“Just remember to draw the circle of graveyard dirt, then anoint the candle and light it a few seconds before midnight and then repeat the spell,” he said. “At the stroke of midnight, heralding the first second of Samhain, the spell will be the most effective.”

  I almost wanted to respond with a hearty ‘duh’. Everyone from witches to werewolves knew the veil was thinnest around All Hallow’s Eve and, more specifically, the moments right before the dawning of October 30th to October 31st.

  “This was nice, Maverick,” I said as I offered him a smile as my eyes filled with unshed tears. “We should meet up more often.”

  “Don’t get maudlin on me, Astrid,” he sniffed. “Blubber like a silly girl and I’ll leave you to find your own way home.”

  I immediately beamed at him. “You are such a bastard, but I still love you.”

  He frowned down at me and one of his eyebrows arched into the air. I couldn’t imagine the last time he’d heard the words ‘I love you’ and he looked just as shocked as he, no doubt, felt. “Ahem,” he cleared his throat uncomfortably.

  “You know, it won’t kill you to say the words also?”

  My brother had never told me he loved me before, so maybe I was asking too much. In fact, his kind moments had been few and far between.

  He cleared his throat again. “I suppose… ahem… I suppose I… love you too.” He said the last three words as quickly as he could, making them come out garbled and unclear. But, they were enough for me. “Thanks, Mav.”

  He nodded. “Now enough of this overemotional tripe.”

  I sniffled and dabbed at my eyes as I grinned up at him and Maverick hexed me with dry eyes all the way home.

  Chapter Five

  It was the evening of October 30th and Wanda was hosting an official meeting of the Black Cat Cocktail club.

  The club was named for Hellcat, after the little jerk had sipped a disastrous mix of alcohol and one of Poppy’s potions and then blipped out of existence for a whole night.

  Even after that fiasco, it was still a full-time job trying to keep him out of the liquor cabinet during cocktail nights. If Hellcat weren’t magical, his penchant for sneaking booze would probably have killed him already. As it was, Hellcat was literally acting out the part of ‘cat burglar’ as he attempted to smuggle a bottle of amaretto back to the little bachelor pad Wanda constructed for him in the backyard.

  I spotted the slim, black feline skulking in my periphery as he approached the liquor cabinet and cast a casual glance at the floor, drawing in my power, and wiggling the tip of my nose. Static leaped from one of Wanda’s kitchen rugs and gave Hellcat a tiny zap to his kitty derriere. He yowled in shock (there was no way the zap had actually hurt him), bounding onto a counter as he faced me with a hiss and his usual immaculate coat now resembled an ebony pom-pom.

  “You foul, flame-haired guttersnipe!” He howled. “You daughter of a milkless goat!”

  “Here we go,” Wanda muttered from the living room, where she was furiously sewing the remaining pieces for her Halloween sale. The girls had yet to arrive and Wanda was trying to get the last touches finished before they did. She’d asked me to order a few pizzas for the night, and those were set to arrive in another twenty minutes or so.

  “That’s what you get for trying to steal booze!” I answered.

  “You wretched, bilious shrew!!” Hellcat continued.

  I’d invented the static spell when I was ten, and annoyed at Aunt Celestine, no doubt for all her ridiculous rules. I’d cast the spell so that each time Celestine set foot on the carpet, her hair would leap to cartoonish attention. After an ear-blistering scolding, she’d admitted it was an effective prank for a ten-year-old. In return, I hadn’t gotten hexed—that had been my first real win when it came to magic. I’d been proud of myself then, and I was proud of myself now.

  Even though I hadn’t done anything more than surprise Hellcat, from the sounds he made, you would’ve thought I’d stuck a pin in his backside. I smirked. “Consider it a little Samhain payback!”

  “Payback in return for what?”

  “For waking me up every weekend at eight am on the dot!” After each rude wake up call, Hellcat would insist I should be following the example of Benjamin Franklin, who said something about getting up early and being rich.

  “Early to bed, early to rise, makes a young witch, healthy, wealthy and wise!” Hellcat quoted for only the fifteen hundredth time.

  “If I never hear that blasted quote again, it will be too soon!” I yelled back at him.

  “It is no wonder your mother cast you adrift, forcing you into this pestilent burg!” Hellcat continued. Half the time, I had no idea what he was talking about. No one did.

