She woke to chaos.
Or rather, she woke to hammering on her door, which was chaos enough at—she squinted at the ancient alarm clock on the nightstand—six-thirty in the morning.
“I got hereyesterday.” She groaned into the pillow. The pillow smelled of must and sea air. Definitely needed new linens. Definitely needed not to deal with whoever was trying to break down her door.
The hammering intensified.
“Coming!” She threw back covers and stumbled through the unfamiliar room, stubbing her toe on a box she didn’t remember placing there.Emotional Baggage (Literal). Because of course. The universe had a sense of humor today.
The front door opened before she reached it.
“Really?” Avine glared at the brass mermaid knocker, which managed to look innocent. “We’re going to have to set boundaries about the whole ‘opening for whoever you want’ thing. This isn’t a speakeasy. I don’t have a password. There should at least be a password.”
A woman swept in.Sweptwas the only word for it—she moved with the sort of dramatic energy that made entrances intoevents. Wild dark curls, sea-glass blue eyes, clothes that flowed around her in layers of coastal aesthetic. She carried a basket that smelled of fresh-baked bread and honey.
Behind her came three more women, each more visually distinct than the last: a petite redhead whose hair sparkled in the early light, a curvy woman with honey-brown hair and flour dusted on her apron, and a serene-faced woman with silver-streaked dark hair who smelled—improbably—of lavender and woodsmoke and knowing.
The moment they crossed the threshold, Avine’s power recognized them.
Four bright threads of magic brushed against hers—different flavors, different strengths, but all undeniablywitch. Storm and sea from the wild-haired one. Alchemy and transformation from the redhead. Hearth and comfort from the flour-dusted baker. Earth and intuition from the serene one.
Sisters, her magic whispered. Not blood, but craft. Not born, but bound.
She saw the same recognition flicker across their faces. The redhead’s eyes widened. The baker pressed a hand to her heart. Even the serene one’s composure shifted into wonder.
“Well.” The wild-haired one broke the silence first. “That’s new. Usually the sister-bond takes at least a few drinks.”
“The surge.” The serene one’s voice was low, knowing. “It’s accelerating everything. Including this.”
“Excellent.” The redhead was already rifling through cabinets like she owned the place. “Skip the awkward acquaintance phase, jump straight to found family. Very efficient. I approve. I’m Junie, by the way. That’s Cassia, this is Dahlia, and the cryptic one is Narla. We’re your coven now. Resistance is futile.”
Avine opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
“I—what? I haven’t even had coffee. I don’t know any of you, and my house apparently lets anyone in now, and there was asurge? What surge? Did I break the town? Also, did you saycoven?”
“What Juniemeans,” Dahlia stepped forward, her voice patient, “is welcome to Haven Shores. We registered the magic last night—everyone did—and we came to check on you. I brought pastries. They’re not hexed or anything.” A beat. “Well, the cinnamon rolls are mildly enchanted for comfort, but only in a therapeutic way.”
“And the sister-bond is real,” Narla added, moving past Avine toward what she apparently sensed was the kitchen. “You can feel it too, can’t you? Our magic recognizing yours. It happens between witches sometimes—an affinity that goes deeper than friendship. The surge is making it happen faster, but that doesn’t make it less true.”
Avinecouldfeel it. Their magic intertwining with hers, four threads weaving into a braid that hadn’t existed ten minutes ago. It should have been terrifying—strangers, in her house, claiming some kind of mystical bond.
Instead, it was like finding puzzle pieces she hadn’t known were missing.
“Coffee first.” She held up her hands. “Then explanations. And possibly those cinnamon rolls.”
Dahlia’s face lit up. “Oh, I knew I was going to like you.”
The kitchen, when they reached it, had transformed overnight. The dust was gone. The windows sparkled. The old appliances—which Avine distinctly remembered being covered in grime—gleamed in the morning light.
“The house likes you.” Narla ran a finger along a spotless counter. “It hasn’t done that for anyone in decades. The last four owners couldn’t even get the stove to work.”
“Four owners.” Cassia held up fingers. “Remember the guy who tried to turn it into a B&B for magicals? The plumbing flooded his car.Specifically,his car. On the third floor. The house carried water up two flights to make a point.”
“That’s vindictive.” Avine sank into a chair at the kitchen table. “I respect it.”
Junie was already producing a coffeemaker that Avine could swear hadn’t been there before. An iridescent snake glittered in her hair—not a hair clip, butalive, watching Avine with bright, intelligent eyes.
“Familiar.” Junie caught her stare. “Her name’s Glimmer. She’s harmless. Well, mostly harmless. She bit that guy from the mainland last month, but he deserved it.”
