Basic Witch_Witches of Salem

2

One look at the town surrounding the little shop, and I knew I wasn’t in Oregon anymore. Even in the dark, I could tell the picturesque little town was like something out of a Hallmark movie, with its cobblestone streets lined with tall, brightly colored Tudor buildings and flickering gas lamps. At the end of the street, a thick canopy of moss-covered weeping willows arched above a massive, flowing fountain and an arrangement of black wrought iron benches, the kind of place meant for romantic proposals and reading for hours on end.

The rows of shops on either side of us all appeared to be closed, but intricately-carved wooden signs told me what awaited behind each door. Cook’s Fine Books. Designs by Destiny. And… Fae Fashion & Fabrics. Pixie Potions Apothecary Shop? Wendell’s Wands & Brooms?

So maybe it was less like a Hallmark movie, and more like an animated Disney film. I half expected Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather to come flitting across the sidewalk.

Titus swished her tail and flipped over onto her back, so I was cradling her like an infant. “Sleeping Beauty was okay, but I always liked The Aristocats better.”

I frowned down at my cat. I didn’t think I mentioned the fairies out loud. Or did I? Obviously I did, because otherwise, she wouldn’t be talking—thinking?—about her preferences in Disney flicks. Unless this was all some weird dream, which was beginning to seem like the most plausible explanation. In real life, I was probably passed out on the couch with some television show broadcasting snippets of weird-dream material into my subconscious. In a few hours, I’d wake up with a bad case of bedhead, and this would all be over.

With a deep breath and a long, slow exhale, I told myself, I’m not crazy.

“You’re not crazy! Except for that one time you thought about getting a dog. I was really worried we might be getting a dog. I’m so glad you changed your mind about that. I mean, you change your mind about a lot of things, really, but that doesn’t mean you’re crazy.”

Gilmer cast a mildly annoyed glance at me as we walked. “Chatty familiar you have there.”

“Chatty what? Famil—oh, you mean my cat.” Of course these people—who believe they’re actually witches—would refer to cats as familiars. Because why wouldn’t they?

“Yes. I assume this feline is your witchy companion. If not, you should have a frank discussion about boundaries. He might just be the clingiest cat I’ve ever seen.”

“Hey! I heard that.” Titus bristled. My protective instinct flared, and I cuddled her closer to my chest.

“I’m pretty sure you’re working with some faulty intel. I’m not a witch. And it’s she. Titus is a female. She was a rescue kitten. She had a rough start in life.”

“My intel is quite accurate, I assure you.” He frowned. “Titus is not a female name.”

“She’s named for that character in Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt?”

“I don’t know any Kimmy Schmidt.”

“It’s a television show.”

“Television?”

“Yeah, you know. The little living room box that shows movies?”

“Honestly, Ms. Bradbury. This is no time for gibberish.”

“Nevermind.” I caught my bottom lip between my teeth as I pondered Gilmer’s responses. He came across as an educated guy, so his cluelessness about pop culture and entertainment was pretty weird. I knew people who didn’t watch television, but I’d never met someone who didn’t even know what a television was. And don’t even get me started on his confusion over Starbucks. That was just beyond weird. “Anyway, the foster program told me she was a boy when I picked her up. By the time she was old enough for us to confirm her gender, she was already answering to Titus.” I scratched the top of her head, eliciting a purr of satisfaction. “Besides, it suits her. She and her namesake share a flare for the dramatic.”

“Now that, I believe.”

“Wait, so you can hear what she’s saying?” I asked.

“No. It would be impossible to ignore that much noise, but it all sounds like typical feline sounds to me. You’re the only one who can hear her thoughts. Oh, and other familiars, of course.”

“So can Titus hear my thoughts, too?”

“Yes. Although the intensity of the witch-familiar bond dictates just how much she can hear. Many witches find they have to direct their thoughts at their familiar in order to be heard. But a particularly well-bonded pair tends to experience an open flow of telepathic communication.” He peered over at Titus, who was purring happily in my arms. “I suspect you and this… Titus... may fall into the latter category.”

“Maybe you should point out that a guy who calls himself Gilmer has no room to mock other people’s—cats’—names,” Titus complained.

“Agreed. But let’s maybe refrain from picking on the guy who rescued us from a trip to the slammer? I gave her ear a quick scratch of reassurance. Plus, it’s nice to know we can talk to each other without people overhearing, right?”