  I turned away from the vicious little pest, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of watching me flinch. Instead, I lifted a bottle of vodka from one of the shelves, elbow knocking painfully into the door as I did. The padlock clanked noisily against the wood as I uttered a choice curse word under my breath. Wanda kept this thing locked up tighter than Fort Knox during the weekdays, so Hellcat, the lush, wouldn’t help himself to her array of liquor when she wasn’t looking. He hadn’t broken the padlock yet, but the claw marks on the wood said he’d definitely tried.

  “Curse me all you want, Hellcat, but you’re getting a virgin cocktail, same as me. I don’t get to have a sip of liquor until Yule, so neither do you.”

  “That’s Mr. Abaddon Pompington to you, you ungrateful jackanape,” he sniffed. Abaddon Pompington was Hellcat’s real name—and, yes, just as ridiculous as the cat himself.

  “I’m sleeping in Wanda’s guest room, not yours. Therefore, I don’t see what I have to be grateful to you for.”

  “Because I leave your room unmolested.”

  “Unmolested? Is that what you’d call waking me up early every weekend?” I demanded as the cat narrowed his eyes and bowed low, looking like he was ready to pounce on me. “Don’t even think about it!” I yelled at him, shaking my head. “In fact, you better get lost before I break out an ammonia spell. None of your little lady friends will want to visit you if you smell like troll piss.”

  “Language, Astrid,” Wanda mumbled, which was ridiculous because she’d strewn every profanity under the sun at her awful cat in the time I’d been living here.

  “Piss isn’t a bad word.”

  “Well, it’s not a good word.”

  I faced her as I folded my arms across my chest. “And since when are you worried about good words?”

  “Hmm,” she answered, cocking her head to the side as she considered it. “Good point. Carry on.”

  Hellcat hissed and made a great show of leaving the room, even bothering to hit me with his overly fluffy tail on the way out. After he’d gone, the kitchen was silent, except for the occasional sound of the cocktail shaker. Wanda was a truly terrible potion maker and only had marginally more success with cocktails, so I’d decided to take over for the night. Plus, she was busy working on finishing up her sewing, so it appeared she needed all the help she could get. Not to mention, this was the perfect opportunity to surprise her with my Samhain gift.

  Yes, I’d taken it upon myself to create the themed cocktails for this month’s meeting, but that was unbeknownst to Wanda. Ordinarily, the task of bartending fell to Fifi, Bailey, or Darla (because Poppy wasn’t much better at mixing drinks than Wanda was). However, Fifi was pretty depressed because she’d had another bad date (as was becoming pretty standard where Fifi was concerned), Bailey wasn’t able to make the party, and Darla was notorious for making the drinks so strong, no one could stomach them. That just left Libby who was… well, Libby didn’t drink, so it followed that she wouldn’t want to make drinks either. So, I’d taken the responsibility of becoming bartender for the evening.

  I couldn’t wait to spike Wanda’s drink with the Regression Oil and watch (from a crack in my bedroom door because I wasn’t allowed to attend these shindigs, which was lame but anyway) as Wanda and all the other women were transfixed by the sight of whatever past life decided to reveal itself. I could just imagine everyone’s shock and wonder as the spell came to life. It truly would be the greatest Samhain gift ever.

  My hands shook a little with unrestrained excitement as I mixed the vodka, lime juice and raspberry liqueur for Wanda’s themed drink—a Witch’s Brew cocktail. Then, pulling the vial of Regression Oil out of my pocket, I tipped two teaspoons into her Witch’s Brew and stirred it a few times as I smiled to myself. I wanted this spell to work more than anything. Wanda had been beyond good to me in her own flippant sort of way. Not many witches would have taken me in after I’d gotten kicked out of the coven. Goddess knew where I’d be without Wanda…

  I made Wanda’s and the rest of the drinks in short order. There was a Liquid Ghost cocktail for Darla (coconut rum, white cream, simple vanilla syrup, and half-and-half.) A Zombie mocktail for Libby, (pineapple juice, lemon juice, lime juice, passion fruit syrup, bitters, and garnish). A She-Devil cocktail for Fifi (vodka, pineapple juice, peach juice, cranberry juice, and ice cubes.) I’d even infused that one with a little luck potion, hoping Fifi would find a nice man soon. A Gypsy Eyes for Poppy (dry gin, aperol, grapefruit juice, lime, and simple syrup.) I’d also created a little folded name card that listed the title of each drink, as well as its recipient.

