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“Is there anything we should be concerned about?” I asked Cassandra while we watched him climb into a Honda hatchback and drive away.

“He’ll be fine,” Cassandra replied. “He won’t be the favorite son anymore, but they won’t cut him off entirely. Hopefully, he’s learned his lesson and won’t manipulate others into doing his dirty deeds anymore.” She pulled her cell phone out of her purse. “But I’m going to call my cousin, fill her in so she can keep an eye on him anyway.”

“Good idea.”

After loading the coffee shop supplies into the truck bed, we climbed in front. Wyldfire settled on my lap once again.

“Do you know why she does that?” Cassandra asked as she started the truck.

“Does what?”

She motioned at my lap. “Chooses you.”

“Because I’ve been feeding her for the last eight months?”

Cassandra laughed and guided the truck out of the parking lot. Turned toward home.

“It’s because I chose you.”

Epilogue

Cassandra

I turned around, fancy coffee in hand, and noted that the line had gotten longer in the thirty seconds I’d been using the espresso machine.

Admittedly, there was almost always a line at Brewtopia, but today was worse than normal. Or better. Depended on one’s perspective.

I was going with better. Pretty much all the time these days.

I handed the cyclops his coffee, he handed me payment and a generous tip, blinked his singular eye once, and lumbered out of the store.

The place was really filling up. Patrons were starting to get snippy with one another, a combination of needing their morning fix, being enclosed in a small space, and anticipation.

“Hey, everybody,” I called out. When the chatter didn’t die down, I shot a streamer of colorful sparks at the ceiling. As they rained down like, well, rain, the coffee shop quieted and everyone turned to face me.

Wyldfire leaped onto the barstool situated next to the counter, which was hers and hers alone, and everybody knew it.

Some people didn’t like cat hair in their coffee. I didn’t blame them. Yet Wyldfire still wanted to feel like she was part of the hustle and bustle.

The barstool provided the solution.

“Okay, everybody, here’s how this is going to work. Anyone who is here for coffee or pastries, form a line over there.” I pointed at the centaur behind the counter to my right.

Ciaran used to be a server at the pub, but his rather prominent back end was a tad too large for the small space. He was forever knocking over people’s drinks, and his thick, heavy tail kept ending up in someone’s soup.

When my business exploded and I realized that I needed help if I wanted to do anything other than make coffee twenty-four-seven, I used my recently discovered not wonky magic to adjust the footprint of the coffee shop, providing plenty of room for Ciaran to move around back here behind the counter.

Not only was Ciaran great at making a cup of joe, he also had a knack for pastries. He made the best scones I’ve ever had, hands down.

His current special was pumpkin bread, and it was selling like wildfire. Ha, ha.

About a third of the patrons in the shop edged to form a line in front of Ciaran. The rest hovered where they were, watching me expectantly.

“I assume the rest of you are here for my enchanted Halloween costume special?”

A resounding cheer filled the space.

Yep. That’s right. I was no longer a magicless witch. I mean, I never was; I was just afraid to use my magic because my uncle had convinced me that I was terrible at it.