They were tucked into Maude’s bedroom, a small, shadow-softened space. Thick quilts spilled over the narrow bed, their edges brushing a floor scattered with well-thumbed books and a stack of half-melted candles she kept meaning to replace. A chipped teacup sat on the dresser, holding quills instead of tea, and the faint smell of incense clung to the dark-painted walls no matter how often she aired the place out.
Not that Oli and Selene cared. They liked her little cottage on the edge of town and had a habit of inviting themselves over, no matter how many times she warned them about stray curses—or the half-feral house spirit that might live in the walls. Sometimes they stayed for days at a time, and more so in the six months since Bailey died. She thought that might be the reason, but some things were better left buried. Like bodies.Andconversations about grief.
Selene groaned, fingers drumming weakly against the stoolwhere she sat slumped. A selkie-turned–healer’s apprentice, she’d lived in Mistwood Hills for a year—long enough that her laughter and mischief felt woven into its streets. Her dark hair tumbled in loose, salt-tossed waves, framing a face quick to grin, eyes gleaming like tidepools hiding some secret catch.
She’d left the coastal cliffs of her kind behind, trading seal form and ocean home for legs and what she foolishly thought would be a quieter life. Instead, Oli swept her into his whirlwind—where “healing” often meant experimental potions and questionable choices. She had slipped into friendship with Maude and Oli as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Oli, of course, had never given Maude the choice. As children, she’d hexed his hair to his ankles just to shut him up. He’d worn it like a crown, laughing so hard he nearly choked, and paraded it for months until she gave up trying to shake him. He chipped at her walls one joke at a time, until tolerance became something closer to loyalty—to love. Selene’s presence had been effortless by comparison, a tide that carried Maude along before she even realized she was drifting.
Maude shoved aside the clutter of bottles on her desk, hunting for a scrap of surface to set down the latest batch of tonics. Crates already lined the wall—tinctures, salves, poultices—most of them bound for the Lantern Ward, where Selene worked. They always needed more. And Maude didn’t mind, so long as she could stack the boxes in neat rows and send them off with Selene under the convenient cloak of anonymity. No smiling healers gushing thanks. No forced pleasantries. Just her work, leaving quietly.
Tonight’s additions were less noble: an absurd number of headache draughts for the town party Oli was throwing in a few hours.
Ever since Sugar High Bakery opened, her sales had plummeted. Oli’s grand solution? A town party. Because nothing says “great marketing strategy” like forcing vendors to mingle under bad lighting with sticky-fingered kids wired oncupcakes.
He’d asked Maude to brew something “exciting” to showcase her “talents” and win back customers. So she gave the town exactly what it would need after a night of forced merriment: a cure for the splitting migraines they’d all be nursing by morning.
“It’s not really healing, though, is it?” Selene managed, grimacing as she fought to keep the potion down. “It’s more like…enhancing.” She stared, starry-eyed, as her long ebony braid shimmered into a vivid shade of purple, her fingers twining through it in awe.
Oli threw his head back, laughter echoing through the bedroom as Maude’s eyes widened in shock.
“Seriously, stop screwing with my potions!” Maude jabbed an elbow into his side, shoving him back. She bent over the cauldron meant for a simple headache remedy—yet instead of lavender and chamomile, a bizarre and decidedly unsuitable mix of firethorn berry and ghost orchid—and was that a hint ofmoonleaf?—assaulted her nose.
“Oli, you didn’t.”
His grin was wicked. “Oh, but I did.”
Maude ran to the mirror, half-expecting some hideous transformation. But no—everything looked the same, except for one horrifying detail: she wassmiling.
Smiling like a deranged peddler hawking miracle elixirs at a village fair.
She whirled on Oli, fury tangled with involuntary glee. “You son of a bitch!” she yelled, the words at odds with the wide, ridiculous grin splitting her face.
Oli and Selene tumbled off their stools into a heap on the floor as they clutched their sides, laughing uncontrollably.
“That really issounnerving,” he managed between bouts of laughter, wiping away tears.
“You look like a serial killer, Maude. It’s cute,” Selene said, pushing herself up off the floor.
“Please, narrate my downfall louder.” Maude dug through her bag as if it were a matter of life and death, her hands aggressivelysearching for any ingredients that might reverse this, all while plotting a dark and fitting revenge on Oli.
“No, you don’t,” Oli said, catching her wrist. “You want more customers? Then listen—headache tonics won’t cut it. You need fun, flash. What better draw than potions that change people’s looks while they’re smashed on Willerby’s spirits and Daphne’s herb-laced cookies?”
Maude yanked her wrist free. “No one’s going to be doing that tonight exceptyou, Oli. Some of us have jobs—and reputations. Standards. Not high ones, but still.”
“You said you wanted my help, so let me help you.” Oli cocked a brow. “If this isn’t the massive, world-changing success Iknowit’s going to be, we’ll pivot. But for now, just trust me. Trust that I have your best interests at heart.”
Maude stared at him, resisting the urge to roll her eyes so hard they’d exit her skull. He wasn’t wrong—she needed help, and fast. But this felt like selling her soul, and not even for something worthwhile, like a pact with a shadow demon.
Times were changing. People didn’t want to hex their neighbors anymore; they wanted selfie-worthy potions and novelty spells. If she didn’t adapt, her shop would vanish into obscurity, just another relic of the past.
Bailey’s legacy would wither with it.
Maude would rather walk into the sun than sell out. She just wished Bailey were here. At least he’d know how to make this garbage fire of a plan feel less soul-crushing.
Evening settled cool around them as Maude walked with Oli and Selene, the last threads of daylight fading while lanterns blinked awake along the lane. The town rose ahead, windows glowing like scattered embers, and the cottages they passed, with moss-coveredroofs and ivy-draped walls, looked as though they’d been lifted from a fairy tale. Each had a brightly painted door—cobalt, emerald, or an aggressively cheerful sunset orange—often left ajar, as if to invite in neighbors or the occasional wandering charm.
The streets hummed with life: enchanted scarecrows kept watch over gardens, while self-stirring cauldrons clattered in kitchens. Idyllic at first glance. But Maude knew better. Magic wasn’t charming. It was messy, chaotic, and almost always ended with someone begging her to fix their catastrophic mistakes for free.
As they neared Market Square, the cobblestones grew more uneven, and the sounds of merchants setting up stalls drifted toward them. Oli, as usual, was vibrating with the kind of over-caffeinated energy Maude could only describe as deeply suspicious. He was rambling about his “bigplans” and “turningeverythingaround,” his voice bouncing off the ancient stone buildings.
