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  “We’ll figure it out together.” Dylan picked a chunk of cookie out of my hair and rocked me in his embrace.

  “And now my evil cousin is trying to steal my broom.”

  “We’ll deal with her, too.”

  “And I’ve eaten about a million cookies, and none of my pants fit.”

  “Pants are highly overrated, and I prefer you without them anyway.”

  “Really?” I sniffled and tilted my chin up to grin at him.

  He nodded enthusiastically. “Feel better?”

  “Why, have you been working out?” I gave his butt another squeeze as he leaned down and kissed the tears from my cheeks before returning the grope. A witch could get used to this.

  “These ghosts stick to the garden?” Desire stirred in Dylan’s eyes again.

  “Yeah. Well, sometimes I see them in the front lawn, too,” I said with a shrug.

  “So, if we close the bedroom curtains, we should be safe?”

  I perked at the promise of uninterrupted sex and let him tug me toward the back door and inside the house. Ghosts, vengeful cousins, pants... It could all wait.

  Chapter 4

  I HAD TO ADMIT, EVERYTHING seemed a little less awful after half a dozen orgasms. Even the fact that my toes were cramped and my sasquatch legs didn’t want to work.

  Dylan streaked across the living room—in loving memory of Papa Diego—and fetched a bottle of water and a fresh plate of pawpaw-doodles. I gulped down a long drink and ogled him as he climbed back under the covers.

  The master suite was much more inviting now that Papa Nando wasn’t hanging around, flickering the lights in the chandelier over the bed and pelting the window with rotten pawpaws. I took pride in the makeover I’d given the room after Dylan listed the house with me last fall. The soft green walls matched the ivy bedspread, and the white curtains were just thick enough to let in sunlight and keep out peeping Rogers.

  “You realize that no one’s had relations in this room since Mama Ellie and Papa Nando, right?” Dylan whispered with a sheepish grin. “My mom told me that she and my dad snuck in here once when they were in high school and almost made it to second base before Mama Lois busted them. My dad spent the rest of the day scrubbing guano from the belfry.”

  “Your mom told you that?” My nose crinkled at the thought of my own mother sharing her sexcapades. I was suddenly grateful that she didn’t even like me enough to tell me how she and my father had met. Probably at a Black Hats Anonymous meeting.

  “My mom’s...not all there anymore,” Dylan said, swirling a finger at his temple.

  I grimaced. “I’m not sure mine was ever there.”

  “I mean for real.” Dylan’s brows knit together. My hand reacted like a magnet to his sullen expression, and I stroked his cheek tenderly.

  “I’m so sorry, Dylan.”

  He pressed his palm over mine and then slid his mouth over to kiss the inside of my wrist. “She’s in a hospital in North Carolina. After my uncle and dad died, my aunt Annie convinced her to move us all to North Carolina. Annie remarried and had another kid—setting up a new life to keep her afloat after my uncle and cousin succumbed to the curse—but my mom had a harder time moving on. And then after George and Drew died...she just couldn’t take anymore.”

  “But you’re still alive,” I said, injecting all the hope I could summon into my voice. “Did you tell her about the ritual?” I asked, and then shuddered at the thought of him telling his mother what we’d done in the backyard.

  Dylan shook his head. “It would have only upset her. I figure I’ll just go visit her after my birthday. Then she’ll have to believe me.”

  I gave him a weak smile, hoping like hell he would still be alive to overshare our magical sex life with his mother in a month. Maybe I’d get to meet her eventually, too, but I was pretty sure I didn’t want to be there for story time. First impressions were hard enough without being introduced as the wicked witch who broke the family curse with her hooha.

  “I didn’t see much in the fridge. Time to go grocery shopping?” Dylan asked around a mouthful of cookie.

  “Uh... yeah.” My face warmed at the realization that I’d mostly been living off Mama Gretta’s sweets. Now that Dylan was back, it was time to brush up on some real food recipes.

  It was time to brush up on a lot of things. Personal hygiene included. If we’d built up much more friction in the sheets while playing hide the magic wand, we would’ve had a bush fire on our hands. I added extra razors to the growing shopping list in my head.

