It kept them safe from prying eyes.
Well. One particular pair of prying eyes.
Priscilla Raisin.
Priscilla was the worst. Technically, her mother held that title, but since she’d been exiled from the coven years ago, Priscilla had happily stepped in to fill the void. She was covetous as hell. Between my recipes and my house, she was constantly trying to steal my shit.
Which was exactly why I planned to finish perfecting my candy very far away from her. And just this morning, I’d had another genuinely excellent idea—to hire some security. Whether the security company would accept the last-minute job was another thing. Their rates were suspiciously discounted but did align with my limited budget, and with limited time to research a company, I had high hopes that they would accept.
Because I had no doubt that Priscilla would try her best to find me. And a bargain-bin security guard would be an extra layer of protection if she did.
***
Inspiration failed me, and I ended up closing the shop early. After a quick pit stop at Tiny Hexes, the coven’s shop for baby supplies, I dragged my feet as I, reluctantly, made my way home a full four hours earlier than I normally would, thinking of what I could say to my house that would convince it to come with me.
I thought back to the first day it had opened its doors for me.
I’d always pictured my housepoofing into existence for me like my mom and dad’s had. None of the dormant houses inthe coven suited either my personality or style, which was loud, slightly obnoxious, and stuck in the seventies.
The last house I’d expected to bond with was the creepy gothic manor that had been dormant for over a century. But as those dusty doors had creaked open for me, a warmth had spread through me, a feeling of belonging with it.
Things had gone well for a full ten minutes, until Priscilla-fucking-Raisin showed up.
And I did what I always did when Priscilla darkened my doorstep—I cussed her out and threatened to hex her if she ever came back.
That was when my new house turned on me.
The magic that imbued our sentient houses was (supposedly) innocent and naturally trusting. My house didn’t know Priscilla had spent years trying to steal the work I’d poured my life into. It didn’t know how she’d relentlessly bullied me and my friends at school.
All it saw was the witch it had chosen go from“Oh, you have such pretty blinds”to“Get the fuck off my doorstep before I turn you into a toad, you bitch”in the space of three seconds.
And since then... yeah. I guess I was the bitch, as far as it was concerned.
Which was why, the moment I came into view, and four hours earlier than it was expecting me, the house rattled its shutters in a startled warning. The front door creaked open just enough for a pair of glassy eyes to issue me a death glare, then slammed shut with abang.
“Oh, grow up, Creep,” I muttered under my breath, before immediately remembering I was supposed to be buttering her up if I wanted her to follow me tomorrow.
I took a seat on the top step of the porch and set the paper bag beside me, making sure that the Tiny Hexes logo was in full view.
From the corner of my eye, I caught the twitch of the curtains.
I reached into the bag and pulled out a delicate burgundy headband, complete with an offensively large bow and cream lace trim. I ran a finger over the fabric, making sure to act as if it was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen.
Tonight, however, Creep wasn’t biting.
“This is such a beautiful bow,” I said aloud. “Ilovethe frills. And burgundy issoin season.”
The curtains twitched again—but still no Creep.
“And it would goperfectlywith someone who had lovely red locks.”
There was the faintestpitter-patterof tiny feet before the front door creaked open a fraction.
“And do you know what else would be perfect for someone with beautiful red locks and a pretty burgundy bow?” I asked, my voice honey sweet.
I let the question hang.
After a moment, the porch boards groaned beneath me in impatient protest.
