“Please tell me you’re not planning on using magic to fix those muffins. That’s got to violate at least ten different health codes,” Benjamin circled my legs, getting in my way.
I planted my hands on my hips. “Isn’t it your sacred duty to teach me magic?”
“My sacred duty, first and foremost, is to protect you,” he said.
“This spell is going to protect me from the public humiliation I’ll feel if I show up with those gross muffins.”
“I provide supernatural protection,” he said, not backing down. “You’re on your own with public humiliation.”
“Well, I have opposable thumbs, so it looks like you can’t stop me.” I touched the doorknob on the basement door—the room where all of the Wilder witches who had come before me practiced their magical experiments. Rather than going down to retrieve the black leather bound book, I whispered a summoning incantation I’d gotten quite good at in recent days.
I heard a couple bangs from the basement—probably from the book knocking against the walls. Then after a brief moment, the book shot into my hands. I waved the book in front of Benjamin, taunting him. “That was pretty cool, wasn’t it?”
He glowered at me with those freaky yellow eyes of his. “That summoning spell has made you exceptionally lazy.”
“You’re telling me. You should see my daily step count for last month.” I opened the book and flipped through the tissue-thin pages. “OK, what am I looking for here?” I muttered to myself.
Before Benjamin could answer, the book wiggled out of my grip and floated over to the kitchen counter. It looked as if invisible hands were prying the book open and leafing through the pages.
I blinked as a ghostly vision of a woman in slim-fitting jeans and a sweater appeared before my eyes. She had short blonde hair and a furrowed brow as she bent over the old grimoire.
“Aunt Martha,” I breathed.
I had never quite gotten used to seeing Aunt Marta’s spirit kicking around the cabin, but at least it didn’t cause me to spiral into a panic these days.
Benjamin’s eyes lit up and he happily pawed at the apparition. He had been Aunt Martha’s familiar before me, and the two were close.
The friendly spirit paused, glancing down to give Benjamin a scratch behind the ears. Her fingers appeared to go right through the dog, but he didn’t seem to mind. “I trust you two have been getting along,” she said.
I saw her lips move, but it was as if her words were echoing in my mind rather than actually being spoken aloud.
Benjamin and I exchanged a look.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Martha said. Then she closed her eyes and held both of her hands over the yellowing pages of the grimoire. Her shoulders heaved as she breathed in. The pages of the grimoire fluttered wildly back and forth.
With a smile, she regarded me with her warm blue eyes—the same color eyes that she shared with my mother and me. “I don’t know what it is with us Wilder witches, but we sure do have a bad habit of burning our baked goods. I like to think it’s because we live in the moment. Ah! Here’s the spell I was looking for. I think it will be just what you need.” She touched her fingers to the page. “You’ve made me so proud, Natalie. But you’ve been too focused on that old drafty lodge making money. Spring is here. The equinox is upon us. This sabbat is all about new beginnings, new relationships, and, of course, a new challenge.”
I frowned as I leaned against the kitchen counter. “What kind of new challenge?”
The older woman chuckled. “The kind that will require you to see things differently.”
“Care to be a bit more specific?” I prompted.
Aunt Martha set grimoire on the counter and tapped her finger on the page. “That’s not for me to say.”
I sighed. “Whatever you’re hinting at, it sounds bad.”
Her smile faltered. “There are parts of the past I deeply regret—things that could have been dealt with differently. But that’s not for you to worry about tonight. There’s a party to attend. It’s not all toil and trouble on Wolf Mountain. Start with this spell, and see where it takes you.”
She flickered, appearing to go in and out of focus like I was looking through a microscope.
Then she was gone.
And… that pretty much summed up life in a nutshell.
I had a dead aunt who would pop in for the occasional visit, a talking dog who insulted me daily, and a very, very sensitive smoke detector.
Benjamin jumped up, resting his paws on the edge of the granite countertop. His yellow eyes scanned the page Aunt Martha had left open.