  “We should swing by and see Zelda and Mac before hitting the store,” I said, then threw the covers back and tested my wobbly legs. “Now that you’ve seen one of the granny ghosts, maybe she’ll take this more seriously and help us.”

  “Mmmm,” Dylan agreed, his cheeks full of pawpaw-doodles. “It’s off season, but maybe we can find a priest costume at the store while we’re at it.”

  I shrugged. “It’s not really my thing, but if you’re into roleplaying, I guess I’d be willing to wear a habit in the sack.”

  “The costume is for the ghosts,” Dylan said. The corners of his mouth twitched comically.

  “Oh? Oh! Right. I knew that,” I said with a nervous giggle.

  “Mmmhmm.” Dylan grinned and took the bottle of water from me. “Anyway, I’m up for taking confession if it means a spook-free garden—in case we need to reenact the ritual to make sure we did it right.” He wagged his eyebrows and then chugged from the bottle to wash down the plate of cookies he’d demolished.

  “We need rabbit repellent, too,” I said, picturing Roger’s twitchy nose poking through a knothole in the fence.

  “I don’t know about chemicals. Might be bad for the bats.”

  “Well, we have to do something.”

  Dylan frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe we should try a scarecrow first.”

  “Yeah, okay.” I nodded. “And if that doesn’t work, we could put out some traps.”

  Zelda wouldn’t be thrilled if her therapist missed a session, but we’d only keep Roger locked up until we were done defiling the garden. It would serve him right, and hopefully keep him away in the future—a future I desperately hoped would involve more orgasms in the orchard. Of the non-ritual variety.

  Dylan took in my worried expression. “Wow. And here I thought you liked bunnies.” He nodded down at my slippers abandoned on the floor. Maybe it was time to invest in a new, non-floppy pair.

  I kicked the slippers under the bed and pointed at the dresser along the interior wall. “The clothes you left behind are in the middle drawer. If we hurry, maybe we can catch Zelda and Mac at the diner.”

  Dylan groaned a playful protest as I headed for the master bath. I glanced over my shoulder and caught him staring at my ass as I ducked around the corner. As much as I wanted to stay in bed with him all day and night, we had work to do. These ghosts weren’t going to banish themselves.

  IT TOOK A GOOD HALF hour in my closet before I found something cute that fit my cookie-enhanced ass. At least my hair was cooperative, and my skin still glowed from the late-morning, early-afternoon mattress tango. A genuine smile never hurt a gal’s look either, and with Dylan nearby, I was in no short supply of those.

  My batty lover paced between the parlor and the living room, but to his credit, he didn’t gripe about how long I was taking. To be fair, he had two whole outfits to choose from. Fruit bat Shifters could fly long distances, but their little toes weren’t made for toting luggage. The rest of Dylan’s personal effects wouldn’t arrive in the mail until tomorrow.

  “There’s a new pizza place in town?” he called from the rolltop desk tucked inside the U-shaped stairwell, clearly having found the stack of mail I hadn’t gotten around to opening. “When did that happen?”

  “I dunno,” I hollered back. “I don’t get out much. When I do, I always run into that dog Shifter who was hoping the bank would foreclose on the house so he could bulldoze it and build condos or something.”


  “Condos.” Dylan snorted. “That’s the last thing Assjacket needs.”

  “Right?” I agreed.

  My eyes caught on a yellow sundress, and I pulled it off the rack with a grin. It was perfect. I slipped it over my head and fastened the trio of cork buttons that lined the center of the bust before stepping into a pair of wedges Zelda had gifted me for Christmas. Maybe a poised public appearance would give my business a kick in the pants, too.

  I exited the bedroom and did a spin, swishing the dress’s full skirt around my knees. Dylan whistled and fanned himself with a satiny blue envelope. It stood out from the junk mail and typical billing invoices.

  “Who’s that from?” I asked, nodding at the letter.

  Dylan glanced down as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Oh, the Town Council. Probably an invitation to one of their boring meetings.”

