“Yes, well, we shall see, I suppose.” I mean, I didn’t want to downright offend her, especially when she was doing me a favor, but didn’t she know anything? Witches didn’t have friends. We had our covens, and that was it. And I didn’t even have that anymore.

  I nodded and then left without saying goodbye, stalking back towards my shop, the wind whipping my hair into my eyes.

  Friends? What was wrong with the woman? Clearly, she’d lost her damn mind.

  Then why did I find myself secretly smiling?

  ***

  Louisa barely glanced at the binder full of fashion designs.

  She’d donned the ratty sweats and sweatshirt by the time I’d bustled back inside my shop. Now she sat with her legs pulled up to her chin, her arms wrapped around them, her chin on her knees. Her eyes were still a little shiny, though she’d thankfully stopped crying.

  She looked smaller now, diminished somehow. That fact pissed me off, though I tried to keep the expression off my face. I wasn’t angry with her just angry that a woman had been brought to this state, presumably by the expectations of her overbearing parents. She was middle-aged, not dead. Who said she had to have a husband? I didn’t have one and I didn’t need one! And the truth was, I didn’t want one. In fact, I would have been happiest if the undead penis who was angling to be my paramour would move a state or two away. At least then I wouldn’t worry he was trying to turn me into one of the creatures of the night every time we went out.

  And speaking of going out, we were due for another date and soon. Dating was an obligation, so Lorcan wouldn’t stalk me, but damn it, I didn’t like it. Regardless, it was necessary—at least until we could find a way to reverse this damned situation.

  Every line in Louisa’s face was carved deep, with abject misery. If her eyes had been a soulful brown instead of verdigris, I’d have said she bore a striking resemblance to Tabitha’s familiar—an eternally hangdog basset hound named Endora.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?” I offered with a tight smile.

  I kept a small French press on hand after seeing the gypsy’s success with the same around Christmastime. Her customers seemed to appreciate the offer of hot libations, so I’d begun to offer them, as well. Yeah, so what if I copied some of Poppy’s ideas. It’s not like she was the first store owner to serve coffee.

  Rather than a cup of coffee, Louisa looked like she needed a caffeine IV. Maybe morphine.

  “Yes, please,” she said. Well, gasped, really. “Thank you.”

  She blinked, and more tears rolled down her cheeks. I hated the fact that she kept apologizing. Hated seeing any woman act so completely… pathetic. Even the mousy gypsy had more backbone.

  I sidled out of the room again, feeling an odd sense of disquiet settle over me as I prepared the coffee, and half-heartedly asked over my shoulder whether she wanted cream and sugar. She didn’t want either.When I finally brought the cup back, I had a few questions firmly locked in my mind. Questions that couldn’t go unanswered if this contract was going to move forward. Even though it wasn’t any of my business, there was no way I was going to let Louisa leave my shop without a pep talk.

  Chapter Four

  “So why aren’t you Mrs. Rutledge any longer?” I asked. Louisa finally had the binder open on her lap, and was flipping idly through the pages. She didn’t look up when I set the mug gently on the sewing table beside her.

  “Is this part,” she started but I interrupted with a quick nod.

  “In order to enchant an outfit that will do exactly what you want it to, I need to understand your situation and what you want the clothing to do for you.”

  She nodded.

  I crossed my arms under my breasts, fixing her with a stare that made her shoulders hunch forward again. I didn’t relish this and I didn’t want to make her cry again, but I needed answers, all the same. I liked to think I had a smidgen of integrity and I wouldn’t craft something for her that would only lead to more misery in the end.

  “My husband, Waylan, left me,” she said quietly.

  Her chin dipped, and her dark hair shifted to conceal her face, but I could tell by the distinct sniffle she was crying again.

  “What happened?”

  “He left one evening, and he never came back. He’s been gone six months now, so by pack law he’s been declared an unfit mate, a lone wolf. Our marriage was annulled.”

  “You didn’t deserve to be treated like that, Louisa,” I said, opting for her first name because I wanted this point to hit home and I figured it would have a better chance if we were more… familiar.

