile tugging at his lips reminded her of Lucifer’s smile when he’d been human. Or perhaps it was simply the way Lucifer had gazed at her when they had been young and in love.

Mr. Thatch held the base of the glass to lend support. It was obvious Clarissa was weak from the way her fingers trembled as she tried to hold the goblet on her own. There was such affection in her eyes, Abigail didn’t know how she had missed it before.

Lucifer sat perched at the end of the bed, watching Mr. Thatch’s every move. He looked ready to pounce at any moment. He was a good protector. He always had been, as a human and as an animal.

It was times like this, when Abigail noticed two people in love—whether they were willing to admit it or not—that she remembered what she was missing in her own life. She glanced at her wedding ring and then away. Her heart had broken enough times in her life that she didn’t think she could ever imagine loving again.

Mr. Thatch removed the empty glass from Clarissa’s hands. “Are you hungry? Can you manage some soup?”

Clarissa leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’m not hungry.” Her eyes were heavy with fatigue, but it was obvious how much Clarissa adored this man.

He didn’t release her right away. He stroked her hair from her face and eased her back onto the pillows.

There was something in his eyes, but it wasn’t admiration. Perhaps longing, but Abigail wasn’t certain. Apparently there was more to the reason he had given up his room for Clarissa than not wanting people to see her injuries. He’d wanted to keep her close, to protect her. Abigail found herself liking him more as she witnessed this new side to him.

Clarissa’s eyes settled on Abigail, and she smiled. “Hi, Mom.”

Abigail carried the plate of seven-layer bars over. “How’s my baby today?”

“Oh, Mom! I’m not a baby.” Clarissa rolled her eyes.

“Am I embarrassing my baby?” Abigail teased.

Felix Thatch shifted farther back from Clarissa. “Your mum is here. She can take care of you better than I can.” He set the empty goblet on the dresser.

Lucifer remained seated on the bed. He waved a paw at Mr. Thatch. Had Mr. Thatch done anything untoward, he would have attacked, so Abigail could safely assume it wasn’t that.

“Do you think you can hold down some food?” Abigail asked. “How about a seven-layer bar?”

Clarissa’s eyes went wide. “Well, maybe just one.”

“What kind of bars are these?” Mr. Thatch feigned indifference, lifting his nose up at the dessert, as if he hadn’t eaten a dozen of the earthquake cake brownies the day before.

“They have pecans, coconut, butterscotch chips, and chocolate chips,” Clarissa said.

“And love,” Abigail said.

“Would you like one, Mr. Thatch?” Abigail waved the plate under his nose.

“I shouldn’t, especially not so late. Furthermore, I wouldn’t want to steal medicinal home remedies from my patient.” He inhaled the aroma rising from the plate still warm from the oven. “Then again, I should check for toxins that her enemies may have slipped in when you weren’t looking.” His eyes twinkled as he said it, some of his usual melancholy lessening.

Clarissa exchanged a mischievous glance with him as if this were a joke between the two of them. He accepted the plate from Abigail and set it beside Clarissa who stole several bars for herself.

Lucifer butted his head against Abigail’s leg. He noticed the fondness between them too.

Abigail leaned down to scratch behind her familiar’s ears. He lifted his face to nuzzle into her hand. He bit at her wedding ring, the gesture more playful than hurtful. She withdrew her hand. She wasn’t ready to remove the ring yet.

It had been four years since Adam had died in a car accident. Sometimes Abigail wondered how her life would have been different if Lucifer had never been cursed and had instead grown into a man. Would she have married Adam? She did love him, though in a different way from how she’d loved Lucifer. She often wondered if Lucifer would have chosen to return to the Unseen Realm or would have remained with her in the Morty Realm. He had once loved her. She supposed he still might if he remained loyal enough that he chose to stay with her.

Lucifer butted up against her again, and Abigail picked him up. He squirmed in her arms, apparently not wanting to be held.

She set him down again. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. All he could do was bat at the air and look toward Mr. Thatch.

“I don’t know what you want,” Abigail said. “Do you want to cuddle with Clarissa?”

Lucifer snorted.

“Do you want to cuddle with Mr. Thatch?” Abigail asked, knowing that was unlikely.

He extended his claws, his displeasure quite evident.

Mr. Thatch gazed at the cat in amusement. “You have a most peculiar familiar.”

“Peculiar is one way of putting it.”

“Earlier he hopped onto the dresser when I was fetching some clothes. He leaned in so close, one might have thought he was studying me to dissect.” Mr. Thatch crouched down to pet the cat, but Lucifer swaggered away, evading his touch.

The cat rubbed his body up against Abigail instead. He continued to watch the magic teacher, eyes narrowed.

“He didn’t claw at you, did he?” Abigail asked, knowing Lucifer well enough to know what to expect.

“No. He simply seemed . . . curious. He placed his paw on my chest and kept staring into my eyes.” Mr. Thatch’s brow furrowed as he studied the cat. “I had the distinct feeling he was trying to communicate with me.”

Lucifer meowed and looked to Thatch again. He wanted to tell Abigail something, but she couldn’t fathom what.

She waited until Mr. Thatch had left to pick him up again. “If only you could speak and you could tell me what’s going through your head.” But that was the problem. He wasn’t human anymore. Nor had she brought her alphabet board with her.

“Mom,” Clarissa said. “This is a magic school. Why don’t you just ask Mr. Thatch to help you divine the truth about what Lucifer is trying to tell you?”

Abigail hesitated. “I don’t trust divination. Those who have prophetic visions don’t always understand the details. And some twist the facts to their own benefit.” She thought of Baba Nata, her adoptive mother. Baba had always tempted Abigail with “the truth” of her fate, but she had kept enough details from Abigail that it had never been helpful.

Clarissa was silent, no doubt thinking of her own miserable experiences with Baba Nata and how the witch had hurt her. They’d both been affected by the loss of Missy, Abigail’s other adopted daughter. Abigail still couldn’t forgive Baba for haunting Missy with visions of a future that Missy had tried so hard to prevent that she’d set herself on a path toward that future.

Abigail stroked Clarissa’s pink hair.

“Maybe there’s a spell to make a cat talk,” Clarissa said.

Abigail bit her lip. Could that be what Lucifer wanted? He sensed Mr. Thatch had the ability to help him?

Lucifer darted back and forth in agitation.

“Is Mr. Thatch the most powerful wielder of magic at this school?” Abigail asked.

“Well, he’s a Merlin-class Celestor. I suppose that fancy title means something. Vega Bloodmire—my evil roommate extraordinaire—is probably powerful. Though I would sooner trust her to turn Lucifer into a frog than help him talk. I’d bet Jeb—the principal—is pretty powerful too.”

Lucifer yowled at that. She suspected he didn’t care for the principal.

“Is that what you want?” Abigail asked him. “Do you want to see if there’s some kind of magic Mr. Thatch can use to help us?”

Lucifer halted. His head tilted to the side in thought.

Abigail suspected their thoughts were the same on the matter. “There’s always a price for powerful magic. A sacrifice.”

“Mom, that isn’t how his magic works!” Clarissa flopped back into the giant bed, looking like a child in the large expanse meant to fit Mr. Thatch’s taller frame. “And it isn’t how he is. He isn’t like Baba Nata and asking for gold—or fingers and toes.”

But he would ask for something. That was how the world of the Unseen Realm worked.

Abigail looked to Lucifer again. She loved him. She wanted him to be happy. He had sacrificed his humanity to be with her. If Professor Felix Thatch needed her fingers and toes in order to cure him, how could she refuse?

CHAPTER NINE

Curses and Kittens

Abigail noticed how agitated Lucifer grew when Mr. Thatch entered the room. He rolled over onto the floor and chased his tail like a dog. He butted his head against Felix Thatch’s leg as though he wanted to be petted, but then ran away.

He seemed to be saying, “Look at me. See me.” It was the same way he often got Abigail’s attention, but she couldn’t fathom the reason.

Lucifer had to be trying to tell Abigail something. Never before had she been provided with the opportunity that she could help him; for the first time since leaving Baba Nata, Abigail was surrounded by people with powerful magics and in a realm where magic was practiced freely.

Abigail gathered up her courage, fearing Felix Thatch’s answer. He might refuse to help her out of spite—though he had seemed amiable enough to her. It was more likely he would say yes, and that was when the real trouble might begin.

The following morning while Clarissa slept, Abigail went to him in his office. He sat writing at his desk. A raven shifted in her cage in the corner.

Abigail attempted to swallow the lump in her throat. “Mr. Thatch, from what I understand, you’re considered to be one of the most powerful Witchkin at this school.”

“That’s what they tell me.” He set his quill down.

She wrung her hands. “I wondered if you would be willing to examine my cat. He’s been behaving unusually.” She didn’t like the vulnerability of this, the truth she had to admit so that he would know the extent of her problem.

He arched an eyebrow at her. “By which you mean he hasn’t performed acupuncture on anyone’s face with his claws?”

Apparently, he hadn’t heard Sam’s horror story.

“I can tell Lucy is trying to tell me something. I thought perhaps it was about you, but maybe it’s about himself. Lucy isn’t actually a cat, you see.” Her chest felt tight with anxiety at admitting the truth to this man who was almost a stranger to her. “He’s a boy. A wicked witch turned him into a cat and cursed him so that he couldn’t return to his true form.”

Tears filled her eyes as she remembered her mentor’s final act of cruelty to punish them both. Baba Nata had lived up to her title the Witch of Nightmares. She had eaten children to strengthen her forbidden magic and hurt Abigail on multiple occasions to fuel her spells. Abigail had to ensure that Lucifer never fell into Baba’s hands again—especially when he was so vulnerable and unable to protect himself as a cat.

“I thought he might be trying to tell me—Clarissa suggested—” Abigail faltered. She didn’t want to involve Lucifer and Clarissa in her request, in case that meant Mr. Thatch would need to ask the sacrifice from one of them. “I came to ask if you might be able to turn him back.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his lips twitching as though he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to it. His face remained a wooden mask, hiding what lay within.

“Would you care to meet my familiar?” he asked, looking to the raven in her cage.

There was something more to the question than he was saying. He was as enigmatic as Lucifer.

“Perhaps you’ve heard of her reputation. She can be as . . . cantankerous as your Lucy.” A smile twisted his lips upward, but the expression was fleeting. “I can vouch for her behavior. It is unlikely she will misbehave.”

Abigail stepped closer. “I would like to meet her.”

He opened the door of the cage and offered his arm. She hopped onto his wrist, her claws digging through the tweed fabric of his jacket.

He waved a hand at the bird. “This is Priscilla. She resembles a bird, but she is, in fact, a human who was turned into a bird against her will. The Raven Queen did this to punish me because she knew it was the one act that would wound me beyond all else.” He stroked the back of the raven’s neck.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Abigail had once feared his alliance with the Raven Queen. Now she suspected that couldn’t be further from the truth. “Priscilla was someone dear to you?”

“Indeed. Even now in this form, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to protect her.”

He wasn’t volunteering who Priscilla was to him. Abigail supposed he wasn’t comfortable sharing that much of himself with someone.

He cleared his throat. “Most of the staff think Priscilla is simply a pet. Mr. Khaba has accused her of being a spy for the Raven Court, though Jeb—Headmaster Bumblebub—knows the truth. He once had Priscilla as a student. Despite what age has done to addle Jeb’s brain, he retains enough mental faculty to understand the importance of discretion.” He raised an eyebrow at Abigail, saying so much with that look. “I wouldn’t want anyone to know how important she is to me, lest others use her to hurt me.”

Those words sank into Abigail, resonating with her own fears. She had never shared Lucifer’s secret with anyone either. It felt like a betrayal of confidence. She hadn’t even told her family. Now that Clarissa knew about magic, there was no harm in it, except that it would lead to questions about their past.

Abigail still wasn’t ready to face that past.

“I haven’t told Clarissa about Lucy.” She sucked in a breath, the truth rising in an unstoppable tide about to break through her dam of composure. “It’s my fault my adoptive mother turned Lucifer into a cat. It was because she didn’t want us to run away together. I should have told him not to come with me.” Tears filled her eyes. She felt silly telling this man about her problems and her past.

He handed her his handkerchief and shifted from foot to foot uncertainly. He touched a hand to her shoulder, the gesture hesitant and uncertain. “I’m sorry for your loss. It’s difficult to . . . grieve when the loved one isn’t truly gone and the mistakes of our past haunt us every day.”

She wiped away her tears. They had something in common. Guilt.

He took Abigail’s hand and lifted it to the bird’s breast. “I have tried to find an answer to Priscilla’s predicament.”

Abigail stroked the downy feathers. The bird watched her with an unblinking black eye, the mysteries contained within unreadable.

Mr. Thatch removed his wand from the vest pocket under his jacket and waved it in the air, revealing a round window that displayed shelves of books. Abigail’s scalp prickled, and she tasted starlight. She hadn’t been educated at a school, but she knew this was Celestor magic, a kind of celestial affinity that used stars for their power. Lucifer had once used spells powered by starlight. He had excelled at many kinds of magic, more than she ever had.

Mr. Thatch grabbed hold of the circular window and lifted it higher to display a different row of books. He waved a hand at the shelf. “These are the volumes I have collected that go over transformations, metamorphosis, werewolves, werebears, and other shape shifters. I have made it a point of studying the techniques and practicing them on my own. I have learned to transform myself as well as objects. Thus far, I have found none of them to be useful in breaking a curse.”

He took hold of the disk again and shifted it down, pointing to another row of books. “In these tomes, I document my attempts to undo transformations, Fae curses, and even trials to reverse time itself in the hope that I might be able to change the past. All these books are full of my failures.” Bitterness laced his voice. “There are other books—rare volumes I don’t have access to—on the headmaster’s shelves that I have been . . . banned from reading for my own good. Because of my past serving the Raven Queen, I can’t be trusted with forbidden magic. You come to me seeking answers for a problem I don’t know how to solve for myself.”

Abigail stroked the raven behind her head as she had seen him do. “So nothing can be done for them?”

Priscilla hopped higher up his arm, leaning her head toward his, her beak close to his ear as though she wanted to whisper a secret.

“On the contrary, we have a responsibility to do everything we can.” He stroked Priscilla’s belly. “Sometimes those who shift into animals lose themselves in their animal form. Left too long, such familiars go feral. I must occupy Priscilla with activities that will challenge her mind and make her think as a human in order to remind her of who she is.”

From the way Lucifer behaved, lashing out with his claws, it was possible he’d already lost the ability to think as a human. “How do you make her remember she’s human inside?”

“I read to her. I give her errands. I converse with her.” He gazed at the raven with fondness in his eyes. “When I find a book of interest to her, I set it out so she can read it, though she has brought it to my attention that she finds the books I’ve selected for her to be drivel.” He cooed at her. “No more Little Women for you. Priscilla only wants books written in this century.”

Priscilla pecked at him, and he grinned.

Abigail had never seen Felix Thatch smile so wide as when he gazed at his familiar. She wondered whether he had anyone else in his life or he saved all his smiles for a bird who was no longer human.

Abigail found her own lips curling upward, though her heart played a sad note as she shared her own secrets. “I already do all those things with Lucy, though he prefers books on physics and magazines like Popular Mechanics and Scientific American—anything related to science that is forbidden in this realm.”

His smile faded as his thoughts turned serious again. “I’ve considered going back to the Raven Queen and begging for her to return Priscilla to her true form. She would take pleasure in seeing me grovel. If it were simply a matter of humiliating myself, I would do it. The problem would be the price for this favor. She would force me into her employment again. Priscilla would be less safe than ever, though it wouldn’t simply be her body at risk of cruelty, but also her soul—at the Raven Queen’s hands.” His eyes stared into Abigail’s, dark and stormy in their intensity. “Have a care from whom you ask favors. It’s tempting to go to the Fae to resolve our problems, but I cannot stress enough the importance of caution.”

She nodded. She wouldn’t go back to Baba Nata. Even if she hadn’t feared the old witch, Lucifer didn’t want to return. She’d asked him.

There had to be another way, Abigail just couldn’t fathom a solution. She started toward the door, thinking about his failures—and hers. She hesitated. “You mentioned rare books, the ones off-limits in the principal’s office.”

One side of his mouth lifted into half a smile. “Mrs. Lawrence, please don’t use Clarissa’s lockpick kit to break into his office. He has wards in place that would detect a burglary.”

Her eyes went wide. “I wouldn’t dream of breaking in.” But she wasn’t beyond persuasion. “Does the principal have a fondness for brownies?”

Mr. Thatch shook his head. “I’m afraid he doesn’t like sweets, but it can’t hurt to try your kitchen alchemy on him.” A knowing smile tugged at his lips.

“You know, then?” She thought she’d been discreet in her use of magic, hiding the flavor with spices and chocolate.

“I do, and I see little harm in such a small amount of kitchen alchemy. You aren’t bending someone’s will to your own; you’re giving out bite-sized morsels of joy.” He leaned forward, his tone conspiratorial. “Some of us would do anything for a taste of happiness after suffering through years of cafeteria food—even if it means putting up with mood-altering magic.” He removed something from his pocket, a red strip of raw meat. He held it up to Priscilla who pecked it out of his fingers.

His eyes twinkled. “Should you find yourself making food for the principal, you are welcome to bring me any leftovers.”

CHAPTER TEN

Hedge Witches Get Stitches

Abigail juggled the casserole dish in her hands and Lucifer inside her purse on her shoulder as she knocked on the open door. The principal’s office was so cluttered it looked like a hoarder had taken up residence. For all she knew, Jebediah Ebenezer Bumblebub was a hoarder. Stained-glass windows cast a rainbow of light onto the paintings of cowboys wrangling cattle-sized dragons. The Western décor told her the tamale pie she’d baked was probably the right choice.

Every shelf was crammed with books flipped in multiple directions haphazardly. Unlit candles, lanterns, and sconces were scattered among the flammable paper. Abigail spotted the locked glass case right away.

She nearly missed the principal behind the stack of files, sundial, and oversized hourglass on his desk, except that his hat shifted behind the mess.

Abigail stepped around a crate of worn textbooks in a state of disrepair. “Excuse me for interrupting, Principal Bumblebub, but I have a question of a personal nature.”

“You don’t need to be so formal. Call me Jeb, please.” He stood and tipped the brim of his conical hat at her and smiled pleasantly. “What can I do you for?”

Abigail stared at him, uncertain whether he had intended to switch those words.

Lucifer squirmed in her purse. She pinned him to her side with her elbow so he didn’t leap out of the bag. From the way he yowled, she suspected he didn’t appreciate the way she caged him in, but she didn’t trust him to show his dislike of the principal in a way that didn’t involve claws.

“What’s that you got there?” Jeb eyed the dish in her hands. “You need some help, darlin’?” He came around the desk to where she stood.

Once again it struck Abigail how over the top the principal’s accent was, how much effort he put into this cowboy-wizard persona. She wondered what his objective was and what identity he was hiding.

She attempted to mask her suspicions with a friendly smile. “It’s a small token of gratitude for putting up with my presence at the school.” She dropped a potholder on a mountain of files on his desk and set the casserole dish on top. Steam rose up from the dish, filling the air with the aroma of cumin, garlic, tomato, and chilis.

“There ain’t no need for that!” He waved her off, though he inhaled deeply. His eyes were fixed on the tinfoil.

Abigail had quizzed Grandmother Bluehorse about the principal’s culinary inclinations. The herbalism teacher had worked at the school long enough to know the principal preferred spicy food, hence the reason Abigail had made tamale pie.

The old man pried back the tinfoil, his grin growing. Abigail waited to see if he took the bait. Her cooking magic worked best after someone had ingested one of her culinary delights.

Jeb chuckled. “Why, Mrs. Lawrence, you’re going to spoil my appetite for dinner! I swear you are the devil’s temptation.”

She smiled sweetly. “Is that such a bad thing?”

Lucifer hissed. She hugged her bag to her chest.

Jeb’s grin faltered as his gaze settled on Lucifer. “I see you brought that ornery cat out of the dungeon. Don’t let Mr. Khaba see him, or you’ll never hear the end of it.”

“That’s actually what I came to speak with you about. My cat.” She pushed Lucifer to the side so she could dig the plate, spatula, and cutlery out of her purse.

Lucifer took advantage of her loosening hold on him to leap out. He scurried into the mess of the office, hiding under a giant globe of the earth.

Abigail shook her head at him in silent warning before turning back to the principal. “Would you like a slice of tamale pie?”

“I shouldn’t.” He eyed the golden cornbread of the crust, looking like he wanted to.

Abigail served him a slice. She kept Lucifer in her peripheral vision.

“I wanted to speak with you about my familiar. He wasn’t always a cat. He used to be a boy, and I want to turn him back. I couldn’t do so while I lived in the Morty Realm because of the rules about using magic. And even if I hadn’t been drained and had access to the full use of my affinity, I was never a master of animal magics, only plants. From what I understand, you’re a highly skilled Witchkin—a Merlin-class Celestor—and you have access to many powerful spells. Do you think you would be able to fix him?”

“Fix him?” Jeb eyed the casserole on the plate, though he didn’t pick up the fork. “Why wouldn’t you just take him to a Morty doctor if you want him neutered?”

Lucifer yowled from where he prowled closer to the principal’s desk.

Abigail shook her head. “No. That’s not what I was asking. I want to turn him into a human being.”

The principal set down his plate. “What’s that? What kind of bean?” He cupped his hand to his ear as if he hadn’t heard.

Abigail stared at the untouched plate in disappointment. Perhaps he knew she’d enchanted the food and that was why he wasn’t eating.

Abigail spoke louder. “I want to turn him into a boy. I need someone to help me.”

The principal wiped his nose with the bandana around his neck. “A boy bean? I haven’t never heard of that. Wait. Is that in the lima bean family?”

This was going nowhere. Abigail tried not to let her impatience show. “I wondered if I might be able to borrow a book on animal magic.” She waved a hand at the bookcase on the other side of the room.

“Where are my manners? I’ll blame it on your cooking distracting me from hospitality.” Jeb marched over to the glass case of books.

His choice of words didn’t match what Abigail had asked. She waited with anticipation for him to open the glass cabinet of the bookcase.

Instead, he passed the shelves and the fireplace, and he moved on to a minibar. “Pick your poison, Mrs. Lawrence. Scotch? Tequila? Whiskey?”

Lucifer hissed.

“No thank you.” She didn’t know how this man ran a school. Unless, of course, this was all an act. She walked over to the glass bookcase, speaking loudly and slowly. “I would like to borrow one of your books on animal magic.”

“Darlin’, I’m afraid that would be impossible.” He took her by the shoulder and steered her away from the case. He loomed over her, his towering hat making her feel even smaller. “Those books are off-limits to students and staff.”

She noted the peculiar exaggeration of his accent, almost masking another dialect. Perhaps it was Eastern European like the woman who had mentored her.

Abigail forced herself to speak slowly and clearly, raising her voice for the old man. “I’m not a student or a staff member—as you told Mr. Khaba.”

He chuckled. “Nice try.” He took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

She realized he was examining her wedding ring. She withdrew her hand, wondering if he had a thing for gold. Or he simply wondered if she was still married.

“If you want me to give the magic a try, I’m happy to solve this May hay involvin’ your cat . . . for a price.” His eyes raked her up and down.

Heat flushed to her face at the implication. “Isn’t a delicious casserole enough temptation?”

“Why, Mrs. Lawrence, I think it’s gonna take more than a savory pie to bribe me. I need somethin’ a little sweeter, if you know what I mean.”

Lucifer hissed. Abigail didn’t see him in the room. She prayed he wasn’t raking his nails over a sofa or some priceless magical artifact.

“I can make brownies,” she said quickly, but she knew that wasn’t what he wanted.

His grin grew larger. “I reckon you can think of somethin’ more temptin’ than that.”

She would do anything for her familiar, even if it involved an unscrupulous cowboy wizard. And yet, maybe she didn’t have to.

“Where are you really from, Jeb?” she asked sweetly. “Not Texas. Europe perhaps? Russia? Germany?” If she couldn’t bribe him with food, she was left with blackmail.

Jeb muttered under his breath. She thought he was swearing at her, but the language wasn’t English. It was an ancient dialect she wasn’t familiar with.

Stars flickered in Abigail’s peripheral vision. The air grew so thick with magic it was difficult to breathe. Abigail realized her mistake right then. She shouldn’t have tried to blackmail someone with powers far greater than what she could fight.

Dizziness washed over her. She found herself having difficulty concentrating. Something tugged at her pants, and she looked down to find Lucifer’s claws hooked into the fabric, shaking her. He was trying to warn her about something, but she wasn’t sure what. She’d been thinking about something important just moments ago.

“Don’t try to change the subject, Mrs. Lawrence.” Jeb waggled his eyebrows. “You give me some sugar, and I’ll fix your cat.”

Lucifer screeched with indignation. He launched himself at the principal. The old man ducked and dove away with more speed than most elderly men were capable of. Lucifer sprang off the wall with one of his cat-ninja moves and sank his claws into Jeb’s back.

“No, Lucifer! Stop right now!” Abigail rushed forward.

The principal was the only person she’d met thus far who might provide a means of freeing Lucifer from his curse.

Jeb shook himself like a bronco attempting to unseat a rider. His hat went flying. Lucifer held fast. Abigail shouted and dodged back. The secretary came rushing in, aiming her wand at the principal and cat as she raised her voice to use a spell of her own.

Jeb unleashed a fireball from his palm, trying to swat the cat away, but he couldn’t reach. The fireball smashed into the side of his desk. Another flew toward the secretary, who quickly ducked. A stack of papers caught on fire. Jeb swore. He released a spray of water that arced across the room, missing the fire he’d started. Instead, he doused cases of books as well as Abigail. Lucifer yowled.

Abigail attempted to dive forward, but Jeb released another fireball.

“Stop!” Abigail screamed. She couldn’t get close enough to pry Lucifer free with the magic Jeb was flinging around in random succession.

“Just wait till I get my hands on you. I’ll fix you for good!” Jeb hollered.

The cat twisted away, raking his claws against the old man one last time before rushing out the door.

That hadn’t gone as planned.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

To Turn the Cat in the Pan

When Abigail tried to think back to the moment Lucifer had attacked the principal, her memory was hazy. There was something about the principal, but she couldn’t remember what it was. She’d said something to him before he’d tried to cure Lucifer. She knew she’d gone to him for help. Magic was as at work, keeping her from accessing her memories. Perhaps Jeb had tried to dissolve Lucifer’s curse, but the magic had backfired. It wouldn’t have surprised her if it had. He was absentminded and didn’t come across as being magically competent.

Abigail hoped his spell hadn’t harmed Lucifer. She regretted going to see Jeb at all.

Lucifer didn’t return to the room where Clarissa was recuperating. Abigail searched for him in the other rooms nearby, but without luck. Mr. Thatch was out running errands after school, so she couldn’t ask for his assistance. She couldn’t find Lucifer elsewhere in the school.

Most of the students and staff were in the cafeteria at dinner. The room was round, with arches like Stonehenge, but the walls were painted in jarring mustard yellow and avocado green that must have been a leftover of the seventies. The cacophony of cutlery on plates and students shouting over one another made the environment an unlikely place for Lucifer to wish to hide.

At a dais on the far end of the room was a table elevated above the others, where teachers sat eating dinner. Abigail scanned the adults but didn’t find Grandmother Bluehorse among them. She recognized her daughter’s friend, Josie Kimura, a woman who taught Morty Studies. She was an Amni Plandai, a Witchkin with a plant and animal affinity who might be able to assist in finding a lost cat. Abigail made her way through the chaos of students. The young witch wore a loose bohemian dress of patchwork lace that matched her lavender witch hat.

The young woman waved to Abigail, her face so open and friendly Abigail could see why Clarissa liked her. Josie shouted over the students to be heard, but her voice was lost until Abigail got closer.

“Hey, Mrs. L, how’s Clarissa? I fixed her a bowl of curry, though I can’t vouch for its flavor.” Josie handed her a bowl.

“That’s so thoughtful of you. Perhaps you could bring it down to her.” Abigail scanned the cafeteria. Lucifer didn’t like people, but surely someone must have run into him. “I’m searching for my cat, Lucy. Have you seen him?”

“No, I’m sorry.” She frowned. “When did you lose him?”

“Almost an hour ago.” So much could happen in that amount of time. “Where do you think he might have gone? Somewhere quiet. Where is it quiet in the school?”

“There’s the library. The classrooms are quiet this time of day.” Josie ladled curry into another dish. “How about we get some dinner for ourselves and Clarissa, and I’ll help you look.”

Abigail was about to say she didn’t have time to eat, but another teacher strode between them.

“Out of the way, midgets.” A tall woman with a short bob haircut pushed Josie aside with her hip to get to the table. She waved a hand toward the student tables. “The kiddie table is over there.”

Abigail suspected the woman must have been a teacher, but she wasn’t a very nice one. The woman had the build of an athletic flapper, and her selection of clothes were somewhere in between Gothic and twenties business attire. Her hair was as black as night and her face so pale she could have passed for a vampire.

The woman glanced over the array of food at the teacher’s table, lifting her nose up at it. “I only see meat curry. Who ate the last of the vegan curry?” She whirled, eyeing Josie.

Josie backed away with the two bowls she had just filled and nodded toward one of the student tables. “There’s more over there.”

“It’s bad enough I’m forced to eat overcooked mush, but I’d at least like mush no one has spat into.” The other teacher eyed the bowl in Abigail’s hands.

Never one to pass up an opportunity to make a friend, Abigail held her bowl out to the woman. “You can have mine if you’d like.” She composed her face into a friendly smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is—”

The woman put up a hand. “Don’t know. Don’t care. As long as you aren’t a new teacher the principal is forcing me to share a room with, I’m willing to overlook your presence.” She perused the salad at the table. There was no salad dressing to accompany it.

“Vega!” Josie shouted. “You are being rude to Clarissa’s mom.”

“Oh? Are you here for the funeral?” Vega’s dark brows lifted in interest. “I suppose I should at least pretend to be nice to you if someone in your family has died.”

“What funeral?” Abigail asked. “No one in my family has died.” Not recently anyway.

Josie shoved one of the bowls at Abigail, rounding on the other woman who managed to dwarf her, even with her conical hat. “Clarissa isn’t dead. I told you that already.”

“Yes, well, I heard her condition was critical. I was being optimistic that she might have died in the middle of the night.” She shrugged and sauntered off.

“Well, that was just. . . .” Abigail was at a loss for words.

Josie leaned in closer. “That was Vega Bloodmire. Clarissa’s roommate. Lucky her.”

Abigail could see why her daughter was recuperating elsewhere.

* * *

Abigail paced the room where Clarissa sat in bed, stirring her mush of vegetables around in her bowl. Abigail wished she’d made two tamale pies. At least they could have enjoyed one of them. Josie sat beside Clarissa, waving her wand over a yellow curry stain she’d gotten on the bed.

“Mom, Lucifer will be fine,” Clarissa said. “He’ll turn up.”

“It’s a big school here. He might be lost.” She had gotten lost herself.

Abigail tried to remember what kind of spell Jeb had performed, but her brain clouded over again. Something had obviously gone wrong. She couldn’t remember what had happened or why Lucifer had reacted poorly to the spell.

Abigail wanted to believe Lucifer was intelligent enough to stay out of trouble, but she knew he wasn’t. Whether it was the frustration of being trapped in an animal body or that he was turning feral, Lucifer had been behaving strangely from the moment of their arrival. He had been trying to tell her something. He was growing more wild with each day.