  And of course, there was the signature Black Cat Cocktail (cold cola, cranberry juice, brandy, vodka, and cherry syrup). I was making two virgin Black Cat Cocktails for Hellcat and me, so it was really just a fruity cola at the end of the day.

  Wanda staggered into the kitchen at half-past eleven and glanced at the cocktails and the name cards lined up on the counter, and then shifted her surprised gaze to me. Maybe I looked a little guilty because her eyes narrowed to slits.

  “What are you doing up so late?” she asked, throwing her hands on her hips. “And what are you doing surrounded by all this alcohol?”

  “First off, it’s Friday, and with Samhain, er Halloween, tomorrow, I knew you were busy trying to finish up all your items for the sale. So I thought I’d save you the trouble of mixing the drinks yourself. Consider it an early Samhain present.”

  I could tell she was relieved not to have to bother with the drinks herself, but she made a soft, skeptical noise in the back of her throat, anyway. It was so mom-like that I smiled. Wanda would make a good mother, but with a vampire as her quasi-boyfriend, kids probably weren’t in the cards for them. That and Wanda still had to admit her vampire quasi-boyfriend should really become her vampire fully fledged boyfriend.

  “Hmm, well… my bartending skills are notoriously disappointing, aren’t they?” she asked on a sigh.

  I nodded. “They’re pretty legendarily bad.”

  She didn’t argue because she couldn’t, really. “No alcohol for you until Yule,” she reminded me as I nodded to say I hadn’t forgotten. “How much have you already had?”

  “None!” I started, frowning at her suspicious glance.

  “What about Hellcat?”

  “I banished him from the kitchen before he could steal anything.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “Hellcat hasn’t had anything?”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “Alright, well, you’ve taken care of the drinks and I appreciate it.”

  “Can I stay up with you guys?”

  “No,” she said and immediately shook her head.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you know these get-togethers are for adults only.” She took a breath. “Besides, I don’t want you hearing whatever sordid story Darla’s going to bless us with tonight.” On that subject, she didn’t even try to contain her eye roll. “That ghost always finds new and interesting ways to describe men’s, you know, thingies.”

  “You don’t have to refer to it as a ‘thingy’. I mean, I’m seventeen, not ten, Wanda. I know what men’s bodies look like.”

  “Very good,” she finished, the tension flooding out of her shoulders as she relaxed back into her Jimmy Choos. Wanda was fashion forward, and ‘absurdly stylish’ was usually her default setting, but tonight she’d dressed down, probably because she was busy behind the sewing machine.

  ‘Dressed down’ for Wanda, though, would be considered ‘dressed up’ by anyone else’s standards. Currently, she was wearing slacks paired with one of the angora sweaters I’d knitted, but hadn’t bothered enchanting (in general, Wanda didn’t like wearing enchanted clothing). Regardless, I’d never be as good at enchanting clothing as Wanda was—my magic just wasn’t that versatile—but without fail, I could make a comfy feel-good or lucky sweater. Homework cut down on my knitting time, but I was trying to make at least one item for each one of Wanda’s friends in time for Yule. Though, at this rate, I’d probably have to downsize and settle for scarves. It was tragic, really. Another reason to hate public school.

  “Pizza’s here,” I said at the sound of the doorbell and watched as Wanda walked over to answer it. When she came back into the kitchen, she put the boxes on the counter and I opened the first couple, in search of the Hawaiian. Finding it, I unloaded two pieces onto a plate as Wanda jabbed a finger at me.

  “Once you’re finished eating, it’s bedtime.”

  I frowned at her but dove into the pizza all the same, sipping my virgin cocktail, which was surprisingly good. I mean, I was fairly sure alcohol would make it better, but there it was. Finishing up my pizza, I rinsed my plate, put it in the dishwasher and then started for the hallway.

  I was halfway across the living room when Wanda called, “Astrid?”

  I half-turned to look at her. “What?”

  “Thank you for the drinks.”

  Chapter Six

  My bedroom door was open just a crack, so I heard Haven Hollow’s middle-aged magic users tromping through the front door and into the living room.