“What’s the spell?” I asked, leaning over behind him.
In neat black ink, I saw the spell written in cursive.
A Shapeshifting Spell for an Experienced Witch:
What I see is what I get,
The object looks how I expect.
Make it how I want, reborn,
With these words, I now transform.
Benjamin sighed. “It’s times like these when I am reminded where you get your recklessness from. I don’t recommend you doing this spell despite what Martha thinks. Transformation spells, particularly shapeshifting spells, are incredibly volatile.”
I folded my arms. “Lighten up, Benjamin. It’s for a batch of muffins. What’s the worst that could happen?”
He sniffed a muffin delicately with this moist black nose. “Don’t tempt fate by asking such questions.”
Ignoring him, I trained my gaze over those charred little muffins and recited the spell aloud.
We fell silent as we waited.
A moment later, those blackened muffin tops slowly began to fade into beautiful, golden brown cranberry muffins.
“Hey, it worked!” I clapped my hands together. “I wish I could tell Lola about this spell. It would probably come in handy at the bakery.” I set the muffins on the wire rack and breathed in the sweet, fruity scent.
Benjamin sniffed at the muffins with a skeptical look on his furry features.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Blake’s here,” Benjamin announced. “Would you like me to stall him while you go through your ritual of fixing your hair and slathering on more face paint, or are you two past that stage now?”
I hated how well that obnoxious Rottweiler knew me. I was, in fact, in the process of frantically combing my fingers through my long wavy blonde hair and checking my reflection in the shiny oven door. “It’s not called face paint, it’s makeup. And no, I’m not past that stage yet. We haven’t even talked about if we’re officially boyfriend and girlfriend or whatever.”
“Ah, yes,” Benjamin said. “I believe the word you’re looking for is D.T.R..”
“I mean, sure, I like the guy,” I said to Benjamin as I headed for the door. “I’ve had feelings for him for months now, but I don’t want him to get hurt, you know? I’m a witch and I have a whole wide world of evil supernatural enemies to fight off.” I paused at the door, fluffing my hair one more time. “And Blake’s just a guy. He doesn’t have any supernatural powers—other than looking really good without a shirt.”
“Perhaps I wasn’t clear,” Benjamin said, having a seat on the bottom stair in the foyer. “I am not the one you should be D.T.R.-ing with, and I certainly don’t need to know what you think of the neighbor without his shirt.”
I went on, realizing it actually felt good to say this stuff out loud. “I guess I thought the reason I didn’t date him before was because I was protecting him, but that wasn’t true. I’d been protecting me. It just sucks opening your heart to someone. Like, what if we break up? What if he cheats on me like my last boyfriend, especially with his goddess of an ex hanging around town? What if all of the sudden Blake decided I was annoying and he didn’t want to ever talk to me again?”
“Aren’t you ever concerned about annoying me?” Benjamin stretched his paws out and laid across the stair.
“Not really,” I said. “I’m literally the only person who can understand you,
so you’re pretty much stuck with me.”
“Now that is a depressing thought,” Benjamin said, licking his paw.
“Best get used to burned muffins.”
With that, I swung open the door and greeted Blake with a huge smile. Seeing my handsome neighbor in his usual Levis, flannel shirt and hiking boots made me feel that warm, prickly feeling of tiny electric shocks moving up and down my spine. As a Wilder witch, I had the ability to create and manipulate electricity, among other things.
Because my witchcraft was connected to my emotions and my subconscious, it usually went a bit haywire when I got… sort of… over-excited.
I squeezed my hands into fists, willing myself to regain control. “Great timing,” I said. “I just finished baking a batch of cranberry muffins. They look amazing, if I do say so myself.”
Benjamin snorted and trotted back the living room area that connected to the kitchen. He hopped onto the sofa and circled three times before curling up a big, furry black and tan ball.
Blake followed me into the kitchen. His nose scrunched up as he breathed in. “Is something burning in here?”
