I glanced at the other boxes despairingly. There were so many of them, most of them damaged. Nobody had dusted or vacuumed or so much as Febreezed in this building since my arrest. It felt like no one had even been inside it in weeks. Instead, it had just been left to rot.

  Checkers climbed the side of the now-empty box and fell in, the flimsy cardboard buckling under his weight.

  “Empty,” he said. His nose appeared over the lip a moment later. “What now?”

  “Now,” I said with a sigh. “I open another box.”

  “Goody,” Indie said, her voice devoid of enthusiasm. “More drudgery. Wake me when it’s over, Dee.”

  It was an empty threat. Since we were bound together like this, she slept when I slept, ate when I ate, and experienced my life almost exactly the way I did, minus the autonomy. She’d gone from a real person to a disembodied voice in the back of my head. So, no matter how bad this arrangement was for me, it was still infinitely worse for her and I did try to remind myself of that. But sometimes it was hard.

  “We’ll be done with this soon, I promise.” I reached for a box I could grab without having to get up. This one was in worse shape than the rest of them, waterlogged and dark. It was thin, but heavy; mostly likely filled to the brim with cheap paperbacks, lots of them. It was unlikely I’d find anything good in there, but it would be stupid to toss it without checking. So, I cut the tape—sloppily applied and folded over itself at the edges—and pried it open.

  And there was one book inside, stuffed into a plastic bag with an official-looking police insignia on the front. It was several days old now and probably leftover by a detective who couldn’t be bothered to give a damn about my books, tossing this one into the first box he found. I didn’t recognize it. It was big. Dictionary thick, with a leather cover and pages spotted with water damage. A shiver crawled across my skin wherever I touched it. And that meant one thing: magic. A magic that was far too strong and dangerous to be mine, but it still felt somehow familiar.

  Indie’s interest sharpened tenfold at the sight of it, and my heart beat faster in time with her excitement. No matter what she’d said before, she was definitely awake now. I dropped the book on the floor with a loud thunk.

  “What is it?” I ask aloud, more for Checkers’ benefit than mine.

  “Open it.”

  I was tempted to ignore her order. She’d been a royal pain in my ass for weeks now, and anything she wanted was sure to be bad news for me. But there was something about this particular book that made me want to open it. So, that’s exactly what I did. There were ink spots all over the page, and designs drawn in red pen in the corner. The book was old and it was casually kept. It had been scrawled over with pencils more than once. I looked for the title page and found one. There was no “this is a work of fiction” disclaimer, no publishing date, or ISBN number stamped anywhere on the pages. There was a title handwritten in clumsy calligraphy;

  Cassandra’s Book of Shadows.

  Chapter Two

  The whole of Checkers’ head appeared over the lip of the box, which was enough weight to flip it onto its side. It spilled the ginger cat onto the floor, and for once he didn’t seem to mind. He batted at the book in my hands with eager paws.

  “Is that what I think it is?”

  “It is,” Indigo answered, voice rising in excitement. “It’s my mother’s Book of Shadows. I’d been looking everywhere for it—it’s the reason I came into your store, Dee.” She hadn’t told me this before, so this was news. “I half-believed she’d destroyed it.”

  I was no expert on the supernatural, having only been privy to it for a few weeks, but I knew enough to recognize a Book of Shadows for what it was. Even those of us with only neo-pagan leanings could pick up a thing or two. As to the book itself, I had no idea how I’d ended up with it. Many of the books Rodney and I sold had been procured from garage sales, thrift stores, antique stores and the like. This was actually the first time I’d ever laid eyes on this one—which probably meant Rodney had purchased it somewhere.

  “Her spell book?” I asked.

  “In the simplest possible terms, yes. It’s also a log of her thoughts, experiences, and political connections.”

  “Political connections? Your mom knew senators or something?”

  Indie’s sigh breezed through my mind like an impatient wind. “Of course not. We have our own politicians, you dunce. Keep up.”

  “Fine, then. How about you tell me why this book is the reason you got turned into salsa in the middle of my shop?”