He always picked fights with larger animals. He was ornery enough to win against a domesticated dog, but this was the Unseen Realm. He wouldn’t win against a wolf—or a werewolf. The students at the school were juvenile-delinquent witches. They might set his tail on fire for no reason. They might torture him with magic.

It was Abigail’s responsibility to protect him.

“Who at this school is good at divination?” Abigail could hardly believe the words coming out of her mouth. She hated divination. “Who can help me find him?”

Josie bit her lip. “Pro Ro is our divination teacher.”

Clarissa choked on her stew. “I don’t think he’ll be willing to help. He hates me.”

“Have you tried Jeb?” Josie asked.

Abigail pinched the bridge of her nose, the pressure building toward a headache. “I think Lucifer might have worn out our welcome on that front.” She dreaded telling her daughter about her encounter with the principal. She didn’t want her daughter to take on a burden of stress that would hinder her recovery.

Josie set her bowl of stew aside and selected a seven-layer bar from a plate on the dresser. “Mr. Thatch boasts he can divine the future, but I suspect he just says he can do any kind of magic whether he can or not.”

Clarissa stirred her curry around in its bowl. “Mr. Khaba might be able to find someone lost, but you’ll have to rub his lamp.”

“That Fae?” Abigail gasped. “What will he ask for in return?”

Clarissa rolled her eyes. “Mom, you say that word like he’s a demon. Mr. Khaba is my friend. He isn’t like the Fae you’ve met.”

“He’s cool. I can vouch for him,” Josie said.

Abigail doubted either young woman had enough experience with Fae to know how backstabbing and manipulative they could be. If Abigail were to get a wish out of a djinn, she needed to entrap him, not the other way around.

“Does he like pie?” If Abigail could figure out his weakness, she would be able to trade that for his assistance—instead of her immortal soul.

“That isn’t going to work. He’s all about the lamp.” Clarissa lay back down, looking weary.

“Also, he won’t grant wishes unless it’s related to school stuff,” Josie said, rolling her eyes. “Believe me, I have tried to get him to make my wishes come true. He’s all about the rules.”

Abigail considered who she had made friends with. “What about Grandmother Bluehorse or Sam? Can either of them help?”

“Maybe. You can ask, but both of them are better at plant magic like you than animals.” Josie selected another bar for herself and brought one to Clarissa.

Clarissa set her bowl aside. “Why don’t you just wait until Mr. Thatch is back from errands?”

The idea of waiting was torment. Abigail needed to look for him now. “Something might happen to Lucifer. Isn’t there anyone else?”

“Well, there’s one other person.” Clarissa sighed. “Vega Bloodmire.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Playing Cat and Mouse

Abigail found Vega Bloodmire in her classroom grading papers. “Excuse me, I was wondering if you could tell me whether you—”

“There isn’t any more room in Advanced Wards.” Vega didn’t look up from the “F” she was writing on an essay. “You can ask Mr. Puck to add you to the wait list.”

Abigail placed the plate of leftover brownies and seven-layer bars on Vega’s desk, hoping to catch the other woman’s attention. “I’m not here about wards. Or any other class. I wanted to see if you could find something—someone—for me. It’s urgent.”

Vega snorted, her eyes still glued on the papers before her. “Maybe if you did a better job studying, you could use a spell for dowsing or scrying yourself.”

“I am not a student.” She hated admitting her weaknesses, but she didn’t see any other way around it. “I was drained of magic years ago. I have very little left, and what I do have is only related to plants.”

“Got it. You’re a parent.” Vega scanned a paper a student had hand-written, scribbling a note in the margin. “It isn’t my job to keep track of the students here. Mr. Khaba is in charge of attendance, truancy, and missing students—whether they’ve been snatched by wicked Fae or anyone else.”

“My daughter isn’t a student, nor is she the one who has gone missing. I’m looking for my cat.” She pushed the plate under the teacher’s nose.

Vega finally looked up at Abigail. Her eyes momentarily widened in recognition before returning to lazy indifference. “Oh, it’s you. Clarissa’s fairy godmother. I don’t suppose you’ve brought good news that your daughter died or quit since I saw you last. No? Well, then, I’m not interested.” Her gaze flickered to the brownies.

Abigail pretended she hadn’t heard the snide remark. “I thought you might be hungry. I didn’t see you eat dinner.” She nodded to the plate.

Vega shoved them away. “If you’re going to bribe me, you could at least go to the trouble of finding out what I like.”

A knowing smile turned Abigail’s lips upward. “They’re vegetarian.”

Vega pointed to the plate with her quill. “Those are probably full of refined sugar, butter, and toxins imported from the Morty Realm. All your ingredients came in plastic bags. Am I right?”

She was correct. “The packages said organic.”

“Sure they did. But we both know these brownies are going to make a small part of my magic shrivel up and die if I eat them. Not a lot, but enough.” She waved her hand in disgust at the plate. “Take your little squares of death and let your daughter choke them down.”

Abigail stared at the plate in astonishment. No one had ever refused her cooking. True, most of the people who ate her food were Morties and had no idea her gastronomical success included a taste of magic as well, but her baking was delicious. Her late husband and her children—and complete strangers—had told her so. Lucifer had once called her baking brilliant.

Never had food let Abigail down before.

“All right,” Abigail said. “What do you like?”

Vega folded her slender fingers in front of her. Each nail was painted the crimson of fresh blood. “What do I like? How about a dorm room to myself so I could have some privacy? I don’t suppose you can bake Jeb some brownies and convince him to give me a room to myself for the remainder of the semester, do you?”

Abigail doubted Principal Bumblebub would be willing to do anything nice for her. Ever.

Vega Bloodmire turned back to the papers she was correcting. “Well then, stop wasting my time. Some of us have students to fail.”

* * *

Abigail found Sam outside. She asked him if he had seen her familiar.

“I haven’t seen him myself, but the trees told me about a cat attacking two students out in the forest who were attempting to sneak out after dinner. The students were pretty scratched up.”

“In the forest! Oh dear!” Abigail said, looking out to the darkening shadows. “I have to look for him.”

What if Baba Nata found him and chopped off his toes or tail for one of her spells? If it wasn’t their old mentor, it would be another witch who might do the same.

“Not now. It’s late. You should be inside where it’s safe.” Sam pointed to the looming silhouette of the school against the darkening sky.

Abigail tried to enter the forest anyway. As she attempted to do so, the trees at the edge of the forest barred her entrance. Their voices were made of rustling leaves and twigs scratching together, the sound ominous. At one time, Abigail, would have been able to understand the voices of the forest, but not without magic. She suspected the trees were a security measure to keep students from sneaking out.

“I’m not a student,” she said. “I’m a mother. My daughter works here. I need entry into the forest to look for my cat.”

One of the trees lashed out at her with a vine. She leapt back in time to avoid being struck. If Lucifer had been there with her, he would have drawn out more of her magic, and she might have been able to make the trees listen to her, but that was the problem. He wasn’t there.

Abigail slept fitfully that night. When she approached Mr. Thatch before school, he explained he was busy preparing for class.

“If your cat hasn’t showed up by lunch, I’ll send Priscilla out to look for him. Will that make you feel better?” He poked his finger into the birdcage. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Priscilla? You’ll help out.” The raven pecked at his flesh, drawing blood. He swore under his breath.

Abigail didn’t feel better. She couldn’t wait until lunch. Lucifer was probably lost and frightened in the forest. Abigail approached Mr. Khaba at breakfast while he patrolled the cafeteria, but he told her what Clarissa and Josie had already told her—he only granted wishes related to school business. He didn’t seem that broken up about the idea of Abigail losing her familiar.

He smoothed his hand over his pink leopard-print track suit unzipped far more than she thought appropriate for a staff member at a boarding school. “You could try one of the other teachers and see who might know a spell for herding cats, though I suspect that will take a true feat of magic.”

Abigail glanced at the other teachers foraging breakfast from the adult table. They milled aimlessly like zombies. The breakfast crowd of students was quieter than the lunch and dinner group, but not by much.

Mr. Khaba gestured to Vega Bloodmire. “Have you asked Ms. Bloodmire? She is an adept witch.”

Vega’s voice rose from the teacher table. “Why are we out of fresh fruit again? What pig gobbled it up before I got here?”

Josie laughed. “You snooze, you lose. I guess someone should have arrived for her breakfast duty on time.”

Vega jabbed a finger at Josie’s plate. “I see you hogging up all those strawberries. I bet you aren’t even going to eat them all.”

“Stop looking at my food like that.” Josie spit on her own plate of fruit. “There. Now you aren’t going to steal any, are you?”

Mr. Khaba rubbed at his bald head. “Excuse me, Mrs. Lawrence. I need to break up a fight before it starts. If it isn’t the students, it’s the teachers.”

Abigail watched the teachers forage. Vega only selected fresh fruits and a plain bagel. She spread a small dollop of something on her bagel that looked like butter, but Abigail suspected it was something else if she was vegan. After Vega had left, Abigail spooned a small amount of the spread onto her own bagel—which was stale. The spread turned out to be coconut oil.

Abigail smiled in victory. She knew what to make to tempt a vegan.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Vegan for Vega

Abigail sought out Sam—first to ask if he’d seen Lucifer again, and when that turned out to be negative—she asked him to direct her to the nearest witch-owned grocery store so she could acquire completely organic ingredients that hadn’t been packaged in any plastics. He was so eager to help, he walked her through the forest to Lachlan Falls and back and helped her carry her groceries.

“I don’t suppose I could taste test any of this for you.” He grinned in his good-natured way. “I’m not above taking ugly corners from brownies that people might normally throw away, just so you know.”

“I’m not making brownies, but I’m sure something can be arranged.”

The young man flirted with her, though she suspected she was old enough to be his mother. She wasn’t used to so much attention. She hadn’t dated since her husband died—nor did she have any intention of doing so. She had Lucifer, and he was enough.

Assuming she found him.

“It’s good to know my daughter has friends at the school like you and Grandmother Bluehorse,” Abigail said. “She needs someone to look out for her when I leave.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “I don’t know if I’d go that far—about us being friends. I hardly know her. I spend all my time outside.”

Apparently, brownies could buy forgiveness, but they couldn’t inspire loyalty or friendship. Abigail hoped she would have better luck with Vega Bloodmire.

* * *

Abigail knew the perfect recipe for a person who was not only vegan and didn’t eat sugar, but also was completely uncooperative in any way. She’d never made the dessert without Lucifer present, and she didn’t know if her affinity would be strong enough to draw out the properties of the plants, but she had to try.

Vegan Dark Chocolate Mousse

1 avocado (this represents femininity)

1 can coconut milk with the water drained and omitted—not light or low fat

1 banana

¼ cup of cocoa powder

¼ cup of honey

1 tsp. vanilla extract

¼ tsp. cinnamon

* ¼ tsp. salty tears added while pining for what one needs

The mashing of ingredients was when the majority of the magic occurred. It wouldn’t do to have angry thoughts about how inconvenient it was that Lucifer had run off or how irritating Vega Bloodmire happened to be.

Abigail cleared all thoughts from her mind as she ground the avocado, banana, and coconut fat in the mortar with the pestle. She set her mind to a place of calm, visualizing Vega with a friendly smile on her face. She imagined Lucifer in her arms, unharmed. The cinnamon always helped with prosperity and good luck. The honey assisted with sweet outcomes. The coconut was good for pure intentions. Tears were always the hardest for Abigail to muster at will. If she hadn’t been so worried about Lucifer, she might not have managed.

It had been so long since she’d made this chocolate mousse that she almost forgot which direction to stir and almost spoiled it all by mixing widdershins, which would have brought her bad luck.

Abigail infused as much magic as she had into the pudding, willing her wish to come true. For a witch as stubborn as Vega, she expected it would take more power.

Magic didn’t work without a sacrifice. That was what Baba Nata had taught her. Abigail knew just the ingredient she needed. She borrowed Clarissa’s key to her dorm room and appropriated five black hairs from Vega’s hairbrush while the other teacher was in class.

While in the dorm room, Abigail noticed the plant hanging from the ceiling and the empty birdcage. She had encountered Venus man traps previously. Fae used giant versions of these plants to swallow up humans and dissolve them in bellies of digestive juices. It was a despicable practice. She couldn’t imagine the plant was her daughter’s. Probably it belonged to Vega Bloodmire.

Abigail burned Vega’s hair in one of Mr. Thatch’s extra classroom cauldrons, blowing the fumes into the bowl as she willed her intentions into the pudding. Her mousse potion took hours to set in the icebox, but it was ready to serve at dinner.

Lucifer still hadn’t turned up by that time, and Priscilla, Mr. Thatch’s familiar, hadn’t spotted any cats prowling the school grounds or the forest. Abigail brought the chocolate mousse to Vega in her classroom.

Vega groaned the moment Abigail stepped through the door. “Not again. Have you ever heard of the term ‘askhole’? That’s you, in case you’re wondering.”

Abigail fixed a smile on her face. “Good evening, Ms. Bloodmire. So nice to see you again. I brought you something. It’s completely organic, vegan, and made from locally grown products. I purchased the ingredients from Ye Green Grocery in Lachlan Falls.”

Vega snorted. “I don’t do sugar.”

Abigail had observed as much. “I used honey.”

Vega leaned forward, giving the pudding a sniff. Her silence was a good sign; she wasn’t complaining. Vega waved her wand at the pudding. Purple light glittered around the bowl.

“It isn’t poison, but that doesn’t mean much.” Despite the frown on Vega’s face, her eyes gleamed with interest.

Abigail waited, doing her best to hide her anxiousness.

“I will have you know, I’m a Merlin-class Celestor. I can tell you attempted to enchant this food with what’s left of your paltry Amni Plandai magic.” Vega snorted. “I should report you to the principal. Better yet, the dean.”

Abigail lifted her chin. “If you’re a Merlin-class Celestor, as you claim, my paltry spell will have no effect on you.” She waited for Vega’s pride to get the better of her. “That means you can enjoy the chocolate mousse without experiencing any influence of magic.”

Vega skewered her with her gaze. “I’m the most skilled witch at this school. I am immune to your little complacency spell.” Vega picked up the spoon Abigail had brought, scowling as she took a bite. Her vexation faded away, and she froze, her eyes growing wide, first with pleasure, then with surprise. “This is my grandma’s recipe. How did you know?”

Abigail hadn’t. She lifted her chin. “I am a witch.” A very weak witch without the powers or skills to do tracking or divination. “My talent is cooking and plant magic.”

Vega looked her up and down, her expression doubtful. “Fine. What do you want?”

“I need you to find my familiar.”

Vega licked the mousse from the spoon. “Is this the black cat that escaped into the forest yesterday?”

Abigail blinked. “How did you know?”

“I’m a witch. Duh.” Vega smiled. “Make me some more pudding, and I’ll bring your cat at breakfast tomorrow.”

* * *

A batch of chocolate mousse was a small price to pay for being reunited with a familiar. Abigail had enough ingredients for another batch. She stayed up late working on it. As she did so, she began to worry. Most of the people at the school were friendly enough—aside from Vega Bloodmire.

The magical wards teacher was crabby, terse, and cruel. She represented all the reasons Abigail had left this realm. Any witch as wicked as Vega surely wouldn’t be persuaded to do a good deed by simply giving her vegan pudding. Then again, the cafeteria food truly was dreadful.

Abigail obsessed over Vega Bloodmire’s words. “I’ll bring your cat at breakfast tomorrow.”

Did that mean she intended to cook Lucifer into a pie and present him to Abigail? What if Vega Bloodmire had sinister intentions. Her smile had been mysterious, perhaps malicious. Abigail knew she couldn’t trust this woman. She should have tried bribing Mr. Thatch with seven-layer bars.

It was midnight when she woke Clarissa from a sound sleep.

“What is it, Mom? Time for more medicine?” Clarissa asked, rubbing her eyes.

“Sweetie, I need to ask you something about Vega Bloodmire. Is she the kind of person who would hurt Lucy?” Abigail remembered what Mr. Thatch had said about not wanting people to know how much Priscilla meant to him because they would use her to hurt him. “Do you think Vega would do something bad to him to hurt me?”

“Why would she want to hurt you? You aren’t her annoying roommate who she accuses of wearing too much pink and hogging up the shower in the morning.” Clarissa flopped over.

“I made a deal with Vega. She’s supposed to find Lucifer for me, and I’m supposed to make her a batch of chocolate mousse. Do you think she’ll bring him to me chopped into a casserole?”

“Maybe a cat-erole.” Clarissa chuckled, then stopped when she saw Abigail’s stricken expression. “Don’t worry. Vega doesn’t do any cooking. Only hexing.”

“What about that miniature Venus man trap in your room? Has she ever fed any animals to it?”

Clarissa bit her lip. “Only small birds.”

Abigail shivered, recalling her childhood and the human-devouring plants she had once encountered. “You saw her do this?”

Clarissa nodded. “Lucifer is too big to get swallowed by her plant. Don’t you think you would have noticed a bulge five times as big as the plant today if Vega had fed Lucy to her Venus man trap?”

Unless she had chopped up the cat and fed it to the plant in pieces. Abigail hated this world of witches and cruelty that her daughter had involved herself with. Why couldn’t she have chosen the safety of the Morty Realm instead of this one with all its dangers? If it wasn’t Clarissa getting hurt, it was the only other person Abigail had left.

Abigail didn’t want to lose her remaining family.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

What the Hex?

Vega wasn’t at breakfast in the cafeteria. Abigail hoped she hadn’t changed her mind. She found Vega in her classroom in the morning, lecturing a student.

Vega tapped her long red nails against a book on the student’s desk. “What’s the point in showing up to class if you never do the work?”

The boy mumbled something incomprehensible.

“You’re lucky I don’t turn you into a frog for trying to get out of breakfast detention. Don’t give me that look. I’ve turned students into frogs before.” Vega opened the student’s book. “It looks like you get to make up that missing work now. Lucky you.”

Abigail scanned the room, not seeing Lucifer. Vega Bloodmire seemed the sort who might extort more out of her before handing over Lucifer—if she had found him at all.

Vega turned to Abigail, a hand on her hip. “Apparently someone didn’t get her beauty sleep. Did you stay up all night making me breakfast?”

Abigail hugged the bowl of chocolate mousse to her chest. “Something like that.”

Vega held her hands out for the bowl.

Abigail stepped back. “Where is my familiar?”

Vega snapped her fingers. “Lucifer, come.”

“He’s not a dog,” Abigail said.

A black cat darted out from behind the teacher’s desk at the front of the classroom and headed toward Abigail. Lucifer didn’t take commands from anyone. This couldn’t be her cat. Yet he nuzzled up against Abigail’s ankle as though he knew her.

Vega snatched the bowl from Abigail’s hands while she was distracted. Abigail crouched down to pet the cat. It looked like Lucifer. She picked him up. He was as heavy as Lucifer. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and purred. It really was him! Gratitude swelled in Abigail’s heart.

Vega sat down at her desk and dug into the mousse. “I had a conversation with your familiar the other night—once he stopped being such a drama queen, anyway.”

“What do you mean ‘you had a conversation?’ Lucy doesn’t speak.” Abigail stared at Vega incredulously.

“He communicated himself clearly to me. I’m a real witch, remember?” Vega looked her up and down. “Not a mere hedge witch.” Vega jabbed her spoon in the direction of the student. “Stop gawking. You have work to do.”

Abigail turned to find the student quickly looking down at his paper and flipping through the book.

“Could we discuss this privately?” Abigail whispered.

“Don’t worry about Balthasar.” Vega leaned closer. “I’ve hexed his tongue. He can’t repeat a word of this, though it will drive him mad trying.” She cackled.

The student glared at the teacher.

“How did you find my Lucy? What did he say to you?” Abigail hugged Lucifer to her chest.

“Your real problem wasn’t finding your familiar—because he wasn’t actually lost. He was searching for something. An answer.” Vega grinned. “You want him to be returned to his true form.”

Vega knew? Abigail sucked in a breath. “Did Mr. Thatch tell you?”

“No, Lucifer did.”

Vega had called her cat by his real name—something Abigail seldom did. And she seemed to know what Abigail truly desired. It was possible she could understand Lucifer.

“Can you speak with Mr. Thatch’s familiar too?”

Vega shrugged. “I’ve never tried. If he paid me with pudding, I might consider putting in the effort.”

Lucifer twisted in Abigail’s arms and made a pawing motion at Vega.

“He’s trying to tell you something,” Abigail said.

Lucifer meowed.

Vega studied him for a moment. “That’s right. I did agree to tell her for you.” Vega looked to Abigail. “Lucifer told me last night he was sorry for running off and not protecting you. He was a . . . scaredy-cat.” Vega chuckled, the sound deep and ominous.

Abigail stroked his head. “It’s all right. I forgive you.”

Vega waved a dismissive hand at Lucifer. “Also, he insisted I tell you he doesn’t like the principal, and he doesn’t think you should trust him. He doesn’t want Jeb to know what he is—nor does he want anyone else knowing who he is.” Vega lowered her voice. “He specifically asked me to tell you not to speak of his affinity.” Vega raised an eyebrow. “Whatever that means.”

Abigail swallowed. She understood his affinity was a kind of forbidden magic that used electricity. It was possible that might have something to do with the reason he’d been stuck as a cat for so long—or it might have been inconsequential. She couldn’t ask anyone for advice if Lucifer insisted on keeping it secret. Some affinities were more dangerous than others. Her daughter’s affinity included. The more she thought about it, the more she could see that was why the Fae would want to use them as weapons—or outright kill them as Clarissa’s attacker had tried to do to her.

Abigail whispered in Lucifer’s ear. “What about Clarissa? She knows about magic now. There wouldn’t be any harm in telling her about you.”

He shook his head.

“He has his reasons for not wanting her to know, though he wouldn’t confide them in me,” Vega said.

Abigail nodded. She would keep both their secrets. “Is that why you ran off? Because you didn’t want the principal knowing what you are?”

His tail twitched back and forth. He laid his head on her shoulder.

“Maybe he just didn’t want to end up fixed. It’s just as well you don’t ask a senile old fool to attempt such complicated magic.” Vega jabbed her spoon in the direction of the student. “Did I give you permission to stop working?”

“I can’t concentrate,” the boy grumbled. “You’re talking too much.”

“This is the reason you’re failing my class. Are you going to let a Fae distract you someday while you’re trying to recite a ward of protection? Focus.”

Abigail glanced at the student, still unsettled he was listening in on their conversation. “Did Lucy say anything else? Does he know how to restore himself to his former body?”

Lucifer squirmed to look at her. He touched his nose to hers and meowed.

“He said he loves you. He’s always loved you, and he always will.” Vega’s voice grew husky, and she turned her gaze away. “He wishes you were both cats.”

For the first time since meeting Vega, Abigail detected a trace of emotion in the other woman. It didn’t take a witch to see the longing in her face.

Abigail tested the waters, trying to see if she could dig deeper into Vega’s soft spot. “It’s a horrible fate to be with someone but not be with them at the same time.”

Vega stared at the spoon. “It is. Worse than death. At least in death you wouldn’t know you’re missing anything, and the suffering would be over.”

Abigail wondered who Vega loved but couldn’t have. Was it Mr. Thatch? It would make sense why Vega might loathe Clarissa so much if she had stolen his attention from her.

Vega’s voice was distant, thoughtful, lost in musings of her own unrequited love. “I wouldn’t wish my fate on anyone.”

Abigail lowered her voice, not wanting the student pretending to study to hear more about her familiar—even if he couldn’t repeat it. “Do you know how to change Lucy back?”

“Not exactly.” Determination laced Vega’s tone. “But I know someone who does.”

“Who?”

“My grandmother. And if she doesn’t know, she’ll know someone who does.” Vega ate another spoonful, closing her eyes and savoring it.

This was the best lead Abigail had learned so far. “Can we go see her now?”

“Witch, please! I have classes in twenty minutes. And you need to collect a few items before you even think about asking her for a favor. A wicked witch doesn’t do anything for free, and the witch I’m taking you to is going to want more than pudding.” Vega picked up a list on her desk and handed it to Abigail. “Be ready to go at four, and bring your cat. Don’t be tardy.”

“Do you want me to bring you any more pudding?” Abigail asked.

Vega hesitated, thinking it over. “Bake me something nonperishable this time.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Witch Your Heart Out

It wasn’t unheard of to bring Fae gifts when visiting them in their home. Abigail had left the Unseen Realm so long ago she didn’t remember all the etiquette for visiting witches. A few banal groceries were hardly the price she was used to being asked to barter in exchange for magic.

Vega seemed like she knew what she was doing. Even so, Abigail suspected she should prepare for the worst-case scenario if the old woman rejected her proposal to cure Lucifer.

Abigail purchased the items on Vega’s list at Ye Green Grocery, the store where she’d purchased the witch-friendly ingredients previously. Included on the list were vodka, flour, lard, and sugar. Vega didn’t eat lard or sugar, so at least two of those items had to be for her grandmother. Abigail wondered if Vega’s relative was a shut-in who didn’t leave the house much.

Abigail decided to bake her recipe for gluten-free dirty chai brownies as her payment to Vega. The first batch was an experiment with coconut oil and honey. Abigail found them to be too sweet.

“That’s okay, Mom. I’m happy to eat your failures,” Clarissa said as she nibbled on a brownie.

Abigail felt guilty not telling her daughter the true reason she was making these brownies. All she had said was that they were a present to thank Vega for helping her find Lucifer. Vega’s batch turned out slightly less sweet than she intended, but the extra honey in the ganache made up for the lack of sugar in the brownies. The last batch—the one she intended as an offering to Vega’s grandmother—was perfect.

Not wanting to be late, Abigail arrived ten minutes early, lugging the bags of groceries, brownies, and Lucifer to Vega’s classroom. She waited outside as Vega shouted at a small group of students for being incompetent and lazy. Abigail couldn’t tell whether the woman was a cruel teacher who enjoyed belittling others or she truly cared and wanted them to do better—and insults were her way of showing her love.

Abigail had never been a student at a school, and she was an adult who should have been above such things, but the yelling set her nerves on edge. She felt as though she had done something to land herself in trouble. She looked down at Lucifer in her bag and petted his head.

After Vega Bloodmire was finished reprimanding students, she dismissed them. Abigail brought in her bags and set a foil-wrapped package of brownies on Vega’s desk. The one for her grandmother remained in one of Abigail’s bags.

Vega tasted one brownie, and she was a goner. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she moaned. Abigail started to speak, but Vega shushed her. Abigail knew she should take that as a compliment, but Vega had a way of exuding an entitled self-importance she didn’t like. It served to further remind her Vega had her own agenda, whatever it was.

Vega wiped the crumbs from the corners of her mouth. “We need to go into the forest before departing. I’m not supposed to use interdimensional travel within the school boundaries. It interferes with the wards.” She made a face.

“How are we getting to your grandmother’s house? Do you fly on a broom?” Abigail had never learned. Chances were if she had stayed on as an apprentice, she would have. Brooms were made of wood, and plants were her affinity.

“Brooms are so passé. And impractical for two.” She eyed the bags Abigail carried. “I prefer to interrupt the space-time continuum the good old-fashioned method. Walking.”

Walking? That had been the last thing Abigail expected to come out of a modern witch’s mouth.

* * *

Abigail wasn’t completely comfortable with the idea of traveling into the dark forest of the Unseen Realm—accompanied by the granddaughter of a wicked witch no less. Vega wasn’t exactly wicked, but she wasn’t a cuddly teddy bear either. She was cool and calculating. If she was anything like other witches Abigail had met, Vega would somehow spin this situation to her advantage to gain more than organic vegan brownies.

But Abigail didn’t see what other choice she had.

Vega didn’t offer to carry any of the bags despite the way Lucifer nudged his head against Vega’s leg as she walked and nodded toward the groceries. Abigail hadn’t expected Vega to pitch in and help. Seeing his efforts to communicate wasted, Lucifer darted between Vega’s feet and tried to trip her.

“Do that again, and we’ll find out the best way to skin a cat.” Vega stepped on his tail, making him yowl.

“Come walk by me, Lucy,” Abigail said.

Despite her petite size, Abigail could carry fifty-pound bags of potting soil. It wasn’t the weight that bothered her. It was the endurance it took to keep up with a woman over six feet tall for a sustained period while carrying the weight. Long ago, the uneven ground in the forest off the path wouldn’t have given her any problems. These days the forest didn’t whisper to her and guide her feet as it once had.

Vega marched confidently forward in her high heels. She must have put a retardant charm on her shoes because the leather remained pristine. Abigail worked hard to keep up.

Only once did Vega stop. She swore when a blackberry bramble snagged on her nylons.

“I paid extra for these. They’re supposed to be snag free,” she complained.

Abigail tried not to laugh. “How is it the makers didn’t envision someone would be walking through the forest while wearing them?” All things considered, the nylons had held up admirably well.

Vega’s eyes narrowed. Abigail smiled her sweetest smile.

“That’s where Clarissa gets it,” Vega said. “She gets her unending amount of cheerful snark from you, doesn’t she?”

“Probably.”

Vega navigated the terrain more carefully now. Abigail was thankful she didn’t have to work as hard to keep up. A minute later they came to a path covered in the mulch of pine needles and twigs.

The change in the forest was subtle. First it was the increase in conifers, blotting out the gloom of the autumn sky. The bare branches of deciduous trees that had lost their leaves were replaced by green boughs. Sunlight and blue sky showed through patches in the canopy above. Out of the corner of Abigail’s eye, it looked as though the forest shifted, but when she turned to gaze at the movement, the trees were still.

Magic prickled against her skin. The perfume of wet wood and spring increased. The leaves whispered in the wind above. It sounded like a lullaby. The colors grew more vivid, the magic in the soil and plants tingling through Abigail’s shoes, even though she’d worn plastic sneakers.

It had been years since she’d felt magic this intensely.

Lucifer meowed. He noticed the change too.

“We’re in the Faerie Realm?” Abigail asked.

“Home sweet home. We aren’t on the border of the Unseen Realm anymore,” Vega said.

It did feel like home here. As much as Abigail wanted to run from magic and all the hardships that often came with it, the forest here felt right. It was where feet wanted to take root.

The earth was dry here, the summer heat warming Abigail in her jacket.

Vega removed her wool coat and carried it. Abigail shoved her jacket into a bag.

“Almost there,” Vega said. “You have the vodka, right?”

“Yes,” Abigail said.

Lucifer meowed, the sound pitiful. He darted between Abigail’s legs, making her stumble.

“What was that for?” she asked.

He meowed again.

“What’s he saying?” Abigail asked.

Vega’s eyes remained steady on the path. “How the hell should I know?”

“I thought you could speak to animals.” That was what Vega had implied. “Or do I have to pay you in food to convince you to translate?”

Vega sighed in exasperation. “I can only talk to cats when I’m a cat. I understand people when I’m a person.”

“So you’re a werecat?”

“No, werecats can only change during a full moon. I can transform whenever I want.” She evaded Abigail’s gaze.

“You led me to believe you could understand Lucy. You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie. I misled.” Vega shrugged. “And he did tell me all that crap about being sorry and how he doesn’t like Jeb.”

Abigail wondered what else Vega had “misled” her about. Lucifer ran circles around them, obviously agitated. He’d been distressed when Abigail had been speaking with the principal too—who had turned out to be inept and possibly untrustworthy.

