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“Not now it isn’t,” Cassandra retorted. I’d only known her a short time, but if you’d asked me two minutes ago, I might have laughed at the idea of her ever being this furious.

Magic flickered around her fisted hands. Even her eyes were spitting sparks.

Her uncle lifted his hands like he was trying to soothe a cornered animal. “Now, now, Cassandra, calm down. You know how you get when your emotions are high.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” she retorted.

We were drawing a crowd. All human. They couldn’t see the magic shimmering around Cassandra, but they could likely sense something in the air. Not to mention, it was clear to anyone with any sense that she and this man were having some sort of heated exchange.

“Remember that apartment fire,” her uncle said, an edge to his voice. “Think about all those humans who almost died.”

Uh-oh. Something told me this was exactly the wrong thing to say to an empathetic witch who had spent every day since that incident feeling horrible over the fact that it happened at all.

“Oh, I am,” Cassandra replied. Suddenly, she flung magic at him.

He didn’t duck out of the way in time, and the spell hit him square in the chest.

He went rigid. As stiff as a statue. The only parts of his body that could move were his eyes and mouth. “What did you do?” he demanded. He appeared to be trying to struggle, but whatever spell she’d used, it was a solid one. This guy wasn’t going anywhere until Cassandra decided he was.

She started to walk toward him, and I hurried to follow, in case something went wrong. After all, she kept insisting that her magic was wonky.

She stepped right into his space. His eyes were huge, bugging out of his head. The man looked petrified.

Cassandra crossed her arms. “Here’s how this is going to go down. You will go back to our family and confess your wrongdoings.”

“All of them?” The guy’s mouth gaped.

Cassandra rolled her eyes and flapped her hand in my direction. “You’re going to tell them what really happened with the phoenix and that apartment building.”

I think he was trying to shake his head, but the spell held and all he could do was look like he was constipated. “I can’t. That will ruin my reputation.”

Cassandra arched a brow and stared him down.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he grumbled.

“You mean like you ruined me?”

He reacted as if she’d slapped him.

“Right,” she said, like he’d agreed to their terms. “You’re going to return to the family and make it clear that I had nothing to do with arranging for River to regenerate over and over and over again.”

“Who’s River?” The moment the words were out of his mouth, he made the connection. “It’s you? What a fantastic name. Did your parents name you after the late great actor? I don’t suppose you’d die and regenerate for me one last time?”

“No,” I ground out.

“Do you understand what will happen if you do not do as I say?” Cassandra asked him.

He nodded. Well, his eyeballs sort of moved up and down, which I assumed was a nod.

“Good. Oh.” She pulled something out of her purse. It was the list of items we’d just purchased. She tucked it into the breast pocket of the smoking jacket. “Before you leave, go inside and repurchase everything you just destroyed. And pay for it yourself.”

His eyes widened again, but he did not argue.

“We’ll wait right here,” she said, and then she released the spell. Lewey sagged but did not try to run away or toss a counterspell at her. Or try to kill me.

He simply, with obvious reluctance, strode toward the store. He looked like a drowned rat. Or maybe a duck, except that didn’t work as an analogy.

Although, seriously, the resemblance between Uncle Lewey and Scrooge McDuck was uncanny.