  She just nodded and didn’t say anything right away. Then she looked up at me and smiled sadly. “Waylan used to own half the bar, you know. That’s why it was called the Half-Moon Bar and Grill.”

  “Roy’s place?”

  She nodded again. “Waylan and Roy were close friends. They found the barn and a plot of land nearby for cheap. The property and my husband’s share in it have reverted to my father until I find a new mate to take care of the children and me. As part of that whole process, I also had to take my father’s surname again. Because I’m not allowed to work, my father now provides for us.”

  It was a good thing Louisa was engaged in a staring contest with the floor, because I was sure I looked absolutely appalled. I’d known that most other species weren’t run by the same rigid matriarchal standards as our covens. Most witches had limited interactions with men, and took lovers only for pleasure, or to become pregnant. Sons rarely had power, and aged at mortal rates, and so were quietly released from covens to be adopted into human families. It had scandalized covens across the world when Scarlett Velardi, the High Witch of the Sub Rosa Coven in Newark, had married and stayed monogamous to appease the Don of the local Mafia.

  Most species were more temperate, aligning with the mundanes’ beliefs on the matter. I’d half expected werewolves to take after sasquatches with plenty of kids, with an almost even divide between parental labor. But, apparently such wasn’t the case. Goddess, the woman wasn’t even allowed to own property or retain the last name she’d had almost half her life? She was going to style herself and pose like a piece of meat, hoping some bastard would take her, her children, and the dowry her father had attached to her.

  My stomach churned and it was all I could do to keep my temper in check.

  Oh, but I wanted to hex Grandaddy werewolf. But how and with what? Fleas? Yes, he would find himself with a severe flea infestation in the near future. Or ticks. Maybe mange. I needed to find an address book and a picture to make the hex stick...

  “Ms. Depraysie?” Louisa asked and I realized I’d completely forgotten she was even there.

  “Call me Wanda,” I answered.

  She smiled and nodded. “Wanda.”

  “You can’t even own property?” I whispered as she shook her head with a sigh. “Goddess, that’s...”

  Wrong. Horrible. Evil.

  What would Louisa have done if her parents weren’t alive? Would her pack let the family starve? Or would she have been pawned off on the first man who would have her? I shuddered to think.

  Louisa finally raised her tear-stained face to consider me. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her cheeks flushed, eyes frantic.

  “You can help me, right?”

  My gut clenched, and bile crept up my throat. Wrong. This was all so wrong. I didn’t want to be a party to this... bride auction. I wanted to empower women, to make them feel sexy, to make them feel comfortable in their bodies, to make them feel powerful and bold. I didn’t want to help a woman sell herself to the highest bidder.

  But soon Louisa’s father would cut her off, and... what happened to her then? What happened to her children?

  So I swallowed back the hard lump in my throat, gritted my teeth and smiled. “Of course I’ll help.” I looked down at the book in her lap. “Just tell me which designs you like the most.”

  ***

  It became glaringly obvious that no one had spared a moment of consideration for Louisa in all thirty-eight years she’d been alive. The poor thing didn’t even know where to start when I asked what she was looking to accomplish. Her marriage with Waylan had basically been arranged. Their fathers had been packmates, and they’d grown up together. They’d been each other’s first... everything.

  In the end, I decided to keep it simple. Louisa needed wardrobe essentials that didn’t come off the clearance rack at Walmart. Casual everyday wear that would shave a few years off her appearance, making her appear trendy, but not like she was trying too hard. She needed jeans that would make her legs look longer and her butt, high and round. Two stylish coats, one for winter and one for spring, with enchantments that would entice men to approach her and to find her conversation exceedingly interesting. Blouses, both fun and formal, with enchantments for lust, love, and luck imbued in the fabric.

  A little black dress was a classic number, of course, and this one promised a man’s complete and total loyalty. I also recommended a strapless red dress for a more dramatic look—one that would be enchanted to make Louisa appear like the sirens of old—an Aphrodite of the 21st century. Each of these articles would be made to order because I didn’t carry them on hand and the enchantments were fairly particular to Louisa’s needs, as well.