“Are we in some kind of danger? Are there Fae about?” Abigail asked. If she had her alphabet board with her, she could have placed it in front of him to spell out what he wanted to say—if he didn’t lose his patience and leave the board midway through spelling out a word as sometimes he did.

“We’re perfectly safe.” Vega nudged Lucifer out of the path with her foot. “No Fae would dare mess with my grandmother.”

That meant the woman was powerful. But she accepted gifts of flour, sugar, and vodka?

It was only when they exited the forest that Abigail recognized where she was. Cheerful spring sunshine illuminated the cottage. A gate made of bones closed in the garden, goat, and chickens. The posts were made of skulls. Lace curtains were drawn at the windows.

Abigail halted. Lucifer sat on her feet as if trying to tell her not to take another step.

“I can’t wait to introduce you to my grandmother,” Vega said.

Vega had brought her to Baba Nata’s cottage.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Coldhearted Witch

During the time Abigail had served as Baba Nata’s apprentice after her family had died, the old hedge witch had been wise and cunning, but not always forthcoming. By the time Baba had shown Abigail her fate—or the two most possible paths for her fate—Abigail had been done with her apprenticeship, but Lucifer had years more to go. Baba had warned Lucifer he wasn’t permitted to leave. Instead he’d run away with Abigail.

His punishment for leaving haunted the both of them.

Abigail looked down at Lucifer. He meowed anxiously. He had once vowed he would never return. Not after Abigail had told him the fate that she faced if she stayed in the Faerie Realm. Both possible paths had ended in death and dismemberment. Only in the Morty Realm was she safe.

A creaky voice with an Eastern European accent said from inside, “Come in, my dorogoy. I’ve been expecting you.” Baba Nata cackled.

Abigail didn’t want to go in. Baba Nata represented everything she feared about the world of witches and Fae.

“What is wrong with you?” Vega nudged Abigail. “You wanted me to bring you to a witch who could solve your problems. Are you coming or not?”

Abigail looked to Lucifer. “I know the rules. We aren’t lost. We didn’t come here by accident. That means she can’t keep us, right? We can at least listen to what she has to say.”

He looked from Abigail to the house before giving her a curt nod.

The old woman hadn’t changed since Abigail had last seen her. She sat in her rocking chair knitting an afghan. Her nose was comically long, and her chin jutted out with a wart on it. She hid her snowy-white hair under a red kerchief that mismatched with the paisley pattern of her purple shirt. Her face was so weathered it was difficult to tell how old she was. She didn’t look as though she’d aged. Perhaps she hadn’t.

Time had a strange way of passing—or not passing—with the way Baba kept time, traveling from one spring and summer season to the next in the forest. Abigail had never quite understood how that kind of magic worked.

Her cottage was deceptively large from what the exterior of the shack hinted. The woman’s bed was nearly hidden by a curtained partition. A table was set for three, a steaming pot of tea with mismatched cups and saucers on the table. In the corner a child stared out from a cage.

Abigail’s stomach clenched. She knew what Baba did to lost children. The girl stared out at her through the bars of the cage, though she didn’t speak. The smart ones learned quickly. They didn’t get poked with a knitting needle if they were quiet.

Vega leaned down and kissed the old woman on the cheek. “It’s nice to see you, Baba. We brought you gifts, and I have a guest with me. Her name is—”

Baba squinted. “Abigail MacQuillan.”

“Abigail Lawrence,” Abigail corrected.

Vega laughed. “I suppose you know why we’ve come too?”

“To make deal with devil.” Baba jabbed a knitting needle in Lucifer’s direction. “Ah, and there he is. My favorite apprentice.”

Lucy hid behind Abigail.

“Can I offer you tea?” Baba didn’t leave her chair.

Vega slid the bottle of vodka from the bag Abigail had been carrying. “Look what I brought you, Baba. Your favorite.”

The old woman smiled. “What good granddaughter you are!”

Vega removed the flour and sugar and placed them next to the table. “Look what else I brought you.”

Abigail understood Vega’s self-serving ploy to use her now. “And did you bake the brownies for her too?”

Vega held herself taller. “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t they be from me?” Her eyes narrowed in challenge.

Baba gestured Vega closer. She patted her granddaughter on the cheek. “Because you fail mundane tasks like baking, cleaning, and sewing—so you make someone else do it for you.” She looked to Abigail in the same way she once had when she’d been her apprentice. “You remember why magic doesn’t solve all problems?”

“It’s a waste of magic to use it on mundane tasks,” Abigail recited. “One doesn’t need to sacrifice blood, animals, or plants on tasks that can be accomplished through hard work.”

Vega made a face at Abigail as she poured the vodka into teacups. “Whatever.”

One would think someone who made her apprentices remember such pragmatic ideals would have been less likely to use pain magic for reaching her goals. Abigail glanced at the child in the cage, her hands itching to lift the latch and free the girl. She had never liked using Baba’s preferred methods of magic. It was effective, but the cost was always too high.

“Hard work is sacrifice I ask for.” Baba skewered Lucifer with her gaze. “Has my apprentice learned his lesson?”

“Are you saying you would turn Lucy back if he finishes his apprenticeship?” Abigail asked.

“If he comes willingly, da. He will be my apprentice, and then he will be free.”

“Lucifer was my grandma’s apprentice? Was Baba the one who turned him into a cat in the first place?” Vega smirked at Lucifer. “You didn’t tell me that. You’ve been holding back on me.”

Abigail picked up her familiar and hugged him. “If you finished your apprenticeship, you would be human again. Think how nice that would be. You only had five more years?”

He lifted up his nose at her. Time passed differently here. What took five years in this realm might be longer in the outside world.

“I would be willing to shorten agreement to four,” Baba said.

Abigail had known Baba valued Lucifer as an apprentice. She had valued Abigail—back when she’d had considerably more magic. But there was another reason Baba had favored him. He’d been able to use powerful magic with his affinity that even Baba couldn’t perform. Electricity could be dangerous, but it also was useful.

“Do you realize how lucky you are?” Vega turned her gaze to the cat. “Even if you found someone else to change you back permanently, think about how lost you’d be. You would be unskilled at magic and too rusty to protect yourself against Fae who might want to snatch you up. You need a teacher.”

Lucifer looked to Abigail.

“Nyet!” Baba said. “Do not look to her. You drained her. Even if she had plant magic, that isn’t enough to save you.”

He buried his face against Abigail’s neck.

“It’s all right. I don’t blame you,” Abigail said. “It was an accident. And there was good that came out of it. I found a life for myself—the life I had always wanted in the Morty Realm.” Tears filled her eyes at the idea of parting with him. “But my life in the Morty Realm has robbed you of yours. It’s time you turned back into a boy.”

“A man,” Vega said quietly. “He’s an adult now.”

“I’ll wait for you,” Abigail said, though she knew she might be an old woman by the time he finished his apprenticeship.

Baba nodded in approval. “How many years has it been that Lucifer has been cat? Twenty?”

“Closer to thirty,” Abigail said quietly.

“It will take sacrifice to undo what has been done. It will cost someone life.” Baba shifted in her rocking chair and studied the child in the cage.

The girl jerked back from the bars, whimpering.

“No,” Abigail said firmly.

“It isn’t your decision,” Baba said. “This choice belongs to Lucy.”

Lucifer looked from the caged child and back to Baba. His eyes narrowed, and he hissed.

“There you have it. He won’t be tempted to use some child’s life for your sacrifice.” Abigail scratched him behind the ears. “It’s because you’re a good person, Lucy. You have a good heart.”

Vega drummed her fingers against the table, her gaze fixed on her grandmother. “You only need a life because it’s been . . . thirty years. Is that correct?”

Lucifer shook his head.

“What if it hasn’t been thirty years since he’s been a man?” Vega’s lips curled upward into a smile. “What if it’s only been one night?”

Lucifer hissed.

“What do you mean?” Abigail asked.

“He didn’t want you to know. He made me promise not to tell you.” Vega glanced at him.

Lucifer threw himself out of Abigail’s arms, landing on his feet only to lunge at Vega. He was fast, but she was faster. She jumped back from the table, nearly stepping into the hearth. She raised a wand and circled it around herself, a protective purple bubble flashing around her when Lucifer attempted to silence her with his claws.

“Don’t you dare attack me. I’m trying to help,” Vega said. “If Abigail loves you, she’ll forgive you.”

He yowled and batted at the protective bubble before slinking under the table and collapsing in a heap.

“I’ll forgive him for what?” Abigail asked.

“I accidentally broke his curse last night,” Vega said. “I turned him into a man. That’s when he told me about the principal and your plan to turn him back.”

Irritation needled at Abigail’s nerves. “I thought you said you spoke to him when you were a cat.”

Vega crossed her arms. “I embellished the truth.”

Baba leaned forward with interest. “I use strong magic. How did you break curse?”

Vega sighed in exasperation. “I don’t know exactly. It was an accident. It was while we were both cats. I was luring him back to the school.”

Lucifer yowled and hid himself deeper in the shadows.

“Ah,” Baba said, nodding. “I see.”

“What?” Abigail asked.

Baba clucked her tongue. “You remember his affinity, da?”

Abigail did. His affinity was touch magic. Pleasure. When he used incubus magic, there sometimes was an electrical effect that could negate other magics. Abigail looked to Vega again. She sat at the table, daintily drinking her vodka. The protective bubble shimmered around her.

Abigail felt her jaw clenching. “He came back with you to the school when you were a cat because you lured him with sex?”

“What can I say? He’s male.” Vega shrugged. “And I’m resourceful.”

Baba cackled.

Abigail crouched next to the table. “Come out, Lucy. I’m not mad.”

He slunk out, head hanging between his shoulders.

She patted his head. “I know Vega has wounded your pride by tattling on you, but there’s nothing to be ashamed about. I don’t hold it against you. Do you hold it against me that I got married while you were stuck as a cat?”

He huffed.

“That’s a ‘yes’ in case you couldn’t tell,” Vega said. “He told me last night.”

“Shush.” Baba stabbed a knitting needle in her granddaughter’s direction and shook her head. “You made your point. I do not need life. Fingers and toes will do.” She looked to the child in the cage.

“No,” Abigail said, her words drowned out by Lucifer’s yowl. Obviously he didn’t like the idea of mutilating a child any more than she did.

“You will not touch that child,” Abigail said.

“Then I cannot perform magic. I need pain and blood. It doesn’t matter whose.” Baba looked from Abigail to Vega.

Vega shook her head. “Don’t look at me. I’m not giving anyone my fingers or toes.”

Abigail couldn’t regrow her fingers now that her Amni Plandai magic was weak. Even so, Lucifer had sacrificed so much for her. He deserved a happy and ordinary life. She’d had her turn at normal. Now it was his.

It had taken Abigail this long to return to Baba, but it felt as though all the pieces of her fate fell into place. If she were to join Lucifer in the Faerie Realm, she had two paths before her. Both led to dismemberment. Either Abigail could be selfish and seek out magic to make herself powerful so she wouldn’t need to sacrifice herself, though her heart would grow cruel and unloving in the end, or she would sacrifice too much of herself, first doing so to help those she loved, and then later to prevent the deaths of strangers.

Yet Abigail had a daughter to think about. She couldn’t just abandon Clarissa so that she could be with Lucifer. Nor did she want to become cruel and uncaring and lose who she was in order to solve her problems. Clarissa might have been an adult woman, but she still needed a mother.

Abigail glanced at the child in the cage. It was unforgivable to take this child’s fingers—or her life. She could see how the path toward either fate was only steps away.

“I will give myself as a sacrifice,” Abigail said.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Furmidable Sacrifices

Lucifer meowed pitifully.

Abigail held herself taller. “It isn’t your decision. If I want to chop off my fingers and toes for you, that’s up to me.”

“I do not need all fingers. Only . . . seven or eight,” Baba said.

“Well, that makes a huge difference,” Vega muttered.

Lucifer ran circles around Abigail’s feet. He batted at her leg with his paw, but he didn’t claw her. He never did, whether it was out of love or the guilt of being the one who had drained her.

“You said he has to be willing,” Vega waved a hand at him, her gesture lazy. “I can already tell he isn’t going to be.”

Lucifer stilled, his eyes flashing like topaz before returning to green.

“He’s just going to run away again if you try to pressure him,” Vega said.

He pawed the air in Vega’s direction. He was trying to tell Abigail something again. If only she could understand him.

“Are you agreeing with Vega?” Abigail asked.

He meowed and nodded.

“I will not be part of harming a child.” Abigail removed the foil-wrapped package from the bag she’d brought but left the other offerings under the table. She strode toward the door. “There isn’t anything else to discuss here, then. Is there?” She said the words, yet her gaze flitted toward the child in the cage.

Abigail didn’t like the idea of leaving anyone to suffer, but Baba had always been uncompromising about releasing the lost children she acquired in the forest.

“Where are you going?” Vega’s gaze was fixed on the foil-wrapped brownies. “We haven’t even had brownies and vodka yet.”

“I left you a plate of your own brownies on your desk at school.” Abigail was ready to go, though she suspected she would need Vega’s assistance returning to the school.

She waited at the door for Vega to join her, but the other woman didn’t budge.

“Come. Sit. Let us eat and drink for a spell.” Baba’s eyes glittered.

Abigail couldn’t tell if Baba was making a joke or being literal.

“And bring back the brownies.” Vega patted an empty place at the table.

Lucifer swaggered over to the cage. He stared at the child within. Abigail suspected he didn’t like leaving the girl either.

“Tell me about the child,” Abigail said.

“She was lost. I found her. She is mine,” Baba said simply.

The girl spoke, her words tremulous and high. “I wasn’t lost! I was looking for my brother!”

Those words struck a chord in Abigail’s heart. She once had been searching for her brother lost in the forest. The difference between her and this girl was that she’d come to Baba for help, not stumbled upon her accidentally.

“You were not looking for me, but you found my cottage,” Baba said. “Therefore, you were lost.”

“Did she eat any of your gingerbread cottage?” Abigail asked. That was the illusion children usually saw rather than the ominous bones.

Baba sucked on her teeth. She didn’t answer.

“She isn’t really yours to keep. Is she?” Abigail asked.

“She is mine to do with as I please. Perhaps she will become my apprentice—if she pleases me.”

Vega peered at the child. “So the girl is Witchkin like us?”

Abigail remembered the days she had been Baba’s adopted daughter and apprentice. Those days were filled with pain magic and hard lessons. Lucifer had been her one joy. This girl didn’t have a friend to keep her company. Nor was Baba beyond turning apprentices into goats, cats, or other animals if they displeased her. She wouldn’t hesitate to chop off the girl’s fingers if that was how she was most useful to her.

“Witchkin hearts are sweet as sugar. If she displeases me, I will eat her.” Baba cackled.

Abigail held up the brownies. “I will trade you these brownies for the child.”

“Pah! That is hardly fair trade.” Baba waved her off.

Vega eyed the plate with obvious longing. “You haven’t tasted them.”

Baba jutted her pointed chin at Abigail. “What will you do with child? You cannot teach her magic. You have nothing left.”

“I have a little, not nothing.” There was a difference. “More importantly, I know people who do have magic.”

If the girl was Witchkin, she could go to the school where her daughter taught. Abigail didn’t want anyone to be forced to live in this world of monsters, but she had seen that many of the teachers where Clarissa worked were truly trying to help children. Sam, Josie, and Grandmother Bluehorse were nice people who weren’t the sort to hurt others. They didn’t teach students as Baba had taught her, with cruelty and pain magic.

Lucifer flicked his tail back and forth.

“Abigail did bring you all these gifts.” Vega mumbled, her gaze sweeping over the sacks of food. “It does seem like you owe her something in return.”

“What? Nyet? These gifts were from my loving granddaughter.”

“In a way they’re from me.” Vega lifted one slender shoulder and dropped it. “I told Abigail what to bring, and she fetched them and purchased them. So the gifts might be considered to be from her.”

Baba harrumphed.

Vega drummed her painted nails over the table. “The brownies truly are delicious. You won’t believe it until you try them, but they’re better than cookies made from the hearts of children.” She frowned at the girl in the corner. “Especially one all skin and bones.”

For the first time, Abigail questioned Vega’s veganism and why she might have such a strict stance on refraining from eating meat products. Perhaps it was more than dietary, and in part a humanitarian reason. A way of rebelling against something about Witchkin society? For the first time, she felt there was more to Vega than met the eye.

Baba frowned. “Be that as it may, I do not barter in brownies.”

Witches never did anything for free. Baba had taught her that. It was always a matter of finding out what someone’s price was. It had been easy to secure Vega’s assistance with mousse, Sam’s friendship with brownies, and Felix Thatch’s with food as well. To earn Grandmother Bluehorse’s friendship, it had taken orchids and a willing ear. Baba wasn’t a mystery; it was just that her price was too high.

“What do you want that is mine to give?” Abigail asked.

“Only fingers and toes.”

Surely there had to be something else. Abigail scanned the cottage for a clue. Mismatched cups and saucers were set at the table. Their lack of mates had never bothered Baba. The hedge witch used herbs to heal, though it was unlikely she needed any more medicines considering how well-stocked her garden was.

Lucifer returned to Abigail. He meowed. She knelt to pick him up, but he shifted aside when she reached for him. He touched his nose to her hand. She thought he meant for her to pet him. When she attempted to do so, he moved back. Only when she held her hand still did he touch his nose to her finger again.

He was pointing to her wedding ring.

That was right. Baba liked gold.

Abigail’s heart dropped as she gazed at the gold ring. Logically she told herself there was no reason to keep it, except for sentiment—and monetary value. But it was all she had left of her husband, an everyday reminder of those years of her life that she didn’t want to forget.

Even so, a human life was worth more than the past she still clung to.

Abigail removed the ring from her finger. “It’s real gold. Will you take it in exchange for this child’s freedom?”

Baba Nata held out her hand. Abigail placed the ring in her palm, waiting as Baba examined it. Losing that final piece of her marriage was like losing a piece of herself. It hurt almost as much as the loss of a finger—though this pain was more in her soul than her body.

At the same time, a small part of her felt freed by the gesture.

“I will agree to this trade.” Baba nodded. “But for Lucifer’s freedom, it will take more than baked goods and gold. It will take real sacrifice.”

Lucifer swaggered closer to Abigail.

Baba jabbed a knitting needle in his direction. “Mark my word. Someday you will return. You will beg me to take you as my apprentice again. It is your fate.” Her eyes gleamed. “I just need to offer you right price.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Unfurgetable

Twenty minutes later, Vega sauntered down the path ahead of Abigail, Lucifer, and Petra, the girl Abigail had freed. Petra was small for thirteen.

“If you tell the school you’re fourteen, they’ll probably let you start as a freshman,” Abigail whispered, as if Vega couldn’t hear them.

The girl nodded, her arm looped around Abigail’s, gazing at her with adoration.

“Someday, I’ll repay you for this kindness. I promise.” The girl was smart enough not to thank Abigail outright. There was hope for her in this world.

“Just don’t sign up for my class,” Vega called over her shoulder. “I don’t want immature thirteen-year-olds who don’t have a handle on magic ruining my advanced classes.”

“Do you like art? Sign up for my daughter’s class,” Abigail said. Her hand felt too light without her ring and strangely naked. But it wasn’t a completely unwelcome sensation to be free of the past so that she could start thinking about a new future.

Petra gazed at the forest with wide eyes. Lucifer brushed up against her. He must have been feeling generous because he allowed Petra to pick him up and carry him. She kissed his head and murmured into his ear.

Abigail had been able to help the child, but she wished she’d been able to save him.

Abigail reached over and scratched him behind the ears. “Oh, Lucy, what am I going to do with you?”

He looked to her before averting his gaze.

Vega snagged Abigail around the shoulder, forcing her to quicken her pace to keep up with her.

“He’s a big boy. He’ll be fine.” A smirk laced Vega’s lips.

Abigail squirmed out of her reach. “Will he? He’s stuck as a cat.” If he hadn’t been so stubborn, he could have finished his apprenticeship and been free afterward. Of course, Abigail might be short a few fingers and toes. Her gold wouldn’t have paid for the child’s freedom and served as the sacrifice Baba needed.

“Is he stuck?” Vega laughed. “Have you ever slept with Lucifer?”

Abigail glanced at the teenage girl who was carefully keeping her eyes on the ground, probably pretending not to listen. “That isn’t any of your business.”

Vega smoothed a hand over her short bob. “I’m guessing that’s a no because if you had, you’d be bragging.”

Abigail scowled at Vega, irritated she was in the exact same place she’d begun—only the pain of her past was fresh in the present—and someone was there to gloat about it. “Oh, really? Do I seem the sort of person who kisses and tells?”

“I don’t think it matters what kind of person you are. Now that the cat is out of the bag, so to speak, I might as well say it. That was the best sex of my life.”

A spike of jealousy rose up in Abigail. “Lucky you,” she said through clenched teeth.

“He was a real animal.” Vega growled playfully and laughed.

“Yes, well, he is a cat, dear.” Right about then, she wished she was a cat with claws to lash out at Vega.

“No, I mean when he was a man, he was great too—even if I only cured his curse temporarily. The experience was magical.” Vega added under her breath, “Far better than it was with his brother.”

Head turned over her shoulder, Abigail was too distracted by Lucifer’s reaction to fully listen to Vega’s words. He hunched down, guilt evident in his frame. Abigail regretted allowing her jealousy to show. She’d been married for almost twenty years to another man. Lucifer had no reason to feel guilty.

Vega on the other hand, didn’t have to be such a jerk about rubbing in what Abigail couldn’t have. Not only had Vega gotten to be with him as an animal, but she’d also been with him as a man when his curse had been lifted, albeit, temporarily.

That was when it hit Abigail. She knew the cure to Lucifer’s curse.

It didn’t matter that she had little magic. It wasn’t going to take a plant affinity anyway. Pain magic and chopping off fingers could lend the kind of touch magic needed for a powerful spell, but it wasn’t necessary. The reason Lucifer had turned back to his human state was because he had used his magic—most likely inadvertently.

His affinity was pleasure. When he and Vega had been up to naughty cat activities, it had powered up his electricity and broken through Baba’s curse.

Probably he had copulated with other cats plenty of times. It was unlikely he’d ever been with another witch, though. Abigail’s eyes widened at the realization. She remembered Vega’s threat to turn students into frogs.

“Can anyone be turned into a cat?” she asked. “Is that something you know how to do?”

Vega’s lips curled upward. “Perhaps you aren’t as dumb as you look.”

Abigail laughed. “From a wicked witch, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Lucifer wasn’t cured, but she didn’t need to go back to Baba to sacrifice her fingers and toes. And Lucifer didn’t need to return either. They would find a solution to his problem. Together.

Abigail linked her arm through Vega’s. “Tell me, dear. Do you like vegan cheesecake?”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Clarissa Explains It All

Abigail only stayed at Womby’s for a couple more days. Clarissa was recovering well enough that she could change her own remaining bandages, and her wounds were almost healed.

“It’s because she had her mum here to keep her spirit up and give her the nurturing she needed,” Felix Thatch said.

“Or it might be that salve you made,” Abigail said.

“It might have been.”

Abigail had Lucifer back and Clarissa was getting better, but she didn’t feel like her job at the school was complete yet. Her daughter still wasn’t safe. Staff members held grudges against Clarissa. Most of the animosity toward her seemed to be more about things her biological mother had done as headmistress of the school than about Clarissa’s own actions.

As Mr. Thatch carried Abigail’s suitcases up the steep steps out of the dungeon, Abigail kept a hand under Clarissa’s elbow to steady her. Lucifer waited at the top of the stairs, watching them with the feigned indifference of a cat. He played the part well.

Abigail suggested, “Perhaps we should make a special dinner for the staff to thank them for chipping in their time to cover your classes. What do you think, Clarissa?”

“I’d like to do something nice for my coworkers.” She glanced over her shoulder at Felix Thatch.

He waited on the steps behind them without commenting on Clarissa’s snail’s pace walking up the stairs.

A sneaky smile flitted over Clarissa’s lips as she gazed at her mentor. “But I’ve been told I’m not supposed to go into the kitchen and interrupt the brownies at work preparing school meals.”

Lucifer meowed, and Abigail realized Clarissa was teetering off balance.

Abigail placed an arm around her daughter, guiding her up the stairs again. “Would it be an inconvenience to use the kitchen again, Mr. Thatch?”

He gave a curt bow. “I shall make arrangements for you.”

“What should we make? Wet burritos or lasagna?” Clarissa asked.

Whatever they made, there had to be a vegetarian option for Josie and Vega.

“Ahem,” Mr. Thatch said. “Perhaps you could make both.”

Abigail laughed. That was just the sort of thing Lucifer would have said if he could speak.

* * *

Clarissa made invitations to a special dinner in the staff room. Josie delivered them. Abigail asked Grandmother Bluehorse’s permission to pick vegetables and herbs in the garden greenhouses, and Sam helped her collect edible flowers from the grounds to use as garnish on the salad. They supplemented the salad the school was already planning for the staff with a few touches of Abigail’s own—salad dressing being one of them. She still couldn’t believe they didn’t serve salad dressing with their meals.

Everything Abigail couldn’t find in the school’s kitchen and grounds, she fetched from the market in Lachlan Falls. It took most of the afternoon to prepare the meal, and that was with Clarissa and Josie’s help.

Not everyone showed up to dinner. And some, like the librarian and the foreign language teacher, came for the food and immediately left. Abigail hadn’t expected all would stay, but most of the staff crowded into the staff room for a taste of something that wasn’t school food and remained to sit with each other and chat. Vega elbowed her way past Josie and Grandmother Bluehorse to be first for a slice of vegan lasagna and a scoop of wet burritos.

Clarissa scowled. She looked like she was about to say something nasty to her roommate, but Abigail shook her head. “A good witch doesn’t use her words to be mean to others. Kill with kindness.”

Clarissa forced a smile on her face and when she addressed Vega, she asked, “Would you like a slice of pie to go with that?”

Lucifer behaved very well and remained under a table, eating from his own plate. Human food wasn’t good for his cat body, but he deserved a treat.

Sam came clomping in a moment later, wearing boots that didn’t fit his cloven feet well. He wore a large poncho that went down to his knees, covering his hairy body. He gazed at the food in a daze.

Abigail served him a slice of lasagna and a scoop of wet burritos. “Sam, why are you wearing those boots?”

“There’s a rule about going barefoot and naked in the school.” He rolled his eyes. “Personally, I just think it’s one of those rules to keep satyrs oppressed and outdoors. But I decided your cooking was worth wearing clothes and shoes for.” He grinned. “What kind of pie is that?”

Dean Khaba joined Josie and Clarissa, the three of them smiling and joking with each other as they ate.

“Honey, your fairy godmother just made my dream come true. I could die happy right now,” Khaba said, enjoying a cheesy bite of burrito. “Why can’t I have a fairy godmother?”

“I’ll be your fairy godmother,” Josie said.

“Sure you will.” Khaba poked her with his fork.

Clarissa laughed. Abigail liked seeing her daughter happy and with friends.

Lucifer’s back arched, and he looked like he might attack when the principal walked in. Abigail strategically placed herself between them.

“I reckon you must feel better if you can whip up all this food,” Jeb said. Abigail noticed him pile his plate high with food, but he didn’t eat it. Perhaps he feared she had enchanted it.

“Yes, sir,” Clarissa said. “I’m ready to go back to work tomorrow.”

Mr. Thatch sat alone in the corner on the other side of the room. Lucifer swaggered over and sat at his feet.

Abigail joined them. “I take it you aren’t one for parties, are you, Mr. Thatch?”

“I’ll take a good book and a quiet room over a party any time, Mrs. Lawrence. I only came for your cooking.” His gaze shifted to Clarissa and away. A hint of longing flickered in his eyes before vanishing.

Abigail could see her cooking hadn’t been the only reason he’d come. The stormy gray of his eyes was familiar, reminding her of Lucifer. Vega’s muttered words the day before nudged at her memory. Abigail didn’t know Lucifer’s last name. He might have told her once, but that would have been over thirty years ago. The more she stared into Thatch’s face, the more she thought his eyes were like those of the young man she had once loved.

Abigail lowered her voice to a whisper. “Do you have a brother, Mr. Thatch?”

“No. My brother died when he was a child.”

Lucifer meowed, drawing her attention. He batted at Felix Thatch’s leg. The moment the teacher leaned down to pet Lucifer, the cat backed away. Now that Abigail knew what question to ask, she would put the question to Lucifer when they were alone.

Mr. Thatch set aside his empty plate. “I heard you’re leaving tomorrow. I wondered if you might permit me to take you home instead. You needn’t inconvenience yourself traveling for twelve hours by bus when I can use a magical means to transport you instead.”

Abigail hesitated. She had never trusted Witchkin or Fae in the Faerie Realm, and had preferred to avoid magic when she could, but she felt comfortable with Felix Thatch and suspected his abilities in magic were competent if his poultice was any indication of his abilities.

She just hated the idea of owing someone something in return. Witches always expected a price for granting a favor.

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything to give you in return,” Abigail said.

“On the contrary, you’ve already given me so much.” He nodded to the table of food, but his eyes remained fixed on Clarissa. “It’s the least I can do to in appreciation for the brownies and dinner.”

“Yes,” she said at last. “I will take you up on that offer.”

* * *

When Abigail and Lucifer were alone and settled in back home in Eugene, Oregon, Abigail took out her alphabet board and placed it on her living room floor.

“Is Felix Thatch your brother?” she asked.

Lucifer nodded. He didn’t need to point to the “Y/N” for that one.

“Is that what you were trying to tell me?” she asked.

He nodded again.

“Does Felix Thatch know?”

He tilted his head to the side as if thinking it over and then shook his head.

Abigail thought about the conversations she’d had with Mr. Thatch about his bird. “Do you want him to know?”

He tilted his head to the side again. After a moment, he spelled out what he wished to say. Abigail wrote the letters down and then spoke the response out loud to make sure she understood. “When we were children, he left me to die. I haven’t decided if I trust him.”

“Perhaps there’s more to the story than that.” Abigail petted his back.

He snorted and looked away.

“We won’t know why he left you unless we ask.”

Lucifer batted at the letters again. “The principal is a lecherous pervert. Tell Clarissa to stay away from him.”

“You say that about all men.” She sighed in exasperation.

Lucifer pointed to the letters again. “You do realize he wiped your memories away. On purpose.”

She thought back to the haziness that clouded her mind when in the principal’s office. “Why did he do that?”

“You tried to blackmail him into changing me back into a man.”

She laughed. If that was the case, she couldn’t completely blame the principal.

“Tell Clarissa the next time you write her not to go alone to the principal’s office,” Lucifer said.

“Okay. I’ll tell her.” She would consider telling her daughter anyway. She redirected the conversation back to more important matters. “Are you sure you don’t want to return to Baba’s?”

“I am certain.”

She frowned. She had known he would say that, but she’d had to try. “I’ve been thinking about your affinity and how it works. Vega Bloodmire accidentally changed you back to a man because she activated your magic while you were both cats, and it broke through Baba’s spell.” Her cheeks flushed with anger as she thought about that woman with her Lucifer. She tried to tamp down the jealousy. “What if we try again, but on purpose?”

“You want me to try to harness my incubus magic? With Vega?” He covered his face with his paws.

She swallowed, her confidence faltering. “No. With me. I’ll need Vega’s help transforming me into a cat.”

