I wasn’t sure what purpose the room served, but I could feel the faint pulse of magic emanating from it. Now that I was seated and attuned to the store, I realized that magic was woven into the very building that surrounded me. It was so subtle that I hadn’t noticed it when I first walked in, but I suddenly sensed it clearly.
When the woman from the counter walked up to the table, holding a large mug and saucer and a plate with two pastries stacked on it, I studied her. It was as if a veil had been lifted and I could see the power that emanated from her. It twisted and writhed beneath the shadow that shrouded her, as though it yearned to be free.
She was a witch.
In my extremely long life, I’d never liked witches. Considering a warlock had made me what I am, my experience with them hadn’t been the best up until I met one in Dallas who was truly a white witch. It didn’t change my opinion of them as a whole, but it did force me to consider that there were others that were also kind.
The blonde witch standing before me was compassionate and welcoming. Though she would probably deny it, she was also strong. Strong enough to fight any battles that came her way, which made the shadow that surrounded her even more mysterious and interesting.
She smiled a little as she set the drink and plate of food on the table in front of me. “Vanilla bourbon latte, a blueberry orange scone, and a chocolate oatmeal Scotchie.”
I stared down into the drink, hesitant to try it. I rarely drank spirits, preferring to keep my wits about me. “It has bourbon in it?”
“Just a flavored syrup, no alcohol,” she replied, her grin growing wider.
Still unsure, I lifted the cup to my lips, inhaling the scent of coffee and vanilla with a whiff of something stronger. When I sipped, I couldn’t hide my surprise, my eyebrows lifting. “That’s delicious,” I complimented her.
She laughed and sat down across from me. “Thank you.”
Her behavior was not what I’d come to expect from employees at restaurants and coffee houses. But the shop was empty, so I couldn’t blame her for wanting to take a break.
“That room,” I said, gesturing toward the curtained niche. “What is it for?”
“It’s where Savannah or I do tarot card readings, palmistry, and other types of divination.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Yes.”
My eyes moved over the shelves of books and candles then to the tables at the front of the store that held crystals and amulets. “And you sell other magical aids and items.” It was a declaration not a question.
“I do.” She held her hand out across the table. “I’m Ava Amaris.”
“Hello, Ava. My name is Rhys Carey.”
“Hi, Rhys. What brings you into my shop on this dreary day?” she asked.
“This is your shop?” I responded, evading her curious gaze as I sipped the latte.
Ava nodded, her purple eyes sparkling with mischief. “It is. But you still haven’t answered my question.”
Since she wasn’t going to let it go, I answered, “I was in the area, looking at houses with a realtor.”
“Oh, are you moving to Austin?”
I hesitated. “You’re asking a lot of questions to a stranger,” I stated bluntly.
She laughed. “I am, aren’t I? I’ve always been nosy.” Ava rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “But I don’t just own this store. I also own several homes that I rent out. I might be able to help you.”
I picked up the cookie and took a bite as I considered her words. The flavors of chocolate and butterscotch exploded on my tongue. When my eyes widened in shock, she laughed again, the sound light and clear.
“Did you make this?” I asked.
“I did. I make all my baked goods.”
“It’s amazing.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
