Revisions begin on this chapter. It's time for a BIG overhaul.
CASSANDRA WILLOWSTONE
The bonfire burned bright and hot.
In a clearing deep in the forest, I stood alone on the dais, swaying to drumbeats. I wore a silky white robe, the material draped on my body.
Such a thin barrier between hiding and being seen.
Soon I would be naked.
The male drummers were on the right side, facing the bonfire, their shirtless bodies sweating as they used strong, calloused hands to create a driving rhythm.
I felt light-headed, and my flesh electrified. Above us purple and gray clouds gathered. Thunder boomed.
They arrived.
The brothers.
The triplets.
I knew them. Not now. Not here. Earlier.
Puppies?
Running in a field pouncing on each other. Barking and nipping.
Playing.
My heart ached.
I lost something. No, everything.
But they were here.
They were mine.
Werewolves.
The drummers stilled, the last drumbeat echoing into the full-moon night. Not a single clan member standing on the other side of the flames made a sound. Only the crackling of burning wood interrupted the eerie silence.
Then a werewolf howled.
And another.
And one more.
Together the howls blended together.
Homecoming.
I woke up, my heart racing, my breath labored. I sat up, my gaze drawn to the fluttering sheer curtains. Pale moonlight crept across the wood floors.
Before going to sleep, I'd opened my bedroom windows, hoping the gentle breeze, night calls of cicadas, and smells of the mint growing in the window box would lull me into nice dreams. And if not nice, then no dreams at all.
I sat up and slid my feet into my fuzzy slippers. I walked to the window, pushing aside the curtains and looking out into the back gardens.
The werewolves were coming.
The Moon King pack ruled all the packs on the continent. For the first time in a thousand years, triplet sons had been born to the alpha king. Now, they were of age to choose their mate.
And that was the talk of not only Garden Grove, but the whole supernatural world. Werewolf prophecy claimed that the brothers would share one Luna, and most shocking of all, their Luna would be a witch.
The search for this mysterious witch-mate had been ongoing.
Now, it was Garden Grove's turn to host the Moon King and his sons. Single witches had been preparing for weeks.
I had no time or energy for werewolf-mate hunts. I had practical worries. Twin sisters to wrangle. A menial job to work. A plan to implement so that the Willowstones still had a future in the town our family helped found.
In the distance, I heard the howling of wolves, and shivered.
Stop worrying, I thought. They're not here for you.
I shut the window and then climbed back into bed.
"No dreams," I muttered. "No dreams."
***|***|***
"Who left the belladonna on the counter?" I yelled from the kitchen. My younger twin sisters, April and May, were noticeably silent.
I scooped the dried leaves and berries back into the jar labeled "Belladonna – Do Not Leave Open Because Grumbler Will Eat It." I clamped the lid on and slid the container back into the cabinet. I wiped down the cutting board, threw away the paper towel, and marched into the living room.
My sisters weren't there.
I knew they weren't upstairs. I'd gotten out of bed fifteen minutes ago and found the second floor of our Queen Anne home empty. I hadn't even changed out of my pajamas before coming down for coffee. Instead of making myself some caffeine bliss, I found the opened jar of belladonna. Knowing my sisters, they were up to no good. In fact, they specialized in up-to-no-good activities.
"Meow." I looked down at the calico cat winding around my legs. I reached down and scratched Grumbler around the ears and under the chin, her favorite spot. "You didn't eat the belladonna, did you? Because you can't have it, you addict."
Obviously offended by my accusation, Grumbler meowed at me again, flicking her tail as she sauntered away.
Belladonna was toxic to everyone but Grumbler. As a witch's familiar, she wasn't affected by little things like poisonous plants. Grumbler was the Willowstone family familiar, passed down from first daughter to first daughter since our witch ancestors got off the Mayflower. In other words, the damned cat was immortal, but belladonna was Grumbler's catnip. It made her crazy for a couple of hours and then she fell into a coma worthy of Sleeping Beauty.
