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I needed a place to hide.

“And she says she can bake,” Queenie continued. “Like I said, she’s perfect.”

I may have exaggerated a bit on the baking part, but by that point, I’d wanted this job badly enough that I could figure it out.

“Not only that,” Queenie continued, “but we all know the residents of this town are more often than not harder on themselves than need be.”

Something in the long pause after that statement told me she might have hit a nerve with this man named River.

Whatever. I knew my own shortcomings, which meant we’d all be fine so long as I made it clear to everyone not to expect any sort of mind-blowing witchcraft from me.

Or any witchcraft at all.

Apparently, the continued silence was a cue. There was a noise like someone smacked a wooden table, and Queenie declared, “Wonderful. It’s settled. She’s hired.”

I felt my eyes widen and clapped my hands over my mouth so the “eek!” wouldn’t escape. I was hired! I was hired! I wouldn’t have to go back to New Orleans with my proverbial tail between my legs after all.

I say proverbial because, courtesy of my unreliable magic, one of my family members did have a tail. Unless they’d had it removed since I slunk out of town under the guise of darkness a few days ago.

“I still object,” River grumbled.

I bristled. Who was this guy? Hopefully, he’d be gone before Queenie retrieved me from the storeroom. My wonky magic tended to react even more poorly than normal when my emotions were heightened. And this unknown person was really starting to get under my skin.

Usually, I did a decent job of blowing it off when people were mean to me. After all, it was a daily occurrence.

But I knew those people, knew they had a valid reason for teasing me. Making fun of my terrible spells.

I didn’t know this guy—and he didn’t know me, either—so what gave him the right to condemn me?

“Conveniently, you aren’t on the hiring committee, River.” That wasn’t Queenie’s voice, so I’m guessing it was the harpy. Sounded like something a harpy would say.

“Decision made,” that same woman said. “Queenie, I assume you’ll loop in Asmoday to handle all the details?”

Queenie must have acquiesced, because a moment later, the harpy said, “Wonderful. I’m off to water yoga class.” A tinkling bell indicated the door was opened, and then I heard the whoosh of what sounded like wings.

Yep, definitely the harpy.

“I’m out too,” River said. “I have a special request from a client that I need to work on.”

The bell rang again. I stood, smoothed my hands down the front of my dress, prepared to march out to the front of the house to accept the job.

But then I plopped back down again. I probably wasn’t supposed to have actually heard that exchange.

The door swung open, and I caught a glimpse of the traditional British pub, complete with dark wood everywhere and latticework on the windows. The place was positively dripping with Halloween decorations.

Orange candles and red, orange, and yellow silk oak leaves on tables designed to look like wooden barrels. Orange twinkle lights draped from the ceiling—along with a British flag. Pumpkins rested on pretty much every surface as well as in clusters in the corners. I’d taken one out with the toe of my sandal as I made my way to my seat earlier.

A string of pumpkin guts was still wrapped around my big toe.

Queenie stepped into the doorway. She was resplendent in her silk bandages. Little tassels hung from her elbows and wrists, and the bodice was decorated with delicate black lace. Her winged eyeliner was absolutely on point, and her midnight-black hair draped around her face in the perfectly severe cut depicted in history books. I wanted to ask if it was a wig but couldn’t work up the nerve.

She brushed the thick locks off her shoulder. “I imagine you heard that exchange?”

I nodded, hoping eavesdropping was not cause for retracting a job offer that hadn’t officially been made yet.

She sighed. “Come on. Let’s go look at the coffee shop before I offer you this job. It’s a very real possibility that you may not want it.”

Uh-oh. What did that mean? It was shortly after nine in the morning, and I had wondered why we’d conducted the interview here, in the pub, instead of in the shop I was slated to take over, but I’d assumed this was some sort of test.