  Silence. I usually couldn’t get her to shut up, so I figured this was definitely something I needed to know.

  I ran my finger along the edge of the paper. There was a coffee stain on the title page and the last part of the ‘s’ in ‘Shadows’ had melted into it. A coffee paperweight, maybe, holding the book open while the ink dried. I could picture an elderly witch hunched over a desk somewhere, setting an overfull mug on the page and forgetting about it while she went about her business.

  “I take it we’re not selling this one, huh?”

  “Absolutely not,” Indie said, tone sharp enough to cut.

  “No need to bite my head off,” I muttered defensively. “Geez.”

  “If something nefarious gets ahold of my mother’s things, your head is the last thing you’ll need to worry about. The creatures that would be after this book are more partial to intestines.”

  Well, that was a visual. My guts performed an unsettling squirming motion as if trying to retreat into my chest cavity in order to escape being slurped like spaghetti. My hands flew to my midsection without my conscious permission, and a full-body shudder seized me.

  “At least you can be counted on to have some common sense,” Indie said. “Now how did it come to be in your store?”

  The book was a strange one and though I felt drawn to it (no doubt, owing to Indie being inside me), I still didn’t know anything about it. “I don’t remember purchasing it or even seeing it before,” I started, shaking my head as I tried to puzzle out the mystery. “That means someone might have come and sold it to us. Or Rodney could have purchased it at an estate sale and stocked it without telling me.” He was bad about that. It was why our records were always so messy.

  I flipped past the title page and found more clumsy writing and doodles in the margins. Some were just random scribblings, but others detailed magic I didn’t have words for. I paused when I reached the middle of the spell book and found a page that had been savaged. Plenty of the text was in Latin, and utterly unintelligible to my plebian eyes, but there was enough in English that I could make out the shape of what the spell was trying to get at.

  “A spell to wake the dead,” I muttered, running my finger over the text. A lot of it was scratched through so deeply, the page was threatening to tear. Cassandra Hallewell clearly hadn’t wanted anyone to read this one. “As in... necromancy?”

  “Right.”

  “You can’t be serious? Necromancy isn’t even a thing, I thought? I mean, it’s impossible.”

  “No, you’re impossible!” Indie responded angrily. “Now shut the book and your obnoxious mouth.”

  “I’m not going to shut it until you explain why this book is so important to you and why you came into my shop looking for it. What is in it that you were after?” I thought back.

  “It’s none of your business.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance as if to give her words extra weight. I glanced nervously up at the fluttering blue tarp that was the only thing between my books and an oncoming downpour. I was going to have to pack the rest of the books up and sort through them at home if I wanted to have anything salvageable when I reached Haven Hollow. This book wasn’t exactly pristine. It was stained, yellowed with age, and there was obviously damage to this page in particular, yet it had survived when it shouldn’t have. Magic, it had to be. So, Indie probably wasn’t lying about its origins. Somehow, her mom had managed to enchant it to withstand destruction from any hand but her own.

  I shut the book idly and laid it flat in my lap, placing a hand over the gold-embossed cover. A shudder ran up my arm on contact and parts of my skin abruptly went fuzzy, as though I’d stuck my hand in a wad of trembling cotton. The feeling wavered after ten seconds and then the magic around the book simply frayed to pieces like a threadbare quilt under my fingers. A pang of panic that was not my own made my chest twinge.

  “Goddess, now you’ve done it,” Indie groaned.

  “What did I do?” I snapped back.

  “My mother’s Book of Shadows recognized my power in you, even diluted as it is.”

  That sounded bad, I was pretty sure. “So what?”

  “So she thinks the book has come into my possession at last, which means I should be able to protect it.”

  “But you can’t?” I guessed.

  “Right.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” Indie began. If she had teeth, the words would have been coming out from between them. “I’m in your body now! Goddess, you are so dumb sometimes!”

  “When it comes to you and witch magic, yes, I can admit I’m dumb. So keep explaining.”