“Fine. But I reserve the right to hold a very serious grudge. And you know cats do grudges like nobody’s business.”

“Deal.”

“Right this way.” Gilmer swept his arm to the side, gesturing for us to walk down a narrow street nestled between two rows of shops.

“So, I don’t usually make it a habit of following strange men into dark alleys. Where exactly are we going again?”

“Coven Headquarters.”

“Not so fast. This whole situation,” I waved my hand toward the alley, “looks more like tomorrow’s front page news—Naive Woman Found Murdered in Dark Alley—than any sort of official coven anything.”

Gilmer pursed his lips. “Honestly, Ms. Bradbury. It doesn’t please me to admit this, but in the event of a physical altercation, I’m certain you would hold your own against me.” He motioned to his body, drawing my attention to his slight, bony frame and general lack of muscle. I wasn’t a fan of violence except when necessary for self-defense, so I almost felt bad for thinking it, but it would probably only take one solid punch to protect myself from a guy like Gilmer Gayle. “In a battle of wits, however…” he muttered.

“Rude.”

“Ms. Bradbury, I haven’t got all night. I’d be happy to tell the Coven you insisted on spending the night in jail under the careful watch of Detective Winterbottom.”

“Fine,” I replied. Whatever surprises lurked in the shadows had to be better than being arrested for murder, right? “Lead the way.”

“Remember the grudge. He touches you, I claw his eyes out.”

“Noted.”

I followed Gilmer into the alley, taking care to stay a few steps back in the name of self-preservation. His pace slowed, and he paused, spinning on his heel to face a solid brick wall. “Aha! This will do.” He drew a wooden wand from his belt with a flourish and tapped it on the brick, muttering something under his breath.

In an instant, a grand doorway appeared before us, shimmering with golden light. I gasped and took a step back. Beyond the doorway, I could see a magnificent room adorned with black marble floors, ornate carved wood and silver accents, and what seemed like endless hallways, spiraling staircases and hundreds of doors.

“Wow,” I said. “This is not what I expected.” But a random door appearing in an alley wouldn’t be the craziest thing to happen today. Or even the craziest thing to happen in the last 20 minutes.

“And what exactly did you expect?” Gilmer asked.

“Three old hags bowed over a bubbling cauldron in a dank cave?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is Salem, not Darkwater Cove.” He choked back a nervous laugh, dropping his voice to a whisper. “And besides, best not to speak of such things. Especially not here at Coven Headquarters. You’d be well-served to pretend you know nothing about it.”

I opened my mouth to tell Gilmer I was just kidding but changed my mind when I saw the anxious look in his eyes. Whatever Darkwater Cove was, he seemed pretty adamant that I stay away from it. Worried, even.

“Thanks for the advice,” I offered, patting his arm. “I appreciate you looking out for me.” He smiled, a goofy, sheepish grin framed by a rising flush in his cheeks that told me appreciation and compliments must be in short supply for poor Gilmer. I suddenly felt bad for coming off as less-than-grateful for his intervention in my situation with the Detective.

“Yes, well. I’m just doing my job.” Was it my imagination, or was Gilmer standing a bit taller now? He swept his arm toward the still-shimmering doorway. “Shall we?”

“Do we have a choice?”

“Ms. Bradbury.” And he was back to being exasperated with me.

“Enough with the Ms. Bradbury stuff. Call me Gemma.” I took a deep breath, squinched my eyes closed and stepped through the doorway with Titus in my arms, delighting in the fact that we were both still intact after passing through whatever magic lived within the doorway. I turned to watch Gilmer as he followed. “Hey, is it okay if I call you Gil?”

“It most certainly is not.”

“But Gilmer is so formal. I mean, it suits you. But you could stand to relax a little. Enjoy yourself a bit more.”

“I engage in plenty of enjoyable activities,” he protested. “There’s the Salem Historical Society, and the Basket Weaving Club, and Clara Cook’s Book Club.”

“I’m sorry, did you say basket weaving?”

“I did, indeed.” His chin jutted out with pride. “I’m an award-winning weaver, you know. “Some say basket weaving is woman’s work, but given my nimble fingers and attention to detail, I find it comes quite naturally to me.”

