Page 1

Chapter

One

Cassandra

“She’s perfect.”

Oh-h-h, I liked that. Rarely was I called perfect.

Rarely was I acknowledged at all, to be honest.

Unless someone was making fun of me. Or criticizing me. Usually because my magic had gone wonky.

Again.

“She’s a witch,” another voice pointed out.

The first voice, I knew, belonged to Queenie, the mummy who owned the clothing boutique in this tiny, supernaturals-only Texas town. For a woman who had been at the peak of health and yet was buried alive simply because her pharaoh husband hadn’t wanted to go to the afterlife alone, Queenie refused to believe anyone had ulterior motives.

Not that I did.

Okay, not that those ulterior motives were intended to injure or maim anyone in this town.

“Yes, well, that was what we were advertising for,” Queenie pointed out to the other person. Masculine voice. Very melodic. No idea who he was. There had been only two people on the hiring committee: Queenie and a harpy whose name I couldn’t recall, probably because she didn’t say much, just kept staring at me with beady black eyes.

She said enough for me to know that wasn’t her voice, though.

I was currently relegated to a folding chair in the storage room in the back of the only pub in town, while a small group of residents discussed my fate ten feet behind that swinging door with the round plastic window in the middle.

I knew nothing about Arrhythmia, Texas, beyond that it was a last-chance option for monsters who couldn’t fit into the mundane world.

Which meant it was absolutely perfect for me.

Which meant I really, really needed this job.

“She’s a bad witch,” the male voice said.

I bristled then just as quickly slumped in my seat.

He was right. I was bad at being a witch. Most spells required a certain lack of clumsiness to carry out, and clumsy was my middle name.

To my siblings and schoolmates, it was my first name. Once, a clip of my schoolmates chanting “Clumsy Cassandra” had been posted on social media and promptly went viral.

For weeks.

“What a terrible thing to say, River,” Queenie scolded. At least now I had a name to go with the voice of the person who had taken a dislike to me before even meeting me.

Maybe he knew my family? It was possible; I had a lot of relatives, and while the majority were still living in and around New Orleans, a few had ventured away from the nest.

I hadn’t thought any of them had discovered this quaint little town in nowhere, Texas, though, which was reason number one for me to move here.

Reason number two: this town needed a coffee shop owner who actually knew how to make coffee. The ability to cast spells was preferred but not required, according to the job posting I’d seen.

“You said it yourself,” River protested.

“What I said was, she says she is bad at being a witch,” Queenie said reproachfully. “But she made me a caramel macchiato that was absolutely the best I’ve ever had. Here, at the pub.” I imagined she was pointing at the floor or maybe sweeping her arm in an arch to emphasis her point. “Without all the gadgets and whahozits available at a coffee shop.”

It had been challenging without the right equipment, but I’d assumed it was a test and was determined to pass. I needed this job.