  “Hand it over,” I said, wiggling my fingers at him. If I was out to pump some life into my dying business, a town meeting sounded like just the ticket. I could bring some brochures and unload a few bags of cookies from the freezer to make room for whatever we picked out at the store.

  I took the envelope from Dylan and tore it open. He nuzzled in behind me to read over my shoulder, resting his chin against the curve of my neck. My brain went a little gooey, and I had to start over from the beginning. I made it halfway through before having to try again.

  “Tomorrow morning?” I huffed. “But this just came in the mail today.”

  “Must be a pretty serious issue,” Dylan said, nodding down at the letter. “Mac has requested that the entire town attend in case a vote needs to be taken.”

  “A vote for what?” I wondered aloud. “And why is Randal Thorpe demanding immediate action regarding—wait. Is that this address?”

  Dylan squeezed my shoulders. “That can’t be good.”

  THE ASSJACKET DINER was preparing for the dinner rush, but as I’d hoped, we found Zelda and Mac sitting at a table in back. The twins weren’t with them, which meant that Sassy, Zelda’s witchy cellmate from when she did a spell in the magical pokey, was likely babysitting so they could have a date night.

  “Margo,” Zelda greeted me tightly as she stabbed her Caesar salad. My cookies were even giving the witch who could usually get away with eating whatever she wanted a run for her Gucci. I considered adding malicious baking to my disappointing magical resume.

  “What’s this all about?” I asked, skipping niceties and waving the Town Council letter between Zelda and her wolfy mate.

  Zelda pointed her fork at the blue envelope, narrowly missing my fingers. “That would be why I didn’t wait until noon to call your tall, dark, and broody. Thought you could use the moral support.”

  “Moral support for what?” I asked, examining the letter again. It was too vague for my liking, and anything involving Randal Thorpe never seemed to go in my favor.

  “Well, let’s just say I believe you about the ghosts now.” Zelda sighed and stuffed a forkful of salad in her mouth, crunching down hard on a crouton. Mac watched her out of the corner of one eye as he took a timid bite of his steak. Then he pushed his plate aside and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

  “Zelda’s been a little MIA lately,” he said. “I didn’t get a chance to update her about the Town Council’s upcoming meeting until after your morning cookie date—” Zelda hissed like a vampire caught in the sun at the mention of cookies, but Mac went on without missing a beat. “Seems Assjacket has had a surge in ghost sightings, and Mr. Thorpe thinks you’re to blame. But he’s also willing to offer a solution.”

  “I’ll just bet he is,” I grumbled.

  “You should know,” Zelda said, stabbing at her salad as if she’d found it unawares in the show, “everyone else thinks the ghosts are your fault, too.”

  “My fault? Why?” I clutched the letter in my hand, crinkling the satiny paper. “I’m just as much a victim here as everyone else.”

  “Yes, well, it’s come to some of the Shifters’ attention that you’re not an especially...adept witch,” Mac said carefully, splitting his wary attention between me and his utensil-wielding wife. “Everyone knows that the Hernández house was or still is haunted, and these new sightings all took place after that special nookie ritual the two of you performed in the backyard.”

  “Copulation does not equal causation,” Dylan said matter-of-factly.

  “I think you mean—never mind.” I shook my head and turned back to Zelda and Mac. “The ghosts we released from Mama Ellie’s curse are gone.” It felt good to say out loud, even if I wasn’t totally certain these new ghost sightings weren’t my fault. I’d deny it until I turned green in the face if it meant foiling whatever shifty plans Randal had in store.

  “Just come to the meeting,” Mac said, sawing off another small bite of his steak. Zelda glared at his plate and then turned her spiteful attention back to me.

  “And don’t you dare bring any of those damn cookies,” she added.

  Chapter 5

  WANDERING AROUND THE garden in cheap, faux-Catholic attire was not how I’d wanted to spend my first night reunited with Dylan. But if we didn’t figure out what was up with our spectral guests, I feared our nights together in the Hernández house would be even fewer than a botched ritual would leave us with.