“Wow, Gil. I had no idea you harbored such talent.” My voice was tinged with light-hearted sarcasm, but a small part of me felt a pang of jealousy. I’d never stuck with a single hobby long enough to become an award-winning anything. Unless you count cooking, but it wasn’t like I was entering contests. I just really loved food.

Jill of All Trades, Master of None right here.

This was not a new revelation. When I got to the part in a social media profile where it asked about my interests, it was always the same: cooking, travel, reading, yoga. You know, all the activities your typical 30-something woman is supposed to love.

Which, translated into real talk about my life, would have been: Spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on my education, and never actually enjoying the careers I’d been trained for. Moving from city to city and job to job because I never quite felt like I belonged. Hiding between the pages of books because that’s where I felt most at home. Meditating and doing yoga to quell the ever-growing anxiety over not having my life figured out. Drowning my sorrows in mimosa brunches, happy hours and a string of failed relationships that made me realize that despite my open-hearted facade, I just wasn’t capable of getting truly close to anyone besides my cat.

I snuggled Titus closer to my chest, grateful for my furry companion. Ever since Gran died, Titus was the only constant in my life. But it wasn’t like my life was awful. I had plenty of interests, and I always managed to find people to hang out with. It’s just that nothing—and no one—ever stuck.

We crossed the lobby, and Gilmer pushed open a massive bronze door before ushering me in. He followed, then, facing the entrance, snapped his wand and muttered something else under his breath. As he retracted his wand, the doorway vanished, leaving a smooth stone wall in its place.

“Um. Did you just lock us in here?” My voice echoed through the room, and I winced at how loud it sounded. Something about this place seemed sacred, at least to Gilmer.

“Don’t be silly. I locked them in,” he whispered. He gestured across the room to a raised platform, where a group of people—seven in all—stood chatting among themselves.

An older woman draped in flowing purple robes, her short white hair curling around a plump, rosy face accentuated by sparkling silver cat-eye frames, looked up at us and gasped.

“Ah, Mr. Gayle! Finally! Come, come. Let’s see her.” Her voice reminded me of a cross between Professor McGonnigal and Rory Gilmore’s grandma, clipped and proper, but with a slight edge, like she could cross over into shrill at any moment. She took a seat at the center of a long, narrow table at the front of the platform, facing us, and clapped her hands twice. “Council members, please be seated! Ms. Bradbury has arrived!”

The remaining Council members—all men—filed into what appeared to be their assigned seats in oversized chairs at a long, narrow table. The woman was quite a sight, with her shock of white hair and her brightly colored attire, flanked by three muscular men on each side, each one a strikingly handsome specimen worthy of gracing the cover of Esquire magazine. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something about the whole situation seemed… off.

Once everyone was settled, the woman tapped a long, thin rod in front of her, and a peacock feather quill pen rose from the table to levitate above a piece of parchment paper. "I call this closed session of the Salem High Council to order.” As she spoke, the quill began to move on its own, as if recording her thoughts.

“Is that—” I pointed at the quill, unable to believe my eyes, but the woman kept talking.

“I am Dorthea Davenport, Head of the Coven and Mayor of Salem."

"I'm Gemma Bradbury. But it seems you already know that."

"Yes, well. It's my job to know things." The mayor cleared her throat. "Now, then. You're probably wondering why you’re here.”

“Why I’m here. How I’m here. Where here even is," I said. "Yeah, I have questions.”

“Well, you’re in Salem of course."

“This doesn’t seem like any part of Salem I’ve ever been to.”

“Of course not. You’ve only seen the human Salem up until now.” She paused, glancing over her right shoulder, and frowned. "Gilmer?" Gilmer jumped and scurried up to the platform, planting himself directly behind the mayor. She motioned to Gil with one finger, and he leaned over her shoulder to whisper. She gave a satisfied nod and turned back to me. “Salem, Oregon, is it?”

Despite all the flack I'd given him, this predicament suddenly felt pretty lonely without Gilmer to guide us. I remained glued to one spot, my fingers buried in Titus' fur for comfort. I was probably staring like a wide-eyed idiot at Mayor White-Hair and her Seven Panty-Melting Dwarves.

"Excuse me, did you say human Salem?"

"I did."

“Okay, I'll play along. If this isn’t human Salem, then what is it?”