I walked down the hallway and out the back door. I stood at the edge of the wraparound porch and studied the massive yard with its vegetable, herb, and flower gardens. Beyond the gardens was the apothecary with its private and public entrances. Every time I laid eyes on it, I was reminded that it had once been the pride of our family—the place every witch in the county used to shop for their spell ingredients.
I didn't see two blonde witches, and that worried me. This was not the time for my eighteen-year-old sisters to cause trouble. I had a busy day ahead of me—an important busy day.
Today would finally give me what I'd been working for since I was eighteen.
Acceptance into the Garden Grove Coven.
Or rather, re-acceptance into the coven. The Willowstones had been one of the founding families of Garden Grove. My ancestors had not only created the coven with five other witch families—the Bantons, Narrows, Jones, Moores, and Caulders—but they'd also formed the Council of Six that oversaw the coven's activities.
Until the day my mother stained our family name forever by killing herself and her lover with black magic.
The respect for the Willowstone name crumbled overnight.
My father died in a car accident about a year after the twins were born. Seven years after that, Mom's selfishness cost us everything. The Willowstones had been ousted from the coven. Lifelong friends turned their backs on us. Businesses closed their doors to us. I had just graduated high school, but my sisters, who were only ten at the time, became targets of bullies, both human and witch, at Garden Grove's only elementary school. So, I had to educate them myself. Not an easy thing to do when I was barely an adult, but we managed. My college fund went toward living expenses, but eventually I was able to take courses through an online apothecary school and attain certifications in plant magic, horticulture sorcery, and herbology spells.
The Willowstone Apothecary Garden had been the place to get fresh ingredients for spellwork. Willowstones had a reputation for our horticulture talents. Hell, Mom had been botanist. It was our brand. Our family legacy.
After what Mom did, nobody wanted our plants. Nobody wanted anything a Willowstone touched.
The Willowstones' long history in Garden Grove, and all our contributions to witches and humans alike, had been erased in the hearts and minds of the townsfolk. I had no choice but to close the apothecary that had been in operation since the town was founded in 1850.
For the last eight years, I'd been working on re-establishing the Willowstone reputation. Everything rested on admittance to the coven. Once that goal was accomplished, I could re-open our family business and breathe new life into our finances and our lives.
My sisters would have the legacy they deserved. The one my mother had traded for revenge.
After today, I could finally stop being ashamed of Fiona Willowstone's sins.
And maybe, one day, I could forgive the act of hate that had blackened her soul and ruined the lives of her children.
Maybe.
My mother was dead.
She didn't need my forgiveness.
But I needed the coven's. Letting a Willowstone back into their ranks would open doors everywhere. For me, yes, but more importantly, for my sisters.
"April! May!" I called out.
I didn't get a response. Hmm.
"Meow."
I looked down at Grumbler. She blinked at me and canted her head.
"Do you know where they're at?"
"Meow." She leapt off the porch and took off down the stone path that led toward the left side of the property.
Oh, no. No.
CASSANDRA WILLOWSTONE
Cassandra Willowstone pulled her car into a metered spot near the park's entrance and turned off the engine. She squeezed the steering wheel and tried to get herself settled. Sheesh. Her nerves were already tattered and she hadn't even left her car yet.
Okay, Cassandra. Deep breaths. She inhaled and exhaled a few times. She steeled herself for the inevitable hate-fest and then got out of her car. She crossed the street to the Jones Family Cleaners, swallowed the knot of dread lodged in her throat, and opened the door.
"What are you doing here?" asked Carol Jones from behind the counter as she walked inside.
The Jones family owned the only dry cleaning service in Garden Grove and she usually avoided the place like the plague, but she was here at Dorianna's behest.
She had to swallow her pride and her bitterness to deal with Carol. Carol not only belonged to the Garden Grove Coven, but she was one of the Council of Six that ran it. Carol had hated her mother, Delia Willowstone, before she used black magic to harm herself and her lover—Douglas Jones, the mayor of Garden Grove and Carol's husband.
