Everything had gone a little too wonky today, there was no way she could concentrate on shopping after everything that had happened. So, she told herself she would only spend a few minutes antiquing.

Twenty minutes later and a hundred dollars poorer, she made her way home with a bag full of last-minute decorating ideas for Samhain. She had found some cool old jars she could use for hurricane lamps and some old boating rope she thought she could incorporate into her curly willow chandelier. She didn’t know how, but it would work.

With each step, her mind pinballed between remembering she still needed to clean up and burn sage around the She Shed after last night’s escapade, and wondering if the detective could be summoned again tonight, and if so, could he also manage to wear his gun and his badge, just because? Maybe she might even learn his name.

Control your mojo, Morgan. You do not want to summon him again just yet. Let it breathe. Keep conjuring the same guy and you’ll lose the whole “no strings attached” thing you are going for. And can he even be trusted? He is a Normal, and he might freak out at the first sign of real magic. That would not be good. Besides, just because he is devilishly handsome with a nice cock does not make him trustworthy. Does it? Maybe you should let it lie and try to conjure another spirit entirely and forget about the detective.

Or maybe she could just dig his contact card out of her handbag and learn his name.

Along the path home, Morgan passed over the footbridge that led to a fork. When she reached the fork at the other side, a strange noise startled her. Instead of turning around, she simply paused and remained quiet. She listened. There was the sound of the creek, the rustling of leaves, but something was not quite right. Perhaps it had not been a noise. Maybe it was a spirit that didn’t belong here, fracturing the sounds of nature around her.

She decided against proceeding along the path directly home. Whatever was following her, she needed to shake it…or them.

Morgan turned left instead and headed into the woods, completely off the beaten path. But she knew these woods so well she would easily find her way home. Just to be safe, she used a camouflage charm. A total invisibility spell was too powerful, too risky for her when she was feeling this tired and emotionally spent. Covering her tracks in the dirt, blending with the trees and dampening her aura would be enough to deter anyone with ill will.

In the middle of the woods, she took out her wand and cast an aura charm in an attempt to identify her follower by whatever energy he or she might be giving off. Slipping her wand out of her garter belt, she waved it in the air. A single spark emanated from the end of her wand, and then a scent overwhelmed her. It was the detective.

She did indeed have a stalker, but it wasn’t a bad guy after all.

Morgan hurried her steps through the woods, careful of the roots and the gnarly undergrowth as it was getting dark. If the detective wanted to follow her home, then he would have to give chase. As she strode through the woods, she remembered to cast a temporary breech charm so any visitor with pure intentions could find Colony Hill.

If she and Adam were going to christen the newly renovated She Shed in the real live flesh, she had to get herself ready. Take a bath? Shave? Perhaps. Or perhaps the detective would like to bed her with her natural musk from this flight through the woods. She would soon find out.

About 30 minutes later, Morgan was safely home and doing what she should have done last night: burning sage and sweeping up. She covered up the less-than-sexy smell of burning sage with some lavender-thyme essence to make the She Shed more welcoming to her approaching visitor.

There was a knock on the door sooner than expected. Except the knock was not coming from the outside of the shed, but the house. Well, that was expected. How was the handsome detective to know where she was?

But when she opened the door of the shed to peek out, she saw that it was Fern knocking on her front door.

“Can I help you, Fern?”

Fern startled at the sound of Morgan’s voice.

“Oh! There you are.” The younger witch turned and approached.

Morgan worked hard to soften her face as she closed the distance between herself and her neighbor and held out her hand in greeting.

But Fern did not offer any kind of warmth. “I heard the whole story from Birdie. What the hell were you thinking, casting a violent spell right in the middle of town for everyone to see? You’re going to announce our real identities to every lunatic in Birchdale!”

“But I had to act!”

“And you compromised everything we’ve worked for in the process. Maybe because you’re older and more powerful you don’t understand. We all need each other. The more people find out our secrets, the more vulnerable we are.”

“Fern, it’s been a very long, very weird day. Can we talk about this later?”

“No, I’ve only got one more thing to say to you, and then we’re done. You can’t just go around pulling back the veil between worlds when your emotions take hold of you. You’re trifling with danger. It’s because of this instability that you have not been the best ally for the Sisters. We like to keep things on the down low. Simple charms. Harvest festivals. Demonstrations. Tour groups. Our whole purpose is to remind people of their history so they don’t repeat it. To help people coexist with others who are different. And, occasionally, we dance naked under the moon when we’re feeling frisky. It’s not because we’re weaker than you are. It’s our cautiousness that makes us strong. Do you understand any of what I’m saying to you?”

Morgan was completely gobsmacked. So, the coven believed she was too free with her magic? And all this time she thought she was the one who had a better handle on it.

Better not let her in on the detective secret. That was for sure.

“Morgan, your powers don’t have enough of an outlet, and so they are causing a fracture between the worlds and doing actual damage around the Normals. Your emotions are not under control. This is why we do the things we do. We stay home and do magic and rituals for our own good. It keeps us from gazing in on ourselves too much and it also keeps the world safe from our fuck ups. Don’t you see?”