Mayor Davenport sighed. “Didn’t your grandmother ever explain the concept of the Vortex Years to you?" She clucked her tongue. "I swear, earthly witches are getting lazier and lazier by the century.”

“No, my Gran never explained anything remotely like this," I said. The moment I said her name, my stomach twisted, and I looked down at my feet. Titus didn't say—think?—a word, but extended one paw out to touch my face, pulling me back from whatever mind-numbing guilt spiral I was about to enter. I managed a small smile and turned my attention back to the Council. "How do you know about my Gran?”

Gil leaned over to whisper again, and the mayor cleared her throat. “Forgive me, Ms. Bradbury. I didn’t realize your grandmother passed before you came of age. Had you reached the age of 18 before your grandmother died, she would have instructed you on the use of your powers.”

“Powers? I don’t have any powers.” I shook my head, barely stifling a laugh. I wanted to be respectful, but this situation was becoming more ridiculous by the second.

“I beg to differ. You harbor great power, power you obviously haven’t yet learned to use. Or control.” The quill pen moved feverishly, causing me to question my sanity for the hundredth time in the last hour.

“What kind of power?” I asked. On the off chance I wasn’t crazy, and this place was real, I didn’t want to miss out on my one opportunity for an explanation.

“Magical powers, of course. You’re a witch.”

“A witch?”

She pushed her glasses down to the tip of her nose and peered at me. “An earth witch, to be specific. And that beautiful creature is your familiar.” Titus chirped happily at the compliment.

“So I’ve been told.”

“Your grandmother Mavis was an earth witch, as well. She was entrusted with teaching you the ways of the Coven. I’d hoped she would cross over into Salem with you. Two Bradbury witches in the same era would have... Ah, well. You know what they say about best-laid plans!”

“What’s so special about Bradbury witches?”

“Not just special, child. Extraordinary. You’re a direct descendant of Mary Perkins Bradbury, founder of the township of Salem. The power flowing through your veins is the stuff of legend.” She sighed, her expression taking on a distant haze. Just as I was beginning to think I’d lost her to her daydreams, she snapped back to attention. “Now, where was I?”

“You were telling me about my lineage?”

“Ah! Yes. Nevermind that. We’ll save the history lesson for another time. For now, we must deal with the pressing matter of Mortimer Montcrief’s untimely demise.”

“I had nothing to do with it. I tried to tell the Detective what happened, but—”

“The Coven intervened the moment we received notification you had crossed over. Detective Winterbottom tends to be a bit overzealous in his law enforcement endeavors. It was best we intercepted you before things got carried away. You’ll have the opportunity to explain your involvement when he questions you tomorrow. I have no doubt you’ll be cleared of any wrongdoing.”

“And what if I’m not?” I asked. Something told me placing my faith in Detective Otto’s investigative abilities would be an exercise in futility.

“The Coven is prepared to provide you with legal representation. And we trust the Town Barrister, Bennett Covington, to consider the case quite carefully before jumping to prosecution.” She swiveled to eye a dapper, dark-haired man seated to her right.

At the mention of his name, he nodded and sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers before flashing me a debonair smile—complete with unnaturally sharp incisors.

“Excuse me, are those—?”

“Fangs? Yes.” He ran his tongue along his upper teeth before retracting them with a smirk. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Bennett Covington, Head of Salem’s Vampire Clan. Pardon my primal reaction to your scent. It’s been over a decade since we’ve had any new blood in Salem.” He arched a brow, boring into me with hypnotic golden eyes that I couldn’t seem to look away from. “The novelty triggered my more... animalistic instincts.”

“Should I be worried?” I asked. The vampire’s pointed phrasing wasn’t exactly reassuring.

He flashed another grin but didn’t answer. Yep. I should definitely be worried.

“Thank Bastet I happened to jump on that shelf when I did! What if you had left me behind? Who would have fed me? And pet me? And loved me?”

“Sorry.” I shrugged, offering a sheepish grin to the Mayor and her harem of male advisors. “She doesn’t mean to be rude. We’re just now figuring out this whole talking cat business.”

“No need for apologies. You’re the only one who can tell what your familiar is saying. All of the animals can talk to each other. And shifters like Gabriel and Kai here, when they’re in animal form, of course.” She gestured to two of the men seated at the table. “But that’s an entirely different topic. Your familiar’s soul is tied to yours, and she will live as long as you do. But contrary to popular belief, not all familiars come in the form of a black cat.”

