I swear I must’ve looked like the Cheshire Cat, or the Mad Hatter, or both rolled into one. I spotted an issue of Guardians of the Galaxy, my brain ping-ponging in another direction.

“You know, I saw this chick in cosplay as Gamora at Wizard World last year. I swear I thought it was actually the actress Zoe Saldana.”

“What’s Wizard World?”

“Mateo, seriously?” Could he truly be this clueless about the outside world? How lonely he must be. I mean, sure reading was great. Hiking was nice. But did he have any friends? Who was allowing him to live in this city and hadn’t yet dragged him to Wizard World? Sighing heavily, I said, “It’s the big Comic Con every January at the Convention Center.”

“Oh, yeah. I have a friend who goes sometimes. I didn’t realize that was the name of it.”

“So you’ve never been?”

He shook his head.

Then I shook mine. “You don’t know what you’re missing. It’s where the freaks and the geeks of the world unite.”

Chuckling, he said, “Yeah, I guess I’d fit in.”

Sighing, I turned him toward the register. “I have so much to teach you, young padawan.”

He shot me one of those closed-mouth smiles that gave me all the flutters.

“I’ve made a convert, Bam,” I called out as we strolled toward the front.

“Oh, yeah?” He took the comic from Mateo. “This one of your cousins from out of town?”

Last time I’d brought a guy with me into the store, it was my cousin Drew, visiting from Lafayette in the heart of Cajun country. He and his brother, Cole, lived with another warlock named Travis, all members of the Acadiana Coven. They visited a few times a year.

“No.” I laughed, glancing at the messily handsome man standing closer than necessary over my shoulder. “Not a cousin.”

I’d noticed he had brushed against me more than once for it to be an accident, but I also sensed he needed it. He’d confessed his problem with his wolf, so I figured whatever hex-breaking mojo I was born with helped him just by being around me. Then touch would magnify the calm he needed. Unfortunately, he didn’t look all that calm right now. As a matter of fact, he looked downright tense.

“Here,” he said, passing his credit card to Bam. “I’ll pay for hers, too.”

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s the least I can do.”

His voice was rougher than it had been when we walked in. As a matter of fact, his mannerism had shifted as well. Where before he had appeared laid back and lighthearted, now he was all burning looks and stiff shoulders and rumbly voice. It must be the push of his wolf. The electric charge he was giving off at my back told me I was onto something. I glanced over my shoulder, but his glare was fixed on Bam who happened to be taking his sweet time swiping the credit card.

I was afraid Bam was stalling, then he proved it by asking, “You two dating?”

Bam was being a little too nosy. Now was not the time to pump me for information, because it was obvious Mateo wasn’t in the mood for chitchat.

The problem was, Bam had a thing for me, which is why I was never available for a cup of coffee or a “bite to eat” when he’d asked. Numerous times. He was nice, and I liked him, but Maybelle, my grandmother, always said, “Don’t shit where you eat.” Knowing that Bam had the best collection of comics in New Orleans, and also knowing I was extremely fickle when it came to men, I decided it best to keep our relationship platonic. A few weeks of dating and some decent, possibly even good, sex wasn’t worth me losing access to his comics. Far more valuable.

“Not dating,” I said on a laugh, then I leaned forward on the glass and lowered my voice to a hush, looking around with a conspiratorial eye.

Bam leaned forward, too, much closer than necessary for my farce of a secret.

“This guy here is a werewolf, you see. And I’m a witch. He’s paid me to break his hex. Now he’s doomed to follow me around and do my bidding till I decide to break it.”

Bam stared at me for several seconds then burst out in a braying sort of laugh. Very donkey-ish. “Oh, little Evie.” He reached over and tugged on my ponytail. “You’ve got the craziest imagination, sweetie.”

The intense heat at my back made the little hairs on my nape stand up. I didn’t need to turn around to confirm that Mateo wasn’t pleased about me confessing the truth. I only did it because I knew Bam would never believe me, and it was funny. Or at least I thought so.

While Bam swiped the credit card, I chanced a glance over my shoulder. Yep, he was all fire-eyes and flaring nostrils. I shrugged with a smile. When Bam handed over the credit card, Mateo leaned forward, pressing his chest to my shoulder blade, to snatch it back.

I caught his scowl before he smoothed his expression blank. “You okay?” I whispered.

Those expressive eyes held mine, blinking away whatever fierce emotion they had held a second before. “Fine.”