He looked to her with surprise. She was afraid he might say no, that he had fallen out of love with her and the idea repulsed him.

Slowly he spelled out his message. “Vega said she likes cheesecake. How soon can you make one?”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Purrfect Furever

Abigail wished Lucifer could be returned to the form of a human. He had told Vega that he wished Abigail could be a cat. Such a solution was the second-best thing, and if Abigail changed Lucifer back in the process, so much the better.

That meant striking a bargain with a semi-wicked witch, Vega Bloodmire.

Abigail wrote to Vega, inviting her over for an evening of cheesecake and spell craft. Vega wrote back. She came to Abigail at the next full moon.

Vega stepped through the door of Abigail’s home, her eyes taking in the modest furnishings. Potted plants lined every windowsill and dangled from shelves, making the living room look like a jungle.

Vega inhaled deeply. “You have cheesecake, I trust?”

“Yes. Make yourself at home. I’ll bring you a slice.”

Abigail returned a moment later to find Vega with Lucifer seated beside her, his ears twitching with anxiousness. Vega kicked her feet up onto the coffee table and accepted the plate. Abigail waited with anticipation for Vega to try it. Vega closed her eyes and moaned.

She wondered what Vega’s heart truly desired, delicious vegan cheesecake or rebelling against her grandmother’s traditions. Or perhaps it was that hint of love and longing in her for someone she couldn’t have that was her true reason for helping Abigail.

“The cake is to your liking?” Abigail asked.

Vega shrugged. “It’s all right.”

Abigail tried not to laugh.

“Just so you know, the spell will only last until midnight,” Vega said. “And there’s no guarantee you’ll be able to change him into a human like I did. I have real magic. You just have . . . kitchen magic.” Vega savored another bite, unable to conceal her pleasure. “In any case, you should be able to get some hot, animal sex out of this.”

Abigail’s heart lurched in sudden nervousness. She had once loved Lucifer. She still did, but it had been years since she’d been with a man. Since her husband’s death.

“One more thing.” Vega waved her fork toward Lucifer. “Don’t you dare tell Clarissa about this.”

“Why?”

“I have a reputation to keep up. I can’t have people thinking I’m . . . nice.” She made a face as though that were the most awful thing in the world.

Vega acted like she didn’t care, but Abigail could tell she did. It made Abigail feel better knowing she had made friends with Clarissa’s supposedly wicked roommate. After helping Abigail barter with Baba to free Petra, and her willingness to help Abigail with Lucifer’s curse, she felt like she could count on Vega to look out for her daughter. Clarissa needed powerful alliances to survive in the Unseen Realm.

The spell wasn’t long or complex, but it required that Abigail drink a potion outside under the light of the full moon after Vega chanted in another language. Abigail selected a spot under the ancient oak tree in her back yard that would cloak their activities from the neighbors if they should be watching.

Abigail hesitated with the bottle of witch’s brew inches from her lips, worrying she might have misjudged Vega’s good intentions. What if Vega turned her into a cat forever because she was just as wicked as Baba Nata? Abigail had gone the majority of her life distrusting witches. It was a difficult habit to break.

“What are you waiting for?” Vega asked. “This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

“I just wonder, what if I don’t turn back?” She might enjoy being a cat, but she wouldn’t be able to be there for Clarissa if her daughter needed her again.

“You wish!” Vega cackled. “If I did that, I’d never get anymore cheesecake or pudding out of you.”

Abigail drank the potion. It churned in her belly and made her feel as though she might vomit. She fell to her knees. Fire lanced through her muscles, and her bones flared with pain. A giant weight pressed in on her from all sides as she shrank.

The winter coat she’d worn over her clothes smothered her, and she squirmed out of them. Her skin prickled with cold and then heat. Striped orange fur sprouted from her flesh. The color wasn’t so different from her hair as a human.

The night around her wasn’t as dark as it had been moments ago. With her new vision, she could see everything. She could see the mice in the shadows and smell the exquisite aroma of catnip growing somewhere nearby.

She batted at her nose, the gesture awkward and uncoordinated. She was a cat. The spell had worked!

“Have fun, kittens.” Vega returned to the house. She watched them out the window of the back door for a moment, another slice of cheesecake in hand before turning away.

Lucifer brushed his tail against Abigail’s leg, drawing her attention. She touched her nose to his. He nuzzled his face against her neck and purred.

He’d gotten his wish. She was a cat. Now she just had to make her dreams come true and enchant him into becoming a man again. Where there was a hex, there was a way.

THE END

Thirteen Magical Recipes from Womby’s School for Wayward Witches

Entrées And Savory Dishes

Tamale Pie

No tamales are actually injured in the creation of this pie—unless you substitute tamale sauce for salsa. For those that do not like tomatoes, try this with a green chili sauce instead.

Ingredients for filling

•    2 pounds ground hamburger

•    1 jar salsa (16 ounces or 2 cups)

•    1 can corn (about 2 cups)

•    1 can sliced black olives (about ½ cup)

•    1 can refried beans

•    2-3 cups cheddar cheese

•    1 tsp. garlic powder

•    1 tsp. salt

•    ½ tsp. black pepper

•    1 tsp. chili powder

•    ½ tsp. cumin powder

*    tsp. smoked paprika optional

•    corn bread batter made from cornbread recipe below

Ingredients for cornbread crust

(If in a hurry, use 1 Jiffy cornbread mix instead and follow instructions.)

•    2/3 cup cornmeal

•    ¾ cup all-purpose flour

•    1 Tbsp. baking powder

•    ½ tsp. baking soda

•    1 tsp. salt

•    1 egg, beaten

•    1 cup milk

•    3 Tbsp. honey

Directions

1.    Brown hamburger meat on the stovetop. Drain excess fat.

2.    Stir in salsa and spices

3.    Add corn, beans, olives, and cheese to hamburger mixture. Place in an oven safe dish. This can be divided into two pie pans or a deep 9 x 13 baking pan.

3.    Make cornbread mix. Stir dry ingredients. Blend wet ingredients. Add wet ingredients to dry. Spread on top of the hamburger mixture.

4.    Bake at 400° F or 200 ° C, until cornbread is golden and solid when tapped. About 20 minutes.

Baking Tip

If the baking dish isn’t deep enough to contain overflow, place on a pan with a lip to catch spills while baking.



Kitchen Witching Tip

There are two ways to stir a cauldron: widdershins or deasil.

When making food without a magical purpose, bread batter, stew, or pudding can be stirred in either direction—though it is good practice to always stir in the standard direction known as deasil. For magical purposes, one must understand the difference between deasil and widdershins.

Deasil is to go clockwise, with the direction of the sun, also called “sunwise” or “sunward.” This means a practitioner is going with the flow of nature and life, which is important in nature magic. Spells will have a positive effect when stirred deasil and bring good luck.

Widdershins is counterclockwise. Although many consider widdershins to be bad luck and goes against the natural flow of nature, some spell work calls for that direction. It depends on the desired effect. If one is binding, hexing, cursing, or defending oneself, widdershins might be necessary.

Use caution with widdershins as it may bring great power, but often with strong magic, there is a cost.



Kitchen Omens

Doors opening by themselves can be the sign of company coming. Cupboards left open is a sign people are gossiping about you. A falling picture means someone will be going on a journey.

Someone who knocks a chair over while getting up from the table lied while sitting in it.

Cracks in the ceiling signal that bad weather is coming.

Clarissa’s Tamale Pie Memories

Excerpt from Tardy Bells and Witches’ Spells

I retreated into Narnia and sat in the wardrobe, pretending I was elsewhere. It was fine, I told myself. I could go to the library and read whatever I wanted. I would be like the character from Matilda with my untapped potential ready to explode. My anger simmered inside me.

A few minutes later when Missy began to scream at my parents, I closed the doors to my wardrobe to muffle the sound. I watched out the crack between the doors when my parents marched past my room again. They didn’t carry anything from Missy’s room. And why would they? She didn’t like fantasy or witches.

We ate dinner at ten that night, hours later than we usually did. Dad heated up leftover tamale pie. Mom chopped cilantro from the garden and sprinkled it on top. I didn’t feel hungry. Maybe it was that granola bar Dad had bought me from the vending machine at the hospital that had ruined my appetite. Or maybe it was my life.

No one spoke as we ate. Missy pushed the food around on her plate, but didn’t eat. Her shoulders sagged and her eyes were dark. I didn’t know what she was sulking about. Mom hadn’t carried boxes of things out of her room.

I tried to make myself eat, but I couldn’t manage more than a bite. I was too angry—at my mom for taking away my things, at my dad for letting her, and at Missy for blaming me. Everything about my life sucked.

Halfway through dinner, Lucifer rubbed up against Mom’s leg and meowed. She silently rose. I thought she meant to see if Lucifer was out of water or food. A moment later she came back. She held a Ziploc bag of shredded herbs.

Missy’s eyes went wide. “I was just holding that for a friend.”

“Please say this is tea.” Mom said through clenched teeth. She tossed it on the table.

Dad opened the bag and sniffed. He held it away from himself, making a face. “Yuck! That stinks. But it’s not marijuana.”

“Yeah, Mom, duh. What did you think it was?” Missy asked. “Drugs? Really? I’m on cheer team.”

My sister might have turned into a grade A jerkface over the summer, but she didn’t use drugs. I didn’t think she would ever use drugs after the incident at the fair. But she had sprinkled putrid herbs on the pentagram when we’d been in the basement earlier. Maybe these were the same kind.

Missy leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

“Eat your dinner. It will make you feel better,” Mom said.

“Why? What did you put in it?” Missy demanded. “Something to make me into a good girl?”

Mom’s eyes narrowed.

Dad tried to make a joke out of it. “If only your mother would put something in it. I probably would like tamale pie better if it was more like Uncle Trevor’s ‘special’ brownies.” He chuckled.

No one else laughed. Partly out of spite to show everyone I wasn’t going to be rude like Missy, and partly because I didn’t want to hurt Mom’s feelings and not eat dinner, I stopped stirring around the casserole and ate a few tentative bites. For the briefest moment, I thought I saw glitter flash and flicker above my plate, but then it was gone.

Mom smiled and stroked my hair out of my face. Eating did make me feel better. After hours of holding tension in my muscles, it melted away. The anger and hurt that I’d been holding onto faded. My mom’s cooking always had that effect on me. I wondered if I would ever be able to cook as well as she did.

Irish Lamb Stew

Ingredients

•    1 ½ pounds thickly sliced bacon, diced

•    6 pounds boneless lamb shoulder, cut into 2-inch pieces

•    ½ tsp. salt

•    1 tsp. ground black pepper

•    ½ cup all-purpose flour

•    3 cloves garlic, minced

•    1 large onion, chopped

•    ½ cup water

•    4 cups beef or chicken stock

•    2 tsp. white sugar

•    4 cups diced carrots

•    2 large onions, cut into bite-size pieces

•    3 potatoes

•    3 Tbsp. tomato paste

•    1 tsp. dried thyme

•    1 sprig rosemary

•    2 bay leaves

•    ½ cup - 1 cup white wine or dark beer

•    1 cup peas

•    Parsley garnish

Directions

1.    Cook bacon in a large, deep skillet on medium high heat until golden brown. Remove bacon from the pan, crumble, and set aside.

2.    Stir salt, pepper, and flour in large mixing bowl. Place lamb in the mixture. Coat meat evenly. Brown meat in frying pan with bacon fat.

3.    Remove meat from skillet and place into a large crockpot or stock pot.

4.    In the skillet of bacon fat, sauté garlic and yellow onion until onion becomes golden. Stir in water.

5.    Add onion and garlic mixture to the stock pot with the crumbled bacon, beef stock, and sugar. Cover and simmer for 1 ½ hours.

6.    Add onions, carrots, potatoes, herbs, and wine to pot. Reduce heat, and simmer covered for 20 minutes until vegetables are tender.

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Kitchen Witching Tip

Harvest bay leaves from trees that are at least two years old. It is best to do this during midsummer when their oils are most abundant. Harvest in the morning after the dew has evaporated. Leaves can be dried or used fresh, but be aware, fresh leaves are more potent and you can use fewer.

Bay laurel can be used to enhance magical abilities, so wear it when healing others, breaking curses, or while creating spells of protection. For scrying and prophetic dreams, create a bay dream pillow made of bay leaves and place it under your pillow.



Kitchen Witching Tip

Harvest rosemary in the spring or early summer. If you cut off sprigs this time of year, they will grow back more rapidly. Rosemary has been used to cleanse a home of negative energies and evil spirits. If someone is feeling grumpy—you know who I’m talking about—rub rosemary on the recipient’s pillow or make a rosemary wreath to hang on your door.

Clarissa’s Irish Lamb Stew Memories

Excerpt from Tardy Bells and Witches’ Spells

Derrick came home with me to help me start dinner. I directed him to cut the potatoes and carrots while I defrosted the lamb from the freezer. Everyone loved Mom’s Irish lamb stew. The recipe used bacon and wine, among other ingredients. I collected herbs from the garden.

“You don’t think cooking the potion will make it less potent, do you?” I asked Derrick as I dumped the bottle of wine/potion in a large sauce pan. The recipe only called for one cup, but I wanted to ensure Missy got enough.

“Peach pie doesn’t contain fewer peaches if it’s baked, right?” he asked.

“But there will be less alcohol if it’s cooked off,” I said.

Derrick looked up from his chopping. “Wait, are you going to be eating the potion too?”

“I’m going to have to. It will look suspicious if I pour the potion in one bowl and serve it to Missy.”

Derrick made a face. “You’ll have to tell me if you feel more protected tomorrow.”

I started the bacon sizzling in a pan. Grease hissed and sputtered at me. I flipped the bacon over, trying to dodge hot missiles of oil. Derrick inhaled the aroma over my shoulder. My stomach grumbled.

The very first piece I set aside, Derrick snatched up. “And for our next magic trick, watch this bacon disappear.”

“You can’t eat the bacon. It’s for the stew.”

“Just one or two or five pieces.”

“Two pieces.”

He set two perfectly crisp pieces aside and resumed chopping herbs. The moment they were cool enough he practically inhaled the first one. I placed a new row of bacon strips in the pan.

He waved the second piece back and forth in front of my face. “It’s calling to you. Will you give in to temptation?” He waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated gesture of flirtatiousness.

“I’ll be more tempted when I don’t have raw meat on my hands.”

He held it closer to my mouth. “My hands are as clean as a baby’s bottom.”

I laughed. “Is that supposed to make me confident of your hygiene?”

“For real. I just washed my hands for the third time.” He held the bacon under my nose so I was forced to breathe in the tantalizing smoky aroma. My mouth watered.

I bit in. A burst of savory heaven exploded on my tongue. He held it out for me to nibble on. His eyes sparkled with mischief when I came to the last bite. He pulled the bacon away and made as if he intended to eat the last morsel.

“No way, dorkbreath. You can’t tease me like that!” I said.

“Yes, I can, baconbreath.” He nodded to the pan. “Oh, look I’m distracting you. You take care of that, while I finish off your last bite.”

The bacon in the pan had turned dark. I quickly moved the pan to a different burner and transferred the strips onto a plate. I set out more to fry. The moment I turned back to him, he held up my last piece.

He grinned. “You didn’t really think I’d steal your bacon, did you?”

“Yes,” I said.

He shoved the last bite into my mouth, both of us laughing as I bit his finger.

He poked me in the side. “You did that on purpose.”

I squirmed back. “It’s not magic without a sacrifice.”

He planted his hands on my arms, his eyes twinkling at me. The grin on his face faded. He rubbed his hands down my arms.

He leaned closer. My heart drummed in my ribcage. My face felt hot. I suspected his lips tasted like bacon. The flavor of Derrick and bacon sounded like a good combination.

“Do you know what I just did?” His fingers kneaded circles in my arms.

Electricity danced under my skin. “Make magic happen?”

“Wipe bacon grease on you.” His grin returned.

“You’re impossible.”

“That’s why you love me, right?”

A hot splatter of grease struck my arm, and I winced. He replaced the lid on the pan. He smiled, shy and boyish. I leaned closer, not ready for this moment between us to end. I wished I could have told him how right he was. I did love him—or at least have a crush on him—because he was funny and smart and he fed me bacon.

“Clarissa,” he said. He dipped his head down.

Across the house, the front door opened. Derrick leapt away. He fumbled with the empty wine bottle, shoved it in his bookbag, and slipped out the backdoor.

“Hey, there pumpkin,” Dad said, coming in and giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Do I smell bacon?”

“You aren’t supposed to be in here.” I shooed him away with the spatula. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“Sorry, I’ll get out of your hair.”

Mom arrived home shortly after. She tried to sneak a taste, but I had to shoo her away too. Missy was late at cheerleading. I was afraid she might not make it in time and the spell would no longer be effective. I only had twenty-four hours before the potion stopped working.

Missy came home at eight. Mom served dinner.

“My favorite, honey,” Dad said to Mom. He gave me a conspiratorial wink. “This smells great.”

Mom beamed, looking everywhere but me, trying not to give me away. She radiated with pride.

“I love it when you make Irish stew,” Missy said.

Mom blew on a spoonful, a sneaky smile on her face. Dad dug in. He choked and coughed. I feared it was the magic.

Mom wacked him on the back. She tasted her stew a moment later. Her eyes went wide, but she said nothing. Missy spit her stew out. I was afraid to taste mine.

The soup was sour and burned. The lamb didn’t taste right. I looked to Mom.

“I think the meat was rancid,” she said.

That wasn’t possible. I’d gotten it from the freezer.

I forced myself to swallow a mouthful of bacon. Even that didn’t taste right. “It’s not that bad,” I lied. “Try the bacon,” I said to Missy.

She shoved her bowl away from herself. “No thanks. Mom said it’s rancid. I’m not eating it.”

Was it the spell? Or was it my cooking?

Mom patted my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know you worked so hard on this.”

“What?” Missy asked. “You made this? Ugh. No wonder it—”

“Stop,” Dad said. “Don’t make this any worse.”

Mom stood and cleared the plates. “We have some leftover lasagna in the fridge. How about that instead?”

It was bad enough I had failed at magic and hadn’t succeeded in covertly protecting my sister, but I also couldn’t cook. One thing was for certain, I wasn’t a kitchen witch like my mom.

Wet Burritos

Ingredients

•    4 cups diced or shredded chicken breast (baked or boiled)

•    1 can cream of mushroom soup

•    1 cup or an 8 ounce tub sour cream

•    3 cups cheddar divided in half

•    1 cup Monterey Jack OR Pepper Jack cheese

•    ½ cup green onions chopped

•    1 zucchini diced (about 2 cups)

•    1 can diced olives (about 1 cup)

•    1 jars salsa (green salsa or tomatillo sauce also fine)

•    1 package tortilla shells (flour or corn)

•    * sour cream, guacamole, hot sauce, etc. (Are these really options?)

Directions

1.    Mix chicken, soup, sour cream, vegetables, Monterey Jack/Pepper Jack cheese, 1 cup of the cheddar cheese and olives in a bowl.

2.    Scoop a liberal amount of this thick mixture into a shell. Make sure you can roll it up. Place this in a 9 x 13 pan. Continue to fill the rest of the tortillas until there is no more room in the pan to fit another burrito.

3.    Pour 1 jars of salsa on top. Sprinkle the remaining cheddar cheese over the entire mixture.

4.    Cover with tinfoil. Bake for 25 minutes at 350° F or 180 ° C. Uncover and bake for 20 minutes until the cheese starts to turn golden with spots.

5.    Add dollops of guacamole, more salsa, etc. onto each plate.



Kitchen Witching Tip

Between the salsa and the Pepper Jack cheese, this dish can get pretty spicy. I prefer to use Monterey Jack, but the spicier the dinner is, the spicier your romance life will be. Tomatoes, peppers have long been considered aphrodisiacs. In part this is due to the capsaicin in the peppers.

These ingredients are great for a steamy evening—unless you get indigestion from too much spice. If that is the case, try eating a few papaya enzyme tablets with your meal. Or a cup of ginger tea will work wonders as well. Ginger eases stomach aches and is also an aphrodisiac.



Kitchen Witching Tip

Cilantro is the leafy part of the plant Coriandrum sativum and had been used medicinally to help remove heavy metals, balance blood sugar levels and ease anxiety. It is a great source of antioxidants, has anti-inflammatory properties and aids in digestion.

Witchkin can add cilantro and coriander, the seed from the plant, into potions for protection, keeping secrets, and peace.

Harvest this plant when it is about four to six inches long.

Excerpt from Hex-Ed

My mom rounded the corner of the small foyer and stepped into the kitchen, bringing with her the smell of cumin, chili powder, and garlic. Everything happened in slow motion. I fell back on my butt and moved the bright yellow vibrator behind me, but not fast enough. Mom’s gaze followed my hand.

If she knew what she was seeing, she at least had the diplomacy not to react. She held a foil-wrapped pan in her hands. Droplets of rain clung to her auburn hair and wool jacket.

The smile on her face looked as though it was firmly tacked in place. “I’m sorry. I hope I’m not intruding, dear.” Her gaze raked over the mess I’d made. My pink and purple striped sock dripped a puddle of brown ice cream onto the linoleum. Nuts, bolts, and batteries surrounded me. A dress and a sweater from the wardrobe lay on the floor.

Discreetly, I opened the cupboard behind me and shoved the vibrator inside a pan.

“Hi, Mom,” I said in as cheery a voice as I could muster. My fake enthusiasm sounded strained, even to my own ears. “Um… .”

She set the tray on the oven. “I got off work early and baked wet burritos. I thought you might want some.”

“Thanks.” My face flushed with warmth. Wet burritos. Heh. I had to get my mind out of the gutter. “That’s really nice of you. Unexpected. You should have called.”

“I did, but it went straight to voicemail. I think your battery is dead again.” She reached over and unhooked a hanger from my ponytail. She placed it on the counter next to the sink full of dirty dishes.

I picked myself off the floor and found my cell next to my purse. My sock left a sticky trail on the gray linoleum. The phone needed to be recharged. What was it about me and batteries?

“Are you hungry? Should I serve us some dinner?” Mom opened the cupboards above the counter before I had a chance to answer.

She fluttered around the kitchen, talking as she scooped out a serving of cheesy comfort food and set it on a clean plate. “I made the salsa myself with those tomatoes I canned last summer. And the cilantro and chili peppers are from my garden.”

My mom always made the other Master Gardeners jealous with her ability to grow produce, even this early in the spring. Between the homegrown, organic vegetables and how delicious her cooking was, her food tempted me like crack.

Mom chattered away. “I thought you might need something nice. Special. After a day like today, well, who wouldn’t?”

After a day like today? My throat went dry. As if the shame of being fired from an unpaid job wasn’t bad enough, as if the horror of being caught by my mom on the kitchen floor with a vibrator wasn’t epically awkward, I prayed my mom hadn’t somehow discovered my failure as a teacher.

“Mom.” I stood frozen with trepidation. As much as I appreciated the comfort food, her timing was suspicious. “What do you mean by ‘a day like today?’”

She turned toward me, cheese dripping from the spatula in her hand. “Oh, sweetie, I wasn’t trying to pry. I got a call from your Aunt Linda this afternoon, and she said she was talking to her friend who works in the counseling office at Skinnersville High—”

My mom knew. Dad’s sister-in-law worked at the district office.

“I didn’t do it,” I said before she could get any further. “They didn’t believe me, but I wasn’t the one behind the banana incident.” I sucked in a quivering breath. Even if I didn’t believe what I was saying, I wanted her to. I didn’t want her to think I could make bad things happen.

I didn’t want her to know my secret fears that I might have been responsible for Missy and Derrick’s death. My sister’s pink rhinestone high heels peeking out from under the house flashed before my eyes.

“I know, honey.” Mom hugged me around the shoulders, making me feel better for about five seconds before she went on. “You don’t think they’ll ban you from the entire district, do you? Will someone file a complaint with that teacher standards place?”

Last year when I’d been doing my observation for student teaching, the principal had reported me as being grossly incompetent and unfit to be a teacher. Aunt Linda’s friend had told her, who told Mom, who told me. I called Teacher Standards and Practices Commission and refuted the allegations. Fortunately, TSPC had dismissed the principal’s claim since they didn’t think I could have possibly turned a classroom full of eighth graders—obnoxious, disrespectful eighth graders, I might add—into toads.

I blamed the students making out in the back of the class for triggering the episode. I had spotted the couple using their class time to study each other’s tonsils with their tongues. I wondered what was wrong with these kids. Did they have to add heavy petting to their list of things to learn at school?

I didn’t know if it was the topic of one-point perspective drawing got them all hot and bothered or if this was a normal occurrence at a middle school.

“Separate those two so I can keep teaching,” Mrs. Smith had said to me and turned back to the chalkboard.

I wove through the tables to the students. “Excuse me,” I said. “I need you to separate.”

“Fuck off,” the boy said.

“You can go to the principal’s office.” I pointed to the door.

The two teenagers laughed and left like it was a joke. I didn’t even know their names. Most likely they would continue making out in the hallway.

The class was unruly, throwing pencils at each other and Mrs. Smith. They weren’t listening, and she didn’t know what to do with them.

Mrs. Smith called me up to the board to finish the perspective drawing she’d started so she could write detention slips. As I faced the chalkboard, I felt the air shift. Currents of electricity raced under my skin. When I turned back, the class had turned into toads.

I ran out, screaming and in panic, afraid I was having a mental breakdown. The commotion drew the attention of the administrators, who came rushing in to find a classroom full of ribbeting amphibians.

That was the first day I’d met the district psychologist. When I’d returned to the classroom after crying in the bathroom, I’d found him chiding the students for “playing a trick on me.” He assured me in his grumpy way that my students couldn’t possibly have turned into toads. I didn’t know where Mrs. Smith had gone to.

“Did you actually see them transform?” he asked me.

The truth was, I hadn’t. My back had been turned, and I was writing on the chalkboard. It could have been a trick. I wanted to believe it was a cruel joke and nothing more. The psychologist went on to chastise me in his snotty way about my classroom management techniques and scolded me for leaving the students unattended. He didn’t chastise Mrs. Smith when she came back with the principal, even though she was the one in charge who should have been supervising the students, not me.

His explanation about the toads would have sounded reasonable to someone who didn’t believe in magic. I had desperately wanted to believe I couldn’t have done such a horrible thing. Still, I had doubted my innocence in the matter.

The toads had been high on the list of weird. However, today took the cake. That was harder to deny. Everyone had seen the dancing bananas. I had seen them transform. Magic was real.

Mom patted my back. “You aren’t going to graduate if you keep getting blacklisted from schools. You’ll lose your scholarship.” If Debbie Downer and Negative Nancy had gotten together and had a lovechild, it probably would have been my mother. Was it really such a stretch to see where my worrying superpowers came from?

I pulled away. “Mom, it’s fine. There are plenty of high schools in the area. I can intern at one of them. It was just one bad school and one bad day. That’s all. They didn’t listen to me when I said I didn’t do it. It wasn’t fair, but life isn’t fair, so I have to suck it up. Only, I wish someone out there would believe me when I told them the kids were punking me.” That was the logical explanation my therapist would have approved of. It was the rational scenario my mom would believe. Too bad the principal had insisted I had been the one playing a trick on the kids.

Mom cooed and smoothed a hand over my blonde hair. “I know you didn’t do it, honey.”

“Thank you, Mom.” I was hoping I didn’t hear a silent “but” in that sentence.

“But… .”

There it was.

“Have you considered teaching might not be the career path meant for you?”

She was right, of course. I was dangerous. Unpredictable. Pretending I wasn’t a magical freak meant I was putting the people around me at risk. I didn’t want that to happen to school children—or anyone else. What if that sex-ed lesson earlier in the day had resulted in another pornado?

But the idea of giving up teaching art felt like taking a sledgehammer to my dreams.

My voice rose in panic. “I’ve always wanted to be an art teacher. How can I just abandon that? Plus, what artist can actually make money selling her art? Dad was always telling me—”I swallowed the hard lump that formed when I thought of him. “—to pick a career where I could actually make money.”

His death three years ago was still so recent it pained us both.

I suspected Mom knew the moment he’d died. It had been a sunny spring day. She’d been whisking eggs in a glass bowl, making a cheese soufflé for dinner, and dropped it on the floor. She’d looked so frazzled and lost, I’d offered to clean it up for her as she cried in the bathroom. An hour later the police had showed up and told us the news. She’d denied it when I asked her how she’d known.

They’d never caught the drunk driver who hit him. The police told us Dad died instantly.

Was it really a wonder I’d gone from one prescription medication to another? First Missy and Derrick and then my dad. I didn’t think I had caused his death, but the loss of three people I was close to in three years was a lot to get through.

Mom’s voice quivered. “God rest his soul, your father. He was a smart man, and he knew what he was talking about. But he never thought you would pick teaching as your occupation. You aren’t going to be any better off as a teacher than you were as a starving artist. There aren’t enough jobs out there for art teachers.”

“Not in this area, but that’s fine. I’m going to go to a job fair at the end of the year after I get my teaching license. I might find a job out of state.” I kicked at a watch battery on the floor.

She clucked her tongue in the way she always did that told me exactly what she was thinking. “Anytime you step into a high school, bad luck follows you.” She turned back to the pan, scooped out another serving of wet burrito, and slapped it on a plate.

“That’s not true.” Sometimes it was a middle school or elementary school.

Plus, there were plenty of times unexplained phenomena happened that weren’t at all related to schools where I worked. Like Derrick. I pushed him out of my mind. And Jason. I tried not to think about that date gone wrong either. Or Missy. I hated myself for that tornado.

Mom went on in her typically unhelpful way. “It’s your subconscious sabotaging you. You’re punishing yourself with guilt. You became a high school teacher to relive the traumas of your teenage years. Now you keep projecting those circumstances on others. Why don’t you go back to Doctor Bach?” She picked up the battery and a handful of rubber bands from the floor and placed them on the counter.

I slumped into the wobbly kitchen chair with the rabbit hole decorations. I didn’t have the energy to have this conversation right now.

I closed my eyes. “Dr. Bach wanted to pump me full of drugs. He made me feel like a freak. Every therapy session made me more depressed. I’m not going back.”

The occurrences of weird had lessened when I’d been medicated. But so had everything else. I couldn’t even paint with the drugs he gave me. I was a lifeless blob.

Her voice turned high and cracked. “Someone else then. I just worry about you, honey.”

I deflated further. “I know.” It was hard to be mad at her when her bossiness and pushiness came out of a place of love.

“After your father died, I couldn’t bear the thought of living so far away from you. That’s why I moved down here from Oregon City. But now that I’m here, I hardly ever see you.” She set plates on the table and seated herself across from me in the queen’s castle chair. “Why don’t you come over and have dinner tomorrow? I’ll make your favorite—lasagna and garlic bread. We can have cannolis for dessert.”

Satan should have taken lessons in temptation from my mother.

“I’ll see how I feel tomorrow.” I stared at the plate of cheesy heaven in front of me. I loved my mom’s cooking—everyone loved my mom’s cooking—but I couldn’t muster up the desire to feel hungry.

“Maybe we could plan on having a girls’ night instead. We can talk about a new four-year plan for you.” She blew on a forkful of burrito. “If you want to go back to school for a degree in something else, I can help you out. I’ve been saving up. And you can move back in with me to save money.”