  “Ugh. Someone with your lack of talent simply cannot support a power as great as mine! I’ll have to use Checkers at every turn to produce even commonplace spells. It’s humiliating. A witch shouldn’t have to rely on her familiar like a service animal, dragging them here, there, and everywhere!” She paused. “And the fact that I ended up in a gypsy... ugh, it’s like salt in the wound.”

  There had always been bad blood between gypsies and witches, each steering clear of the other.

  “Well, you should consider yourself lucky you ended up in anyone at all and didn’t get absorbed into the floor boards or something. Imagine how you’d feel with people walking over your face everyday.”

  “Ha ha, very funny.”

  My, someone had a high opinion of herself. I almost told her so, too, but my lips stayed shut. I had the unsettling impression that I’d just pulled the spoon out of a grenade and I was sitting here arguing with her while we waited for it to go off. I set the book aside gingerly and began bustling around the shop, gathering what I thought I could save while trashing the things I couldn’t. The shelves were all but empty when my phone rang, startling us both. Indie’s low-grade fear had me jumping at literal shadows.

  I checked the caller ID and found a handsome, smirking face staring back at me. It was Angelo D. Stendham, from Hallowed Homes Realty, probably calling to check if we were still a go for tomorrow morning. Apparently, it was company policy for the realtors to show up with a gift basket to wish new residents welcome before they settled in, and Angelo wanted to give me my basket in the morning. The plan was that we were going to meet at my new shop on Main Street in Haven Hollow. As to the place I’d rented from him—I’d stretched my finances thin in order to find a space for my shop. There was a loft above it, which I planned to make my temporary home until business picked up or Rodney finally let the divorce move to its inevitable conclusion—whichever came first.

  As to Angelo, he made me nervous. And that wasn’t usual for me around men—no matter how sexy. I was usually cool, calm and collected. But with this guy? Yeah, not so much. I wasn’t sure if my reaction to him was owing to the fact that he was so hot, it was ridiculous (he was literally like sex on a stick) or what. Regardless though, every time he flirted with me (and he did whenever we spoke), I felt myself blushing.

  I picked up the phone and gave a tentative, “You’ve reached Mystic Moon, this is Lydia speaking.”

  “Hello again, Lydia,” Angelo purred.

  I wasn’t sure how he managed it, but his voice always sounded like a chocolate-covered orgasm in sleek velvet pajamas. The face and body that went with it didn’t disappoint either. He was tall and broad-shouldered and was tanned to a delicious golden brown. His cheekbones and his lovingly chiseled mouth deserved their own spreads in GQ. He always kept the neck of his dress shirts slightly unbuttoned, and anytime we’d talked on video chat, my gaze would wander to the side of his throat where his pulse beat and his tendons strained. No matter how many times I reminded myself not to be so attracted to him, it didn’t seem to matter.

  What was also strange was that it seemed to me like Angelo might have been attracted to me as well. Now, don’t get me wrong—I wasn’t some frumpy wallflower. In fact, on most days I liked the reflection looking back at me in the mirror—I was what most people would probably consider classically pretty. But I was nowhere near Angelo’s league. I was like the girl next door to his male model looks. Not to mention I was now in my forties and Angelo didn’t look a day over thirty-two. Maybe thirty-five. And yet... yet, he seemed to call me way more than he needed to, seemingly coming up with silly and insignificant reasons to reach out.

  “How are you, Lydia?” he asked. And the way he said my name? Well, it caused my cheeks to start flushing furiously. I was glad he couldn’t see me. I was sure I was cherry-red. He’s only doing his job as your realtor, I reminded myself. Besides, he’s probably got a girlfriend.

  Yeah, a guy who looked like that and possessed that sort of charm was definitely taken. Or he was a player. And neither were of interest to me. I was finally able to find my voice and proud when it didn’t come out on a breathless giggle.

  “Hi, Angelo—I, um, I’m good thanks.” Then I realized what time it was that he was calling me and frowned, thinking he wasn’t the most professional guy I’d ever met. “I’m surprised you’re calling this late. I would have thought your office would be closed by now.”