  To our disappointment, none of the ghoulish gawkers made an appearance. Who could blame them? Polyester was blasphemous enough without impersonating holy cloth. Of course, the way we were constantly pawing at one another and stealing kisses between the pawpaw trees might have tipped them off to the deception, as well.

  Sometime after midnight, I winked us up a lasagna from the fixings we’d purchased at the grocery store. The feat impressed Dylan, but I was sorely disappointed not to be drowning my sorrows in a bathtub full of cookies. The slightly cracked candles and a bottle of wine helped, though.

  We were too exhausted for another round between the sheets, but sleep still didn’t come easy. I woke feeling hungover—likely from sugar withdrawal—and zombie-walked through getting dressed while Dylan fixed a pot of coffee and scrambled some eggs. It all felt blissfully normal, despite my groggy, hangry state and whatever nasty surprise Randal Thorpe had in store at the Town Council meeting.

  I was halfway through my second cup of coffee when Broomzilla returned with the belfry bats. Their chirping echoed through the house, carried down through the dumbwaiter shaft where we’d found Mama Ellie’s grimoire last fall.

  My bristled, dust-for-brains companion attempted entry through the bat flap in the back door but got stuck in the process. Her handle wiggled dangerously close to the bay window and then poked me in the ribs as I attempted to help.

  “Hold still!” I snapped, waiting for her to comply before prying the retrofitted doggie door open with my fingers.

  Broomzilla shimmied her thick, wind-worn bristles through the opening with a victorious swish. She danced through the kitchen like a feline on catnip, pantomiming her nocturnal adventures for me, and then froze when she realized we weren’t alone.

  “Good morning?” Dylan said slowly. He lifted his cup of coffee in greeting and waved his other hand. “Please, continue.”

  Broomzilla gave her handle an indignant shake, straightening the worst of her mangled bristles, and then she scuffed off to the nearest corner for a nap. I was convinced she had been a housecat in a past life. The laziness, mood swings, late-night prowling. All the signs were there. I decided to wait and mention all the cookie crumbs she’d been neglecting after we returned from the Town Council meeting. I was so not in the mood to get swept out of the house by a huffy huskcycle right now.

  “It doesn’t look as though she’s in any condition to ride,” Dylan noted as Broomzilla began to snore, her bristles dragging softly along the hardwood.

  “It’s fine. The Shifters aren’t fond of her anyway. There was an incident with a racoon who turned out to be a client. It was a whole thing,” I said, waving my hand in the air.

  “Should we
call Mac for a ride then?”

  “It’s not that far to walk,” I said, giving Dylan an apologetic smile. “Maybe we should save our favors for when we really need them.”

  I was no crystal ball gazer, but I had a feeling that was going to be a lot sooner rather than later.

  THE TOWN COUNCIL HELD their meetings in one of the old buildings on Main Street. It wasn’t much to look at from the outside, but that was thanks to a glamor over town square that kept the humans away. If not for Ms. Bossy Bristles, it would have kept me away, too.

  The interiors of the buildings were just fine—except for the front half of the grocery store which was almost always out of the basics. Another trick to deceive the un-shifty and non-magical. The real grocery was in back, a little tidbit known only by the locals. I’d been in Assjacket for over a year now, so I guessed that qualified me as a local, too. I wasn’t sure whether I should be proud of that fact or not.

  Dylan laced his fingers through mine as we pushed through the double doors and found the entire town in an uproar. Metal folding chairs were scattered in a haphazard circle. Shifters, some in human form and some furry, yelled to be heard over one another. Chipmunks had overtaken the refreshments table, and Zelda’s fat cats were taking turns sharpening their claws on the tablecloth.

  The doors closed loudly behind Dylan and me, and everyone turned to glare at us. Zelda’s dirty look I could understand. She was wearing sweatpants and clearly blamed me for the fashion faux pas. From the hangry glint in Mac’s eyes, I was guessing he wasn’t too happy with me either. As for everyone else...

  I stole a quick glance down at my ensemble to make sure I wasn’t wearing anything that could be confused for animal flesh. Nope. Other than being a little extra snug and slightly outdated, my purple pencil skirt and matching blazer were Shifter-kosher.