My annoyance percolated through my veins, simmering into anger. I said through clenched teeth. “That is sweet, but I’m not getting a different degree.” I would slit my wrists before I went back to living at home. After Dad had died, she’d needed to know where I was at every minute of the day. She’d sent me text messages at midnight, warning me not to eat spinach because there had been a contamination of E. coli on Oregon farms, and every time she’d seen a news report on a school shooting in another state, it worried her that my school might have a shooting. When she saw I had a bottle of wine in my fridge, she started leaving behind AA pamphlets.

Mom pointed at me with her fork. “You know what else would be a good idea—”

“Mom, stop! You’re smothering me,” I shouted. “I had a bad day. I don’t feel like talking about this right now.”

The wounded look in her eyes speared me to the heart. I hated it when I was rude to my mom. It always left me with a sick, icky feeling in my belly. She sniffled.

I glanced up at the calendar on the wall. April twenty-first. Oh, shit. It was the anniversary of my dad’s death. I’d been so distracted by my day at work I’d forgotten about it. No wonder she’d been so high-strung. I felt even worse. I took a few calming breaths.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know this was a bad day for you.” And I wasn’t helping.

“I miss your father,” she said quietly. “You’re all I have left.”

I squeezed her hand.

She nodded at my plate. “Try your burrito. It’s a new recipe. Let me know what you think.”

Ice cream still churned unpleasantly in my gut. I forced myself to nibble on a bite of burrito even though I didn’t feel like eating. We chewed in silence. The sweet onions and tomatoes combined with the salt and savory spices, filling me with comfort. I ate another bite, savoring the sensations of warmth and calm spreading over my body. My hunger returned in full force. I didn’t know how my mom could make such a culinary masterpiece. She was a gastronomic genius.

We ate in companionable silence. The food was too good to permit conversation. Her home cooked meals were the best legal drugs ever. Afterward, Mom did the dishes as I cleaned up the mess on the kitchen floor.

“Tomorrow. Dinner at my place?” she suggested.

“Sure. That would be great.” I smiled.

I didn’t know if that was the guilt talking or complacency after eating such a good meal. I hadn’t wanted to go to her house earlier, but I couldn’t remember why now. It was only eight o’clock, but I was drowsy and ready to go to bed. The events of the day felt faraway. My troubles felt faraway. All those guilty thoughts and worries that I was a witch seemed ridiculous now.

I wasn’t a witch.

“What do you think about me helping you find a new therapist?” Mom asked.

I shrugged. “Okay, if you want.” There was no harm in letting her look up a couple numbers. It wasn’t like I was agreeing to go. On the other hand, maybe I would go to Dr. Bach. He was such a nice man.

“We can talk about a new four-year plan for you tomorrow over dinner.” She rummaged through her purse. “Oh, and here’s a strawberry-kale smoothie I made for you.” She set the quart jar in the fridge. “It will give you so much energy. You’ll feel great.”

“Thanks.” Kale wasn’t my fave, but it was the thought that counted.

“By the way, I stopped at the pharmacy and picked up your most recent prescription.” She set a tan bottle on the chess board of the table. Next to the tiny salt and pepper shaker, it looked like a queen dominating two pawns.

Normally my mom’s controlling ways would have enraged me. I would have blustered about HIPAA and how they shouldn’t have let her refill my prescription, but I didn’t have the energy. I didn’t care. I was happy. I felt cozy and warm.

Complacent.

“Thanks, Mom, you’re the best,” I said with a spurt of enthusiasm that hadn’t been there half an hour before.

She swallowed, her smile sad. “I would do anything for you.”

If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought that was guilt in her eyes. That was silly, of course. My mom hadn’t done anything worthy of feeling guilt. Probably she just felt sad because it was the anniversary of Dad’s death.

Mom hugged me good-bye and left.

I plugged my phone into the charger and retrieved the object of my shame from the cupboard. I no longer felt any sexual desire, only fatigue. For a long moment I stared at the vibrator, wondering why I had wanted to transport myself somewhere else in my wardrobe. I was an adult. It was time I let go of fanciful dreams. I washed the plastic and returned it to the bottom drawer of my wardrobe.

I popped one of the pills my mom had brought me. One of the side effects listed for this prescription was that it curbed sexual libido. Maybe it wasn’t the anti-psychotic ingredients that made it work, but the fact that I hadn’t felt aroused while taking it. If I went back to taking medicine, nothing would trigger my hallucinations. I could conquer my affliction and make sure no one got hurt. I didn’t have to give up on my dreams of being an art teacher.

I would cut magic cold-turkey. Or the idea of magic, anyway.

Yet when I heard the crinkle of paper at my door and saw the envelope shoved underneath, I couldn’t help thinking of my Hogwarts letter. At last, after a day like today, this was the invitation that would take me out of my miserable existence and place me in the magical world where I belonged. That sense of childhood wonder surged through my veins.

No one ever shoved letters under my door. It had to be something good. I leapt to my feet and ran across the ancient shag carpet that all landlords apparently thought was cool.

My optimism burst under the sharp sickle of reality. Stamped in red across the envelope were the words, “Eviction Notice.”

Magical Herbal Blend

These herbs need to be dried and crushed prior to combining.

Ingredients

•    2 Tbsp. crushed basil

•    2 Tbsp. crushed parsley

•    1 Tbsp. crushed sage

•    1 Tbsp. crushed rosemary

•    1 Tbsp. crushed thyme

•    1 Tbsp. crushed green onion or onion powder

•    3 Tbsp. garlic powder

•    3 Tbsp. bell pepper

•    3 Tbsp. salt

•    1 tsp. black pepper

*    1 tsp. cayenne pepper (optional)

*    1 tsp. dehydrated bell pepper (optional)

*    1 tsp. dehydrated tomato (optional)

Directions

1.    Stir all ingredients in a cauldron.

2.    Place in an airtight container such as a canning jar. Store in a cool dry place.

3.    Sprinkle on salads. Add to sauces, stews, soups, or bland cafeteria food.

Excerpt from Hexes and Exes

I tucked the forbidden book under piles of papers on my desk.

Thatch didn’t come up for dinner. I didn’t know if he was ready for me to visit so soon after the ordeal with Maddy.

In the cafeteria, I made him a plate of food to take down to the dungeon. The worst that could happen is that he would shout at me to go away again and I would have to leave the plate at his door.

I found him at his desk in his office grading papers. He was alone, his familiars absent from the cage and under his desk. I set down the tray with the soup and salad.

He flung his quill down, splattering red ink across the paper he was grading, resting bitch face in place. “What?”

His foul mood didn’t bode well. Tentatively, I scooted the tray forward on his desk.

He tasted a spoonful of the soup, made a face, and set the spoon down. “You’ve brought me food, even if it isn’t very good food.”

Knowing Thatch and his philosophy on showing gratitude in this realm, that was about as close as he would ever allow himself to say thank you.

“You might as well say whatever it is you came to say.” He removed a glass vial from his top drawer, pinched a portion of black, white, and green powder into his hand and sprinkled it into the soup.

“What’s that? Is it something magic to make school food taste good?”

“Just so.” The hint of a smile cut through his crabby mood. “It’s salt and pepper mixed with Italian herbs.”

“Yep. Magic.”

Lasagna

•    1 package cooked lasagna noodles

•    15 ounces cottage cheese or low-fat ricotta

•    ½ cup grated parmesan or Romano

•    ½ tsp. garlic powder

•    ¼ tsp. salt

•    A dash pepper

•    1 cup cooked and chopped spinach fresh from the garden

•    4 cups or 2 jars of homemade spaghetti sauce (if none is available Classico Spaghetti with 1 Tbsp. of MAGICAL HERBAL BLEND added to the sauce will do)

•    3 cups mozzarella cheese

•    1 lb. cooked, drained ground beef, chicken, turkey or pork (salted and peppered with a general heaping of garlic sprinkled on top afterward)

Directions

1.    Preheat the oven to 350 ° F (180 ° C).

2.    Mix the spinach, cottage cheese, garlic, parmesan and salt in a bowl. If you use a food processor to chop it up smaller, it is even better.

3.    Arrange the first layer of noodles, overlapping the edges. Use the deepest baking dish you have. Three to four noodles should fit in each row.

4.    Add half the cottage cheese mix to the layer. Spread about ½ cup of sauce over it.

5.    Add another noodle layer. Top this with the meat and another ½ cup of sauce.

6.    Cover with more lasagna noodles. Top this with cheese and another ½ cup of sauce.

7.    You can make as many layers as you can fit in your pan depending on how deep it is, but make sure the top layer is smothered with sauce and then mozzarella.

8.    Cover with tinfoil. Bake for 45 minutes or until the top layer of mozzarella is golden like it would be on a pizza.



Garden Witching Tips

Spinach is used for increasing prosperity. It is low in carbs, abundant in Vitamin A, potassium and iron, and is a good source of insoluble fiber. Spinach grows best in nitrogen-rich soil that is moist and loose. Seeds can be planted about six weeks before the last frost in the spring and about six weeks before the first frost in autumn..

Garlic has been used for thousands of years to break curses, hexes, ward off the evil eye, and repel evil creatures—not just vampires. Garlic can help lower cholesterol, reduce blood pressure, and aid the body as a natural antibiotic remedy when made into a poultice.

If you don’t have a garlic press, try grating it into a sauce so that it will cook more evenly and more quickly. Also, it’s best to let garlic sit for ten minutes after chopping to bring out its full flavor.

Tomatoes have long been considered an aphrodisiac, but that’s most likely because in is high in vitamin C, potassium, antioxidants, and other vitamins Europeans were lacking in their diet when it was first introduced from the Americas.

Tomatoes do not freeze well. They are best preserved by being canned, made into salsa, or dehydrated and turned into sun dried tomatoes.

A couple tips for the garden witch who wants to produce the sweetest, juiciest fruit: tomatoes love the sun, so plant them somewhere they can soak it up. Remember to tie plants to a stake with a string or cage them so the plant doesn’t fall over. Don’t let the soil become dry, but don’t overwater either. To prevent fungal infections, water the soil, not the leaves. Cut back on watering and fertilizing when the plant starts to fruit.

Excerpt from My Crazy Hex Boyfriend

He grabbed my wrist and tugged me away from my paintings. “You’re taking a break. You missed dinner. It’s time for you to eat.” His hand was cool against the fever of my skin.

It was rare he made physical contact with anyone, let alone me. The way his touch turned my insides to jelly made it hard to resist him.

I followed him out the door to the stairwell. “You don’t like it when I pilfer food from the kitchen.”

“I didn’t say we were going to the kitchen.” He led me down the steps, his long legs taking them two at a time.

I ran to keep up. “I’m not going to eat any of your poisoned apples.”

“They aren’t poisoned. They’re laced with an elixir that detects Fae enchantments.”

“Same difference. I’m still not eating them.”

He turned back to me. “What do you want to eat?”

I laughed. The question was so normal it was ridiculous. It wasn’t like we had a Burger King or McDonald’s we could drive to in Lachlan Falls.

“What?” he asked.

“Pizza,” I said, knowing it was close to impossible. Our kitchen never made pizza. We’d have to walk a couple miles through the woods to get to the Morty Realm.

Thatch sighed. “As usual, you’re being difficult.” He removed his wand from his breast pocket and tugged my hand to follow him.

We stopped on the main floor. I started toward the cafeteria, but Thatch snagged my arm. The door to a supply closet popped open. He shoved me hard enough between the shoulders that I tripped forward and stepped into a cleaning bucket on the floor.

Darkness closed in on me. Something soft and airy like silk brushed against my face.

I started. “What’s going on? What happen—”

The world went topsy-turvy. Wind whipped my pink hair into my face, and my breath was sucked from my lungs. I flailed out my arms, trying to grasp hold of something. The tweed of Thatch’s jacket brushed against my fingers and I clung to it. An arm circled my shoulders.

This has to be it, the panic inside me screamed. This was the moment Thatch was going to kidnap me and bring me to the Raven Queen.

When the world stopped spinning, I found myself holding the front of Thatch’s tweed jacket, my face buried against the rough fabric. He stared down at me, expression unreadable.

The door popped open, and light shined into the closet. It wasn’t the school closet anymore—although, my foot was still stuck in a bucket. From the dim lighting outside the closet, it looked like we were in a restaurant. Thatch drew back from me in the small space and exited.

The savory aroma of garlic and tomato sauce filled the air. My belly cramped with hunger.

I shook the bucket from my foot and stepped out of the closet. “Where are we?”

“Someplace that serves pizza, I imagine.” Thatch stooped to pick up the bucket. “Have a care not to leave this here. Ludomil will want this back when we return.”

People sat at booths eating. Pictures of Italian food hung on the walls. The décor was familiar, the corporate mandate of chain restaurants making this one look like every other Olive Garden I had been to.

Yet it wasn’t just any Olive Garden. I was certain it was the same one in Clackamas that Derrick and I had gone to the night of homecoming. I shrank back from Thatch. Was this Thatch? Or Derrick in disguise?

Thatch’s brows furrowed together. “Will this do?”

I gazed at the bathroom where Missy had tried to kill me. My stomach cramped.

“Shall we ask for a booth or table?” he asked.

I looked down at myself just to make sure my clothes hadn’t transformed into a white dress that made me look like a fairy princess. I still wore my black skirt and striped leggings. That was a relief.

“What?” Thatch asked.

“Why did you bring me here? Really?” I expected him to say to torture me. Or to remind me of my dating failures.

His face was perplexed. “It’s Italian. They should have pizza. Or am I incorrect?”

Did he truly not know what he’d done? His brows rose as he stared into my face, waiting for an answer.

“They probably have pizza here,” I said.

Thatch started toward a table. I grabbed his sleeve. “You can’t just sit anywhere. We have to go to the waiting area, and the hostess seats us.”

He grimaced. “They’ll serve us more quickly if we sit down.”

“There’s a way they do things here in the Morty Realm. There are rules.”

“You’re going to teach me about rules and rituals after you resisted the rules of the Unseen Realm for so long?” A sardonic smile curved the corners of his lips upward. “Very well, lead the way.”

He followed me to the front entrance, bucket in hand. It was a Saturday night, but there wasn’t a line, and there weren’t many people eating, which probably meant it was close to closing. Had I really been painting until nine or ten at night?

The hostess who greeted us smiled politely, but her eyes darted to the bucket in Thatch’s hand. “Well, what have you got there?” she asked him.

“A bucket.” One imperious eyebrow lifted as if to say, “Duh.”

“He’s carrying it for me,” I said. “It’s like a purse—and just like my purse, it has nothing in it.” I meant it as a joke, but I realized I hadn’t brought my purse. I hadn’t brought my wallet or any money.

She laughed and shrugged. We followed her to the dining area.

I leaned toward Thatch. “I didn’t bring my wallet.”

“That’s fine. I’ll just hypnotize the waitress, and she’ll bring things to us for free.” The wicked grin on his face told me he had no moral problem with using magic for his own personal gain.

“That isn’t right,” I whispered. “You can’t not pay people.”

“Table or booth?” the hostess asked.

“Table,” I said.

“Booth,” Thatch said.

The hostess looked from him to me. I sighed in exasperation. This was like every moment of every day between us.

“Table,” Thatch conceded.

The hostess gestured to a table. Thatch drew out a chair and waited behind it. I stared wide-eyed. Was that a gentlemanly gesture? He smiled.

I sat down, and he pushed the chair in. Now I knew something strange was going on.

Was this a date? It couldn’t be a date. I was dating Elric. But Thatch was being thoughtful and considerate, and that just wasn’t his nature.

The hostess handed us menus. “Your server will be right with you,” she said before leaving.

Thatch set the bucket on the chair beside him. He calmly opened the menu and scanned the options as if nothing was amiss. “Oh, look. They have tiramisu. I wonder if it’s any good.”

Derrick and I had shared a tiramisu the night of homecoming.

I tried to focus on the menu in front of me, but I couldn’t. “Why did you really bring me here?”

He laced his fingers together in front of him. “You were hungry.”

“You’re pretending to be nice, but I can’t figure out why.”

“I’m not pretending.”

“What’s the lesson you’re trying to teach me?”

“There’s no lesson. Can’t I not have a motive to be nice to you?”

“No.”

He grinned. It unnerved me.

The waitress came. She brought a basket of breadsticks and our waters. “Are you ready to order?” she asked.

Thatch gave me a pointed look. I hadn’t examined the menu, but I didn’t need to. I always got the same thing at the Olive Garden.

“I’ll have the lasagna,” I said.

“I thought you wanted pizza,” Thatch said.

Maybe I should have gotten pizza. Was it a sign that bad things were going to happen if I ordered the same meal as my last date here?

Thatch spoke to the waitress, but I didn’t hear him. I kept thinking about Derrick. Was I just reliving my history, repeating the same mistakes over and over again? Is that what Thatch was trying to tell me?

“Clarissa, you look ill.” Thatch pushed the basket of breadsticks toward me. “Eat something. It might make you feel better.”

“You’re doing this to torture me, aren’t you?”

His eyes widened in genuine surprise. “What are you talking about? Is this about the pizza? Just because you didn’t want it, didn’t mean I couldn’t order it.” He studied me, quiet, pensive.

“We’re at the Clackamas Promenade, aren’t we? This is the same Olive Garden Derrick and I went to in high school on our one and only date. Why did you do this to me?” My voice rose and a couple at a booth nearby stared at me.

Understanding crossed his face. “This isn’t Clackamas. We’re outside Seattle. I selected this restaurant because your mother told me it was your favorite restaurant.”

Yeah, when I’d been twelve. When had he been talking to my fairy godmother? Christmas?

“I didn’t know you came here with Derrick. . . .” His voice trailed off. “No, I did, but I’d forgotten.” His eyes were pitying. “I apologize.”

“So this wasn’t meant to be a dig at my dating history?”

“No.” He stretched an arm across the table and took my hands in his.

The pressure of his fingers around mine sent a pleasant shiver through me. My body instantly responded to him, whether it was because of magic or because I needed human comfort so badly. The panic that had been rising in me subsided. It felt as though he had wicked all the fear in me away.

His voice was low, almost a whisper. “I truly have been horrible to you if you think I would take you here to hurt you. I am sorry for that.”

He squeezed my fingers and let go, sliding his hands back into his territory. “Do you want to leave? We can go somewhere else.”

Why had I been so quick to jump to conclusions? He didn’t deserve that. And I didn’t deserve to keep punishing myself. My subconscious had been right that I would keep finding Derrick and Julian in every man I dated—or in this case—didn’t date, but had complicated feelings for. I needed to face my fears and get over my crazy hex-boyfriends.

“No, I’m hungry.” I selected a breadstick and bit into the warm bread. “They’re already making our food. Let’s stay.”

He picked out a breadstick and nibbled at it. At least I didn’t have to worry about Thatch turning into a dimwit over an abundance of electronics and abandoning me. I pushed the thought away. It wasn’t Elric’s fault his guards had left me, and he’d grown too weak for reason. He’d been trying to help me. I was sure he wouldn’t do something so foolish again.

Thatch and I lapsed into silence. I watched the double date at the nearest table. A young woman my age draped an arm around her boyfriend affectionately. He kissed her cheek. They looked normal and happy.

If I gave up all magic completely and lived in the Morty Realm, I still wouldn’t ever be normal. I’d tried. Even when my memories had been suppressed, my subconscious had known. All I could do was move forward, keep learning, and master myself so that when I had regained my affinity, I would be ready for my full powers.

Whether Elric knew it or not, he would probably be the person to help me with that. I just didn’t know how I could keep my affinity secret from him if I did. Or if I needed to. If he loved me, would it matter what my affinity was?

I turned back to find Thatch watching me. Heat flushed to my cheeks. I knew he couldn’t read minds, but from the inquiring spark in his eyes, he made me worry that he could.

“I saw your invitation to the art show in my box. That isn’t a lot of notice,” he said.

“I just found out I had a show. You don’t have to come if you already have plans.” A harsh undercurrent laced my words, though I hadn’t meant to sound angry.

He glowered at the breadstick. “No, I mean, it isn’t a lot of notice for you. It puts a burden on you to be ready in time.”

“Oh.” Again, I’d been too quick to snap at him.

“I’ll be at the reception. I’ve decided to ask Mrs. Keahi to join me as my date.” His eyes twinkled, but he managed to keep a smile from his face.

“That’s a joke, right?”

A smile caught the corners of Thatch’s mouth and turned into a grin. “Mostly. I did ask her if she wanted to come with me, but she refused. She still hasn’t forgiven you for being related to Alouette Loraline.” He said it wistfully. I wasn’t quite sure if he had forgiven me for not being her.

“Who else are you inviting?” he asked.

“Everyone on staff. I don’t expect most of them to go, but I thought it might hurt people’s feelings if I didn’t invite them.”

“Silas and Amelia Lupi told me they’re going just to see how horrible your art is. I can’t wait to see the disappointment on their faces when they see it isn’t.”

His compliment meant more to me than all the gallery owners’ opinions in the world. “I didn’t think you liked my art. You told me you were going to destroy the painting I’d made of you.”

“Because it was too accurate. Not because I didn’t like it.”

My moment of elation fizzled out as I thought of him burning the piece of art in a fire.

“I should have handled that situation differently. I apologize,” he said.

“Two apologies in one night. What’s up with that? Did aliens abduct your apathy gene?”

He snorted. “You have such a way with words. Perhaps you missed your true vocation as a greeting card writer. Tell me whom else you’ve invited? Your fairy godmother, I presume.”

I shrugged. “I’ll mail her one of the postcards so she has one for sentimental purposes, but it will probably get to her after the show. The school mail only goes out to the Morty Realm once a week. I thought about going into Lachlan Falls to Skype my mom, but the gallery is six hours away from Eugene, and that’s far to drive on a work night for her.”

“Ah. You’ll have to wait until there’s a show closer to her location.” He nodded with understanding. “I hear Miss Bloodmire will be attending.”

“She didn’t tell me that!”

“Indeed. Miss Bloodmire is preparing a special potion to make food fat-free for that night.”

I laughed.

He made it easy to talk to him, keeping the conversation going when I didn’t know how. Social graces were never one of my strong suits. I’d never thought it was one of his, but he handled conversation better than I did. How had I never noticed this before? Had we never sat together and spoken about anything other than education and school business before?

The waitress brought our salad and shortly after that, our food. Thatch had ordered a personal pan pizza, which I hadn’t even known they served at the Olive Garden.

“Didn’t you eat dinner already?” I asked.

“Indeed, but I always have room for food that doesn’t come from our cafeteria.”

Whether it was because I had been deprived of real food for months, or because I was so hungry, the lasagna tasted better than any I’d had before.

“Did you invite him to the show?” Thatch asked.

I didn’t have to ask who. “Yes. He was the one who helped me get the show.”

He grunted in response. He didn’t look up from his pizza.

“Promise me you’ll behave.” When he said nothing, I kicked him under the table.

“When have I ever not behaved?” he asked.

“Whenever Elric is around.”

“He’ll be there as your date, I presume.”

“Don’t start. You’re going to give me indigestion if you do.”

“I will do my best not to vex you for another hour.”

Thatch ordered cheesecake for dessert. I was glad he hadn’t ordered tiramisu. I was too full for dessert, but Thatch offered me the first bite. He held a forkful out to me. I only hesitated for a moment before I leaned forward and accepted the taste.

The moment was creepily reminiscent of my only date with Derrick. But maybe that date hadn’t been as special as I’d thought. Everything that had happened that night might not have signaled Derrick was the love of my life. Maybe friends shared desserts and laughed and stared into each other’s eyes like Thatch was staring into mine right then.

My heart hiccupped with a thrill of trepidation and eagerness. This wasn’t a date. Thatch was a pragmatic and practical person. I had been hungry; he’d taken me to get food. End of story.

When we finished and the waitress brought our check, he paid with cash from his wallet instead of enchanting her to make everything free. It was strange seeing him do something so banal that spoke of the Morty Realm.

“I’ll pay you back,” I said quickly.

“You needn’t worry about it.” He rose and offered me his hand.

I pretended I didn’t see it. “It would be the right thing to do. When we get back, I’ll go to my room, and I’ll write you a check if I don’t have the right amount of cash.”

He removed the bucket from the seat next to his. “You don’t need to go to the trouble of writing a check. Nor do I want to have to go to the trouble of depositing it. We spent a relaxing evening together, and I was given an opportunity to try pseudo-Italian food. It was enjoyable. Let’s not haggle about money.”

That sounded even more like a date. I tried to broach the subject without embarrassing myself even more than I was already. “So . . . here’s the thing . . . I don’t want it to seem—I mean, what I’m trying to say is—I don’t want to owe you.”

“You won’t owe me anything. I’m not Fae. I can be generous to people without being bound by rules of magical contracts. That is one advantage of having dinner with me compared to dining with Elric.” His smile was smug.

Thatch never did anything without a motive. I now wondered if dinner had solely been meant to prove a different point. As we headed toward the closet, Thatch placed my hand in the crook of his elbow like Elric did, the gesture old-fashioned and gentlemanly. This was even worse. Now it really felt like a date.

Thatch escorted me to the closet we had originally exited from, bucket in hand. “If you did decide you wanted to do something for me in exchange for dinner—not that you need to do so—but if you did, I don’t suppose you would consider not inviting Elric to your art reception.”

“Nice try. No.”

He grinned. “You can’t blame me for the attempt.”

He handed me the bucket. I shifted it to the side so we could both fit more easily in the little broom closet. Even when he closed the door, I could see the smile in his eyes. His wand cast violet shadows on the cleaning supplies.

He placed his arm around my shoulder. “Clarissa, there’s something I want to tell you.”

Your Just Desserts

Turkish Delight

Ingredients

•    1 ½ cups water

•    3 cups granulated sugar

•    3 Tbsp. light corn syrup

•    ½ cup orange juice

•    3 Tbsp. orange zest

•    3 (.25 ounce) envelopes unflavored gelatin

•    ¾ cup cornstarch

•    ½ cup cold water

•    1 Tbsp. vanilla extract

•    ¾ cup chopped pistachio nuts

•    about 1 cup confectioners’ sugar for dusting

Directions

1.    Sprinkle an 8x8-inch pan generously with confectioners’ sugar. Set aside.

2.    Bring water, sugar, and corn syrup to a boil on medium-high heat in a large saucepan. Stir frequently until the temperature reaches 240 ° F (115 ° C) on a candy thermometer. Set aside. Do not cool in refrigerator. Put a lid on the pan to keep the heat in.

3.    Stir together orange juice and orange zest. Sprinkle with gelatin, and set aside.

4.    In a small bowl, dissolve cornstarch in ½ cup of cold water. Stir into hot syrup. Place over medium-low heat, and simmer. Stir gently until thick.

5.    Remove syrup from heat. Add orange juice mixture, vanilla, and pistachios. Stir.

6.    Sprinkle an 8x8-inch pan generously with confectioners’ sugar. Pour the Turkish delight into the pan, and allow to cool until set, 3 to 4 hours.

7.    When cool, sprinkle the top with another thick layer of powdered sugar. Cut into 1-inch squares. Roll each square with confectioners’ sugar. Store at room temperature in an airtight container.



Kitchen Omens

When an egg cracks while being boiled, it is a sign that visitors are expected. If an egg has two yolks in it, that means someone you know will have twins.

If a ring forms around a pot as rice is cooking, it is a sign that one will become rich.

When an apple that is baking in the oven bursts, it is a sign that good news is coming.

Excerpt from Witches Gone Wicked

A thought occurred to me. “So, I’m not going to be stuck here forever because I ate Fae food? That fairytale isn’t real?” All those obscure bedtime stories my fairy godmother had read to me as a kid hadn’t just been for enjoyment. Some of them were true.

“That fairytale is true!” Josie said. “But this isn’t Fae food. You’d know if it was. It would make your mouth water and be like mana from the gods.” She wiped her fingers on a cloth napkin. “Most of the food here is harvested in the human world. What is grown here in the borderlands still has too much influence from the Morty world to be considered pure enough to be Fae.”

“So, I should be careful with what I eat?”

“You don’t have to worry at school or at restaurants in towns like Lachlan Falls. But you shouldn’t accept food from strangers—especially not from Fae. It’s like selling your soul to the devil.”

“Right. I will not accept Turkish delight from beautiful women riding sleighs,” I said.

Josie looked at me quizzically. I took it she had never read The Chronicles of Narnia.

Earthquake Cake Brownies

These are gluten-free and the almond flour makes them decadent, but a regular brownie recipe or even a box can be used if the batter itself is too much work. The original recipe called for the cream cheese filling to be placed on top of the batter, but after a kitchen mishap involving an incorrect layering, our family decided they like it made with the cream cheese batter poured directly on top of the coconut filling.

These brownies are great even without the “earthquake cake” part. To make the recipe without the special batter, simply bake them in a smaller pan (8 x 8 inch is recommended) for 33-38 minutes instead of the suggested time. If one prefers to use a regular brownie batter that isn’t gluten-free, one can find that recipe under the Raspberry Cream Cheese Brownies and an alternative gluten-free batter in the Dirty Chai Brownies.

Filling Ingredients

1 ½ cup shredded sweetened coconut

1 cup chopped pecans

1 cup dark chocolate chips

Directions

1.    Preheat the oven to 350° F (180 ° C). Use the center rack. Spray a 9×13 inch baking pan with non-stick spray.

2.    Sprinkle the coconut in an even layer in the pan followed by the pecans and chocolate chips.

Topping Ingredients

- 1 package or 8 oz softened cream cheese

- ½ cup (4 oz) butter

- 1 cup powdered sugar (sometimes called confectioners’ sugar)

- 1 tsp. pure vanilla extract or Kahlúa, Bailey’s Irish Cream, or other liquor

Directions

1.    In a medium cauldron over medium heat, melt butter and cream cheese together. Whisk in the powdered sugar with a hand mixer until smooth. Add the vanilla last.

2.    Spread the cream cheese mixture evenly on top of the batter.

Brownie Batter Ingredients

(Yes, you can just use a box and follow the directions on the box. Or you can use all-natural, non-GMO, organic ingredients.)

- 1 ¾ cup sugar
- 5 Tbsp. butter or coconut oil, softened
- ½ tsp. salt

- 1 Tbsp. vanilla extract (or Irish cream or another liquor)

- ¾ cup cocoa powder
- 3 large eggs
- ¾ cup ground almonds or almond flour
- ½ tsp. baking soda

Directions

1.    Melt the butter, salt, and sugar in a cauldron or in the microwave on low, stirring every thirty seconds for about four minutes. The mixture should be hot and glossy, but it will still be gritty.

2.    Set aside to cool for about twenty minutes.

3.    Add cocoa and vanilla. If cool enough not to cook the eggs, add them, and beat the mixture.

4.    In a separate bowl, mix ground almond flour and baking powder. Add the wet mixture to the dry mixture.

5.    Add brownie batter in spoonfuls to the pecan, coconut, and chocolate chip mixture. Spread batter around to cover bottom layer.

6.     Bake 35-45 minutes. Cool for twenty minutes before cutting.



Kitchen Witching Tip

The toothpick test won’t work for this because of the gooey chocolate and cream cheese. The cake is done when you can gently shake the pan and the center of the cake no longer jiggles. I like baking these for thirty-five minutes because they will be slightly gooey that way.



Kitchen Witching Tip

Let these brownies rest for twenty minutes after removing from the oven and cutting. Then cut and allow them to set. You can even refrigerate them to make them set faster before cutting again for cleaner edges.



