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“Maybe, but I can’t eat all these doughnuts myself.” When I offer the box again, he takes it.

“Well, thanks. Rory will love these.”

Her nickname? It sounds odd. I think I prefer Aurora—not that my preferences matter.

“Good to know.”

Maybe I’ll bring a box to work sometime. It might get her on my good side, but probably not, and I have bigger things to be concerned about. Like fixing up their yard on my day off.

I take my time inspecting the area. The flower bushes are looking good, but there’s no denying that the lawn needs a trim, and the leaves—freshly fallen, rotting fall leaves—need blowing. Their walkway is covered in the things, and the last thing I need is someone slipping on wet leaves this far from town. It would take emergency services way too long to reach them.

Either way, I should be able to make fast work of it.

I unload my lawnmower, and when I look up, Aurora is staring at me from her bedroom window—at least what I assume is her bedroom window. It used to be someone else’s, but she’s behind the huge bay windows now, watching me with wide eyes and parted lips.

I lift an eyebrow at her. Did she forget that I’m doing this for her? Or for her mom. Whoever’s in charge of this place, really.

I rev the mower and get to work.

Every time I look up at the window, she’s still there.

Odd woman.

Chapter 8

Aurora

I didn’t think I would ever be this excited to find a book, but after a week of dodging Jewel and Sterling about the event I’m supposed to be planning, I finally have something that may help. Everything was easier when I could go to my dad for advice. Sure, he would usually tell me to pick up a book anyway, but at least he would have some recommendations.

Now, I have to do everything myself. At least I found something. The book is dense, dusty, musty, resting at the bottom of a box Mom stored in her bedroom. A box full of my dad’s stuff.

It probably would have been easier to find if everything hadn’t been packed up. She can’t get rid of him, but she can’t let him breathe, and that’s the difficulty of mourning.

I bring the book back to my room and blow the dust from the cover, my nose wrinkling as I fight off a sneeze and creep out of the room, back into mine. It’s dark out now—a relief if only because Sterling is no longer loitering outside, and quiet has fallen over our home.

It’s different out here in Starbrook, in this cottage, even though we’re still living in Maine. Peaceful. No sounds of the city. No street lights to keep the night lit. Just the moon and the stars.

I sit by the bay window, in the little nook the last owners put in, and stare up at the stars. The sky used to whisper secrets to me through transits and retrogrades, and now… silence. Not even a twinkle.

So, I open the book and hope for the best.

Working with meteor showers is a more recent form of cosmic magic, unlike the sort of magic my father taught me—ancient and secretive. No wonder I don’t know anything about it.

Newer practices are equally potent, and this is especially fitting if we want something kitschy for a festival.

Some of the information is useless: baneful magic, as I expected. Of course, baneful energy can also be used for protective spells. A protective spell over the town, maybe? One thing to consider. The energy can be chaotic void energy. That could be useful for a releasing spell, something like a bonfire. Meteors also generally have fire energy.

I wonder what Sterling would think. Which one would he rather do? This is his event.

And I could probably ask him—should probably—but I don’t want to. The closer I get to him, the sooner he’ll realize I’m a fraud, and I’ll lose. I’ve always been a loser. Art school dropout, failure of a witch, failure of a daughter. For the first time in a while, maybe forever, I want to win.

Eh, it’s less about winning, more about beating Sterling and his stupid, hot, smirking face.

I press my lips together and shut the book, moving from the nook and into bed. Sterling and I are supposed to be working together. Actually, I’m pretty sure he’s in charge of the entire event.

“How did I get involved in this?” I shut off my nightlight and slump into bed, closing my eyes. “A leader of a coven? Me?”

And there I am. For five minutes.