“Leave it to me to be totally basic.”

“Basic what?”

“I just meant—nevermind.” I had more important things to do than explain the basic white girl phenomenon to an elderly witch. Something told her Mayor Davenport would be less than impressed by all the ways in which I lacked originality.

“Dear me, I’ve been terribly rude! I haven’t properly introduced the Council.” She nodded back to the irresponsibly handsome gentleman on her left. “Gabriel Black is head of the Bear Shifter Clan. He also owns Bear Mountain Lumber and Bear Mountain Cabins.” Gabriel had olive skin with broad, powerful shoulders, casually styled cinnamon hair, and a knowing smile. His grey plaid flannel shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show off his muscular chest, and when he caught my gaze traveling down to where his pecs peeked out from the open placket of his shirt, he winked.

“Evening, Ms. Bradbury.” His deep voice and honey-dripped Southern drawl were enough to melt the lingerie off a Victoria’s Secret model. “Welcome to Salem.”

“Thank you,” I squeaked out. How mortifying.

“You are not dating a man bear, Titus scolded. Bears eat cats.”

Hush.

Oblivious to the uncomfortable flirtation unfolding before her, Mayor Davenport moved on. “And this is Kai Deschaine. He’s head of the Dragon Shifter Clan and heir to Deschaine Industries.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said. Something told me I wasn’t prepared to hear what kind of industries a dragon shifter might have his hands—claws?—in.

“Gemma.” Kai raised his chin, not quite a nod, but close, giving me a glimpse of his pale grey eyes. He had a full head of thick, dirty blond hair and facial scruff to match, and from what I could tell from his tight black t-shirt, a body that looked like it had been hand-chiseled out of stone. Both arms were covered in black and silver—yes, silver, as in metallic—tattoos, and he wore gleaming black obsidian hoops in each ear. Kai looked like a brooding bad boy, the kind of guy every girl’s mother should warn her about. I made a mental note to stay far, far away.

“And Patrick McAllister.” She pointed to a fair-skinned man with a smattering of freckles and spiky flame-colored hair. “Patrick serves as Taoiseach of the Leprechaun constituency.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Taoiseach,” Patrick answered. “Essentially means leader in this context.” His hazel eyes flashed with mischief as he wriggled his brows at me. “But no need to get fancy with it. Ye can call me whatever ye’d like.”

“Just Patrick is fine.”

“I like a woman who knows what she wants,” he replied. My mouth went dry. Like every other man at the table, Patrick possessed red-carpet-worthy levels of attractiveness. I couldn’t recall ever seeing such a good-looking ginger man in my life. But I could handle him as long as he didn’t open his mouth. I was a sucker for an Irish accent. Well, any accent, if I’m honest.

I moistened my lips and forced myself to look away. On the opposite side of the table sat a blond-haired, blue-eyed, square-jawed Adonis with his chin propped up in one hand and a pair of gossamer wings, opening and closing in a slow, lazy rhythm. This was getting ridiculous. Was “jaw-droppingly gorgeous” a prerequisite for Council membership?

“This is David Summer, Prince of the Fae. David is our newest Council member.”

“Charmed,” David said as he stifled a yawn. “Pardon me. Late night.”

“Every night is a late night for you, fairy boy.” A dark-skinned man with a salt-and-pepper goatee, a broad, gleaming smile and a pair of curved horns—because why not?—elbowed David in the ribs with a chuckle. Even with him sitting down, it was obvious he was much taller than the rest of them. As I gaped at the horns, the man caught my eye and stood, rounding the table to approach me. “Hi, Gemma! I’m Cade. Cade Asterion.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder and drew me in for a bone-crushing hug. “Welcome to Salem!” He towered over me, so much so that my face pressed into his ribcage as he embraced me. And I should note the man didn’t seem to have an ounce of fat on his entire body.

“Cade, please be seated,” Mayor Davenport said.