She understood Carol's rancor. She was the daughter of the woman who'd murdered her spouse. But neither Carol nor anyone else it seemed could separate her from her mother's terrible act. So she paid the price from Mom's transgressions. Every. Single. Day.
"I don't serve Willowstones." The tone of Carol's voice suggested she'd rather eat slugs than speak to her. Cassie understood the sentiment because she felt the same way about talking to Carol.
"I know," she said smiling even though her lips protested the effort. "But I'm not here for me."
She put her purse on the counter and dug through it until she found the yellow pick-up ticket. She tried to hand it to Carol, but Carol reared back from the counter as though the little paper was covered in poison.
She was used to the contempt, especially from Carol, but no matter how many times she endured the obnoxious behavior of Carol and her ilk, her feelings still got hurt. She felt like shards of glass were embedded in her lungs, making it difficult to breathe.
She heard the overhead bell tinkle as the door opened and a new customer arrived. Oh, great. Now she had a witness to her humiliation. Hurrah.
"Move aside," said Carol, her gaze cold. Carol looked past her and aimed a welcoming smile at whoever was behind her. "Good morning, sir! How may I help you?"
"Good morning," said a male voice that made goosebumps prickle on Cassie's skin. "No worries," he continued. "I'll wait my turn."
"She's not a customer." Carol glared at her. Her voice raised, she said, "I'm sorry, Cassandra, but I've told you before I won't give you any money. You'll just drink it away and end up in the gutter. Don't you get tired of waking up in alleyways smelling like booze and urine?"
Mortification heated her cheeks and she swallowed the shame crowding her throat. It's okay, she told herself. This is the last time Carol spews her hatred at you. When she was welcomed into the coven tonight, the woman wouldn't have to like her, but she would have to respect her.
Until then, however, she was dirt beneath Carol's shoes.
She put the ticket on the counter and pushed it toward Carol. "It's for Dorianna," she said. "She asked me to pick up her dress for tonight's gathering."
Carol's demeanor immediately changed from searing hatred to plain ol' snotty. "Well, why didn't you say that when you walked in?"
Carol grabbed the ticket, looked at it, and turned around to the electronic racks filled with plastic-wrapped clothing. She flipped a button and the racks began to circulate. Eventually, Carol found the long white dress with its delicate green stitching.
The plastic covering the frock crinkled as Carol took it off the rack and handed it to her. "Thirty dollars," Carol said.
She gaped at Carol. "Thirty dollars?"
"It's ten for the dress," Carol said, her smile thin. "And twenty for the pick-up fee."
"Wow," said the man behind her. "That's steep."
Carol offered the customer a smile so warm you could melt chocolate on it. "Oh, don't worry, sir. That fee is only charged to certain customers who have, unfortunately, proven untrustworthy."
Carol returned her gaze to her. "You can give me thirty dollars … or you can tell Dorianna you couldn't pick up the dress." Carol gave her a sharp, thin smile. "What's it gonna be, Cassandra?"
CASSANDRA WILLOWSTONE
I swallowed as cold shock washed over me. "What?"
"Dorianna called me," he said. "I know what really happened, so don't bother lying about it."
Indignation quivered in my throat, but I stalled the words that would get me into more trouble. Being accused of something I hadn't done—or planned to do—made acid roil in my stomach. I focused on the part that didn't make any sense. "You said owners, Mr. Paller. I thought you and your dad owned this factory."
"I bought Dad out when I took over." He glared at me. "Not that it's any of your business, but the Millers own one-third of Paller's Pickles."
"They do?" I asked, appalled by this news. "Since when?"
"It's a recent development," he said.
How recent, I wondered. Five minutes ago? I couldn't believe this. I expected Dorianna and her mother to exact some kind of revenge, but this was fast work even for them.
Pete was exactly the kind of sycophant who would happily kiss the ring—and buttocks—of Dorianna in exchange for perceived power. He wasn't smart enough to realize he was another puppet for the conniving woman.
She pulled on the strings of a lot of people in Garden Grove. She was an evil puppeteer who honed in on the weaknesses of others and used their vulnerabilities to control them. I should know. I was her favorite puppet.
