The doorbell rang.
Cassie closed her eyes. "If that's Marjorie, I'm leaving the country."
"It's not Marjorie," Liam said, peering through the window. "It's... someone in a very orange jacket. Very enthusiastic hair. Currently taking a selfie with your garden gnomes."
"Oh God. That's Diane."
Cassie's best friend burst through the door approximately four seconds later, because Diane had never met a boundary she couldn't ignore.
"CASSIE MARIE MORGAN." Diane stood in the kitchen doorway, hands on hips, looking like a chaos goddess in athleisure wear. "Marjorie just posted on the neighborhood Facebook that you've been 'harboring an unauthorized resident' and 'practicing dark arts' and I quote, 'corrupting the local flora with unnatural influences.' I have QUESTIONS."
She spotted Liam. Froze. Her eyes went very wide.
"Holy shit. You hired ahandyman?" Diane's voice dropped to a stage whisper that was somehow louder than her normal speaking voice. "Like, aspecialhandyman?"
"It's not like that?—"
"Because if you're paying someone to look likethatwhile fixing your sink, I need the website. Immediately. For research purposes."
Liam, to his credit, just sighed and went back to examining the scorch marks on the counter.
"He's not—I didn't hire—this is so much morecomplicated than—" Cassie gestured helplessly at the kitchen, at Liam, at the universe in general.
"She summoned him," Luna said. "Accidentally. With a spell. He's magically bound to the property and can't leave. Her garden exploded, the gnomes grew three feet, bees spelled her name in the sky, and she's been making the walls change color every time she looks at him." The cat paused. "Oh, and there was a small fire situation with the dish towels. Twice."
Diane blinked. Once. Twice.
Then she grinned like someone had just told her Christmas was happening early this year.
"I'm sorry, did the cat justtalk?"
"Yes," everyone said in unison.
"And you—" Diane pointed at Cassie. "—havemagic?"
"Apparently."
"And you—" She pointed at Liam. "—are trapped here?"
"Unfortunately."
"And Marjorie has no idea what's actually happening, she just thinks you're being 'inappropriate with an unknown man'?"
"That's the gist, yes."
Diane pulled out a chair, sat down, and folded her hands on the table like a woman settling in for her favorite show.
"This," she announced, "is the best thing thathas happened to me in five years. I'm obsessed. I'm invested. I'm here for all of it. Also—" She looked at Margaret. "—who are you and are you single?"
"I'm Margaret. I'm seventy-three and widowed. And you're going to need to calm down if you want to be helpful."
"I can be calm. Look how calm I am." Diane vibrated with suppressed enthusiasm. "I'm practically a statue of calmness."
"You're making the salt shaker nervous," Luna observed.
Indeed, the salt shaker was inching away from Diane across the table. Cassie grabbed it before it could make a break for freedom.
"So let me get this straight," Diane said, her eyes sparkling with unholy glee. "You accidentally became a witch, summoned a hot Scottish handyman who can't leave, turned Derek's midlife crisis mobile into a Barbie car, nearly burned down the kitchen, and Marjorie thinks you're just being slutty?"
