Page 76 of Autumn L.A.W

“I don’t say anything lightly.”

That earned him a small smile.

She stood and crossed the space between them, stopping close enough to feel his warmth without crowding him. “Thank you,” she said. “For today. For yesterday. For this…”

He met her gaze, steady as ever. “You don’t have to carry everything alone, Sahara. Even when you’re the strongest one in the room.”

She nodded once, emotion tightening her throat.

Outside, the city moved on. Inside, nothing demanded. Nothing pulled. And for the first time in longer than she could remember, Sahara felt like she had somewhere to land—without losing who she was.

PART 2

CROSSING THE WRONG WITCH

Victoria De La Fontaine has it all—glamour, magic, and a killer wardrobe—until a dry-cleaning disaster leaves her trapped in someone else’s body while the thief runs off with her life.

Enter Duke Masterson, the elusive occult librarian with access to the world’s most powerful magical knowledge, and the only man who can help her fix this mess.

To reverse the spell, Victoria must track down rare botanical ingredients across the globe and the one who stole her identity. Easy—if she can survive jungle treks, magical mayhem, and the growing attraction to the one man who sees her clearly, no matter what body she’s in.

By Samhain, the final harvest, she wants her life back. And karma is coming for the one who crossed her.

CHAPTER 17

“Crétin! Idiot! Imbécile!” Victoria shouted. “I don’t have the patience needed to deal with incompédent de marde!”

“Mademoiselle De La Fontaine, calm down!”

“Calm down? Calm down? You lost my dress. It’s worth more than this entire pitiful dry-cleaning establishment!”

“What’s going on out here?” The owner’s husband stormed out to the front of the shop.

Victoria rarely saw him, but she knew he was there. She knew a lot of things, especially when wearing her magical designer clothing! “I can’t believe you lost the dress that was passed down to me from my great-grandmother!”

“Let me look for it,” he offered. “Can you describe it?”

“It’s from the nineteen-twenties—a certified antique. It’s blue with gold braid at the neckline and has a drop-waist that ends in blue marabou feathers at the hem.”

“Okay, what length?”

She glanced down at her leg and pointed to where the hem usually rested. It was a few inches above her ankle. Positively scandalous at the time. But her great-grandmother was an unconventional person and a very talented witch. She showed Victoria’s grandmother how to cast magical spells into cloth, and her grandmother showed her mother, and her mother showed Victoria. Unfortunately, it was labor-intensive, and she wasn’t paying close attention at the age of nine. In other words, the dress couldn’t be replicated. Victoria was going to try to reverse-engineer it and maybe streamline the spell in the process, but now she couldn’t even do that.

The dry cleaner’s husband strolled off and searched through the dresses on the farthest rack.

That’s why Victoria always brought— correction, used to bring her clothing here. They kept all valuable items far from the front counter, and the Long Island ladies had some pricey designer dresses.

When he didn’t find it there, he started looking through the regular clothing racks.

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the wife. At least her husband was trying to look for it. She just went to the racks marked with a capital D, L, and F, and gave up.

“I thought you held respect for the valuable garments.”

“If your garments are so fancy, perhaps you should have a servant hand-wash them.”

Victoria straightened her posture. Is she trying to insult me? No, she’s probably just jealous. After all, I’m tall, slim, rich, and beautiful. She’s short, stocky, and probably missing some brain cells because of the heavy chemicals she inhales all day.

But in case that was an insult, Victoria turned her back to the little onion-scented peon and tipped her nose in the air. She hoped she’d realize how little she thought of her and her insult. I can insult people without even saying a word. After all, I’m French.