  But, lingerie was another story. I stocked plenty of that and as we rifled through my selection, I almost buried Louisa in nighties, panties, and bras, each magicked to make her appear like a goddess of sensuality. I doubted she owned anything but shapeless beige sports bras, and breastfeeding, while an admirable effort, definitely had taken its toll on the twins.

  Apparently shapewear was a must for the midsection, according to Louisa. I didn’t actually see what she was fussing about. Her love handles weren’t the worst I’d ever seen and her paunch was small—I imagined if she sucked it in, it wouldn’t even be obvious. She was a little soft in the middle, yes, but for a woman who’d had six children? She looked absolutely phenomenal.

  I’d been getting requests for enchanted shapewear a lot lately, and it didn’t really make sense to me. In covens, the stretch marks from pregnancy were badges of honor. It was a shame the rest of the world didn’t think so.

  Louisa continued picking through my racks, her expression cautiously optimistic. She wasn’t exactly smiling, but at least the circles beneath her eyes had taken on a less bruise-like appearance. She stood a little straighter, and she’d pulled her hair away from her face, so she could examine the tags carefully.

  My phone buzzed and looking down, I realized it was Poppy.

  How’s it going? The text read.

  I glanced at the clock in the upper right hand corner, then weighed the words. Was that mounting frustration I detected? She’d been with the little jackanapes for almost an hour and a half now. Maybe the three words were code for, send help, they’ve tied me to a tree and they’re going full Lord of the Flies.

  Fine. I typed back after a moment’s hesitation. Let me guess: you’re tied to a tree?

  Dots danced across the screen.

  What?

  I grunted. Have the little vagabonds overtaken you yet?

  The dots danced across my screen again, and then a few crying laughing emojis popped up before Poppy typed another response.

  I’m pleased to report I haven’t been overtaken. Instead, Roy and I took the kids to the park. First, we got them each a root beer float at the Creamery. Zane, Ingrid, Sienna, and Finn are having a Nerf war and Alissa, Michael, Liam, and Roy are playing ultimate Frisbee.

  I don’t know what any of that means, I texted back. Just answer me: are you okay or not?

  I’m fine, she responded with another laughing emoji. Just wanted to tell you to take your time. The kids are good. Roy and I are good. Everyone is good. Hope you are too.

  I lowered the phone and was struck again with that odd sense of wanting to dislike Poppy because she was just so goody-two-shoes and yet, there was a part of me that couldn’t seem to help but like her. She was just so… confoundedly likable. Damn her.

  Louisa cleared her throat softly, and I glanced up, shoving the phone out of sight, forcing a polite smile onto my face.

  “Poppy says the kids are all fine. They’re at the park playing.”

  “Oh, good, she’s such a doll. She really is the sweetest woman.”

  I felt my face fall, but I didn’t say anything more.

  Louisa tugged her bottom lip between her front teeth and cast her gaze down to the floor again. She shuffled from foot to foot for an agonizingly long minute before producing a lace bodysuit. It was ivory shapewear.

  “Could you enchant this to... maybe inhibit my appetite? Not extremely, mind you, but just so I don’t… maybe eat as much?”

  “Louisa, you aren’t overweight. You don’t need that.”

  She smiled but it was an expression that said she didn’t believe me. “I know this sounds strange to you, Wanda, but I have to find a husband. And I have to find one soon, so I need all the help I can get.”

  My jaw locked, my hands curled into fists, and my spine went ramrod straight. It was a struggle not to shout.

  I turned slowly away from her so she wouldn’t read the disgust on my face and plucked an ice blue scoop neck workout top, gray high-waisted jogging pants, and a cute polka-dot sports bra that would show beneath the top. Then I turned back to drop them on top of her other purchases.

  She blinked at the articles and then at me. “What do these do?”