  Fifi was the first through the door, already complaining about her recent terrible date. Poppy was offering her words of encouragement and Darla was snickering at something Fifi said, and Libby drowned some of the complaints with a scathing tirade about ‘loose morals’.

  It was usually a bad idea to put the repressed 1950s housewife in the same room with a literal sex demon, but by this point, they were all bound into this tight little group. Because Wanda was technically Libby’s master, Libby felt an instinctive need to be near her and Wanda and Fifi had become friends, so in Fifi’s orbit Libby would remain.

  “Oh, stuff a stocking in it, June Cleaver,” Wanda snapped at Libby.

  “I have to admit I’m not in the mood to sit through another lecture about courtship and chaperones,” Fifi continued on a sigh.

  “Perhaps you’d have nabbed a husband by now if you’d employed a chaperone,” Libby sniffed.

  “Let’s talk about the important parts,” Wanda nearly interrupted Libby. “Bad date it might have been, but did you at least get a look at the gentleman’s—”

  “Power tool?” Poppy interrupted, a note of amusement in her voice. It had to be a relief to Poppy that her ex-sex life with Roy wasn’t the subject of tonight’s evening—usually it was. And that conversation went something along the lines of Poppy being a prude and refusing to give up any of her secrets.

  “Why are we discussing tools now?” Libby asked.

  “We aren’t, dollface,—we’re talkin’ fella tools,” Darla corrected.

  “Oh, goodness!” Libby said, even referencing a penis in the abstract seemed to leave her flustered. “Respectable women do not discuss the contents of a man’s… toolbox.”

  “I’m not sure how to get this through your thick skull, but Fifi is a sex demon,” Wanda said.

  “Please don’t call me that,” Fifi answered in a small voice, shaking her head and looking like she was on the verge of tears.

  “And if Fifi doesn’t get a little nookie now and then, she’ll starve,” Darla continued.

  I could just picture Libby mouthing in impotent fury, but Poppy spoke before Libby could summon up her next tirade.

  “Just leave it alone, Libby,” she said in her softest Mom voice before she turned to the rest of the women and clapping her hands together as if to change the subject, she smiled at each person in turn. “Maybe it’s best we all sit down and start our party? Marty is doing me a favor and watching Finn tonight, so I don’t want to be home too late.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Fifi answered as she glanced down at the coffee table, where Wanda had moved the drinks and the name cards. “Speaking of the drinks,” Fifi continued. “They’re beautiful! Well done, Wanda.”

  “Actually, I’ve been working my fingers off to prepare for tomorrow’s sale, so Astrid made them.”

  “Allowing a seventeen-year-old to mix your alcoholic drinks is just wrong,” Libby started as she crossed her arms against her chest and everyone groaned.

  “Here we go,” they all said in unison.

  “You’re just encouraging her to imbibe the liquid of the devil!” Libby continued as there were more rounds of groaning.

  “Witches view alcohol and drinking differently than mortals do,” Wanda answered in a slightly bored tone. “Astrid has been drinking mead from the time she could walk. It’s all part and parcel of our traditions.”

  “Well, those are terrible traditions to instill in today’s youth!” Libby spouted.

  “Oh, stop bein’ such a square!” Darla yelled at Libby, who continued to stand there, frowning.

  “How are you doing during your first Halloween away from the coven, Wanda?” Poppy asked as she took a seat on the sofa and Wanda handed her a drink, not before double-checking her name plate.

  “First of all, we call it ‘Samhain’,” Wanda corrected. “And… I guess I’m okay.” There was a note of sadness to her voice that surprised me—and all of a sudden, it dawned on me that I wasn’t the only one having a tough time being away from the coven during Samhain. I’d been so busy feeling sorry for myself, I hadn’t even considered that Wanda might have been feeling lonely too. She was gone so much during the day, forced to earn a living to support us both, that we didn’t talk and laugh the way we had when we both lived at the coven. Life was different in Haven Hollow—it wasn’t as carefree, at least where money was concerned. Where other things were concerned… the coven was much more regimented, each of us subject to Celestine’s rules. I had to admit, I much preferred being able to (somewhat) make up my own mind about my life. In the coven, you just didn’t do that—you couldn’t.