“In a minute,” he responded. He turned to face the table, putting his arm around me as he spoke. “Gemma here has had a hell of a night. It’s a lot to take in! I could tell she needed a hug.” He lowered his head and winked as he whispered, “Don’t let the horns scare you. I’m just a big teddy bear. But I can tell I’m going to like you, Gemma Bradbury. Anyone messes with you, they’ll have to answer to me.” He grinned, his white teeth a stark contrast against his deeply tanned face, and I couldn’t help but smile back. The Council, with its endless parade of man candy and edgy flirtations, was certainly pretty to look at. But it was nice to know at least one of the members was genuinely friendly.

“Thanks, Cade.”

He clapped his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it once before striding back to his seat. “Not every day we have guests. The rest of you could use some lessons in hospitality.”

“And I previously introduced Mr. Covington,” the Mayor said.

The vampire spoke, a sly smile playing across his lips. “It’s a sad day indeed when the deadly minotaur is the friendliest one of the bunch.” He nodded to me. “Forgive us… Gemma. Your arrival in Salem caught us by surprise. Allow me to take you out for a drink to make up for our rude behavior.”

“A drink… of me?” I asked.

“Aren’t you a delight?” Bennett tossed his head back, letting out a smooth, sophisticated laugh. “While that sounds quite lovely indeed, I’m satisfied with the donor supply. We vampires strive to be good citizens, and that means following all town ordinances. Especially with regard to not eating our neighbors.”

“That’s a relief,” I said. “I was worried you—”

“Gemma,” Mayor Davenport interrupted. “What is it you did for work back in…” She turned to give Gilmer a pointed look, and he jumped to whisper in her ear. “Oregon?”

“It’s going to sound crazy, but I just inherited a new age store about a month ago.”

“New age?”

“Tools and supplies for…” I scratched my neck, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Might as well come out and say it, I thought. Not like anyone here will judge you. Not for that, at least. “Witchcraft?”

“How convenient!” She clasped her hands together, her bright blue eyes sparkling. “The Coven is already making plans to train someone to take over Morty’s shop, which as you can imagine is essential to the everyday magical dealings of a witch. Especially since Morty has a monopoly on most of the magical goods in town. But you! You don’t need any training at all, do you? At least not on shopkeeping. It’s perfect.”

“Well, I mean, I only know the basics of—“

“Your magical training is another matter entirely. The Coven will assign you a tutor, of course. You have a lot to learn about Salem.”

“Magical training? I know you think I’m a witch, but I—”

“It’s settled! You’ll manage Montcrief’s Magic Shop. Bennett will draw up your employment documents.”

“Employment documents?”

“You need to make money somehow, don’t you? The Coven will pay you to run the shop, of course. And an additional salary for managing Morty’s real estate portfolio. All of those tenants to keep up with... There are just a few forms to get out of the way. Patrick here will ensure you get an account with the Bank of Salem. And of course, there are benefits. Healing insurance, a broomstick stipend, wand reimbursement, and monthly contributions to your gold coin vault. The usual.”

“Of course. The usual,” I agreed, nodding my head in an effort to conceal the fact that I was on the verge of a complete and total meltdown.

“She’ll need a place to live,” Cade interjected. “I suggest she take up residence in Morty’s apartment. Zeus knows he’s not using it anymore.”

“Shouldn’t we ask Mason if that’s alright?” Kai replied.

“Agreed. Mason is the rightful heir to Mortimer’s assets,” Bennett said.

“We can’t just assume Morty left everything to Mason,” Gabriel said.

“Of course we can. Mason is his only living relative,” David argued.

“Be that as it may, there are procedures to be followed,” the Mayor stated. “We’ll need to review his Last Will and Testament to be sure. Bennett, put in an Open Records Request with the Hall of Records.”

“Are you mad, woman?” Bennett asked. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to get a response to an Open Records Request? I’m still waiting on our last request from the last Vortex Cycle. That was seven years ago!”

“Seven years is nothing in the grand scheme of immortality,” she said. “You are the Town Barrister, and you will follow protocol. What good is a society without law and order? For now, the Coven will assume guardianship of the property, and Gemma Bradbury will assume legal tenancy and shop management responsibilities, as well as management responsibilities for the remaining properties in the Montcrief portfolio. Bennett, you’ll get her a list?” Bennett groaned, dropping his shoulders in acquiescence. “As you wish.”

“Um, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful for the offer of free housing, but are there any other options that don’t involve living in a dead man’s apartment? It just feels... squicky.”

