Page 2 of Fresh Old Bounties

She smiled. “I can always use the work, and these will look lovely in my portfolio.”

As would the promotional cards I’d agreed to stock in the shop. My counter might not be prime real estate like Bosko’s, but you never knew when a visitor would be interested in beautiful professional photographs to remember their awesome vacations in Olmeda.

Dru thought it’d pollute my cozy witchy branding if my counter became a mountain of leaflets, but then Dru didn’t even wear the shop’s cozy witchy uniform, so what did she know?

“Try everything once—the results might surprise you,” I murmured.

Hannah’s eyebrows crept up her forehead. “Your shop’s new slogan?”

My mouth fell open. “Hannah, that’s…perfect!”

“You came up with it, not me,” she said with a laugh as I ran inside the shop.

I waved her a belated goodbye through the shop’s glass door, then climbed onto the shelf behind the counter to grab the small blackboard listing the day’s specials. I wiped the top clean and grabbed the white and green chalks.

“You forgot to flip the open sign,” chided one of the stools on the other side of the counter. Theodora Bagley, evilness incarnate and previous witch owner of the shop, come back to haunt me—literally.

“I’m not open yet.” I bit my tongue as I used my best handwriting to cram Try everything once, it might surprise you! where the dull Today’s Specials had been written. Truly, how had it not occurred to me before? Such a great way to remind people that one must try to be adventurous.

“What were you doing outside?” the stool asked like a suspicious teacher after a student was gone thirty minutes on a bathroom break.

“Taking photos for the shop’s website.” I wiped surprise and rewrote it with added swirls to match the font on the shop’s logo. Much better.

“Ah, I never liked taking photos of the shop. It brings bad luck, you know.”

“Bad luck is a self-defeating way of thinking.” Besides, by bad luck, she probably meant flying under the radar. If I were a murderous dark witch living in a murder house, I would also try to keep a low profile.

A witch’s power came from their spirit and had natural limits. Herbs and certain potions and crystals could help focus that power, streamline it for a better spell, but its potency could never breach the witch’s own limit.

That went out the window when you added unwilling blood into the mix. Blood taken from an unwilling source twisted the magic. It opened spells to do things well beyond what should be possible. Bonus points if the blood came from another paranormal—mages, shifters, demons, berserkers, and what have you.

Dark magic was amoral, illegal, and forbidden. It hadn’t stopped Bagley from running a dark magic business from this shop while alive, though. It also hadn’t stopped her from trying to dark magic herself into surviving death.

Now she was stuck in random objects in the shop, and I was stuck with her.

“Say, child,” the devil’s spawn said in her grandmotherly voice, “I was thinking it’s rude not to mention me in that webpage of yours.”

“Well, it was rude of you to murder people in the upstairs bathroom.” I put down the green chalk and surveyed my writing with a critical eye. It would do. It just needed some more swirls and a couple of pumpkins to give it that extra oomph. Maybe a witch hat.

Bagley’s cackle filled the shop. It was a cozy space, big enough for a couple of tables, a shelf with merchandise on one side, and enough room for people to sit at the counter and converse. An archway covered by a bead curtain led into the back, where a small kitchen, a storage room, a tiny bathroom, and the stairs going to the living quarters on the second floor completed the floor plan.

“The advance of any scholarly pursuit requires sacrifices, dear,” Bagley said.

Scholarly pursuit? Hah. “The only pursuit you advanced was that of money.”

It still stunned me how the old hag had kept her murderous, dark magic deeds a secret for so many years. The Witch Council had no idea, and the residents of Olmeda had considered her a beloved witch, a pillar of the community known for her delicious cookies. Hell, they’d even given her a commemorative plaque for her years of service.

If they knew the cookies had been made with unwilling blood, they probably would take it back.

“You are so rude.” Bagley tutted. “Youth these days, no manners!” I could almost hear the stool scraping against the hardwood floors as the witch shook her nonexistent head. “I’ll have you know that a lot of research and study went into the spell that saw me as I am now. If it hadn’t been for my untimely murder, I have no doubt I’d have succeeded in gaining my own fully corporeal form after death.”

“And how many people had to die for that to happen?” I shuddered at the thought. Truly, she should’ve been offed decades ago.

“A witch never reveals her secrets. Unless,” she added slyly, “you want to help me be more comfortable? A little tit for tat? Some names in exchange for a little help?”

That was the problem with being haunted by an entity of unknown evil depths like Bagley—she’d tempt you with something you really wanted, count on the goodness of your heart, then grab your hand, take the arm, and eat your soul.

“I think I’ll pass, but thank you.”

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