Chapter 1
Gram died right before the height of the Cleansing, and even though we were close, relief washed over me the moment they lowered her casket into the ground.
I wasn’t like her, no matter how much she wished I was. In those days, I was my mother’s mini-me, on track to follow in her footsteps. I was the blonde high school cheerleader who only cared about boys and clothes, and other stupid high school crap.
Winter spent far more time with Gram than I did. Every Sunday, they locked themselves away in the kitchen to bake cookies and mix potions. They had a special bond, something I didn’t dream of coming between. That’s why I always thought the shop would be passed down to her. Instead, Gram left it to me.
I, Morgana Preston, bequeath my beloved bookstore, Enchanted Editions, to my dearest granddaughter Harper. May it continue to thrive under her wise and loving care, as it did under mine.
Winter ran out of the room crying when she heard that. I figured Elle would be the one to storm out in tears, but she was satisfied since she got all Gram’s jewelry and dresses. Winter ended up with $200,000 in a trust and a beachfront mansion in St. Petersburg, Florida, where she currently lives. Naturally, Mom inherited the rest of Gram’s money, along with our family home in Ravenswood. The three-story Victorian mansion is where I grew up, and where I currently live, so I couldn’t imagine parting with it.
Enchanted Editions consumed Gram’s life; she thrived on its every aspect. She took joy in every detail, even mundane chores like restocking shelves and dusting. Me, on the other hand? Not so much.
I carried a heavy box to the front of the shop, on my way to change the window display. It was a slow day to end a slow week, with the heavy snow keeping people off the streets and away from the store. The air was thick, a dreary blanket draped over the entire town.
You gotta love Pennsylvanian winters.
Nowadays, people shopped online more than they come into the store. I could blame the weather as much as I wanted, but in truth, the only busy season is October. We were a small suburb in the middle of Pennsylvania, far from Philly, though we had a large lake—Mistwood Lake—that served as a swimming hole in the summer, and an icy death trap in the winter. The closest city was Ashbourne. It was only 40 miles away, but usually took an hour because of traffic.
In Ravenswood, Halloween became more than a holiday; it turned into a spectacle. Mayor Perkins capitalized on this by hosting a week-long festival, luring in visitors. Yet, outside of this season, Ravenswood served primarily as a weekend shopping destination for residents of nearby rural towns: Roanoke, Elmridge, and Quaker’s Crossing.
I rested the cardboard box on a nearby chair and swapped out the books on my display for some shiny new hardbacks of the latest sexy bestseller. Those fiction novels drew clients in, more than my collection of spellbooks ever did. Gram would roll over in her grave if she saw how many shelves were now dedicated to genre fiction. When she was alive, she only sold spellbooks and potions. She had a really unique collection too, which passed down to me. You couldn’t buy these types
of books at Walmart or anything. Not that major retailers like Walmart were even allowed to sell spellbooks. You had to go to a specialty store, like Enchanted Editions, for rare editions like Gram had or even for run-of-the-mill astrology books published by HarperCollins. And yeah, I had a lot of those, too. But I couldn’t keep the shop open with spellbooks alone, rare or not, after the Cleansing.
I expanded my selection of books and products, with New Age crystals, pre-made spellbags, tarot cards, crystal balls—you name it. The first thing I did after inheriting the store was set up a website with an online shop. Navigating the maze of governmental rules for selling spells online turned into a challenge. To secure the legal standing of my business—especially if a protection charm failed to meet customer expectations—I hired a lawyer for a thorough review of the website and its content. Even though these charms held a mystical allure, their limitations were clear. In essence, they were simple pouches of herbs. They wouldn’t defend against, say, a bullet.
Having arranged the window display, I moved to the lone register at the front and examined this week’s financial records. While in-store sales had dipped, my online business remained strong. Technically I didn’t even need to be brick-and-mortar, but I couldn’t bear to sell the building. I’d grown to love it, just like Gram had wanted me to. Except, it was too late now to tell her so.
I cast a quick look at the clock, noting that closing time approached. Gathering my belongings, I moved toward the door to secure it for the night. However, before my hand reached the switch, the door’s bell chimed, announcing a newcomer.
A young woman entered, pausing at the threshold with an air of hesitancy. Dressed in a simple, dark dress covered by a heavy coat, she looked like she’d braved a storm. Water droplets clung to her clothing, and her hair adhered to her face.
“Welcome to Enchanted Editions,” I greeted, shoving my purse and coat back behind the counter. “Can I help you find something?”
The woman let out a shaky breath. “Yes. I’m looking for a spell.”
“Of course. What kind
of spell? Something for healing? A protection amulet, perhaps?”
The woman shook her head. “I’m not looking for anything like that.”
“Oh? What are you looking to achieve?”
“I want to hurt someone.” She paused, considering what she had just said. “No. I want to kill someone.”
She was dead serious—I didn’t have to be psychic to understand that. She reached into her pocket and took out a small picture. Water-stained and creased, it was hard to make out the image in the dim light. I leaned forward and squinted at it, trying to get a better look.
I froze, my breath catching in my throat. It was a magazine clipping of a man. Resting casually against a bare doorway, his head came close to brushing the top. His dark hair, styled in a carefree, rumpled manner, added to his calm confidence. Clad mostly in black, a tailored leather jacket clung to his wide shoulders while slim pants highlighted his long legs. There was something alluring about him, something that drew people in despite the air of mystery that surrounded him.
He was a total stranger to me now.
“I don’t believe it,” I murmured, stepping back. “You want to kill Damien Caine.”
“Yes,” the woman said emotionlessly.
“Why?” I had to ask.
“Because he ruined my life,” she said with conviction. “He took everything from me. My sister is dead because of him.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” I really was. But I fought the instinct to comfort her. Not after what she asked me for.
“He’s the only one that I want to hurt,” the woman continued, her rage barely contained. And yet, she had to correct herself again. “He’s the only one that I want to kill.”
I pursed my lips, ...
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