Kitchen Witching Tip

Do you like cakier or fudgier brownies? Melting the butter will make it denser and fudgier. Adding more butter or oil will make it chewier and denser. Melting baking cocoa with butter instead of using cocoa powder can also make fudgy brownies.

Excerpt from Witches Gone Wicked

This looked bad.

I’d stuck my neck out claiming I knew the break-in hadn’t been done by the student in question. Thatch hadn’t thought Imani had been the one to break into the principal’s office. He thought it was an adult. Me.

The lockpick box was small. Now that I looked more closely, I could see it peeking out from under the colored pencils. Craptacular.

“I didn’t break into Jeb’s office,” I said quickly.

He leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk on his face. “You had the motivation. You wanted a taste of his forbidden knowledge.”

“I wanted to know about my biological mother, yes. That didn’t mean I was going to break into the principal’s office.”

“No, but you planned on breaking into my office? Into the library? Haven’t you ever heard curiosity killed the cat?”

And the former art teachers.

I stared at the meager contents of my box. It had been a pretty stupid idea.

This was the kind of thing that could get a teacher fired from a school, especially a teacher whose mother had already established her criminal history and plenty of prejudice for her future generations.

I had a bad feeling about what he was going to do to me now. “Are you going to chain me up in the dungeon?”

“Only if you haven’t done your homework.”

I stared at him uncomprehendingly. Was he saying what I thought he was? Hope blossomed inside me. “Are you going to teach me magic?”

“That depends on you. I am willing to make a bargain with you.”

I thought back to all his references to being like the devil. “I’m not going to agree to let you drain me.”

“I didn’t think you would.” His lips curled upward in amusement. “If you would be so kind as to allow me to continue… . I will teach you magic if you promise to start behaving as a professional and cease your endless inquiries about my personal life.”

He meant about him and my mother. Him and the missing books. All the secrets he’d been trying to keep from me. Did that mean I was close to discovering something? This was the ultimate temptation. What was more important, learning magic or learning if he had been my mother’s accomplice? Magic or figuring out if he had killed the other art teachers?

“Well?” he asked.

I wouldn’t survive teaching the school year without magic.

“I want you to teach me,” I said.

He waved his wand at the stack of books on his desk. One slid out of the middle of the pile and levitated in front of me. “Your first task is to read, Magical Etiquette for Dunces.” The way he looked me up and down told me who the dunce in the room was.

The volume fell, and I had to dive out of the chair to catch it on top of the box I was already holding. The book was about as thick as an unabridged dictionary.

“More reading?” I asked.

He flicked his wand at the stack and another floated toward me and then another. “Next you shall read, Runes for Defensive Magic and then The History of Magic, volumes one, two and three.”

I struggled to hold the heavy tomes. “What about practical magic? How will I actually learn to ward off the kids’ spells?” I didn’t want to get turned into a Jackson Pollock painting like the last teacher.

“After you’ve completed your required reading, we shall discuss the practical application of wards and shield charms.”

“This isn’t teaching me. You’re just handing me books again. I need to learn how to protect myself in case someone tries to hex me onto a ceiling again.”

“Continue with your meditations and lucid-dreaming exercises. I will ensure your classroom is properly warded against hexes, curses and malicious charms.”

“But—”

He stood. “And I forbid you to allow Julian Thistledown to construct half-assed wards that will interfere with my superior magic.”

I didn’t know how he knew. “If I want Julian’s wards—”

“If I am to teach you, I expect you to follow my instructions.” A malicious smile curled his lips upward. “And if you want someone else to teach you, you may take your complaints to Jeb. That is, if Mrs. Keahi is willing to schedule an appointment for you.”

If he thought assigning reading was teaching and keeping up his end of the bargain, then I would find my own covert way to inquire about him and his past to spite him. Like in old stories about making pacts with the devil, I would have to be sly and outwit him. I would be as shrewd as my biological mother.

I shuffled the books around to hold them better and placed the box on top. Inches away from my nose, the aroma of chocolate became even stronger. One of the items caught my eye.

“Why is there an empty Ziploc bag?” Almost empty. There were brown crumbs and flakes of coconut. I yanked it open. It smelled like pecans, coconut and chocolate. My mom’s earthquake brownies? Where were they?

He coughed. “As I said before, I thought the box was intended for me. Your mother should have put her note at the top of the box instead of the bottom.”

It was one thing to go through my box. Quite another to eat my brownies! That was unforgivable. Fuming, I left.

As I stomped down the hall, it occurred to me, Thatch hadn’t actually been nasty with me. I’d gotten off easy. Maybe it had been my mom’s brownies. Her cooking was more mood-altering than Prozac and Khaba’s sweets combined. I should have taken advantage of that. I could have asked him questions and asked him for the colored pencils he hadn’t been willing to give me earlier in the year.

When I got to my room, I realized there weren’t any actual tools in the lockpick kit. That meant Thatch had them. He could have used the kit to break into Jeb’s office. Was this why he hadn’t pressed the matter of me being the culprit? More than ever I wanted to know what he was keeping secret.

Dirty Chai Brownies

This recipe is in between a flourless cake and brownies with a boost of caffeine and spices. When using baking squares in a recipe, they melt more quickly if they are in smaller pieces. Take a hammer to the squares—and get out your aggressions—prior to starting.

It is perfectly fine to add the spices, tea, and coffee to a different gluten-free but it will change the texture.

Brownie Batter Ingredients

•    1 cup almond milk or coconut milk

•    4 chai tea bags

•    4 Tbsp. coconut oil

•    2/3 cup dark chocolate chips or 4 ounces of broken baking chocolate

•    ¼ cup maple syrup

•    ¼ cup unsweetened cocoa powder

•    4 Tbsp. arrowroot powder

•    2 eggs (room temperature)

•    ½ cup coconut palm sugar

•    3 Tb fine instant coffee or instant espresso

•    1 Tbsp. vanilla extract, Bailey’s Irish Cream, or Kahlúa

•    ¼ tsp. cinnamon

•    ¼ tsp. cloves

•    ½ tsp. sea salt

Dark Chocolate Ganache

•    ¼ cup or 2 ounces coconut milk or coconut cream (liquid)

•    1 square of baking chocolate (about an ounce)

•    ¼ tsp. cinnamon

•    2 tsp. instant espresso

Decorative Sugar

•    ¼ tsp. cinnamon

•    ¼ tsp. cloves

•    ¼ tsp. ginger

•    ¼ cup coconut palm sugar

Directions

1.    Preheat oven to 350 ° F (180 ° C). Use parchment paper in an 8 x 8 inch square baking pan.

2.    In a cauldron, bring the almond milk to a boil. Turn off. Steep the chai tea bags in it for 30 minutes. Leave covered. Remove tea bags.

3.    On medium heat in the same pot, add coconut oil, baking chocolate, and maple syrup. Stir until butter, chocolate chips/baking chocolate and tea mixture are smooth and creamy. Set aside.

4.    In a separate bowl, sift dry ingredients together: arrowroot starch, cocoa powder, and cinnamon. Add salt and instant espresso. Mix together. Set aside.

5.    In a larger bowl, use an electric mixer to beat the eggs, sugar, and vanilla (or other flavorful liquid) for a few minutes. Add the chocolate sauce slowly and mix on low until creamy.

6.    Add the dry mix to the liquid ingredients. Mix on low until a thicker batter is formed.

7.    Pour into your 8 x 8 inch pan. Spread the batter out evenly with a spatula and bake for 22 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

8.    Set the brownies aside to cool for 10 minutes while preparing the ganache. This can be made on the stove top or microwave.

9.    Melt together the 2 ounces coconut milk, 2 teaspoons espresso, cinnamon spice and everything nice, and baking chocolate on medium heat in the saucepan, mixing while it melts. Alternately, you can microwave, stirring every 30 seconds until melted. Pour the ganache all over brownies once cool.

10.    Sprinkle with decorative sugar.

11.    Try to let it cool. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak, so that probably won’t happen. These brownies need to be refrigerated or frozen—if there is any left.



Kitchen Witching Tip

Cinnamon, cloves, and ginger are associated with fertility, wealth, warmth, and comfort. Separate or combined, they can be used together as an aphrodisiac, a protection spell, or ingredients in a spell or amulet to manifest wealth.

Keeping a stick of cinnamon in a bag of tarot cards can help enhance divination—and make musty old cards spell nice. Pushing cloves into an orange keeps moths away. Just as practical, pushing cloves into a red candle that you burn will prevent people from spreading rumors.

Wear whole cloves in a pouch to protect against magical attacks and lend strength to wards. Place a bundle or wreath of cinnamon sticks over a door to keep away those with bad intentions such as malicious Fae. Drink ginger infused brews to help awaken powers—or aid in digestion.



Kitchen Omen

Seeing bubbles in your morning coffee foretells money. Bubbles on the far side mean the money will come slowly, but when it is on the near side it means the money will arrive soon.

If coffee grounds leave a residue in the bottom of the cup and it is shaped like a coffin, someone will soon die.

Excerpt from Chapter Eighteen, A Handful of Hexes

Mom didn’t mind allowing me to use her kitchen for the purposes of good—not evil. The dirty chai brownies I made were so delicious, the coffee and spicy tea an interesting combination. I would have sold my soul for something like this on an average day at Womby’s after eating our tasteless cafeteria food. I was certain I could even buy Vega’s friendship and loyalty with these.

I suspected Thatch was going to like them too.

Excerpt from Chapter Nineteen, A Handful of Hexes

“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling especially low. “I didn’t mean to ruin your evening. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“No,” Thatch said.

“Do you want a brownie?”

“No. You can’t bribe me with food.”

“Is there anything I can bribe you with? Blood? My firstborn child?”

“Don’t joke about that. It isn’t funny.”

I panted, the bag growing heavier with each step. It had to be the rain soaking into the fabric like a sponge and weighing it down. I hoped the plastic wrap and Ziploc bags would be enough to keep the food from getting soggy.

“We’re on Womby’s property.” Thatch said. “You are safe from Fae, and you don’t need my escort any longer. Let’s hope you can find your way at night.”

I certainly wouldn’t miss his friendly conversation. Maybe I would miss the light from his wand, but I could do that with my Elementia fire spell. Of course, it didn’t usually work.

The worst part of walking back was going to be the bag. I really didn’t want to ditch it, but it was slowing me down. Every bone in my body felt like it was ready to break.

The light of Thatch’s wand faded away. I suspected he was about to use his transportation spell if he hadn’t started it already. The shadows were too thick to tell.

I spoke quickly, hoping he was still there. “Can I give you something before you go? Your present? And Vega’s present? I guess you can eat it all if you want. I just don’t want to leave it out here.”

“What present?” Thatch asked. His wand brightened like a ninety-watt bulb.

I wrestled with the zipper, not caring if I broke it at this point. “I brought you pie and brownies. There’s also some turkey in there. We made an ice pack so it would stay good all day.” That might have contributed to the weight. The zipper remained stubbornly stuck in place. I shoved the entire bag into his arms before he refused. “Some of it was supposed to be for me, but you can take it all. I just don’t want the rain to make it soggy and ruin it. I hope it didn’t get jostled around too much as I was dragging it.”

He sighed in exasperation. “Why must you do this to me?”

“Do what?”

“Tempt me to be nice to you with your selflessness and unending kindheartedness. And pie.”

He shoved the bag back into my arms. I feared I’d blown it. Thatch lifted his wand. He circled it around me, lassoing me with black mist.

“Oh no!” I said, expecting the worst.

The air was sucked from my lungs, and the world spun around me. My feet felt as though they went out from under me. I stumbled and dropped the bag. Thatch caught my arm. I blinked as a light above me momentarily blinded me. I was in my classroom. Candles in the chandelier above had been lit.

Thatch lifted the dripping bag onto a table. “What do you have in here? Bricks?”

“No.”

He tried opening the bag, but he couldn’t wrestle the zipper into submission either. It unjammed with a tap from his wand. He removed a large stone the size of my head. The gray was the same color as the walls. I gasped. He pulled out several more and set them on a student table.

“How did those get in there?” I asked. “Who would play such a dirty trick on me? That wasn’t you, was it?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not that evil.” Thatch removed the bags of food and set them on a table, examining the contents.

I lifted a gray stone with crusts of mortar stuck to it. The rocks had come from the school, maybe from the section that my mother’s experiments had left in ruins. Someone at this school had played this practical joke on me. If Thatch hadn’t done it, then who had?

Who hated me that much? I thought about Hailey, but she hadn’t known about my trip.

Thatch unzipped one of the bags and inhaled. I shivered in my sopping clothes. I’d lost my hat, either in the forest or with the transportation spell. Hopefully the unicorns didn’t find it and accuse me of litter.

I shrugged out of my coat, but my arm got stuck. I tugged again. Fabric ripped, and I realized it was one of the sleeves of my blouse. Thatch scowled and shook his head. He flicked a hand at me. A burst of warm air blew against me, drying out my hair and clothes in a rush of magic. I raised my arms as hot air blew in my face like a hair dryer.

Thatch shouted over the roar of wind. “I’m banning you from traveling home by bus.”

“How will I ever get to see my mom again?”

“From now on, you need to ask Vega or me to take you home. We’ll use magic.” Thatch held up a bag of smashed pie. “Is that pumpkin pie?”

“Yes. And apple.”

The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Do you have any forks in your desk?”

Probably that was as close as I would get to gratitude.

Seven-Layer Bars

This is called a seven-layer bar because there are only seven ingredients, though it might seem like there are only six layers if you stop to analyze it. But you won’t stop to think about anything other than how decadently delicious these are after you start eating them.

Ingredients

•    ½ cup unsalted butter (stick)

•    1 ½ cups graham cracker crumbs

•    1 cup semisweet chocolate chips

•    1 cup butterscotch chips

•    1 cup chopped pecans (walnuts are okay instead)

•    1 (14 ounce) can sweetened condensed milk

•    1 ½ cups shredded coconut

Directions

1.    Preheat oven to 350° F (180° C).

2.    Place butter in 13 x 9 inch pan and melt in oven. Swirl to coat bottom and sides with butter.

3.    Spread graham cracker crumbs evenly over bottom of pan. Layer chocolate chips, butterscotch chips, and nuts over crumbs. Pour condensed milk over nuts. Sprinkle coconut over condensed milk.

4.    Bake until edges are golden brown, about 25 minutes. Let cool before cutting into bars.

Excerpt from A Handful of Hexes

“Hands,” I said. “I need your help again. Are you all right with that?”

One gave me a thumbs-up.

I whispered a request to one of the hands. It wasn’t like the hands had ears, but Vega did, and I didn’t want her to hear my plan. Several hands scampered off. A couple minutes later they came back with my Tupperware container.

“What’s that?” Vega’s tone was wary.

Good. I had her nervous.

“Do you know how many calories are in a seven-layer bar?” I asked.

“No.” She shook her head. “Don’t do it.”

I selected the biggest one from the box and waved it under her nose. “I’m sure you burn enough fat dancing on your enemies’ graves that three hundred calories aren’t going to matter.”

“Yes, it will. I’m warning you. Put that thing away, or I’ll hex you.”

“How are you going to do that with your mouth full?”

Before she could respond, I shoved the bar into her mouth. She mumbled a protest and tried to twist her head away, but the hands ensured she stayed in place. I worried I might have to pinch her nose closed so she would swallow. If I did, she would probably choke, and I wasn’t trying to kill her.

As it turned out, I didn’t have to resort to extreme measures. Like most deprived dieters, she took the bait. She swallowed and eyed the tub.

She licked her lips. “Fuck. That was good. I haven’t had refined sugar in years.”

“There’s more where that came from.” I fed her another, slowly this time, allowing her to savor the salty sweet combination of sugar, butterscotch, coconut, and pecans.

My biological mother killed and tortured. My fairy godmother taught me to kill with kindness. Who said I couldn’t save the day with baking skills?

No-Bake Cookies

Ingredients

•    ½ cup (115 grams) butter, cut into pieces

•    2 cups (400 grams) granulated sugar

•    ½ cup (120ml) milk

•    ¼ cup (20 grams) unsweetened cocoa powder

•    ½ cup (125 grams) creamy peanut butter

•    1 tsp. vanilla extract

•    3 cups (300 grams) quick-cooking oats

Directions

1.    Before getting started, make sure to gather all of your ingredients and measure everything out. Line two large baking sheets with parchment paper or wax paper and set aside.

2.     Place the butter, sugar, milk, and unsweetened cocoa powder in a saucepan and heat over medium heat, making sure to stir often until the butter is melted and everything is well combined. Bring the mixture to a rolling boil and allow to boil for 60 seconds. Stir occasionally.

3.    Remove from the heat, and stir in the peanut butter and vanilla extract until fully combined. Stir in the oats and mix until all of the oats are coated with the mixture and everything is well combined.

4.     Drop spoonfuls onto the prepared baking sheets. Allow to cool and set for 20-30 minutes, serve, and enjoy!

Kitchen Tips

•    Make sure to gather your ingredients and measure everything out before you get started with these cookies. It will make the whole process much smoother.

•    Be sure to set a timer for 60 seconds once the mixture comes to a rolling boil and remove it from the heat as soon as the timer goes off.

•    If you find the cookies aren’t setting up properly or seem a little too wet after you’ve let them cool for about 20-30 minutes, place them in the refrigerator to help firm them up.

•    Use a two-tablespoon cookie scoop when measuring out the cookies to make sure they are the same size. Usually you can get about about 30-32 cookies.



Kitchen Omens

Spilling salt is a sign of trouble. Spilling pepper signals a coming fight. To remedy this, people throw a pinch of the spilled salt or pepper over their left shoulder.

Sugar is symbolic of money in superstitions. Knocking over a sugar bowl means one is about to lose money. Accidentally substituting sugar for salt in a recipe is a sign of a sweet fortune soon to come.

Accidentally substituting salt for sugar is a sign that many tears are to come—and not just because you’ve ruined a dish you would otherwise have enjoyed.

When one forgets to add salt and spice to a recipe altogether it means that trouble is soon to arrive. The only way to prevent this is by adding the salt and spices as soon as possible before the dish is served.

Excerpt from Hexes and Exes

Today was going to be the first day of my new life. I was about to have my first real magic lesson with Professor Felix Thatch. Even the idea of his snarky comments in the dark bowels of the school dungeon on a Saturday at seven a.m. couldn’t rain on my parade. I was going to learn to control my powers and channel that energy into something productive. I refused to have another accident after this.

I would be able to help my students. I would save Derrick.

I hugged a foil-wrapped plate of cookies to my chest as I stepped into the doorway of his office, hoping they might take the edge off Thatch’s Sir-Grouch-a-Lot mood.

Felix Thatch stood in the corner of his office, turned toward his pet bird in her cage. He removed a strip of red meat from one of the pockets of his tweed coat and fed it to the supposed crow. Priscilla pecked at it from between the bars of the cage and gobbled it up.

I knocked on the doorframe.

Thatch turned toward me, eyeing my striped leggings and pink hair with a scowl. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, the expanse of fabric as gray as the shadows of his dreary office. His skin was nearly as pale as the white cravat and starched shirt. As always, Thatch’s shoulder-length hair was simultaneously windswept and immaculate. I wanted to get my hands on his magic hairbrush.

“I made some cookies. They’re no-bakes,” I said.

I set the plate of cookies on his desk between a leather-bound book and a stack of essays, careful to avoid a crystal ball and quill. As I did so, I bumped into the rusty metal chair on my side of the desk. My striped leggings caught on one of the bolts sticking out from the side and snagged. It made me loathe his fear-energy torture chair even more. I scooted back.

I was going to have to sit in the chair today, to relive my fears and see if I could control my magical affinity. I’d been making progress before Julian Thistledown’s attack. There was no reason to believe I wouldn’t be able to continue to make progress despite what my ex-boyfriend had tried to do to me.

No reason, except I now had new fears to master.

Thatch removed his wand from his sleeve and waved it over the plate. The air above the cookies glowed with purple light. I’d seen my friend Josie use this spell before.

I crossed my arms. “I didn’t poison them.”

The crisp British monotone of his voice greeted me with the usual level of enthusiasm. “That’s what they all say.”

Satisfied with his test, he removed the foil. He wrinkled his nose at the lumpy brown blobs on the plate. “Those look like piles of unicorn manure.”

The insult stung. So much for cookies being the path to salvation.

I laughed, attempting to make light of his comment. “Fortunately, they don’t taste like manure. It’s my fairy godmother’s recipe, and you liked Mom’s cooking, so I figured you’d enjoy these.” Thatch’s genial relationship with my adoptive mother was nothing compared to his complex relationship with my biological mother, Alouette Loraline, wickedest witch in the Unseen Realm. Partly that was because Mom had made him baked goods, and partially because she hadn’t tortured him to near death like Alouette Loraline.

If anyone had a reason to dislike me—and resent having to teach me—it was him. Our professional relationship had gotten off to a rocky start at the beginning of the year. Now that Thatch knew me, I was certain I’d broken through his resolve to hate me. I believed we could be friends eventually.

Someday I would make all the other teachers see I wasn’t a wicked witch like Alouette Loraline who would kill people and try to take over the world.

At least, I hoped I wouldn’t.

His scowl returned. “Surely you made a mistake somewhere.”

I fidgeted with the fabric of my black skirt. “No, they’re supposed to look like this. Really.”

He loomed over his desk, formidable as ever. The only sound in the room was the rustle of the bird in her cage. She watched me with a black unblinking eye. Thatch might have trusted his bird because she was his sister, but I still wasn’t convinced the raven wasn’t actually in cahoots with the Raven Court, the Fae who had previously tried to kidnap me.

Thatch continued to scowl at the plate. The turd-balls of chocolate, oatmeal, and peanut butter were delicious—if he would only try them.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to judge appearances,” I said.

His dark eyebrow arched higher. “Some apples don’t fall far from the tree.”

“I’m not Loraline.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

The other teachers whispered I looked like her. I didn’t wear a pointed witch hat, have midnight hair, or possess a clear, creamy complexion; I was freckled and dyed my hair—pink at the moment—but the face on the painting of her in the upstairs stairwell was a mirror image of my own. It was going to be hard to undo other Witchkins’ preconceived notions, but I wasn’t going to be like her—I wasn’t going to torture and murder people.

I suspected it wouldn’t help if they knew I’d killed Julian Thistledown. On purpose.

Thatch picked up a cookie, smelled it, and then set it down on the plate again. He plopped himself into his seat. “I hope you don’t think you can bribe me with cookies, especially inferior ones at that. It isn’t going to make me go any easier on you.”

This wasn’t going at all as I’d planned. “The cookies aren’t bribery. They’re a thank-you present. You know, for teaching me.”

He looked away. “Ah, a thank-you. You do know how these things work in the Unseen Realm. If you thank a Fae—or a half Fae—you owe him a boon. Or if a Fae thanks you—”

“Shush. I’m paying you in cookies.” I gestured at the plate. “Just try one.”

He didn’t move.

“Never mind.” I reached for the plate. “I’ll share my cookies with Josie and Khaba.”

He smacked my hand with his wand. “Leave them.”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“Sit,” he said.

I swallowed and glanced at the metal chair. The last time I had sat there, snakes that were supposedly figments of my imagination had wound around me and bound me to the chair. Reluctantly, I sat. The chill of the metal seeped through my tights and skirt and into my legs. Cold leached into my back despite the T-shirt and sweater I wore.

“Remove your sweater.”

I hesitated. He probably had a reason for asking me to do so that had nothing to do with him being the controlling dungeon master trying to get a young woman to remove her clothes in his office. The problem was that part of me wanted this attractive, off-limits professor to ask me to take my clothes off because he was interested in me. Realistically, I knew he would never be able to look at me that way after his history with my mother.

Guilt raked my insides every time I had these sexy Thatch thoughts. I still longed for Derrick, even if I didn’t know if I would ever see him again.

Thatch sighed, misunderstanding my inner conflict. His tone was patronizing, as though he were talking to a small child. “The more of you that is in direct contact with the metal, the more likely you will reach a meditative state. That means more of you will be connected with the magic.”

“Okay, got it. Fear magic. It’s just that it’s so cold in here. Would you be willing to turn up the thermostat?”

“No. You need to learn to ignore the sensations of your body. You can turn pain into energy. Do the same with the cold.”

Grudgingly, I removed my sweater. I draped it over my lap. The armrests of the chair were about as warm as icicles. I shivered against the back of the chair, my T-shirt not enough to protect me.

It occurred to me how I could fit in this chair, whereas most chairs were too large for me. My feet touched the ground, and my back rested against the cool metal. That meant it had been made for someone small, a child perhaps. The idea of that was even more creepy, knowing what it did.

“Close your eyes and relax your muscles.” He walked me through the visualization.

I transformed my discomfort into energy that spiraled around in a red ball of glowing light in my belly. The cold left me as I sank deeper into myself. Slowly my focus changed, and I became aware of my body once again.

A tickle against my neck drew my attention. I fought the urge to open my eyes. Something small and light snaked over my arms and coiled down around my wrists. The movement was slight at first, but the pressure increased as it tightened. It didn’t feel the same as the serpents that had bound me before. These felt more like ropes, but they smelled more like my fairy godmother’s garden.

I winced as the ropes bit into my flesh.

It was all an illusion, I told myself. The chair was just drawing out my weaknesses to challenge my affinity, my magical power source. More pricks of pain poked against my arms. The air smelled of roses and spring. Slender coils wound around my ankles, drawing my legs closer to the legs of the chair. I knew what my weakness was and didn’t look forward to facing this fear.

“Relax your muscles,” Thatch said.

Right, because being bound to a chair was so relaxing.

Sharp stabs of pain dug into my calves. I pushed the sensation out of my skin and ignored it. I could control pain. Pain was an illusion.

The darkness faded into light, and I became aware of the room, though I was certain my eyes were still closed. It wasn’t snakes or ropes that held me, but plants. Thorny vines clawed at my skin. White roses blossomed before my eyes. Droplets of blood clung like dew against the white petals.

The cookies I’d eaten for breakfast sank like bricks in my stomach. Thatch sat on the other side of his desk, eyes closed, muttering something under his breath as he waved his wand in the air. Behind him stood a shadow.

It was hard to make my eyes focus on the man-shaped form behind him. He was little more than a translucent shadow, vague and blurred. I saw the figure better out of the corner of my eye, like the painting of Loraline in the hallway. He leaned closer to Thatch, whispering something in his ear. Thatch chanted. Light from his wand drifted into the man, making him stronger, greener, more whole.

My heart pounded. Was Julian’s spirit controlling Thatch? Influencing him to give him magic and power? Or was his ghost conspiring with my teacher?

The shadow solidified, green moss and lichen hanging off his body. His face was made of rotting wood. Ferns and grass sprouted from his hair. He unbent his curled spine, looming higher than Thatch at his full height. A centipede crawled out of his decaying mouth. He was as monstrous as the last time I’d seen him.

I knew where this was going.

Julian Thistledown’s voice came out as a raspy hiss, the sound of wood scraping against wood in a windstorm. “Miss me?”

I screamed and tried to tear free of the chair, but I couldn’t. The vines tightened around my limbs. The thorns of the roses gouged into my flesh. My muscles shook with fatigue.

Julian stepped forward, leisurely, drawing out each step. I screamed and continued to struggle.

“You didn’t truly think you could kill me, did you?” The rotting skin of his face stretched into a hideous grin.

He stroked my cheek with a hand made from the gnarled roots of trees. “This time there’s no escaping me.”

“You’re dead. You’re a figment of my imagination. Go away.” He couldn’t be back. This wasn’t real. It was part of the fear magic my subconscious manifested in the chair, I told myself.

I tried to take slow yoga breaths, but fear squeezed my chest like a vise, and I only managed shallow pants.

“Miss Lawrence,” Thatch said. “Control your affinity. You are dangerously close to harming yourself with your magic.”

“Help me. Please, don’t let him do this to me again.” Sobs bubbled out of me, making my words unintelligible.

“Focus,” Thatch said. “Face your fears and conquer them.”

Julian’s rough wooden fingers scraped against my face. Thorns dragged against my flesh, simultaneously biting and sensual. I hated how he had used magic to control me—my own magic.

I tried to focus on my affinity, to soothe the red ball of energy roiling in my core. I needed to ignore my fears, to push away physical sensations.

“Go ahead. Conquer your fears,” Julian whispered against my ear, his breath rancid and warm. “It won’t make any difference. I already have you.” His lips inched toward mine.

I shook my head and leaned my face away from him.

“No matter what you do or what you learn, no matter how strong you are, I will always have an advantage over you.” Julian grazed his lips against my neck. “I know your weakness. Even in death, I can make you want me.”

“No, you can’t.”

But it was true. As much as I hated him, my body responded to the magic. The tension in my muscles melted away. I relaxed against his mouth. I loathed him and loathed myself even more that I wasn’t stronger to resist this magic.

My affinity flared and then shrank, as if unable to decide what it wanted to do. I didn’t want to be attracted to him. He was a monster. He’d intended to make me bear his children. But he understood my magic and how it worked. Touch might be my weakness, but it was also my strength.

“I won’t let you control me!” I shouted.

Instead of ignoring the vision and quelling the sensations making the magic inside me rise in an overwhelming tide, I embraced the crimson light crashing and sparking inside me. I pushed the Red affinity out through my arms and into him. The candles in the chandelier flickered out. Lightning flashed in the room. Ozone and charred flesh mingled in the air.

I blinked. I was no longer sitting in the chair.

Thatch stood back against the wall, his arms raised protectively in front of him, his wand glowing. He and his bird were on one side of a blue barrier that rippled like water. The raven’s wings flapped against the wire cage, frantic to flee. The papers on Thatch’s desk were scattered across the floor. Some of them were burned. His crystal ball was shattered. My sweater was under my feet, getting dirt on it. One of the sleeves was on his desk.

He waved his wand in the air, and the barrier dissipated. His lips pressed into a line. I’d failed my lesson.

My eyes burned, and I sniffled. “Do you have a tissue?” I dropped back into the chair in exhaustion.

Every muscle in my body shook with fatigue. My wrists and ankles prickled where the thorns had raked my flesh in the vision. There was no blood.

The shock of the magic must have numbed my senses. It was only when I hugged my arms to myself that the lance of pain on my palms drew my attention. My skin was blistered and burned, just like the last time I’d used my affinity to stop Julian. Now that I saw the wounds, my palms throbbed.

Thatch untucked a handkerchief from his breast pocket and placed it on the desk in front of me. It was clean and white. “You know how to control your pain,” he said.

I was too upset to meditate. I covered my face, embarrassed I was crying so uncontrollably in front of Thatch. The sting of the burns jolted through me every time I moved my hands. I couldn’t stop shaking. If he had been anyone else, I might have asked for a hug, but Thatch wasn’t exactly the warm teddy-bear type of person.

Thatch busied himself in the closet, examining vials and jars until he returned to his desk with a ceramic canister he placed before me. He uncorked it, the familiar scent of lavender, echinacea, and calendula greeting my nose.

I regained control of my breathing and blew my nose. Thatch didn’t offer to heal me.

I scooted forward and dipped my fingers into the salve, applying it to my palms. As I did so, I visualized the pain drawing away into my core, the energy swirling with my own and cooling. I sent liquid ice to my palms, numbing the pain and soothing the inflammation.