“If you say so.” I tucked our bag of new comics under my arm. “Thanks, Bam. See ya next week.” Then I left with the werewolf hot on my heels.

Chapter 5

~EVIE~

Mateo and I parted ways at the shop. I needed to check in and be sure it was cool before I met him at his studio for several hours. Since Isadora and Livvy were gone, we were taking turns helping Clara man Maybelle’s. The second I stepped through the door, my ears were assaulted with a screeching, horrific rendition of “Defying Gravity” from the musical Wicked. Yep. Clara was here somewhere.

Clara was my sweetest sister. Sunshine and happiness all the time. No joke. Kind to a fault. And I do mean to a fault. She once almost got herself killed while bringing food to the homeless under the interstate bridge. She regularly delivered leftovers—cucumber sandwiches, lemon scones, and French macaroons or whatever posh goodies they’d had at her weekly meeting with the High Tea Book Club she hosted.

One late afternoon, she found herself in the middle of a gang shootout that had stumbled into the tent city. Before she could use any magic to stop them, she was knocked out cold. Thankfully, she’d woken up completely unharmed except for a bump on her forehead. She never knew what had happened to the shooters. But what was Clara most concerned about? Her homeless friends who had to live among such violence. That was Clara.

So yes, she was possibly the most selfless person I’d ever known. Gifted with beauty and all manner of wonderful attributes. But singing? Holy hell in a handbasket. She was a horrible singer. Interestingly, her twin, Violet, had an amazing singing voice. The problem was, Clara loved to sing. Specifically Broadway show tunes. It made her happy. So, of course, we pretended it wasn’t torture to listen to her impromptu discordant, off-key musical performances. We endured and let her do her thing because that’s how we rolled. Even Violet—the most brutally forthright of us—never pointed out her twin’s appallingly bad singing.

“Clara!” I called out, because I couldn’t see her from the front of the shop.

She popped out of the storage room in the back, carrying two stacked boxes full of new Tarot cards. “Hey!” She beamed. Her gold hair was braided and twisted atop her head. She stopped suddenly a few feet away and gasped, staring at me with excited interest. “Wow. You have the loveliest blue aura around you today.” She said it like she was complimenting my hair or my eyes or something. As if I’d done something on purpose to make my aura all pretty.

“I thought I always had a blue aura?” I stepped forward and took one of the boxes.

She laughed like I’d said something ridiculous. “You do.” She examined the invisible light around my shoulders that only she could see. “But today, it’s practically vibrating. Beating like a heart. And so, so blue.” She blinked rapidly then smiled at me before heading to the front shelf to our Tarot card display.

I followed. “I didn’t know auras could beat like a heart.”

“Oh, yes. They can pulse, vibrate, spin, even become oozy.”

“Ew. That sounds gross.”

We set down the boxes and started to pull the individual packs from inside to set out on the shelf.

She knelt to start on the bottom row. “It’s typically not a good sign.”

Clara was an Aura. Not to be confused with the glowing, pulsing light she saw around others. An Aura was a designation of witch, which meant she could not only sense emotions as an empath but could project her own onto others. It was a cool kind of magic, especially when Violet was in one of her moods. Clara would zap her with some happy juice to make her stop brooding. It was especially funny when Violet actually wanted to have her own pity party and continue sucking the joy out of the room, but Clara never let her.

“So do you have a lot of inventory to stock today?”

“Aren’t these pretty?” She held up a deck, the cover outlined in gold-leaf and displaying a beautiful woman with a scepter.

I nodded, accustomed to Clara’s wayward train of thought. “Do you have a lot of new inventory to handle?”

She took her time arranging the new decks perfectly spaced apart. “Not much. I need to infuse the new crystals with some magic, and I’ve got some sage bundles to wrap with ribbon. But that’s it. Why?”

“Well, it’s my day to help you out, and I have something I need to do.”

Her sky-blue eyes fixed on me as she pulled the second box toward her. “What do you have to do?”

I suppose I couldn’t avoid telling her. “Remember the werewolf Jules and I were telling you about at breakfast? He asked a favor.”

She knelt onto her knees, stacking the next row. “What kind of favor?”

Jeesh. I couldn’t lie to my sisters, even though I wasn’t sure Jules would agree to this. “He asked me to spend a few hours a day with him.” I lifted a quill pen from its pewter holder—one of the non-psychic knick-knacks we sold in the shop—and twirled it in the air.

“Is that because his inner wolf enjoys your company?”