Page 7

Excuse me? “Congratulations for what?”

He spread his arms wide, still grinning maniacally. “You dreamed up your dream girl—and then she appeared.”

“So romantic,” Daruka added.

“No, no, no.” I shook my head with enough force that I felt a headache blooming. “That’s not how it works. That’s not what’s happening. That’s not⁠—”

BOOM!

Asmoday dropped his spatula and basting brush, and the three of us sprinted to the walkway between his B&B and the ice cream shop next door, turning toward Main Street, where the very loud and very concerning sound emanated from.

I came to a skittering stop on the sidewalk.

The windows of the coffee shop across the street had been blown out, shards of glass scattered halfway across the road.

And smoke was pouring out of the openings.

I ran toward the building.

Damn it.

My dream girl didn’t even have to meet me to end up in danger!

Chapter

Three

Cassandra

“I promise, the whole town will help restore it to its original state,” Queenie assured me the moment we stepped inside the coffee shop. “Including River.”

Why did she keep bringing the damn phoenix into our conversation?

Probably because I hadn’t told her about my terrible history with a phoenix.

That I, er, destroyed the guy, on more than one occasion.

By destroyed, I mean killed.

Good thing phoenixes could regenerate.

It wasn’t like I was an evil witch. Far from it.

More of a poor excuse for one.

“So, what happened?” I asked, shaking those thoughts out of my head. I had more important things to worry about at the moment.

Such as the state of this coffee shop.

The online help wanted ad had said the shop was turnkey. Just order a few ingredients and open the next day. There were pictures. Dark wood detailing, deep purple walls, sparkly things hanging from the ceiling. Witch’s Brew painted onto the plate glass windows.

“Or maybe we made a wrong turn on Main Street and this isn’t the actual coffee shop?” I suggested hopefully, squinting at the grimy windows, hoping against hope that I’d see another sign for another coffee shop across the way.

“I’m afraid not,” Queenie said, sounding miserable.

The place resembled the aftermath of a bomb explosion. Dust and debris everywhere. Tables that looked like someone had been practicing their karate chop moves. Splintered chairs. Peeling yellowed paper on the walls.

I narrowed my eyes and canted my head. I could vaguely make out shapes on the wallpaper that may have been, at one point in time, levitating coffee cups and saucers.