"I'm letting you go," said Pete. "We don't employ thieves."
"I'm not a thief." Desperation filtered through my outrage. I couldn't lose this job. Not now. Not when everything else had been taken away. "It was a misunderstanding." I inhaled deeply to steady my shaking voice. I tried to smile, but my lips refused to cooperate. "The sheriff straightened it out. He can tell you what happened." I pointed at the phone on his desk. "Call him."
Pete's expression soured. "I don't need to call anybody. I have more than one reason to sack you, Cassandra. For example, you're nearly an hour late to work."
"An hour!" My mouth dropped open. "It's thirty minutes at most, Mr. Paller, and it's… it's a first-time mistake."
His gaze narrowed and his lips pinched together, giving his squishy face a cartoonish appearance. "If you read your employee handbook, and I have a signed paper saying you did, then you know our policy. Specifically, Section Five, Paragraph A. If you will be more than five minutes late, you must call in with a verifiable, acceptable excuse." He lifted his hand and counted off his fat fingers. "You were more than five minutes late. You didn't call in. Even if you had, your excuse for excessive lateness is unacceptable. In case I'm not being clear, Cassandra, you're fired." He pulled open a drawer, reached in, and withdrew a sealed envelope. He pushed it across the desk. "This is your final check for all the days you've worked since the last pay period."
Misery crawled through me as I stared at the white envelope with my name typed on it.
"What about vacation and sick days?" I asked.
"You only get compensation for those if you quit."
"Then let me quit." Pride clogged my throat, but I choked it down. "Please, Mr. Paller. Please. I need the money."
"You're fired." His gaze held no empathy. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying the fact I was groveling. He lifted his hands in a nothing-I-can-do gesture all the while his expression maintained cold superiority. He could barely contain the smirk threatening his lips. "That's the way it has to be. End of discussion."
I doubted Dorianna had to do much to get Pete to dance to her tune. Even if he had the heart to let me quit, which he didn't, he still wouldn't do it because Dorianna was a lot scarier than I was. I could imagine the delight the witch would take when Pete conveyed my piteous moment to her. I'm sure they'd laugh and laugh. Fresh humiliation rushed over me.
Pete pushed back his chair and heaved himself to his feet. He held out a pudgy hand. "I need your apron."
"What about a reference? I have a good record here, Mr. Paller. The least you can do is give me a letter stating so."
He crossed his arms and sighed. "You know there's not another place in this town that will hire you."
"I'll apply in Ash City." I looked at him. "I've worked here for two years without any problems. I deserve a reference."
"Can't give you one." Once again, he extended his hand and this time, he wiggled his fingers. "Apron. Now."
Defeated, I stood up and took off my apron. Well, if I wasn't going to work here anymore, then the least I could do was make sure his female workers didn't have to tolerate any more of his misogynistic abuse.
As I gave him the apron, I made sure my hand touched his, and then I muttered under my breath, "If on women your unwanted touch lingers, then let this magic twist your fingers. Learn to leave women alone, or this magic will crack your bones."
My spell wormed under his skin, spreading through both of his hands.
"Ow!" Pete jerked away from me, dropping the apron onto the floor. He lifted his hands and studied his fingers. He glared at me. "What did you do?"
"Pinch another female employee's rear end and find out," I said.
His face went white.
I think, up until that moment, Pete had forgotten I was a witch, too. And I had just as much magic at my fingertips as his new co-owners did.
I grabbed the envelope and left Pete Paller's office. The only other thing I carried with me was the petty satisfaction of ending Pete's mistreatment of female workers—one way or the other.
I guess the Millers weren't the only ones who'd gotten revenge today.
***|***|***|***|***
I entered the house, feeling like I'd been trampled by a soccer team and then thrown under a fast-moving train.
It wasn't even noon yet and my entire life had collapsed.
Again.
I wanted to grab a pint of ice cream and a bottle of wine, go upstairs, get into my pajamas, and lay in bed.
Was it bad form to use a Crazy Straw in a bottle of merlot?