Page 2 of With All My Haunted Heart

Callum is busy inspecting his now-boil-free face when I approach with the tiger’s-eye. “You’ll need to keep this on you for the next moon cycle to ensure you aren’t reinfected with the hex.”

He pockets the crystal without even a cursory glance and adjusts his tie. “And after that?”

I bristle, annoyed that I spent so much time choosing the perfect stone for his situation when he clearly can’t tell the difference. It’s not about him, I remind myself. I’d take the time to do it right even if I knew he wouldn’t care.

“You can continue to keep it close out of an abundance of caution,” I say when I’ve calmed the irritation from my voice. “If you’d like me to find the source of the hex, we can discuss my fees. Whoever hexed you should be reported to NACOW. Using magic to sabotage a business competitor isn’t a light offense.”

Using any magic that might frighten mundanes is strictly forbidden, a long-standing precaution to maintain positive witch-mundane relations. And as much as I’d prefer to stay far away from NACOW—the North American Council of Witches—I can’t afford to turn down premium business right now.

“That won’t be necessary.” Callum waves off the suggestion, but whether to save money or avoid dealing with NACOW, I’m not sure. “Once whoever did this sees that I’m good as new, they’ll know better than to try again.”

I’m less certain, but I keep that thought to myself. He seems the type to toss out phrases like I didn’t hire you for your opinions. Instead, I gather my things and pull a business card from my pocket.

Pippa Ainsley

Premium Magical Services

Custom & Confidential!

I hand over the card. “If you have any future magical needs, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

Like he did the crystal, Callum pockets the card without looking at it.

I try again. “I’ve done extensive work cleansing buildings of unwanted energies and spirits. I know you’re involved in real estate and—”

He waves my words away and violently attacks his phone, fingers flying. “There’s no need, Miss Ainsley. We already have a contract with C3 for a bulk order of their cleansing stones.”

Hearing the cutesy nickname for Coffee, Charms, and Crystals makes their infiltration on my turf feel that much worse. “Well, for trickier cases then. As you’ve just experienced, not everything can be solved by adding a few crystals to your space. Specificity of intention is incredibly powerful, and I operate with the utmost discretion.”

All I get is a perfunctory smile before he ushers me out the door and slams it behind me.

For the space of a breath, I consider hexing him myself. Something benign but annoying, like all his shoes making a terrible squeak when he walks or every warm beverage being perpetually too cold to enjoy. I brush the impulse away and take the elevator to the main lobby of the high-end apartment building. Business may be down, but I won’t resort to causing problems so people will hire me to solve them.

Despite what my family thinks, I’m good at what I do.

I’ll figure out a way to keep my business intact.

Chapter

Two

By the time I get back to my office, the chronic ache in my lower back is screaming at me for walking in heels, but I’ve managed to think through a dozen different options for saving the business.

I could expand my footprint. Increase how far I’m willing to travel for clients. Go outside the city to break hexes. Or I could go deeper into the real estate market. There must be other agents in Windsfell who haven’t bought into C3’s DIY approach. Rich people love a custom touch.

And if that doesn’t work…I could find a way to cater to the requests I get for love spells that won’t violate anyone’s autonomy or consent. I cringe at the thought. The people who typically come for love spells—the kind of make this person fall madly in love with me magic that I refuse to cast—rarely accept my counteroffers of customized self-confidence spells.

“Hey, Pip,” my office manager and friend, Deanna Hallowell, says when I push through the front door of my office, a small space wedged between a coffee shop and an indie bookstore.

Dea is a petite Black woman, barely more than five feet tall, with a shaved head and a penchant for the most exquisite shades of lipstick. Today she’s rocking a coral suit, the jacket draped over her desk chair, and a shimmery gold lipstick. “I assume Mr. Anders is all set?”

“The man is no longer green or oozing purple pus,” I confirm, sinking into the chair in front of her desk. My feet ache, but I resist the urge to kick off my heels. I only ever wear them for the corporate clients who expect formal attire from the witches they hire. “Whether he hangs on to the tiger’s-eye long enough to stay that way is up for debate.”

Dea snorts a laugh and adds a note to her computer. “I’ll follow up next week and make sure he’s keeping it close. I can tell him about our referral program then, too.” She leans around her computer to glare at me. “Please tell me you remembered to pitch him the cleansing package.”

I sink lower in my chair. The echo of his door slamming in my face rings through my head. “Coffee, Charms, and Crystals beat us to him.”

“Stop moping. No one trusts a whiny witch.” Dea gestures behind me. “Besides, I have a surprise.”