“Not anymore,” I said triumphantly motioning to the wire rack of muffins. I held one up. “Want to try one?”
“These do look amazing.” Blake accepted the baked good. “You always talk about how bad you are at cooking. All this time you’ve been holding out on me.”
“You know me. I’m full of surprises,” I said, watching as he peeled off the paper muffin wrapper and took a bite.
As Blaked chewed, his eyebrows slowly drifted up his forehead. He swallowed hard before setting the muffin back down on the wire rack. “Natalie, I’m going to be honest with you. That was terrible. Don’t let anyone else eat these.”
I felt my face crumble. “What? Really?”
Blake nodded and touched my shoulder. “I’m saying this because I care about you. Seriously, you can’t bring those to the potluck tonight.”
“Do you just hate cranberries or something?” I asked.
“No, it’s not that,” Blake said, picking up another muffin and examining it in the light of the antler chandelier hanging above the kitchen table. “They’re the right color, but they taste like they’ve been burned to a crisp.”
“Thanks a lot, Aunt Martha,” I said under my breath.
Frowning, I took a bite of the muffin and covered my mouth with my hand. Sure enough, the muffin tasted like a piece of charcoal. I snatched a paper towel off the counter and spit the bite out.
Blake chuckled. “Did you use magic on these?”
I lifted my eyes to meet his. “Maybe,” I said, not totally ready to admit my blunder. “But so what if I did? The spell should’ve worked.”
“You must not have been focused enough,” Benjamin said, lifting his head over the back of the couch. “God knows what you were thinking about, but clearly it wasn’t about baking muffins for the potluck.”
“I have a lot on my mind, Benjamin,” I said, leaning around Blake to see into the living room area. “So sue me.”
Benjamin cocked his head. “Do I need to remind you that you alone are the protector of innocent souls on this mountain?”
“Haven’t you ever heard of work-life balance, Benjamin? You don’t want me getting burned out on this being-a-witch-thing after less than a year.”
“You do enjoy burning things,” he shot back.
“Oh, no you didn’t,” I growled.
Blake cocked an eyebrow at me. “What are you two talking about?”
“Nothing.” I picked up another muffin and gave it a squeeze between my fingers. It felt light and springy like a muffin should. “It’s such a shame. They look so delicious.”
Blake scratched at the stubble on his face and laughed. “Well, looks can be deceiving.”
3
Strings of lights hung on the tree branches bordering the trail. Homemade paper lanterns swayed in the breeze. Ahead, I heard the joyful strumming of an acoustic guitar.
Benjamin trotted along, stopping to sniff at trees and paw at the colorful wildflowers that had begun to blossom between the thick roots of trees.
When we got to the clearing, a flash of light burst in front of my eyes.
Blake stepped in front of me. “Roger Spitz, please show some restraint tonight. It’s a town party. Can you keep the pictures to a minimum?”
“I’m a guest here,” Roger said, tugging on the hem of his button-down short-sleeve shirt. He had on designer jeans and leather shoes that probably weren’t meant for trudging around the damp forest floor. “I’m just taking pictures like the rest of the folks here at the festival.”
“You know, I agreed to let you take exclusive photos on set because you’re the producer’s cousin and I own him a favor, but don’t push your luck.” Blake gave the man a hard look. “And if you’re going to take pictures at least get the facts straight.” Blake caught hold of my hand. “I’m not with Savannah.”
With a shrug, Roger took another photo. “You know how it goes. No one cares about the truth. It’s all about what story is the juiciest, and Blavannah is one juicy story.”
“Blavannah,” I muttered as Blake led me past the photographer.
“Ignore him,” Blake said. “Tonight’s going to be perfect.”
“You’re right.” I smiled as we found an open patch of grass to sit. I dropped my tote bag on the ground and laid down a blanket. Benjamin’s stub of a tail was wiggling back and forth as he scratched at the blanket several times before plopping down with a content sigh.
The scent of the springtime air was a mixture of sweet florals and musky smoke from the bonfire.
