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A weather vane on the roof spins despite the complete absence of wind.

Sparky growls.

“Still fine.”

Something thumps inside the house. Then another something thumps back.

“Totally fine.”

I grip the deed tighter. Because this wreck is mine.

Mine.

Not Mom’s. Not Melida’s. Not the Coven’s.

Only mine.

And according to Aunt Margarita’s paperwork, it used to be a bed-and-breakfast.

Which means it can be one again.

Maybe I’m not meant to run the Ramos Coven. Maybe I’m supposed to build something of my own.

A business.

A life.

A place where nobody knows Belinda Ramos as the Witch who never measured up.

My chest loosens for the first time in weeks.

Yeah, I can do this.

A woman walking along the opposite side of the street gives me a friendly wave.

“Morning!”

“Morning!” I call back.

She continues on, completely unconcerned by the fact that one of the decorative gargoyles on my porch turns its head to watch her pass.

I freeze.

The gargoyle freezes.

“Huh.”

I look down at Sparky. He looks up at me. Neither of us comments. Because apparently this is our life now.

I drag my suitcase through the gate. The house creaks. Not normal settling noises either. This sounds suspiciously like a long, miserable groan.

I stop.

“Listen, you and I are going to have to establish some boundaries.”

A shutter slams.

I jump.