Grateful for the levity, I head to the bar to fix us fresh drinks, thinking I might hunt down those starlets after all.
But then, just as I’m plucking an ice cube from the bucket and imagining my bedsheets stained with burgundy lipstick, I feel it again.
That dark whisper of magic kissing its way down my neck, settling right between my shoulder blades.
And this time, it doesn’t relent.
“Finn?” I whisper, but he’s far too enamored of his own performance to notice the subtle shift in the air. The taste of it.
Witchcraft.
I suck in a painful breath. The icy feeling intensifies, gripping my heart in its cruel fist.
“Finn?” I try again, barely getting the word out as the magic fully takes hold. The glass slips from my hand, shatters. The pain twists me in half. “We’ve… got a serious… problem…”
The fire surges brightly, flames dancing before my eyes.
It’s the very last thing I see before my world goes black.
Chapter Five
VIOLET
Did I say one more drink? I meant two. Threetops.
Maybe it was four? I lost count after my sisters headed out. See, this is what happens when I’m left under the sole supervision of two mischievous cats, a magical deck of Tarot cards that refuse to respect personal boundaries, and the nonstop chatter of my own mind.
“Toexcellentcompany,” I slur, raising my drink, and I swear the Devil winks at me.
“I’m not talking toyou.” Placing the mug on top of his smug face, I pick up the Star card and gaze into her eyes, letting her soothing energy wrap around me like a hug.
Her earlier message echoes.
If you don’t believe in yourself, Violet Pepperdine, how can anyone else?
Girl has a point. And Idobelieve in myself. And the café. And I’m a witch, for goddess’ sake, and a damn good one at that. Just because I won’t use magic to bring a bad-luck plague raining down onPeenBeans doesn’t mean there isn’tsomekind of spell that can help me. Right?
The Star’s endless well of hope propels me off the couch and straight over to my wall of ingredients. It’s all teas and powders, leaves and flowers, moon water and crystal essences, but there’s a tall shelf on the right where I keep some of my favorite witchy books and, locked in a drawer beneath them, my laptop.
I boot up the computer and launch the massive spreadsheet that hosts my personal Book of Shadows—a project I’ve been working on for years, transcribing my favorite rituals and techniques into digital format. It’s got everything from my own recipes and experiments to stuff I’ve come across in ancient witchcraft texts, tips from my sisters and aunts, and random things I’ve read online and want to try.
But there’s one book I’ve never transcribed. One collection of spells and advice I never wanted to change from its original form.
Gigi’s Book of Shadows.
It sits in the center of the shelf, black leather spine embossed with silver moons, cracked with age and love. I trail my fingers down the worn leather, and its magic pulses, a warmth spreading from my fingertips and up my arm, straight to my heart.
Gigi gifted this book to me upon her death, hoping I’d continue to learn from her long after she passed through the veil. I’ve spent more time poring over the handwritten pages than I can count, absorbing as much as I can, carrying on her legacy. Every time I open the book, I feel her with me, a guiding spirit who’s never once doubted me.
But using her magic to get myself out of debt feels different from all that. Like a cheat, somehow. Wrong.
No. Notwrong, I realize as the heat chews through my stomach.Shameful. Like she might sense my reasons for using it and know that I just couldn’t hack it. Not even after everything she taught me. Everything I promised her.
Leaving her book in place, I select a few others instead, and the memory of her smile dims, the sharp edges of grief worn smooth by the passage of time and the alcohol both.
Magic elixirs, in their own way.
Anyway, I don’t need Gigi’s spells for this. I’ve got plenty of my own. I just need to find the right one.