The flickering of the fire cast a flattering glow on Blake’s rugged features. “I’ll be back with some sangria. You wait here and hold our spot. The performances are about to start.”
I settled in beside Benjamin, giving him a scratch behind the ears. Then I smoothed down the hem of my pale blue dress and slipped off my Birkenstocks. Stretching my feet in front of me, I savored the sensation of new spring grass between my toes.
I had to hand it to the people of this small town in North Carolina. Wolf Mountain threw some of the best parties.
As I watched Blake weave through the clusters of people scattered around the grassy expanse, I saw some familiar faces.
Sheriff Angie sat on a rock, bouncing her young son, Chris on her knee. When I’d first met Angie, I’d thought it was strange that she had such a small kid while being a single mother in her mid-forties. I still hadn’t heard the story of what happened to her husband, but I had a feeling it wasn’t a very happy story.
It was something Angie probably didn’t care to talk about—just like her ill-fated romance with Dean Elliot nineteen years ago.
Wolf Mountain was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen, but it was full of dark secrets. Supernatural creatures tended to find their way here from all over the world. Some were just looking for a home where they’d be able to fit in—like Liam who did his best to keep his werewolf side at bay. Or Frederick Forbes, the lodge chef who, after moving from place to place for a hundred years, finally found a job where no one would bat an eye at him being eternally in his fifties.
Some of the supernatural folks who lived here used to be ordinary humans themselves until something changed the course of their lives forever.
I supposed I fell into that category.
For once, Angie wasn’t in her boxy tan sheriff uniform. She had on a white sundress that stopped mid-calf and a wispy looking lavender scarf around her neck. The blush on her cheeks almost matched the shade of her strawberry blonde hair as she laughed at something Ida Honeycutt said.
Ida Honeycutt, who had tied her fiery red hair up in a bun, sat beside her adult daughter, Lola. The nighttime breeze had teased out little wisps of red curls from Ida’s bun, making her look younger than her fifty-something years. Ida Honeycutt was a nice enough woman. She was always bringing over casseroles and freshly baked breads when she made her t
he housekeeping rounds for all the cabins and lodge rooms on the mountain, but I got the sense that she didn’t appreciate living in the middle of a supernatural hotspot.
She never quite looked me in the eye these days—not since the death of her husband, which, to be fair, had been partly my fault.
I saw many new faces at the party as well—people who were in town working on Blake’s movie.
Lenny Holmes maneuvered her slender, boyish figure through the crowd. Her sharp eyes moved around the space with a purpose.
She found a seat on the grass near the makeshift stage—basically, poles decorated with a garland of flowers and twinkle lights—and she patted the ground beside her, inviting her two friends to sit down with her.
One of Lenny's companions was a woman with long black braids, mocha-colored skin and the most epic smoky eyeshadow I’d ever seen. Judging from her perfect makeup and trendy romper, I’d have guessed she was in the hair and makeup department.
The other I almost mistook for Savannah until I saw her face. This woman had long, willowy arms and legs, black perfectly-styled hair and camera-ready curves. But rather than Savannah’s unique emerald eyes and dimpled cheeks, this woman had brown eyes and hard angles along her cheekbones and jaw. I remembered Blake introducing me to her when the filming started last month.
She was Vicki Burgess—Savannah’s stand-in.
I found it odd that in spite of her physical similarities to Savannah, she seemed to blend into the gathering of people. She didn’t have the same demanding presence that Savannah Silver had. For whatever reason, she just didn’t have that ‘it’ factor.
Another series of blinding flashes, courtesy of Roger, drew my attention to the couple walking up the path.
There she was—Savannah Silver, A-list celebrity, my neighbor’s ex, and a walking reminder that I really needed to renew my gym membership.
That woman was all perfect hair, white teeth, and flawless skin from head to toe. Surprisingly, she was accompanied by the last person I would have expected.
Starstruck Witch Page 2
