Page 37 of Fresh Old Bounties

“Everyone uses him.”

“He’s annoying.”

“So I heard.”

“We can use Ian.”

I paused mid-taping another cardboard pumpkin. “As an accountant?”

Dru let out an exasperated sound. “For the trap. He’s still a bounty hunter. If we”—she finger quoted—“hire him to catch whoever is buying the dark magic, he can haul Preston’s ass to bounty hunter jail. Or worse.” She licked her lips, and I swear her stomach growled.

Bloodthirst aside, the idea had plenty of merit. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t quite work. “That will put a spotlight on me, if the bounty hunters check who put in the petition. I can’t risk them taking notice of me or the shop.”

“We can set it up as an anonymous tip.”

“Whoever Ian catches will start naming names to get out of trouble. If they catch the person delivering the potion, he’ll know it was me who blabbed and will serve my head on a silver platter.”

“Hmm.” Dru pursed her lips. Today they were painted black, like her mood. Should I suggest she use the shop’s official black T-shirt uniform to complete the look?

Did I want to live?

After weighing logo T-shirt against continued existence on my inner priorities scale, I decided to stay silent on the matter.

“The plan needs work,” she admitted in a mutter. “But you should answer the text, anyway. What if they give the offer to someone else?”

“There’s no other local dark witch.” Hopefully. The thought of another undercover evil witch slinking around Olmeda waiting for her time to shine made me break out in a sweat.

A mother and a kid stopped by the other window, the kid pointing up at the decorations with enormous, awed eyes. The mother asked the little girl something, and the kid nodded. They approached the front door.

Dru fixed me with a glare. “We’ll revisit this later.”

She retreated behind the counter as the mother and kid entered the shop.

“Muffin,” the girl exclaimed, pointing at the glass display.

The mother smiled at us. “Hi, could we have some green tea, a glass of water and a muffin?”

“Muffin!” the girl repeated, all eager delight.

Dru rearranged her expression into a rare, genuine smile. The sight was a balm to the soul—it was good to have evidence she was not all hard edges.

“Sure, honey. Chocolate, plain, or banana?”

The girl’s forehead scrunched up in deep concentration. “Chocolate!”

Dru dealt with their order while I continued decorating the second window. The whole time, I sensed the kid’s fixed stare on my back, and it made want to try harder.

Turning toward her and her mother, who had moved to the table by the shelf, I held up a pumpkin and a witch hat silhouettes. “Pumpkin or witch?”

“Witch!”

I grinned at her enthusiasm and taped the black cardboard to the window. “You like Halloween?”

“Yes!”

My phone vibrated, and the caller made my grin broaden.

“Hi, Ian,” I said.

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