Vivian opened the front door of her store. The big windows looked out on the street headed directly toward the harbor and the sea. It was such a perfect location. She’d been so lucky in opening her business, you’d never believe she was cursed.

Flipping on the light, she inhaled the scent of lavender and honey. Her gaze ran across organized rows of white plastic jars and amber glass bottles. It made her heart sing to see her creations lined up on shelves ready to be purchased by her lovely customers. It was the best feeling in the world.

If there were any way she could get out from under the grip of Harold’s binding spell without resorting to summoning demons, she would do it. She hated the idea of doing that kind of magic. It was exactly the kind of thing to which a blood witch like Harold would stoop.

Few nature witches would ever summon a demon. And few ever had. She flipped the open sign in her window and walked behind the counter, ready for the day.

Customers began to filter through her shop throughout the day while she made soaps, lotions, and potions in the back room. It was such a beautiful life. All that was missing was the surety and comfort of true love.

She dropped fresh, fragrant rose petals into her distiller to make her rose essential oil, the colors and scents filling her with light.

After she had set her still to press the essential oil from the fresh plant material, she went to the front window to flip the closed sign. She closed for an hour at lunchtime, which didn’t matter much in a slow-moving town like Mystic Harbor.

Vivian went across the street to the fish-and-chips place to pick up her to-go order. With her lunch in hand, she walked down to the harbor to watch steel blue water lap against the pilings from her favorite bench.

Munching on her battered salmon, she noticed a fishing boat coming into port. A single fisherman docked the boat and climbed down onto the pier. He wore bright yellow coveralls, green rubber boots, a green raincoat, and a black knit hat.

He was at least six foot four and the most impressive man she’d seen in Mystic Harbor since she’d moved back home. She licked the crumbs from her lips. The fisherman’s broad shoulders and stubbly square jaw spoke of a man who knew how to handle himself at sea, and on land for that matter.

He marched up the dock, a dark look in his eyes. His long strides carried him up the pier and to her bench in only a few short moments. When their eyes met, Vivian jumped as a jolt ran through her body.

He was so devastatingly good-looking she could barely breathe. Wavy black hair curled under his knit hat and a strong nose tilted toward her, sniffing the air. He nodded at her, a half smile lightening his dark mood.

“Hi,” she said at almost a whisper. Then, it dawned on her. This guy owned a boat.

“Good day,” he said, striding past her.

Vivian dropped her fish into the brown paper bag and jumped to her feet, following the fisherman. “Wait!” she shouted. He turned on his heel as she approached. He was so massive it made her feel like a tiny little thing, despite her generous curves and impending curse.

“Yes,” he asked, the darkness returning to his face. He looked her up and down and pursed his lips, crossing his arms over his chest.

She smiled up at him, trying to figure out a way to ask what she needed to ask. “I noticed you have a boat.”

“Really. You noticed that?”

“Yes. You see, I need someone to take me out to Sea Cliff Island. I can pay you for the trouble, if you have the time.”

“I might,” he said, tapping his foot. “Terrible catch today. How much are we talking?”

“Two hundred?” she said meekly. He grunted and turned around, waving her off.

“Wait. I really need a ride out to the island.”

“Hire a passenger charter, lady. I get about five grand a day for a good catch. Excuse me, I need some food.” He sniffed the air and kept walking up the street toward the restaurant she’d just left.

“But you said you had a terrible catch today. Couldn’t you use the extra money?”

He turned back to her again, leaned over, and sniffed. “You’re a witch, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes,” she whispered. Irritated. Most humans didn’t know witches existed. “How do you know?”

He growled, showing a row of straight, white teeth. She saw his canines grow long and then contract. Vivian squinted. A shifter. Was he a wolf? No. A bear. Yes. A bear for sure. She could see it in his features. A grizzly.

She took a step back, suddenly afraid for her life. Her heart leapt. He wouldn’t tear her head off in the middle of the street. She took a deep breath and let it out, trying to relax.

“I can use my magic for you. Free of charge. I’m a healer and an alchemist. Isn’t there anything I could offer you?”

“I don’t trust witches and your hexes,” he said, waving her away. He stomped off and disappeared into the restaurant.

She harrumphed and stormed back to her shop. Shifters were such animals. Witches and shifters didn’t mix. Given that Mystic Harbor was full of paranormals of all kinds, it was hard to avoid them. But witches considered shifters to be dangerous and unpredictable, almost as dangerous as vampires, but not quite.