  “At the moment? Nothing. But, I just got them in…” At her expression of confusion, I further explained. “Some articles I make from scratch, and others I upcycle, like these. And to answer your question, Louisa, no, I won’t help you starve yourself. What I will do is help you help yourself. This is athleisure wear. I’ll enchant each article of clothing with potions that will increase your motivation, stamina, and your mood. You’ll actually want to work out and you’ll be excited about it.”

  “Oh,” she said, but I wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or excited.

  “With a little prod in the right direction, you’ll be where you want to be in no time. No supernatural ephedrine required.”

  Louisa’s eyes got a little watery once more, but this time, a bright smile accompanied the tears. “You are a very kind woman, Wanda.”

  Kind.

  Never in one hundred and forty years had I been called kind or anything analogous to it. Because I simply wasn’t kind and never had been. Depraysie witches were many things, but nice wasn’t one of them.

  Chapter Five

  “Giving that pestiferous, flea-ridden, wispy shadow of a woman your rent money? Have you finally cracked, Wandellmellia? Shall I call and make a reservation for you in Bedlam? You’ll look quite fetching in a straitjacket! Perhaps we will be so lucky and you shall find yourself gagged as well!”

  Hellcat hissed directly into my ear, his long, wiry whiskers tickling my cheeks. His claws flexed, raking through my deep red cowl-neck merino wool sweater, digging shallow cuts into my ivory skin. Not enough to bleed, but enough to sting like mad. Enough to sting like paper cuts.

  Someone had been knocking at the door for the last five minutes and the sound was really starting to irritate me.

  “Wanda?” Libby called.

  I wasn’t in the mood to deal with her. Yes, it was true I’d raised her from the dead so she was technically my zombie, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. And I didn’t like it. I also didn’t like the fact that since she was my zombie, she was also living in my house.

  But, for now, I had other situations to deal with. I glared at my familiar as I tried to dislodge him from beside me. “Get off my shoulder! You’re going to skew my hemline.”

  I snatched my fingers back from the piece of fabric in front of me and had to ease off the foot control of the sewing machine when my beastly familiar turned his face against mine, so one of his whiskers actually wiggled into my ear. It felt like the little cur was actually trying to take a bristle brush and scrape my brain clean.

  I spun away from the sewing machine, hunching my shoulders purely on instinct, and flung Hellcat away. The effort cost several sweater fibers and at least one layer of skin, but it successfully dislodged him. If I’d inherited vampire strength from the blooding Lorcan had given me months prior, that move might have sent my aggravating familiar not only across the room, but out the open window. Ha! If only!

  Alas, the motion only sent Hellcat spinning two feet away, and, being a cat, he managed to catch himself in mid-air and land adroitly on a small scarlet, pin tucked velvet couch. When I’d moved into the duplex, I’d found the thing already in residence, as if handpicked to match the wide-planked ebony floors, ivory walls, crown molding, and French-style wooden mantle.

  Which, of course, it had been. Lorcan had done his research on the Crescent Circle Coven and apparently he’d learned a great deal about me, in particular. He’d renovated the property to appeal to my tastes specifically. Every detail was perfect in a purely technical sense—from the Swarovski crystal chandelier in the living room to the modern kitchen, with its black and white marble countertops. Lorcan said he’d given every property he owned a similar makeover, on the off chance that he convinced me to entertain his lunacy and transition fully into... one of them. He said he wanted to pamper me, to take care of me because I was one of his heirs.

  It was a bunch of malarkey, and he had another thing coming if he thought I’d ever let him turn me into an undead. But, back to the velvet couch… I should have thrown the blasted thing out when I took residence, but... I liked it—the garnet color and the velvet soothed me. So I decided to permit it in the house, after all, it wasn’t like an object could really be faulted for its origins.

  “What the devil was that for?” Hellcat seethed, raking his claws through the black pillow that sat atop the couch, shredding its intricate silver embroidery.

  I’d actually liked that one. The vile little demon was going to get bumped from Fancy Feast to Friskies. And if he kept on with this sort of fractious behavior? He’d be getting dry food and sleeping in the dusty, cobweb-draped basement. I was pretty sure there were spiders down there of sufficient size and aggression to take him on.