  “It is,” he admitted. “But my sister owns the company, so she has me doing overtime. The perils of family business.” Then he laughed. “I’m just checking to make sure I have the right time on the books. I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven, correct? At your new shop.”

  “Yep. I have a lot of stock to unload and bookshelves to assemble, so you’ll probably find me red in the face and covered in dust.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be just as attractive as you always are,” Angelo responded. The compliment sent fresh heat into my cheeks and I had to beat my libido down with a stick. There was just something about this guy that got under my skin. And I wasn’t really sure what it was because I’d come across countless players in my life and they’d never left me feeling the way I did with Angelo—hungry.

  “That’s nice of you to say,” I managed, ignoring Indie’s muffled gag at the back of my mind.

  “I only speak the truth,” Angelo continued. “And as to all those bookshelves you need to assemble, did I mention I have an electric drill?” Then he chuckled again and the sound made me laugh.

  “Are you actually volunteering to help me?”

  “Sure sounds that way.”

  “Wow, you are like a one-stop realty office. Not only do you find me the space, but you help set it up too.”

  “Nah, nothing like that,” he said and I could imagine a boyish smile gracing his handsome face. “Let’s just say... I’m happy to help you.”

  “Then I’m supposed to believe you don’t offer every single woman you come across help?” It was a bold thing to ask but I was at the point now where I needed to know what Angelo wanted from me. If it was just a one or two-time roll in the hay, I wasn’t interested. And if he was a player, I really wasn’t interested. Actually, even if he was looking for a serious girlfriend, I still wasn’t interested. After going through what I had with Rodney, I was firmly convinced I needed to be single for a while.

  “I don’t,” he answered. “Just you.”

  Hmm. That was suspect. I mean, why me?

  “He’s a player and he wants in your pants,” Indie answered. “It’s painfully obvious.”

  And that pretty much deadened any excitement I’d had regarding Angelo and the conversation. “I will let you know if I need any help and thanks.” Of course, there was no way I’d ask him for help. No, Indie was right in that Angelo wasn’t a good bet. A man like that would only bring heartbreak, and I’d had enough of that lately to last a lifetime.

  “So, I’ll see you in the morning?”

  “At eleven,” I agreed. “Goodnight, Angelo.”

  “Goodnight, Lydia.”

  I hang up, clutching the phone to my chest until the warm fuzzies receded. Silly to get hung up over my realtor, who was so obviously a playboy, it was practically tattooed on his forehead. But in these uncertain times, flirting with a handsome man over the phone was the most normal thing I’d done in ages. It felt good. And it annoyed Indie, which was a bonus. I turned toward the windows just as lightning flashed outside. It was only a sliver of light through the curtains where Checkers pushed his way through, but it was enough.

  And out in the gloom, I thought I saw something.

  A flick of fabric, the end of a long coat caught in the wind. There was a person across the street, standing on the dimly lit corner by the grocery store. I couldn’t say why my conviction was so strong, but I had the impression that he was looking at me. Then I blinked, and he was gone. I rubbed my eyes just to be sure I wasn’t seeing things, and I still found the street empty.

  Weird.

  Checkers finally noticed me looking out the window. He popped up on his hind legs and peered out with me, and of course, saw nothing.

  “What are we looking at?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I answered. Not bad enough that I had a voice in the back of my head, now I’d started seeing things. At this rate, I was going to have to be committed.

  Chapter Three

  I flicked on the light as Checkers and I entered my house.

  The lightbulb jittered for a moment before coming fully awake. The door closed behind me with a loud clack and Checkers popped his head out of my overlarge bag, shaking his ears free of the few droplets that had managed to worm inside. I’d replaced my cute little thrift store purse with a messenger bag to accommodate the cat. He refused to set foot outside when the weather was bad, and Indie insisted that he be by our side at all times, just in case she needed to use my meager skills to perform magic. The gourmand feline was going to cause my back to go out sooner or later.