“Well, there aren’t any other residential properties available in Salem. As we mentioned before, we only get new townies once every century,” the Mayor replied. “So unless you plan to sleep on a bench in the Town Square…” “She could stay in one of my cabins,” Gabriel offered.

“Nonsense,” the Mayor said. “Bear Mountain is too far from the shop. Gemma needs to be in town to handle her duties effectively.” After a brief pause to ensure no one else dared argue with her, she turned her head and snapped her fingers at Gil. “Call in Professor Bacchus!”

I turned to check on Titus, who in typical cat fashion had curled up in a ball and somehow managed to fall into a deep sleep at my feet. As I lifted my head and turned my attention back to the Council, a man appeared in front of me.

One look at him and every other man in the room seemed to disappear.

He was tall, with thick, dark eyebrows framing deep brown eyes, casually messy sable hair that looked as if it had just survived a particularly satisfying bedroom session, and a barely-there five o’clock shadow that made me wonder what it might feel like to rub my cheek against his face. He strode toward me with purpose, his lean, tightly muscled frame moving like a panther stalking his prey. Okay, so maybe the stalking was wishful thinking on my part. But seriously, he was the most beautiful specimen of a man I had ever laid eyes on.

“Professor Beauregard Bacchus. You can call me Beau,” he said. He extended his hand, and I offered mine in return. When our palms connected, I felt a little zap of energy followed by an incredible feeling of warmth flowing through my body. His eyes widened, but he didn’t release my hand.

“Gemma Bradbury,” I replied. “Just Gemma is fine.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Gemma. Looks like we’re going to be spending quite a bit of time together.” I mentioned that I have a thing for accents, right? Beau’s had a hint of Italian, and every word was killing me, in all the best ways. We stood there for a moment longer, our gazes locked on one another. I could have sworn I heard his heart beating in unison with mine. But I knew that was probably just more wishful thinking. I could have stayed there all night, staring into his eyes, if not for the Mayor’s interruption.

“You have quite a bit to catch up on. I’ll schedule your wand certification exam for 30 days from now. You’ll be working with Professor Bacchus every evening until you’re knowledgeable enough to pass your exam. Upon receiving a passing grade, you’ll be granted a license to purchase a full-power wand, which, as I said before, the Coven will reimburse you for. There is the background check and three-day waiting period, unless of course we happen to have a wand show in town. In that case, you can bypass the background check entirely.”

“So it’s like getting a gun.”

“Heavens, no!” Bennett exclaimed. “We don’t have guns here in Salem. We’re not heathens.”

“Now then, I think we’ve covered enough for one night,” the Mayor said. “This meeting is adjourned.” She waved her hand in my direction as the magical quill finished recording its last word with a flourish and dropped to rest on the table. “Off you scurry.”

“But where do I go?” I asked. “Last I checked, my new apartment was a crime scene.”

“Ah, good point. Professor Bacchus will accompany you to Montcrief’s to determine how long they’ll need to complete their crime scene investigation. In the event the police department needs some encouragement to speed things up, do contact the Coven at once.”

Beau glanced at me. “Shall we?”

“I guess we shall. But,” I worried my lip for a moment. “I’m kind of hungry. I just realized I missed dinner.”

“Dinner?” Titus woke up and scrambled over to my feet. “I didn’t eat dinner, either!”

“I know, I know. We’ll find dinner for you, too.”

“Oh, thank Bastet! I thought you had forgotten all about me.”

“How could I forget about you? You’re clinging to my shoulder like a needy parrot, and your nose is pressed flat against my cheek.”

“Just making sure.”

“Does Salem have anywhere we can get something to eat? Like a grocery store or a restaurant?” I asked.

“We have all of that,” Beau responded. But most businesses are closed by now for the town’s Samhain celebration.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “I do know one place. An all-night diner. We can stop there on the way if you’d like.”

“I love you,” I blurted out. Omigosh. That did not just come out of my mouth. Beau quirked a brow and inclined his head, studying me. I swallowed hard and tried again, praying my lips didn’t betray me this time. “I mean, I’d love to.” I drew my bottom lip between my teeth with a nervous laugh. “I don’t usually make a habit of professing my love to strangers,” I explained. “It’s just been a long day. And I’m really hungry.”

“That, Gemma Bradbury, is one problem we can solve.”