Morgan’s eyes filled with tears. “You are astonishingly wise, young Fern. I’m so sorry,” Morgan said. “But that still doesn’t explain why Hank Snow’s hand healed so quickly.”

“It’s simple,” said Fern. “Somebody or something was working against you. Another witch, a human with access to a spell book, maybe? Or an unkind spirit. Some person or some creature is on to you, and they are equal to your power. That Snow character is not just a common criminal, I’m afraid. Ask your detective friend about him.”

“How do you know about the detective?”

“Sweetheart, you’ve got his scent on you and he’s following you. Either you just had sex with him or you are about to. Either way, he’s your match. Online Canadian boyfriend, my ass.”

“But I thought the Sisters frowned on mating with a Normal? I thought we were only supposed to use them for casual fun?”

“Oh honey. They’re just some old-fashioned values that nobody cares about anymore.”

The detective! Morgan had almost forgotten.

“Um, OK, thank you, Fern! We’ll talk later! Bye now!”

She would have to ponder all this new information later. Adam would be here any minute. She hurried Fern off the porch and went inside her house to freshen up.

She did not dare presume that the detective would be coming here just to have sex with her, so she did not bother putting on any expensive lingerie. She absolutely believed in jinxes, so if she assumed something good was going to happen, too much preparation for it would tell the universe you’re too greedy to receive it with an open mind and heart.

The only thing she did do was start a pot of coffee in her copper French press. Detectives liked coffee, didn’t they? Should she conjure up some donuts? That might be too much stereotyping. Although, that man certainly did not appear to be a connoisseur of donuts. The only thing donut-shaped she could envision the detective lifting would be a tractor tire with his own two hands.

She got a slight flutter of pleasure imagining his ripped shoulders and wondered if she would get to see them anytime soon. The only thing she’d seen bare of him during her vision last night was the most essential body part.

But there was no knock at the door. She waited and waited. She fidgeted. She took his contact card out of her handbag and considered using her landline to call his cell number. No, that was too desperate. She examined it closer. Det. Adam Corey, it said. Corey. That was familiar. Why was it familiar?

After some time, Morgan gave up and went outside and started working on her crazy chandelier idea.

Outside, she still smelled the scent of the detective. This is nuts, she thought as she twisted rope around the curly willow along with strings of colored orange and purple lights.

Adam wasn’t coming.

She guessed maybe the explanation for today was not that someone was working against her, but that she and Mother Nature were not as in sync as she thought they were. Hank’s healing happened because her magic wasn’t strong. Adam’s essence wasn’t there, actually—it was just wishful thinking.

After working on her chandelier for a couple of hours, she decided it was completely bizarre and twisted and kind of frightening. It was absolute perfection.

There was still more work to do, and she still didn’t know how she was going to hang it over the long banquet table. But she did manage to cover all the chairs and hang the take-home wreaths. Fern was busy doing the baking and make-ahead sauces for the feast. There would be about 50 guests in attendance at dusk tomorrow, a $50-per-plate affair that would raise money for the upkeep of the museum buildings.

Following the feast, the general public would be invited up to Colony Hill for a ceremonial bonfire, a cash bar and live local music. At midnight, at the beginning of the lunar eclipse, the plan was to hand out torches to all the festival goers and have them light the torches on the bonfire under the blood moon. The idea was that they would take the fire home as a symbol of community; all the home hearths would be warmed by friendship.

That’s why the city leaders had moved the official trick or treating to tonight, October 30, to stretch out the festivities over as many days as possible.

As her jobs for the Samhain festival were mostly completed, Morgan put on her costume for the trick or treat event. She had decided on a stereotypical sexy witch: high-heel boots, fishnets, a red satin lace-up bodice dress with a poofy skirt and, of course, the cape, pointed hat, and painted-on moles. Yes, it was a stereotype, but considering who she was, she decided it was perfectly meta. Even if nobody else got the joke, she appreciated it. She gathered up her homemade chocolate peanut butter cups, packaged in biodegradable treat bags, and decided to take her car back into town. She didn’t often fire up the old Volvo just to go to town, but she was tired, and it would be very dark coming back that night.

Later, she joined Alice and the other available Sisters at Kava to delegate responsibilities for the evening. There were about 20 local elite families who had made a substantial donation to the historical society in exchange for letting the Sisters supervise their children for the evening.

The Sisters were stretched thin, with a few of them having remained up at Colony Hill preparing for tomorrow. Alice, in a Princess Leia costume, looked drawn and as if she hadn’t eaten since that morning’s incident.

Morgan stood on the sidewalk and looked around as the children’s costume parade began. What to do? Then it hit her like a ton of bricks. There were cops and firefighters lining the street. Specifically, there was Detective Adam Corey, shaved, showered and wearing his police dress blues. Oh. My. Goddess.

Not taking her eyes off him, she said, “Not to worry ladies. I have a plan.”