It took all my concentration to heal myself. There was no room in my head left for feeling sorry for myself or for thinking about Julian. I was one with my magic. The world melted away as I caressed my palms. Slowly the charred skin fell away, replaced by scabs. That was about as good as I could get it on my own.

Thatch sat on the edge of his desk, waiting for me to finish. “What did you see?” he asked.

“You knew, didn’t you? You knew I would see him.”

He drummed his fingers against the wood. It took him a long time to answer, and when he did, his voice was low. “I didn’t know you would see Julian.”

My heart quickened hearing his name. I forced myself to breathe slowly.

“You won against Julian in real life,” Thatch said. “Why would you see him now?”

“Oh, I don’t know, because I killed him, and now his ghost wants revenge.”

The silence hung in the air between us. I wiped my nose on the handkerchief one more time before holding it out to him.

He shook his head. “Keep it.”

I picked up my sweater and shoved the handkerchief into the pocket.

“The brownies will fix your sleeve if you leave it in your laundry,” he said.

He went around his desk and stooped to pick up the papers from the floor. I left my chair, all too glad to be out of the proverbial hot seat and do something with my hands as I cleaned up the mess with him.

I sniffled. “Why don’t you just use magic to clean this up?”

“I don’t waste magic on something trivial I can do through an easier means. Magic has a cost.”

I wondered what magic cost him and how his affinity worked.

We cleaned in silence. My thoughts kept wandering back to the apparition of Julian.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” I swallowed. “Do you think he could be here, watching us? That he might have been in the room today?”

“I’ve seen ghosts. I’ve felt them. There were no ghosts in here today. Julian Thistledown is dead. He isn’t going to hurt you again.” He offered me a small, stiff smile. It didn’t touch his eyes.

“You don’t know that for sure, though.” I wanted him to say that I didn’t have to worry, and everything would be all right. It was what my fairy godmother would have said. Not that he was at all like her.

“I do know,” he said. My hope burst as he went on. “But that doesn’t mean you aren’t in danger. He isn’t going to be the only one who will want to use you because of your affinity and what your magic can do. You need to control your powers so you can hide what you are and use them when you choose. If you don’t, you might accidentally kill someone.”

I crouched to reach the papers under his desk. “Thanks for the pep talk. You could be a motivational speaker.”

The problem with my affinity, a Red affinity as it was called, was that I was different from everyone else. Among the many types of forbidden magic categorized as Red, mine was fairly tame. My natural talents didn’t use blood magic or necromancy. I didn’t draw power from pain—though I was learning that from Thatch. My affinity was focused on touch. As I’d learned last semester, this could be dangerous if someone found out and used my magic against me. Theoretically, I could also heal with touch. And I could kill. By accident or with intention.

“Tell me, why do you want to learn to control your powers?” Thatch asked.

This felt like a trick question.

“There are lots of reasons. I want to be a good teacher and help my students. I want to… .” Did I dare say it? Thatch had always denied anything and everything about Derrick before. “I want to help break Derrick’s curse.”

His eyes softened. “How are you going to be able to do your job and protect your students and help other people if you can’t protect yourself?” He opened the top drawer of his desk. It didn’t scream like the one time I’d opened it. He handed me a paper. “In addition to the private lessons you’ll be undergoing with me, I have taken the liberty of drawing up a new schedule for you. It will start next week with the new semester.”

Nervous excitement fluttered inside me. Was this really it? He was finally allowing me to study magic instead of just reading theory, studying Latin, and identifying herbs?

“On A days during your prep fifth period, you will assist Professor Bluehorse in her sophomore herbalism class. We’ve decided you’ve earned the privilege of advancing beyond freshman level.”

Grandmother Bluehorse was allowing me to advance beyond remedial herbalism? Score! Of course, that meant on the days I was teaching my odd classes, one, three, five, and seven, I would need to be doing my class preparations before and after school and during my other prep.

Thatch skimmed the paper he’d written out for me. “On B days, you will assist Coach Kutchi during your prep second period, gaining experience working with magical animals and gaining a better understanding of active and physical magic.”

I didn’t know what active or physical magic was, but I understood it would somehow relate to her physical education classes. Because I was now booked during all the even classes, two, four, six, and eight, it looked like I would be doing all the prep work before and after school.

“Miss Kimura will continue to work with you after school to teach you simple spells and charms. All four teachers have given me books for each of their classes so you can familiarize yourself with what you will be doing.” He opened another drawer and withdrew a stack of books.

So much for thinking I was done with my reading. He stacked four books onto the desk. Four books. Four teachers.

“Who’s the fourth teacher?” I prayed it wasn’t Vega again.

He cleared his throat. His hesitation caught me off guard.

“You?” I asked eagerly. “Are you going to teach me alchemy?”

“No. Potions, alchemy, and transmutations are still too advanced for you.” He gave a little cough. “I haven’t actually gotten your fourth teacher to agree to teach you. I’ve pulled the book from the library for what his freshman are studying.” He evaded my gaze.

His? I waited in trepidation. Please be anyone but Pro Ro, I silently begged.

“You will need to go to Darshan Rohiniraman and apologize for your behavior toward him. He still hasn’t forgiven you for tearing off his turban during that staff meeting and accusing him of having Alouette’s face underneath. Really, I don’t know where you get such ideas.”

I took it he’d never read Harry Potter before.

“One doesn’t take kindly to being accused of performing black magic. Darshan Rohiniraman is an excellent teacher, but it is still to be determined if he will take you on as a student.”

“Why him?” I asked. “Isn’t there anyone else I can study with?”

“There’s Vega, who would just as soon try to kill you as teach you if she thought it would make you stronger.” He dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “No. Darshan is the best teacher for protective wards and defensive spells. He also teaches our divination studies. I believe you have inadvertently used divination in the past. You also have falsely presumed you have divined the future. It would do you some good to be able to tell the difference.” His sardonic smile said it all. He was specifically referring to my voodoo-doll dream with Pro Ro and my mother’s face under his turban that obviously hadn’t turned out to be true.

Just when I thought there was a light at the end of the tunnel, Thatch had to ruin it by rubbing my face in my humiliation.

“If he accepts your apology and agrees to teach you, on A days you will work with Darshan Rohiniraman during homeroom. He has students during that period, so you will mostly be assisting him with whatever he is helping students with.”

I nodded. I was determined not to complain about my studies. This was what I had been wanting to learn. I’d known it would be hard. I just didn’t know it would also be difficult for my pride.

“All these classes that I’m taking … will it help me become a skilled witch?” I asked. “How long do you think it will be before I can help people?” Again, I thought of Derrick.

He swept shards of the broken plate and crystal ball out from under his desk with a broom. “Don’t concern yourself with other people. Focus on developing your magic safely.”

I hadn’t seen a broom earlier, but he did tend to use magic. There weren’t any cookies in the debris. Did that mean he’d eaten them?

“How were the cookies?” I asked.

His lips twitched into an approximation of a smile. “Better than they looked.”

I suspected that was as close to a smile as he would permit himself. Or a compliment.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll practice again. If you want, you can bring more cookies.”

Yes! I may have been a magical failure, I may have made teachers hate me and been on most Witchkin’s shit lists, but at least my cooking was up to snuff. If I could bribe Thatch with cookies, I could probably convince the rest of the staff of my good intentions as well. I would show them all I was the most unwicked witch of all time and learn everything I needed to break Derrick’s curse.

Raspberry Cream Cheese Brownies

Other berries and preserves also work just as well. Reduced-fat or low-fat cream cheese, and tofu cream cheese are also fine to substitute. This brownie batter can be used to replace the gluten-free batters of the Dirty Chai Brownies or the Earthquake Cake Brownies featured in the book. If one must, a store-bought box full of brownie mix full of ingredients contaminated with toxins, chemicals, plastics can also be used. Your choice.

Cream Cheese Filling Ingredients

•    1/3 cup sugar

•    1/3 cup (3 ounces) cream cheese, softened

•    2 tsp. all-purpose flour

•    ½ tsp. vanilla extract or other liquor flavor

•    1 large egg white

•    1 cup raspberry preserves (Divide in half and set aside.)

Brownie Batter Ingredients

•    ¾ cup all-purpose flour

•    ¼ tsp. baking powder

•    ¼ tsp. baking soda

•    1/8 tsp. salt

•    1 cup sugar

•    2 eggs

•    2/3 cup unsweetened cocoa

•    ¼ cup butter or stick margarine, melted or coconut oil

•    1 Tbsp. water

•    1 tsp. vanilla extract

Directions

1.    Preheat oven to 350° F (180 ° C). Line an 8 x 8 inch baking pan with parchment paper or coat with cooking spray. Do not coat the sides of the pan.

2.    Beat the ingredients for the filling at medium speed in a mixer until well-blended, and set aside.

3.    To prepare the brownies, combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a medium bowl.

4.    Combine sugar, butter, eggs and remaining ingredients, stirring well with a whisk or with an electric mixture. Add to the flour mixture, stirring just smooth.

5.     Pour two-thirds of the batter in the bottom of the prepared pan.

6.     Evenly spread the cheesecake filling over the batter. Spoon half the preserves over the filling.

7.     Add the remaining batter and preserves over filling. Swirl together using the tip of a knife to marble.

8.     Bake at 350° for 40 minutes or until a wooden toothpick inserted in center comes out almost clean. Cool on a wire rack.



Kitchen Omens

Two forks on a plate mean a wedding is soon to come. Accidentally crossing knives at the table predicts a long journey. Silverware dropped at the table predict the arrival of a visitor. A spoon represents a woman; a fork represents a man.

A broom that falls over in front of a door foretells you will soon be going on a journey. In order to prevent misfortune, avoid stepping over the broom and pick it up quickly.

Excerpt from Budget Cuts for the Dark Arts and Crafts

All the magic that radiated off Gertrude Periwinkle. . . . Had it attracted Fae attention? In the distraction of the downpour, had I failed to notice any flocks of ravens? Were the wards on my mom’s house still strong enough?

I pulled away from my mom’s embrace. “We should get going.”

“Nonsense. Your friend needs rest, and then she’ll be hungry for dinner. You know what I think would cheer you up while we wait?”

“Prozac?”

Mom smacked my arm playfully. “Let’s make some brownies.”

“That’s what I meant.” Her cooking worked better than most pharmaceuticals.

Mom opened the pantry, pulling out bags of flour and sugar. “You can take them back with you and share them with the staff. Wouldn’t that be nice? It might be a good way to make some friends. Nothing makes a better ice breaker than chocolate, don’t you think?”

That was my mom, fixing the world, one pastry at a time.

We made cream cheese raspberry brownies, using one of the jars of jam my mom had made in the summer. Everything she made always had to have some touch from her garden. I would never have guessed her magic fit into the Amni Plandai realm of affinities considering the results of her magic were most evident after consuming her baked goods. I had erroneously assumed she was a kitchen witch. And what was baking but alchemy and potions that one could eat? Maybe that was why Thatch got along with her and didn’t snub her even though she wasn’t a powerful Celestor.

Her potions tasted better than his did.

My worries melted away, occasional nudges prodding me to remember not to be careless. It was almost eleven when Periwinkle wandered into the kitchen as the brownies were cooling.

“What’s that smell?” she asked.

“Chocolate,” Mom said.

“Bacon,” I said.

We both giggled.

Periwinkle cracked a groggy smile.

We ate a second dinner then, Periwinkle with a first course of stew and a second course of pie and a third course of brownies. Mom and I stuck to the desserts.

“Oh, this is good,” Periwinkle gushed. “Felix told me how much he enjoyed Christmas dinner last year, but I didn’t believe it was this good.”

Mom waved off the compliment. “It’s not hard to beat cafeteria food if that’s what you’re used to.” She smiled, though, clearly pleased.

Periwinkle was actually cheerful, though her eyes still drooped with lingering fatigue. Mom had a natural ability for being able to draw reserved people out of their shells, and she soon had Periwinkle talking and laughing.

“Just wait until I tell Felix I was here without him. He’ll be so jealous!” Periwinkle moaned as she bit into the apple pie.

“Clarissa and I made more than enough brownies for you to take back. A double batch. You’ll be sure to share some with Mr. Thatch, won’t you?”

“We’ll see.” Periwinkle winked at me. “We might save one for him.”

Blackberry Pie
with a Candy-Coated Crust

Pie Crust

Makes two crusts for a 9-inch pie. Make the crust at least an hour in advance to making the filling of the pie. These store in the refrigerator well.

Ingredients

- 14 Tbsp. unsalted cold butter (just under a cup)

- 2 ¼ cups bleached all-purpose flour

- ¼ tsp. salt (for savory recipes, use 1 tsp. salt)

- 5 to 7 Tbsp. ice water

- 1 tsp. cider vinegar Optional (I especially like this for savory crusts)

- ¼ tsp. baking powder (if not using, double the salt)

Candy-coated Crust Ingredients (set aside)

- 1 cup water

- ¼ cup sugar

Directions

1.    Mix dry ingredients.

2.    Add butter. Cut with a pastry cutter or knives until the size of peas.

3.    Add liquids slowly.

4.     Roll out on a floured surface. Press into a pie shell and refrigerate for one hour.

5.     For the second pastry shell, roll out on wax paper and store on a flat surface like a cookie sheet or bread board in the refrigerator.

6.     To make the candy-coated crust, take one flat pie shell that has been refrigerated for at least an hour and place onto a floured surface. Sprinkle with water—a water bottle that spritzes works great, but if you don’t have one, you can flick water with your fingers. Sprinkle with sugar. Lightly roll with rolling pin. Place on pie filling with the sugar side up.

Berry Filling Ingredients

•    5 cups blackberries

•    1 ½ cup sugar

•    3 Tbsp. instant tapioca

•    ½ tsp. cinnamon

•    ¼ tsp. nutmeg

Directions

1.    Preheat oven to 350° F (180° C). Have prepared pie crust in dish ready to go.

2.    In a large bowl, mix blackberries, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg and tapioca. Allow it to sit for 15 minutes or longer so the tapioca will absorb some of the moisture.

3.    Pour fruit mixture inside the crust.

4.    Place the remaining shell onto the berry filling. If the shell is floured, turn the floured side down. The sugar side should be on top. Turn the edge of the shell over the edge of the bottom shell, and press against the pan to seal in the juices. Use fingers or a fork to make a pattern.

5.    Poke a hole in the top middle of the pie so that heat is able to vent and it doesn’t explode. More holes can be poked as decorations.

6..    Bake for about 45 minutes or until the crust turns a golden brown.

Kitchen Witching Tip

I have been told that for a traditional English pie, only the top crust is necessary. You don’t need to use a bottom crust. It is a similar idea to shepherd’s pie or a chicken potpie with only a top crust.



Kitchen Witching Tip

If you start to make a pie and the edges of your crust are turning very dark but it isn’t cooked all the way in the middle, you can cover the edges of the pie with aluminum foil and it won’t get any darker.

Kitchen Witching Tip

The blackberry pie recipe can easily be modified to use other fruit that is in season. Because of the large size of my pie pans, I almost always increase the amount of fruit to 5 cups but leave the sugar the same.

Pie Table for Fruit Ratio

Amount of Fruit
in Cups

Instant
Tapioca

Sugar

Extra Flavors

Apple (sliced) 5-6 cups

2 Tbsp.

¾ cup

½ tsp. cinnamon
¼ tsp. nutmeg
*¼ tsp. allspice (optional)
*¼ tsp. ginger

Blackberry 4 cups

¼ cup

1 ½ cup

1 tsp. cinnamon

Blueberry 4 cups

¼ cup

1 cup

¼ tsp. cinnamon
1 Tbsp. lemon juice

Cherry 4 cups

¼ cup

1 ½ cup

¼ tsp. almond extract

Peach 4 cups

¼ cup

¾ cup

¼ tsp. cinnamon
* ¼ tsp. ginger
(optional)

Pineapple 4 cups

¼ cup

½ cup
brown sugar

¼ tsp. cinnamon
1/8 tsp. salt

Raspberry     4 cups

¼ cup

1 ½ cup

1 tsp. cinnamon

Excerpt from Spell it Out for Me

As much as I loved magic, Womby’s, and a clandestine romance with a hot Fae prince, the banal normalcy of my old life was a welcome retreat. I took the girls shopping at the mall, thrift stores, and garage sales. I also went out alone, picking up three different kinds of lamb condoms while I was at the pharmacy. I used the Internet, went to the art-supply recycle store for free treasure, a.k.a. junk, for my art classes, and distracted myself with three days of bliss.

My vacation away from vacation couldn’t last forever. On the fourth day we prepared a banquet that would have been worthy of a Thanksgiving dinner. We made cookies, pies, and pudding for dessert. I could only hope the roast vegetables, stuffing, fresh bread, and ham for dinner would make up for sending Thatch away so hastily.

He did look dazzled at all the food when he came to pick us up. “I hope you didn’t do all this work on my account.”

“I learned how to make bread,” Maddy boasted.

“I made the chocolate chip cookies,” Imani said, pushing one into his hand. “Try one. Mrs. Lawrence said they’re perfect.”

“You’re going to spoil my appetite for Womby’s delicious school food.” He nibbled on the cookie and nodded in appreciation. He looked to me. “Pray, what delicacy did you contribute?”

“The blackberry pie and the chocolate pudding.”

“And the love,” my mom said with a wink.

My cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

After dinner, Thatch ate two servings of pudding and two slices of blackberry pie. He didn’t touch the apple, even though I was pretty sure that was one of his favorites. Every time I looked up from my food or turned from conversation with my mom, I found him staring at me. The tortured gaze always disappeared under a smile and compliment of something he was eating.

Afterward my mom insisted all of us watch a movie together like a family.

“It’s getting late. I don’t want to impose,” Thatch said.

“Nonsense. It’s summer vacation. It doesn’t matter if the girls stay up for an extra hour watching a movie before you head back.”

The adults sat on the couch while Imani and Maddy sat on the floor. The girls chose Lord of the Rings, one of my favorites. I didn’t know if they selected it because it was long or because it was about a magic land where good triumphed over evil.

My mom insisted on sitting next to the end of the couch, an obvious attempt to play matchmaker. She curled her feet underneath her, taking up so much room it forced me to sit closer to Thatch. He couldn’t have been pressed closer to the other armrest if he’d been sitting on it.

Only once did he touch me, his fingers pressing against my wrist. The sensation sent a shiver of delight through me.

“Thank you for dinner,” he whispered.

He drew his hand back, but the longing in me remained.

I leaned closer to him. “I thought you weren’t supposed to thank Witchkin.”

He craned his neck downward. His breath was warm on my ear, tickling the hairs against my neck. “You can if you trust her.”

Bacon Caramel Popcorn

Try the basic recipe first. Add the optional ingredients like cinnamon, spice and everything chocolate at the end if it needs more zing or bitterness to balance out all the sugar.

Ingredients

•    6 slices bacon

•    5 cups popped popcorn (plain is best)

•    1/2 cup brown sugar (packed)

•    4 Tbsp. salted butter (or bacon drippings)

•    2 Tbsp. light corn syrup

•    1/4 tsp. baking soda

•    1/3 cup pecans (toasted, chopped)

* a dash cayenne pepper

* a dash cinnamon

* melted extra dark chocolate to drizzle across baked popcorn at the end.

Directions

1.    Preheat your oven to 250° F (121° C). Use a rimmed baking sheet. Line in with foil. Spray the foil with nonstick cooking spray.

2.    Cook the bacon in a pan on the stove until crispy. Drain the fat from the pan and allow it cool. (Save the fat if you wish to use it instead of butter.) Once it is cool, coarsely chop the bacon into half-inch pieces.

3.    Add the popcorn, bacon, and chopped pecans to a large bowl. Toss them together.

4.    In a small cauldron—or saucepan—combine the brown sugar, butter, and corn syrup. Stir them over medium heat. Once the sugar and butter have melted, stop stirring and insert a candy thermometer.

5.    Cook until the sugar reaches 238° F (114° C) on the candy thermometer. This should only take 3 to 4 minutes.

6.    Immediately remove the pan from the heat. Add the baking soda. Stir vigorously. Be careful: the sugar mixture will foam up.

7.    Pour the frothy sugar mixture over the popcorn in the bowl and quickly stir everything together. Ensure the popcorn, bacon, and nuts are all coated with caramel.

8.    Spread out the popcorn on the lined baking sheet. Bake it for about 45 minutes. Stir every 15 minutes to distribute the caramel.



Kitchen Omens

When a glass is dropped but doesn’t break, it means you have loyal friends and sturdy friendships.

A dish of glass that breaks when no one is near is a sign someone in the family will soon die. Breaking glass while drinking a toast signals the death of the person being toasted.

Throwing a glass pan across a room after a dish has turned out burned is a sign someone is a bad cook and has a bad temper. Not to mention any names, but this description might fit someone we know. Vega Bloodmire perhaps?

Excerpt from Hex and the City

Mom came over and patted Thatch sympathetically on the shoulder. “You could watch a DVD here.”

“I’ll look at your selection,” Thatch said.

Mom showed him the cabinet. I looked up movies playing at the smaller theaters to see if there was anything tasteful an artist like Thatch might enjoy. I found three candidates. He came back with a movie in hand. He held it out to me. Pride and Prejudice?

He’d picked out one of my favorite movies of all time. Not just any version of P & P, but the six-hour BBC version. It was the same DVD I’d watched on a not-so-great Morty date years before.

I had wanted to go out on a date, but I couldn’t imagine a more perfect way to spend the evening. I spied my mom trying not to giggle behind him.

“Was this your idea or Mom’s?” I asked him.

“His,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “I happen to favor the classics.”

The three of us sat on the couch, Mom sitting a little apart from us. Lucifer crouched on the floor in front of us, giving Thatch the stink eye. Thatch’s shoulder rested against mine, but he didn’t hold my hand. That was one disadvantage of a date in my mom’s house. Already I was second-guessing my choice to not go out.

“I’ll go and make popcorn,” Mom said, leaving the room.

He planted a quick peck on my cheek. “Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For indulging me. This has been a lovely evening.” He laced his fingers through mine.

His words warmed my heart. He made me feel less guilty since I thought I’d been the one asking to be indulged. “You aren’t just saying you enjoyed tonight because nothing caught on fire?”

“It helps.”

Lucifer leapt onto the couch and hissed at him. I pushed the evil cat off the couch before he took out one of Thatch’s eyes. Lucifer yowled indignantly and swaggered out of the room to the kitchen. I had no doubt that if he could tattle on me, he would.

Popcorn popped in the other room. Mom was taking a long time. At one point I smelled bacon and knew what she was doing. She was making her specialty caramel corn with bacon. I snuggled closer to Thatch, knowing that it would take her a while.

He circled an arm around my shoulder, a question in his eyes. “This is all right?”

I nodded. I wasn’t fifteen. It wasn’t going to kill my mom to see us sit close and cuddle. I savored the warmth of him beside me, wishing it could last forever. I tried not to imagine when our relationship might come to a premature end. I tried to lose myself in Pride and Prejudice and not think about anyone’s curses or deaths.

An hour later, my fairy godmother returned with a giant bowl of popcorn, setting it on my lap. Thatch leaned a little bit away from me and drew away his arm, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him hugging me already.

Thatch inhaled the aroma of popcorn. I took a big handful, the sweet and salty flavors perfection on my tongue. Thatch selected a clump and crunched into it. He moaned.

“What is this heaven?” he asked.

Bonus Recipe 14 for Those Who Have Been Counting

Quick Bread Cinnamon Rolls

With Cream Cheese Frosting

We also call these “Oh-My-God! Cinnamon Rolls” because they are that good.

Cinnamon Filling Ingredients

•    1 cup firmly packed brown sugar

•    2 tsp. cinnamon

•    8 tsp. soft butter

Topping Ingredients

•    1 ¼ cup firmly packed light brown sugar

•    8 Tbsp. soft butter

•    6 Tbsp. honey

•    2 Tbsp. light corn syrup

* 2 cups pecans optional

Dough Ingredients

•    2 cups all-purpose flour

•    2 Tbsp. white sugar

•    2 tsp. baking powder

•    1 tsp. salt

•    3 Tbsp. unsalted butter, softened

•    ¾ cup milk

•    1 egg

Directions

1.    Preheat the oven to 425° F (220° C). Grease a 9-inch square baking dish or line with parchment paper.

2.    Whisk the flour, 2 Tbsp. of white sugar, baking powder, and salt together in a large bowl. Mix in 3 Tbsp. softened butter into flour mixture using your hands or use a pastry cutter.

3.    Beat milk and egg together in another bowl. Pour liquid ingredients into the flour mixture and stir until dough forms.

4.     Knead dough onto a floured work surface and roll dough into a rectangle about ¼ inch thick. It should be about 15 x 9 inches.

5.    Mix the ingredients in the filling in its own bowl. Spread the filling evenly across the flat surface. Roll up. Cut pieces about 1 inch thick.

6.    Place in the pan. Cook for 10-15 minutes. They should get a little puffy and a knife will come out clean if inserted into a doughy section, but the rolls should still be pale in color.

7.    While baking, mix all the topping ingredients together.

8.    Take the cinnamon rolls out of the oven. Cover with nuts and honey topping. Bake for 5-10 more minutes.

9.    Allow to cool. Add frosting if desired, using the Cream Cheese Frosting recipe below.

Cream Cheese Frosting

This is meant for cinnamon rolls, but also compliments carrot cake, pumpkin bread, zucchini bread, or anything else you wish to spread it on.

Ingredients

1 package cream cheese (light is fine)

3 cups powdered sugar

½ cup margarine

1 tsp. vanilla or a different liquor if you are feeling adventurous

Directions

1.    In a mixing bowl, blend the cream cheese and butter.

2.    Add the vanilla.

3.    Slowly add the powdered sugar. (The frosting should be thick, but if it gets too thick you can add a drop of milk.)

4.    Drizzle over cinnamon rolls, spread onto a cake, and refrigerate if not used immediately.



Kitchen Omens

If a loaf of baking bread splits across the top while in the oven, it is a sign of death. Some believe that if a clock strikes twelve as bread is being served it also foretells death. A bread with a hole in it means someone eating from that loaf will soon die.

Bread that falls out of someone’s hand means a beggar will be knocking on your door—often times in the form of a friend or relative who wants something.

It’s enough to make one not want to eat bread at all.

Excerpt from Hex and the City

I woke in the morning to find myself in my own bed. The tantalizing aromas of baking bread and coffee brewing greeted my nose. I didn’t remember getting there on my own so Thatch must have carried me. Quiet murmurs and the clicking of cutlery on plates came from the kitchen. It sounded like my mom and Thatch were both up. I snuck to the bathroom and took a few minutes to freshen up and make myself presentable.

I opened the door slowly, wanting to sneak back to my bedroom so I could change before I went out to the kitchen.

My fairy godmother’s words halted me in my tracks. “I worry so much about my baby. She’s all I have left.”

“You invest too much time being concerned about your daughter. You need a renewed purpose in life,” Thatch said quietly.

“I have a purpose.”

“Plants are not a purpose. Have you considered adopting again? Or mentoring a child too young for Womby’s? There are many out there who need a home and education before going off to a magical finishing school.”

Mom didn’t answer. She sniffled. Lucifer meowed.

I walked out to the kitchen, forgetting about my rumpled pajamas. Thatch held her hand, genuine concern in his eyes. He stood when he saw me and dipped his head in acknowledgment.

My fairy godmother hurriedly wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes with her sleeve and painted a smile on her face.

I went over and hugged her. “Good morning. Is everything all right?”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

She didn’t look fine, but she obviously didn’t want to discuss it. She released me, smoothing my hair away from my face. I turned to find Thatch studying me.

I waved at him, feeling awkward. “Good morning, Mr. Thatch.”

“Good morning, Miss Lawrence.”

Mom laughed. “There’s no need to be so formal. I know you’re seeing each other.”

Thatch’s cheeks flushed pink, a rare occurrence for him. He pulled out a chair and waved to it in a gentlemanly gesture. I sat and helped myself to a sticky bun my mom had made.

“Mmm,” I said around a gooey mouthful of perfection.

“They aren’t real cinnamon rolls, just a quick-bread recipe,” she said, as though I would fault her for not using yeast.

Thatch’s plate was relatively clean, save for a few crumbs and sticky smears that attested to his first serving. The quantity missing from the pan attested to his second and third servings. I tried not to laugh.

THE END OF RECIPES

AND MEMORIES

Hungry for some more recipes? Or hungry for another recipe for disaster in one of Abigail’s adventures with Lucifer?

Read the preview for Abigail’s The Trouble with Hedge Witches series below to find out how their adventures began. Go to the author’s website to find out when the series releases.

Sneak Preview of

The Witch
of

Nightmares

BOOK ONE

THE TROUBLE WITH HEDGE WITCHES SERIES

CHAPTER ONE

Herbomancy

Abigail MacQuillan sat with her eight-year-old brother, Emmet, huddled in the bushes. Ominous shadows from the enchanted forest of the Faerie Realm stretched toward them. Each groan of the trees in the wind sounded like the forest was coming to life and about to swallow them whole. Abigail hadn’t slept, too cold and afraid to rest.

Abigail’s parents had told her three things the day they’d disappeared: stay away from witches and magic, be a good person, and take care of your family. Now here she was five days later, whispering an incantation under her breath, hoping it would work to protect her brother rather than be a beacon to dangerous creatures. Her ma had used the incantation so they could escape their home without detection, but it had left her weak and drained of the ability to use her cunning with plants. Another reason to be wary of magic and the price that came with it.

A twig snapped, and both Abigail and Emmet jumped. Yellow eyes stared out at them from the darkness, prowling closer. It looked like the eyes of a goblin. Abigail mouthed the words of the spell more fiercely, willing it to work. She didn’t care if using magic left her weak and unable to use her connection with plants. She had to protect her little brother—even if she lost her soul in the process.

The creature with the gleaming eyes slunk into a patch of moonlight. A cat as black as the shadows prowled past, lazily swaggering on to more interesting sights. The realization that the creature was a cat should have made Abigail feel relieved, but she only felt more frightened. Her parents had warned them that if they came across a cat in the forest, surely it was a witch’s familiar, and witches used their magic for evil.

At any moment, Abigail expected a wicked witch or a hungry Fae to come for them. That was what their older brother had told them would happen if they weren’t quiet as they waited for him. It didn’t bode well that a full night had passed, and Niall still hadn’t returned from scouting for their parents.

Emmet pulled his flatcap over his eyes, but Abigail knew he was crying from the way he sniffled into her ear. The pale gray light of dawn brightened the eastern edge of the forest. Birds chirped in the distance, creatures waking around them.

It had been bad enough when it had been the three of them searching for their parents, but tears burned in Abigail’s eyes when she thought about it just being the two of them. She was only fourteen. She didn’t know what to do without her parents or her older brother.

Niall had taken her aside before he’d left. He’d held her by the shoulders, staring into her eyes as if to impress the importance of his words. Dirt had crusted his auburn hair and flatcap. “If I donnae return by the morn, ye’ll have to follow the path to find the passage to the Morty Realm without me. Ye’ve got four nights until the full moon. The portal will close when the moon waxes.”

The idea of being separated from him was unbearable. “I cannae go through the portal without ye.”

“I’ll join ye later. But ye have to get to the other realm where it’s safe and free from Fae.” He nodded to Emmet curled up against a tree in hunger. “Emmet, mind your sister while I’m away.” He looked to her again. “And whatever ye do, be a good lass and donnae use magic.”

