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The counter was still there, albeit scratched and worn like it hadn’t been updated in several decades. Maybe a century. There were no fancy machines behind the counter, no new-fangled equipment to assist with making the most perfect cup of joe.

Instead, there were two drip coffeemakers, covered in dust, and a framed chalkboard with barely legible writing on it. The one thing I could make out…

“A cup of coffee for sixteen cents?” I blurted, turning my incredulous stare to Queenie. “When was this place last occupied?”

She gave me a sheepish look. “February.”

“Of 1940?”

“Of course not.” Queenie straightened and shook off the sheepish appearance. “This is what it was like before the last witch took it over.” She gave the desolate interior a critical once over. “Unfortunately, she chose to use magic to fix it up instead of elbow grease. So when she left, all her repairs left with her. That’s how magic works, you know.”

Yes, I was fully aware. I understood magic. I just wasn’t proficient at using it.

“Well, good thing I believe in using elbow grease.” I didn’t have a choice. No way could I manipulate my magic into updating and cleaning this place. On a rare good day, I could use magic to style my hair.

On a typical day, my magic would more likely turn my hair chartreuse and give me a bowl cut.

“The hiring committee will cover your expenses until you are ready to open,” Queenie assured me. “And I promise, the residents really will help fix it up.”

All of them except the phoenix. I wasn’t sure how I’d ensure that happened, but I’d figure it out. As a witch who’d sworn off her magic, I’d learned how to get creative when it came to doing tasks that normally required magical interference.

A rustling sound snagged my attention. I glanced down, watching as a dust-covered furry animal shimmied its way out from underneath the counter, dragging what looked like a frayed extension cord behind it. The animal shook, sending a cloud of dust flying. Queenie waved her hand in front of her face while I squinted at the creature.

Now that it had rid itself of some of the dirt and dust, I could tell it was a cat. A calico, with a patchwork of gold and black and brown on its head. Its back was covered in orange, the pattern shaped like a flame. Its chest and paws were white.

Well, gray, but I assumed that after a solid scrubbing, they’d be white.

Despite the dust, the kitty was utterly adorable. I wanted to scoop her up—I figured it was female since almost all calicos were—and cuddle her to my chest, dust and dirt be damned.

“Shoo! Shoo!” Suddenly, Queenie had a broom in her hands. She waved it at the cat, who hissed and arched its back before zooming through a partially opened door to what I assumed was the storeroom in the back of the coffee shop.

“Why’d you do that?” I asked, alarmed.

Queenie sniffed. “I dislike cats.”

I studied her mummy wrappings, the broad gold necklace, thick bracelets, and elaborate headdress with a stickpin shaped like a cobra.

“Weren’t you Egyptian royalty when you were human? And weren’t cats revered in your time?”

She rolled her eyes. “My husband, the pharaoh, certainly revered them. He kept dozens of them in the palace. He loved those blasted animals more than he loved me, and yet, in the end, I’m the one he chose to be mummified and buried with him when he died.”

I wrinkled my nose. Queenie clearly had a whole lot of baggage she was still holding onto since, when? The fourteenth century BC?

“That aside,” Queenie said, “that particular cat is a menace. Always getting into things and being a pain in the ass. Trust me, you do not want it hanging out in your coffee shop. Now, let’s see if we can find the circuit breaker and flip on the power, try to get some air flowing through this place.”

She turned on her heel and disappeared through the same doorway the cat had run through.

“Wait,” I called, hurrying after her. “Let’s not turn on the air yet. We should probably clean out the dust first.”

The back room, although certainly plenty dusty, wasn’t nearly as destroyed as the front of the shop, which looked like the Looney Tunes Tasmanian Devil had had a field day. In 1940, apparently.

“Fine,” Queenie called out from much deeper in the room. “I’ll at least turn on the attic fan. It really is quite stifling in here.”

I heard a heavy click, followed by a whirring noise, and then⁠—

BOOM!

I was thrown forward, landing face first on the dirty cement floor. I probably would have broken my nose except a flash of color caught my eye and I turned at the last second. My cheek and shoulder took the brunt of the fall.