Page 82 of Autumn L.A.W

The greenhouse doors creaked open, releasing a wave of damp heat and herbal scent.

“Please let there be something useful in here,” she murmured.

She didn’t browse. She hunted. Shelves. Tables. Hanging bundles. Drying racks.

She checked labels, flipped tags, squeezed leaves as if they might confess under pressure. Nothing unusual.

She sniffed one plant. “Well, that’s basil. Thrilling.”

She moved faster. Drawers opened. Cabinets slammed. Dried herbs crumbled under her fingers as she rifled through bundles that had clearly been sitting there since someone’s last casual mishap.

Still nothing. Because, of course, nothing.

The L.A.W. witches didn’t need a lot of ingredients. They were the ingredients. Raw power, no garnish. Usually.

Except now she needed garnish. Seven extremely inconvenient garnishes.

Thirty minutes later, she stood in the middle of the storeroom, surrounded by perfectly ordinary herbs and her rapidly thinning patience.

She dropped a bundle back onto the shelf. “Marvelous. We have enough sage to cleanse a continent, but not one thing that helps me get my body back.”

She exhaled hard, wiped her hands on her pants, and stepped outside. “Fine. New plan.”

She paced across the stone path, mind churning. She needed information. Shortcuts. Someone who knew things that weren’t in books or labeled jars.

And then it clicked. The crone.

Bas had mentioned her in that casual, slightly ominous way she had when something was either extremely helpful or extremely dangerous.

Old woman. Lives in the woods and knows things. Bas had called her a fountain of knowledge. Victoria needed a firehose.

“Worth a shot,” she decided, already turning toward the tree line. Because doing nothing wasn’t getting her body back.

And somewhere out there, a thief was walking around in Victoria De La Fontaine’s life, probably redecorating her penthouse.

Unacceptable.

She grabbed a tote bag from a recent romance writers' conference and headed into the woods. As she walked, she couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as she entered the dark forest. The trees seemed to whisper secrets, and the air was thick with an otherworldly energy. Victoria tightened her grip on the tote bag, reminding herself that she was on a mission and had no time for distractions.

A twig snapped behind her. Victoria froze. Turning slowly, she was relieved to find nothing. “Just my stupid imagination…” she muttered.

When she turned back, she almost stumbled. A small cottage stood where it hadn’t been a few seconds ago.

“Oh, that’s not ominous at all.”

It was old with peeling white paint, but a faint light shone from inside. Victoria cautiously approached the door and knocked. The door creaked open, revealing an old woman with deep wrinkles and piercing blue eyes. “Hello, my dear witch,” the woman said in a raspy voice. “You certainly took your time.”

Victoria was taken aback. “I wasn’t aware I had an appointment.”

“You did. You just didn’t know it yet.”

“Sure. That clears everything up.”

The woman smiled knowingly and gestured for Victoria to come inside. Reluctantly, she entered the cottage.

“Sit, sit,” the old woman said, motioning to a small table covered in herbs and potions. “I can see you're on a quest. What is it that you seek?” The old woman shuffled around the table, then stopped and studied her, like she was reading a label Victoria couldn’t see.

“You’re not where you belong,” the crone said.