Don’t use magic. Those had been her parent’s words as well, and she hadn’t heeded their warning. Protect her family—she felt as though she’d failed that too. She should have persuaded Niall not to leave them. They’d said to be “good,” but what did that matter if they died in the forest while trying to be good?

The burden of responsibility pressed in on Abigail, becoming heavier by the minute. Abigail stood up abruptly, unable to stand waiting any longer.

She stepped out from the bushes. “Come hither. We’d best keep moving.”

“Niall said we cannae leave. We’re to wait here,” Emmet said in a small voice.

“Aye, but he also telt us if he were nae back upon the morrow we needed to move on. Are we to stay here all night and day? Ye ken we cannae.” In her frustration, her accent became more pronounced, and she forced herself to speak clearly, to enunciate her words as her parents had made her practice so that she wouldn’t stand out from the rest of the people in the new land where they were going. Folk took advantage of those who were different.

Being from another realm was as different as one could be.

“We shall search for Niall,” she said. “Mayhap he found Ma and Da.” The false hope tasted wrong in her mouth, but Abigail wanted to believe it.

Emmet didn’t move.

“Stop being such a barmy lad.” Abigail nudged him with her foot. “Niall left me in charge. Ye need to mind me.”

He turned away.

“Fine, then. I’ll leave ye be. Alone.” Abigail stomped off down the path, the earth cold on her bare feet. She waited at a small oak sapling growing out of a nurse log, pretending to examine the maidenhair ferns at the base, as if searching for edible plants.

It only took a couple seconds before Emmet ran to her, terror on his face. “Oi!” He threw his arms around her and buried his face against her arm, knocking his flatcap to the ground. “Donnae leave me, Abby.”

She hugged him and kissed the top of his head. His bright auburn hair smelled like lambs and earth. He smelled like home.

“Let’s see if we can find a wee bit of breakfast,” she said. “Niall will be tired and hungry when we find him. We ought to do something nice for him.”

“I’m hungry too, ye ken,” Emmet complained.

Her belly whined in protest as well. They’d only eaten some bitter greens the day before.

“Use yer cunning,” he whispered, as if afraid someone might hear him utter those words.

She bit her lip. “Niall said nae to use it.” Ma and Da had said not to use it.

Niall had been afraid she might draw attention from Fae creatures that would snatch them away and drain them of their magic and life to make a supper out of them. But he’d caught a hare, and he’d roasted it for their supper three days before. The fire would have surely drawn more attention than a wee bit of magic.

“Stand watch,” she said.

Abigail stood in the brightest patch of morning light and let her toes sink into the mud. Her body felt as though it were rooting into the forest. She sensed the worms wiggling through the earth below her and understood the poetry of the trees as their leaves whispered in the breeze.

The perfume of blackberries wafted toward them, inviting her to pluck them from the bushes. Clusters of mushrooms hummed songs of warning not to eat them. She tasted the places where chard uncurled to greet the sunlight.

Abigail was one with the forest. Peace washed over her as she spread out her awareness farther. Hunger and fatigue left her. The trees spoke to her in their secret language, and there were moments she thought she understood their whispers. When she lost herself in the bliss of greenery like this, she wanted to stay there forever. It was the only time she felt safe. She didn’t feel alone.

Deer pranced on the other side of a stream, their hooves trampling over wildflowers and brambles. She couldn’t sense the animals themselves in the forest, only the impression they made on the environment with the way they interacted with roots, branches, or foliage. Each time a bird pecked a bug out of a tree, the vibrations trembled through her.

She couldn’t tell if the feet navigating around plants were her older brother’s or a large animal. As the footsteps drew closer, magic tingled across leaves, attesting to something not quite human.

Just beyond the edge of her awareness, Abigail sensed something else in the forest. It was brilliantly bright, and so full of magic she couldn’t see it. Yet that place tasted of darkness, the roots around the area bitter and caustic. The life that grew there didn’t feel natural. Something stirred in the bright shadows, a creature, probably a Fae. The soil was tainted with blood. She shivered.

Sparkles of black light twinkled toward her consciousness. Abigail recoiled from that place before anything could detect her presence. She drew back into the sanctuary of towering trees and peaceful plants.

Something grabbed hold of her arm. She screamed.

CHAPTER TWO

Make Like a Tree and Leaf

Ma and Da had always said there was a price to magic. She’d witnessed how using excessive magic had drained her ma. Even the cunning had to be used wisely and sparingly by a trained adult—and Abigail had never been trained. She didn’t know how to construct wards or create the blessings needed to shield herself from detection.

Now her rashness was about to get her and Emmet in trouble. She couldn’t allow anything to happen to him.

Abigail opened her eyes, flinching back, ready to run. She whirled, taking in Emmet’s startled expression, his eyes wide with fear.

Emmet jumped back, releasing her sleeve. “What is it? Ye all right?”

Abigail’s heart thundered in her chest. She realized it had been Emmet who had grabbed her, not a beast. Not a witch or Fae.

She laughed in relief. “Ye nearly scared me out of my skin. Donnae do that when I’m using my cunning.”

“Sorry.” He kicked at a pinecone. “Did ye find a wee bit of anything for us to eat? Any strawberries?”

It took her a moment to catch her breath. Sunlight shone down on them, banishing the cold of the morning. Nothing lurked in the shadows. They were safe there.

Green dust motes sparkled in front of her and clung to her auburn hair. She swatted the remnants of her cunning away. She didn’t want to stand out or draw attention.

“Blackberries.” She pointed to a place off the path where her cunning had told her they would be waiting. It was in the opposite direction of the dark-bright place that radiated wrongness. She was glad they didn’t need to go near soil tainted with blood.

She took Emmet’s hand, about to step into the brush. “Come along.”

“Nay. We need to make an arrow to show Niall we’ve gone over yonder, we do,” Emmet said.

She humored him and made an arrow out of twigs and rocks. She hoped she wasn’t making a trail of breadcrumbs that would lead a monster to them. She picked up a large stick she found beside the path in case they needed it as a weapon. It made her feel a little safer. Mostly she used it to clear the brush as they walked.

“Have a care where ye step,” Abigail said, pointing to a patch of poison oak.

Emmet at least had socks on, as filthy as they were. They’d taken their shoes off two nights before when their feet had grown too blistered from walking. Niall had told them not to remove their shoes while they’d slept, but Abigail hadn’t listened to her older brother. When a troll had woken them and chased them off, they’d only escaped because Niall had thrown their remaining food at him, distracting the creature with a small meal of sausage and bread.

Abigail didn’t mind walking barefoot. She felt more connected to the forest this way. Her feet knew the way to the blackberries, and she could have found every oak in the forest with her eyes closed if she had tried. She breathed in the scent of wet earth and late summer. She didn’t understand how anything that felt so natural could be so bad. Was this magic? Or her cunning? With every step she took, Abigail feared she might be walking closer to the path of becoming a witch.

Emmet kept sneaking peeks at her as they walked.

“What?” she asked.

“Ye’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Magic. Ye always look a wee bit queer when ye use your cunning,” Emmet frowned. “Yer eyes are greener, and yer hair gets mighty red.”

“Like Ma?”

He kicked at a decaying branch. “Aye.”

Abigail liked the idea that she might look bonnie like their mother, but magic would attract dangerous creatures.

Abigail remembered the cozy bed she’d shared with Emmet and Niall when they’d been younger while her ma had read them fairy tales about witches and cunning fairies who lured children into the forest to eat them up.

“Ye mustn’t use the cunning when Fae are about,” Ma had said. “There’s nothing that lot likes more than the taste of bairn—except wee ones who can use magic. Ye guard yer secrets when we’re at the market selling our produce or when we go to the fair to sell livestock, and they’ll leave ye be.”

“But ye use magic,” Abigail argued.

Niall elbowed her in the ribs. “Stop giving Ma yer sass.”

She elbowed him back. “I’m nae being sassy! I’m just asking.”

Ma smiled, her expression patient. “Lass, yer too young to understand the difference between the gifts we’re born with and that of witches and their kin. The cunning is a blessing and will help guide ye in the knowledge of herbs, medicines, and plants. We use it for good.”

She smoothed the hair from Abigail’s eyes. “Witchcraft uses magic for selfish purposes. Witches use spells and potions that bring ill upon folk. One must have a care using the cunning, lest it tempt a healer down a slippery slope to more dangerous magics. Soon ye’ll be coming into yer own gifts, and I’ll show ye the difference.”

But Ma hadn’t shown her. Her parents had disappeared only days before. Now Abigail didn’t know if she’d ever learn to use her talents.

She didn’t know if they’d ever find the portal to the land her father had come from originally in the Morty Realm, the place he called Scotland.

After her parents had lost the farm, they had told her they would be leaving the Unseen Realm. They had to travel into the heart of the Faerie Realm, the kingdom where the thickest of magic and most dangerous of creatures dwelled, to get to the portal that would take them to the Morty Realm. They would be safe from witch’s curses and the cruelty of Fae nobles who unjustly stole from poor farmers. There would be no magic in this other land, and they would be out of danger—if they could get there.

Emmet lifted his nose up in the air, inhaling. “Do ye smell that? Blackberries!” In his excitement, he sprinted a few yards before stopping for her. “Hurry! It’s just over yonder!”

Abigail hastened forward, the perfume inviting them closer. When they came upon the hedges in the clearing, they dove forward, snatching up berries and gobbling them up as fast as they could. Thorns scratched Abigail’s arms, but she was too hungry to care. They’d been so close to the bushes, they could have eaten these the day before if only Niall hadn’t forbidden the use of magic. It seemed silly now to worry so much. What was the point in having a cunning with plants if one couldn’t use it?

A rustle came from behind them.

A voice called out, “Fee-fie-foe-fum. What’s this? Two little moppets without their mum. Mwah-ha-ha-ha!”

CHAPTER THREE

Son of a Fae

Emmet screamed and dove behind Abigail. She snatched up her stick. It wasn’t a man or even a giant who had spoken, though the boy was tall, and she could see the sparkle of magic glittering around him.

Magic meant danger.

His black hair was cut unevenly, contrasting with the otherworldly perfection of his face. He was so tall and thin he could have been made of sticks. His smile was impish, and his eyes an unsettling gray that reminded Abigail of storm clouds. Wisps of magic clung to him, smelling of starlight and water dancing over rocks. It was strange magic, nothing like Abigail’s family used for farming and tending to sheep.

Maybe he was a faerie creature, like the tales their ma and da had told them. The air shimmered around him with magic that tasted like thunderstorms. Abigail would have thought he was Fae, but in stories, Fae dressed in fine clothes. His attire was clean but plain, not so different from Emmet’s breeches and vest, though the length of this boy’s sleeves and pants were too short for him.

“What’s this?” The hint of a stuffy accent flavored the boy’s words. “Two little moppets picking berries from my bushes without my consent?”

Emmet hugged Abigail around the waist.

The boy waved them off, a bucket in his hand as he gestured. “I order you to leave these woods before I eat you up.”

“Who ye be? Are ye one of the Fae?” Abigail’s words came out in such a rush, her accent made her sound unschooled and ignorant—which she was. Back when her Da had taken her to the fair, he’d said people would take advantage of country folk they thought were simple. She didn’t want this stranger to see her as an easy mark, but it was too late to stuff the words back into her mouth.

“Me? A Fae.” The boy paused, a wicked grin spreading over his face. “Indeed, that’s what I am. Part Fae anyway. Lucifer Thatch, at your service. Or disservice, as the case may be.” The boy bowed. “Now, off with you. Be on your way.”

Despite his ominous name, Lucifer didn’t look particularly menacing with his lanky frame and the way he fidgeted with his buckets. He would have been cute if he hadn’t been trying so hard to scowl. He couldn’t have been much older than Abigail, maybe sixteen or seventeen at the most. She had heard people speak with the same accent when they’d taken their animals to the fair. Her father had called it an English dialect and had shown her a map of the Morty Realm showing lands with exotic names like Czechoslovakia, Persia, and the Kingdom of Hawaii.

Emmet nudged her. “Oi! He said his name is Lucifer.”

Abigail thought he looked more like a mischievous boy than a devil. Probably that wasn’t even his real name. Her ma and da said Fae were liars. They would say anything to entice you.

“You aren’t from around here, are you?” Lucifer smiled, but his eyes narrowed. “Where abouts are you from?”

Abigail felt like his words were a trap. She should have remembered to speak more refined like him. He would take advantage of their ignorance just like Ma and Da had feared.

“Ye stay away from us.” Abigail swung her stick at the boy, hoping to scare him off. He was bigger, but he didn’t have a stick. He only had buckets. Probably for collecting berries.

The boy dodged back. “I wasn’t planning on coming any closer. I don’t want your fleas.”

“We donnae have fleas.” Abigail swung at him again, this time out of anger, not fear.

“No? How about lice?”

She managed to strike him on the arm, but he didn’t back away.

“Fie! What was that for?” He grabbed onto the end of her stick to keep her from swinging at him again.

Abigail tried to tug it out of his hands, but he didn’t let go. “I donnae like churlish lads sassing off to us. I want ye to leave us be.”

“I will not leave. This is my berry bush. I’m on a mission. I have to fill both these buckets for the witch.”

“A witch?” Emmet squealed.

There wasn’t anything worse than Fae, except perhaps witches. Abigail had seen the black cat the night before, evidence there was a witch in the vicinity.

“Indeed. I’m apprentice to a hedge witch,” Lucifer said in a self-assured way that Abigail didn’t like. “The Witch of Nightmares has laid claim to these bushes.”

“Donnae be such a muttonhead,” Abigail said. “There’s plenty of other bushes over yonder.”

“Indeed, but I like these ones.” He winked at Emmet. “How about I make a deal with you? I shall allow you to pick berries at this bush if you pay me. Have anything good to offer me? And don’t even think about offering me your fleas. I just got rid of my own.”

Fae were always making bargains and demanding prices for their deeds. They were devils and dealmakers. That was how Abigail’s parents had lost the farm. If her father hadn’t accepted the Fae noble’s offer, he wouldn’t have lost a bet, and if he hadn’t lost the bet, the duke of the Silver Court wouldn’t have driven them off their own land and set his hellhounds after them.

Witches and Fae couldn’t be trusted.

Abigail lifted her chin. “I donnae like bullies.”

She stopped pulling on the stick. Instead, she shoved it at the boy, attempting to jab him in the ribs. He sidestepped and yanked the wood out of her hands.

Lucifer poked her with in the belly with her own stick. “See how you like it being hit.” He grinned. “Not so tough now, are you? What should I do with two little ragamuffins? Should I tell the witch about you when she asks why I didn’t collect enough berries for her?”

Emmet darted out from behind Abigail and dove for the boy’s legs. He plowed into him, and when that only made Lucifer laugh, Emmet bit the boy on the ankle.

“Emmet!” Abigail yelled, leaping after her brother.

“Oh, fie!” Lucifer dropped Abigail’s stick and tried to shake Emmet off. “I was only jesting. I wasn’t going to tell the witch about you.”

Abigail tore her brother off Lucifer before Emmet got kicked in the head like the last time he had tackled someone to the ground. As soon as she hauled him off Lucifer, the other boy retreated. Abigail kicked his two buckets toward him.

Lucifer frowned. “I bet I have rabies now.”

“What’s rabies?” Emmet asked.

Lucifer smirked. “A disease you get from ill animals—and feral children.” The boy stooped to pick up his buckets. He stuck his nose up into the air. “I shall venture to yonder side of the bushes where I can pick blackberries all by myself, without ragamuffins molesting me as I perform errands for the wicked hedge witch. And do not even think about following me back to find her cottage so you can nibble on it later. She’ll lock you up in a cage if she catches you—and she always catches children. Then she’ll eat you up.” He continued muttering to himself as he strode off.

Abigail watched him go. He was the most vexing boy she’d ever met. It didn’t surprise her he was a witch with how vexing he was.

“Do ye think he was joshing us about being a witch’s apprentice?” Emmet asked.

“Mayhap.” It seemed like he would have hexed Emmet for biting him if he had. Then again, she had sensed something dark in the forest. That could have been the witch. What if a witch had snatched her older brother?

Her parents had told them to leave this world and go to the portal where they would find safety in the Morty Realm, but Abigail didn’t know how to get there. Her older brother might, but she didn’t know where he was. They needed to find Niall.

She kept worrying about her brother and the witch who might have caught him as they continued picking berries. She didn’t know how to get by without Niall.

Emmet napped as Abigail fashioned baskets out of the tender shoots of young saplings so they could carry the spoils they’d won after facing Lucifer. She’d always been adept at weaving, but these plants moved under her fingers as though they read her mind and wanted to become baskets. She didn’t think she was using her cunning, but she didn’t see any other explanation for the weaving. Here in the forest, her gifts were sprouting up for her to use in a way they never had at home on the farm.

It wasn’t witchcraft. She was using these skills for good, not for harm. That made her different from Fae and witches, she told herself.

When she’d finished two baskets, she shook Emmet awake from his nap. They had a limited time to find the portal and go through it. “Let’s go back and see if Niall has returned.” It was wishful thinking, she knew, but she wanted it to be true.

He leapt to his feet in excitement.

There was still no sign of Abigail’s older brother. They explored the area nearby, calling his name. Along their way, they found a variety of medicinal plants. Magic stirred inside Abigail every time she stepped in front of an oak tree, and she suspected those trees fancied her—if trees could fancy people. The greatest treasure of the day was a large oak tree that thrummed with power. She was drawn to its energy and liked the power it stirred inside her. There was a hollow at the base so large that both Emmet and she could fit inside.

“We can sleep here tonight. It will be like a fort,” Emmet said.

Abigail was torn. Her parents had wanted them to flee. But she didn’t know where to find the portal. What if they left without Niall, and he returned—not even knowing where they had gone? Wasn’t it better to be together, even if they were stuck here? Besides, they had plenty of time—four more days to find it and cross into the other realm.

“I’m thirsty,” Emmet said.

Abigail was too. Her mouth was sticky with the sweet juice of berries.

“Use your cunning,” he said.

She wasn’t supposed to be bad or use magic—at least not until she knew how to use it properly.

“Please,” Emmet begged.

Abigail had a duty to take care of him. She didn’t want to use her cunning, but she had to in order to keep him from dying of thirst.

She sank into the forest to find a source of water. There was a stream half a mile away. The only bad thing was that it was closer to that place in the forest full of dark-bright magic. She didn’t like the way the earth tasted of blood. The plants were strangely alien in that area of the woods, too brilliant to see clearly. The magic of the Fae’s bright-dark place called to her, wisps of magic curling like mist toward her.

The perfume of honey and springtime almost masked the scent of death.

That place of magic was on the other side of the stream, too close to gather water safely, but water was a necessity. The magic was near enough she feared Niall might have gone there searching for their parents. She hoped the blood she tasted in the ground wasn’t his.

Abigail blinked the magic from her eyes as she came out of using her talent. “Have a care as we—” She looked around for her brother, not seeing him anywhere. “Emmet?”

She hadn’t done a good job minding him while she’d lost herself in her cunning. Panic rose inside her. “Emmet?”

“Oi! Over here.” He called down to her from a fir tree that he’d climbed halfway up. “Look how high I am!”

“Get down here, muttonhead!”

He scrambled down, dropping from the lowest branch and landing on all fours like a cat.

“Are ye still thirsty? Let’s get ourselves some water.” She took his hand. “We need to make haste when we do.”

Abigail used her walking stick to clear brush from their path.

“Is there nae an easier way?” Emmet complained. “Use yer cunning.”

“Nay.” Abigail didn’t want to keep using her magic. She’d already used so much of her gifts that day. For all she knew, that was how Lucifer had found them.

They took the shortcut through the brush instead of finding a trail. Abigail was careful to avoid the nettles and poison ivy. The more she traveled through the forest, the easier it became to sense obstacles. Her feet knew where the dips and rises and fallen logs would be.

Emmet thrashed through the brambles, complaining when his trousers caught on thorns.

“Of all the barmy things! I swear, the nettles move out of the way for ye.” He leapt over a bush, laughing. “They reach out to grab me.”

Abigail hushed him. It was fortunate they weren’t trying to be quiet with all the twigs snapping under his feet and the way he carried on.

She laughed at his antics. “I imagine ye would be quieter climbing trees and swinging from branches than walking on the ground.”

“Can I nae climb instead of walk?” He gazed wistfully up at the boughs of trees.

“It depends on how thirsty ye are. Do ye want to get to the stream today?” She tickled him in the ribs.

Emmet squirmed back, laughing.

As they neared the stream, the burble of water drowned out the music of leaves whispering in the wind. The air tasted of moisture. They were so close.

Something rustled through the bushes up ahead. It was too large to be a chipmunk or a rabbit. Abigail caught movement through the trees. From around a cluster of birches strode Lucifer, a bucket of water in each of his hands. Abigail halted. Emmet plowed into her, not seeing. Lucifer froze, his eyes going wide.

She shifted her stick into both her hands.

“Good day, ragamuffins,” Lucifer said. “I see you haven’t taken my advice and left the forest yet.”

He scooted to the edge of the path, eyes on Emmet. Probably he still had the bite marks on his ankle to make him wary.

“Is that water ye have there?” Emmet asked.

“It isn’t milk.” The boy grinned.

“Can we have a wee bit?” Emmet asked.

“Nay,” Abigail said. “We do nae accept food or drink from strange boys who are Fae.” Abigail took hold of her brother and walked as far around the other boy as she could manage.

“There’s a stream over yonder.” Lucifer set the pails down. “But just so you know, it’s my stream, and you cannot have any water without paying the toll.”

Abigail placed a fist on her hip. “No one owns a stream, muttonhead.”

Lucifer winked. “Not that I would deny you water. You need it to wash all the lice off you.”

Emmet stopped scratching under his cap. “We donnae have lice.”

“That’s what they all say.” Lucifer grinned.

“Come along.” Abigail tugged her brother after her. She wasn’t going to reward that boy by letting him get a rise out of her.

“Hey, Hansel, Gretel,” Lucifer called after them. “Take heed. Keep to this side of the stream.”

“Why?” Emmet turned back to look at Lucifer.

“The other side is where the Fae live. But you needn’t fret. So long as you don’t cross the stream, you’ll be safe. These Fae haven’t the ability to cross moving streams of water, even at the bridge.”

Abigail reluctantly turned, waiting for one of the boy’s quips. “And why nae? Be there a troll under the bridge?” After her last encounter, she knew enough to be wary of feral creatures like trolls.

“Not this one. Just some frogs.” His expression turned serious. “I mean it about the Fae. Refrain from crossing the stream. If they spot you, they’ll snatch you. That’s what they do with lost children. They’ll drain your life from you and make you their supper.”

The idea of that sent shivers through Abigail. She thought of the dark presence she’d felt when she’d used her cunning powers. It would make sense that monsters lived in that place where the plants hadn’t been right. She only hoped they stayed on their side as Lucifer said they would.

The few Fae Abigail had met in the Unseen Realm where she had previously lived had no problems crossing a bridge. Everything was different in the Faerie Realm. The rules were particular and strange. She didn’t like being ignorant of so many details.

Lucifer looked to the sun high in the sky. “If you can wait a few hours, it’s safer for the likes of you to collect your water at night—if you don’t slip in the water and drown. The Fae in this forest sleep at night. They’ll only try to lure you to their side during the day.” Lucifer studied them thoughtfully. “But after that, it would be best if you went on your way. The forest isn’t a safe place for orphans.”

As if on cue, a wolf howled in the distance. Abigail started. Lucifer eyed the trees, frowning.

“We arenae orphans. We have a ma and da,” Emmet said.

“Do you? Where are they?” Lucifer’s stormy eyes seemed to stare into Abigail’s soul.

Emmet crossed his arms and sulked. Abigail wasn’t sure where her parents were. They’d never come back from searching for food. Nor did she want to confess such a thing to a boy named Lucifer.

“Ye went to the stream during the day. It cannae be that dangerous,” Abigail said.

The boy waved a hand before him, and a green emblem made of light flashed in front of him. It looked like a mortar and pestle. “The Fae and many of the creatures here ignore me because I’m the witch’s boy. I have a hedge witch’s mark of protection. You have no wards or spells to keep you safe.”

Emmet tugged on Abigail’s apron. “I’m thirsty. I cannae wait until dark.”

“I ken it.” She couldn’t either.

That meant they would be going toward the dark-bright place. They needed to be careful.

END OF EXCERPT

For the rest of the novel, go to Sarina Dorie’s website for information about the next book in the series:

https://sarinadorie.com/writing/novels/wombys-school-for-wayward-witches

If you enjoyed this cozy witch mystery in the Womby’s School for Wayward Witches Series please leave a review on the online retailer where you purchased this collection. You might also enjoy free short stories published by the author on her website: http://sarinadorie.com/writing/short-stories.

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Other novels written by the author can be found at:

http://sarinadorie.com/writing/novels

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I want to thank my fans for their enthusiasm reading my novels. My street team/ARC team has done a great job telling me when you find typos, pointing out formatting errors, leaving reviews, and purchasing books from Amazon so that you can help my ranking. Downloading books from Amazon also helps you become a verified reviewer and Amazon is more likely to show your review—and not delete it later. I also have many people on my team who review on Goodreads and Book Bub, post on social media, and tell their friends. I am thrilled to have so many fans!

For those who have filled out my Google form, it has helped me become more organized so that I don’t have to search my emails to find all the wonderful things you have done to support the creation of my novels; I have them all stored in the same place. I wanted to send a shout-out to the people listed below who have filled out my Google form. I know there are more people out there who are fans who have contacted me in the past, but the people listed below are the readers who used the form. I also know there were times some of my readers have told me other books they’ve reviewed, but it wasn’t necessarily on the form, so I wanted to say one giant THANK YOU for everything I didn’t list below. For those who filled out the form after I included it in the back of this book, I also wanted to say thank you, even if you are not named.

After hearing some people’s comments and thinking it over, I decided to only use first names and last initials to keep identities confidential in the list below.

A BIG SHOUT OUT TO:

Mom, thank you for being my number-one fan of all time. You encouraged me when I was six while I was writing and illustrating my own picture books, kept encouraging me in middle school, and read my stories and novels in high school. I have kept writing because of your nurturing, enthusiasm, and your brutal honesty, which has helped me improve my writing. I probably wanted to be a writer because of the respect you showed for literature. You read me bedtime stories, our house was always full of books, and you let me watch Romancing the Stone over and over as a kid.

Night Writers, I am so fortunate I have a writing critique group that tolerates my many submissions, gives me honest feedback, and listens to me complain about my publishing frustrations.

Daryll Lynn E., I am so thankful you are willing to not just critique my manuscript, but that you want to read the books in their entirety when I only submit sections to our critique group. You are a valuable critique partner and friend, not only because of your enthusiasm when I do something well, but your honesty in telling me what I did wrong, and your willingness to brainstorm with me to help me improve the manuscripts while they are in the rough-draft stage. I am flattered that you told me you needed a book to read during the weekend to relax, and you selected one of my published books—a book you had already critiqued months before. You choose me over Harry Potter, which I have to say is close to earth-shattering since I know you. I don’t know how I will ever be able to show you my thanks. Truly, I don’t think inviting you over for sugar-free, chocolate-avocado-and-coconut pudding is enough.

Charles, thank you for your encouragement and support. Other writers complain about significant others who don’t understand their need for writing time. I lucked out and found you. If it weren’t for you, our home would never have tissue, toilet paper, or any other paper products, just like Joan Wilder’s house in Romancing the Stone.

To my ARC Team/Street Team:

Thank you for posting reviews on Amazon, Goodreads, Librarything, Bookbub, and other places where you share your passion for reading. Stephanie M., Karen W., Valerie L., Shannon T., Dawn H., Wilma C., Janet S., Sheree K., Deborah B., Lynn E., Sherri L., Vicki G., Becky B., Tonya G., Steve P., Elaine S., Sandy V., Donna S., Jennifer W., Tonia W., Jennifer L., Georganne L., Katherine M., Susan E., Jeri M., Evelyn G., Linda M., Diane K., Cathy S., Veronica M., Cheryl B., Stan H., Dawn H., Heather B., Mary N., Devin C., Michelle R., Janet S., Katherine M., Annalisa A., Tonya G., Dawn H., Deb L., Tonia W., Bev S., Billie W., Barbara H., Amy M., Cathy S., Veronica M., Jodi S., your honest reviews of the books are helpful in spreading the word. Reviewing books helps me reach readers who might not otherwise know what the books are about, who might wonder if the books are a good fit for their interests, and in general, helps me make the books more visible.

I appreciate that you are willing to share my books, covers, blurbs, and sale days on social media. I am fortunate to have more people than just myself posting on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, and other places that I often don’t think about. Jodi S., Stephanie M., Lynn E., Sherri L., Evelyn G., Jennifer W., Cheryl B., Deb L., Amy M., Bev S., Jeri M., you help me find readers I wouldn’t necessarily know might be interested in my books. Thank you for that!

Thank you for finding my typos and saving me from public shaming and future humiliation due to the sins of my bad grammar. Linda C, Wayne N., Stephanie M., Amy M., Jeanie M., Lynn E., Elaine S., Sandy V., Stan H., Linda C., I appreciate you pointing out mistakes so that I can provide cleaner copies before I publish the books.

Thank you for suggesting my books to your book groups. Jeannie M., Karen W., Vicki G., Evelyn G., Steve P., Joeline W., Tonya G., Amy M., I appreciate your enthusiasm for my work enough that you are willing to share that excitement with others.

Michael R., thank your helping me create a better pie chart. I guess it is really a pie table, but I like calling it a pie chart!

Thank you for reading, supporting, and being a fan: Barbara H., Linda C., Shoshanah, Joeline W., Wayne N., Jeannie M., Stephanie M., Karen W., Valerie L., Shannon T., Dawn H., Wilma C., Janet S., Sheree K., Deborah B., Lynn E., Sherri L., Vicki G., Becky B., Tonya G., Steve P., Elaine S., Sandy V., Donna S., Jennifer W., Tonia W., Jennifer L., Georganne L., Katherine M., Susan E., Jeri M., Evelyn G., Linda M., Diane K., Cathy S., Veronica M., Cheryl B., Stan H., Dawn H., Mary N., Devin C., Michelle R., Janet S., Katherine M., Annalisa A., Tonya G., Dawn H., Deb L., Heather B., Tonia W., Bev S., Billie W., Barbara H., Amy M., Cathy S., Veronica M., Jodi S.

To everyone, thank you’re your encouragement and enthusiasm. I appreciate your willingness to download and purchase books. I am glad you are enjoying them as much as I enjoy writing them!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sarina Dorie has sold over 150 short stories to markets like Analog, Daily Science Fiction, Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, Orson Scott Card’s IGMS, Cosmos, and Abyss and Apex. Her stories and published novels have won humor and Romance Writer of America awards. She has sold three novels to publishers. Her steampunk romance series, The Memory Thief and her collections, Fairies, Robots and Unicorns—Oh My! and Ghosts, Werewolves and Zombies—Oh My! are available on Amazon, along with a dozen other novels she has written.

A few of her favorite things include: gluten-free brownies (not necessarily glutton-free), Star Trek, steampunk aesthetics, fairies, Severus Snape, Captain Jack Sparrow, and Mr. Darcy.

By day, Sarina is a public-school art teacher, artist, belly dance performer and instructor, copy editor, fashion designer, event organizer and probably a few other things. By night, she writes. As you might imagine, this leaves little time for sleep.