“From what I can piece together, you two are magically bound to each other until—oh, this is good. So fucking good.” Olivy grins, practically bouncing. “Until such a time when the truest desire of the witch’s heart is unlocked by an unlikely ally.”
“Me, being the ally?” he asks, and Olivy nods. Then their two heads swivel toward me, awaiting the answer to the final unspoken question in this night of epic magical fuckery.
Just whatismy heart’s truest desire?
I could tell them I’m looking for a soulmate or for world peace or for someone to fix the potholes on Birchwood Lane.
But the magic would know. It always knows.
“Swear you won’t tell the sisters,” I say. “Or the aunts. Or the Peen Beans minions or anyone in Wayward Bay, magical or mundane, or—”
“Violet,” Olivy says, “what in the goddess’s wine hole is goingonwith you?”
“Swear it!”
She rolls her eyes, then grabs a knife from under the counter and slices her palm, pressing the bloodied hand to her chest. “I swear by the blood upon my heart, what you say tonight stays between us.”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Seriously? Why are you like this?”
“Are all the witches in this town so unstable?” the Devil wants to know.
“Answer the question, Vi.”
“His or yours?”
Olivy glares again. She’s really got it down to a science.
“Money,” I whisper, shame stealing my voice. “My truest desire is a hundred thousand dollars to get myself back in the black, in thirty days, or Kettle and Cauldron is done.”
I dig out the stupid letter from behind the aprons and hand it over. Olivy’s face falls as she reads it. “Is this accurate?”
“Yep. Plus the credit card debt and loan stuff and taxes and… yeah. Might as well be ten million.”
“Oh, honey.” Olivy pulls me into an uncharacteristic hug, which only underscores the severity here. Olivy isnota hugger—not unless she needs your blood or hair for a curse. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“Shame?” I say. “Fear? Stubbornness? Take your pick.”
“But you know we’ll help you figure something out. You don’t even have to ask.”
“Ican’task, Ols. I won’t. And you can’t say a word.”
“But this is—”
“You made a blood oath!”
She lifts her hands in surrender, the cut still gleaming with blood. “My lips are sealed. But for the record, I don’t like it.”
“Noted.”
“So this whole magical mishap is about money?” The Devil scoffs. “You’re a witch. A powerful one, apparently, despite all appearances to the contrary. Why don’t you just…” He makes a wand-waving gesture, as if I can zap away my problems with a flick of the wrist and a “so mote it be.”
“That’s not how magic works,” I say. “We can’t create things out of thin air.”
“You conjured me out of thin air, did you not?”
“Itransferredyou here from Los Angeles, where you already existed.”
“So?”
