Page 3 of My Blind Date is a Warlock

The other wall of my workshop was riddled with hooks for my pots and saucepans, more shelves, and I’d even built in a hearth, complete with a chimney and various sized cauldrons. There were three worktables, all cluttered with projects in various stages and sketchbooks for my new jewelry-making hobby. Mystic Cove was an artsy town. You couldn’t throw a stone without hitting an artist, professional or otherwise, and I was no exception. I loved working with my hands and jumping from one hobby to the next. I’d tried my hand at pottery and sucked. Then I tried knitting, but after Gran made a scathing comment about the sweater I’d made for Piper’s youngest kid, I’d given up on that. It looked like jewelry making was my calling, although so far, I’d only made pieces for myself.

Before I started on the candle order the mayor had placed, and the next batch for my store, I opened the windows, letting in the evening breeze from the forest. Crystals lined the window sill, as they did in most of the rooms in my cottage. Black tourmaline for protection, banishing, and security. Citrine for brightness, positivity, and clearing. Black onyx for blocking negativity while creating patience and determination. Everything I needed for a productive session. Connecting my phone to the wireless speaker I kept in there, I brought up my Adele playlist, pulled my raven black hair into a messy bun, donned my smock, and got to work.

I got so absorbed in the process, melting the wax and measuring out the amount of fragrant oils I wanted for each batch, that I hardly noticed when my tabby cat, Chairman Meow, strolled in and made himself comfortable in his kitty bed in the corner of the room. He gracefully cleaned himself while watching me work. I only broke out of my haze when my eyes felt the strain of working in limited light and I heard a wolf howl in the distance. My house was pretty close to where the Mystic Cove wolf community had their pack circle, which was kind of like our coven circle—a clearing in the woods where they communed with whatever higher being they believed in, held sacred rituals and ceremonies, or just gathered to chill in their wolf forms away from prying eyes. More often than not, they loved running in the woods just for the fun of it and sometimes ran too close to the residential area. The more cheeky ones sometimes ventured all the way out to my workshop just to watch me work and terrorize Chairman Meow.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was so late already? Or don’t you want your dinner? I got that chicken-flavored kibble you love so much, but maybe you’d prefer to go hunting with the wolves,” I teased the cat and I swear he narrowed his eyes in warning. He got off his bed and trotted out the door, stopping on the narrow path leading up to the house when he saw that I wasn’t following and yowled at me. Chuckling at his bossiness, I quickly cleaned up and made sure that the batch I’d made tonight was setting right before switching on the outdoor lights. Blue sparks shot out of my hand—or maybe they shot out of the light switch—when I turned on the outside lights, sending an electrified bolt up my arm.

“Mother of—” I trailed off in a pained grunt, dropping my phone and clutching my hand close to my chest, feeling the muscles spasm erratically. Tears stung my eyes as I waited for the pain to subside. It felt like needles and pins on steroids. I must have been hunched down on the floor for about five minutes waiting for my right hand to regain its motor function. Chairman Meow came back to watch over me, purring like a truck and rubbing his furry self on me before I felt okay enough to go back into the house.

A quick examination of my hand and arm showed no external damage, so I opted out of going to the hospital. Tiny spasms still shook my hand, but if they persisted Tuesday morning, I’d see a doctor before heading over to The Book Coven.

CHAPTER 3

I woke up to a warm weight on my chest, a mouth full of cat fur, and Chairman Meow’s little butthole right in front of my eyes. The little devil had the nerve to complain when I pushed him off and he glared at me with his blue-green eyes.

“Don’t give me that look. How about I sleep on your chest every night and you tell me how that feels?” A lazy flick of his tail and a wide-mouthed yawn showing off his teeth was my answer. He jumped nimbly from the bed and trotted off, presumably to the bathroom to do his business in his litter box.

I didn’t need to show my face at The Book Coven until ten or eleven, which was the time Gran usually opened the store because she hated waking up early, unlike me, who was up with the sun. Which was why I found it concerning that not only did I sleep like the dead all of last night, but I missed my six o’clock alarm by two hours.

After giving Chairman Meow his breakfast, I grabbed my yoga mat and phone and went out on the back porch. The fresh and damp scent of the forest in the morning was better than any caffeine injection. I lifted my face to the morning light, basking in it and breathing in the crispy pine scent, soaking in the sound of nature. Birds chirped in the distance, their feathers rustling and settling on the tree branches, and I thought I heard the quiet hum of bees somewhere. Bees… Maybe I should take up beekeeping and make organic honey, I thought as I laid out my mat and brought up the yoga app I used when I didn’t want to go to the gym.

My mind went down a rabbit hole as I executed my downward dogs and triangle poses—beekeeping sounded like a good idea from a business point of view. I could save costs on buying beeswax in bulk from suppliers, not to mention honey was a common ingredient in skincare products, and I could just bottle it up and sell it as a standalone product. Gwyneth Paltrow better watch out because I might just take her crown as the lifestyle guru. I scoffed at that thought, nearly face-planting on the floor, when Chairman Meow squeezed between my legs right as I was transitioning into a complicated twisty pose.

“Uh, fudge knuckles!” I cursed, hearing my pelvic bones pop. “Better stop before I hurt myself.” Next on my morning routine was a visit to my greenhouse to water my herbs and flowers and check on the progress of my newly planted ginger and garlic cuttings.

By ten o’clock, I was showered, had my protein shake, and packed up everything I would need while I minded The Book Coven for the day. Dressed in jean cut-off shorts, a sleeveless Iron Maiden t-shirt, and flip-flops was the most effort I was willing to put in for the day. Thank goddess my grandmother didn’t give a crap about appearances. Matter of fact, she was constantly changing her hair color every two days thanks to one of my potions. The only part of my outfit I actually put effort into was my jewelry—any chance to show off my creations—a chunky owl necklace with fake aquamarine gemstones for the eyes. I totally chose those particular stones out of vanity because they were the same shade of blue as my eyes. Most of my fingers were adorned with slim rings, and I had about five bracelets on my left hand. I never wore anything on my right because I had an awesome half sleeve tattoo from my wrist to just below my elbow.

“Alright, Chairman Meow, you’re in charge while I’m gone. Try not to destroy my cushions and the couch, please.” I gave him a little rub behind the ears and grabbed my laptop bag, sketchpad, and car keys.

The Book Coven was a thirty-minute drive from my house, in the middle of town on the opposite side of where Dawn, Destiny, and I had our boutique on the beachfront promenade. Gran ran an incredibly eclectic bookstore, and in an age when everything was going digital, her business was still booming.

Incense and my grandmother’s perfume lingered in the air, as did the sweet musk of older books and grimoires that were placed in the far back of the store. The shelves were arranged in a maze-like pattern, with small bean bags littered around for those who wanted to read a little before purchasing the books, and another seating area was in front of the store by the large bay windows that faced the parking lot. The Book Coven carried all the popular genres from fantasy, sci-fi, romance, comic books, and a limited collection of manga, to the more niche genres like crime thrillers and the like. Our stationery was also a popular hit. School stuff and art supplies flew off the shelves ever since Landon Grayson expanded his art school and started hosting multiple exhibits for local artists at his gallery.

At the end of the maze were the grimoires, a collection of shadow books from witches and warlocks long dead, and other magical texts. Those shelves were warded to keep the mundane people from buying them and unwittingly hurting themselves and others from trying to cast a spell. That was the first place I went after unlocking the doors to see if there were any new books that had come in, something that called out to me. I ignored the grimoires and the slight pang of pain and envy in my heart because I had no need for a book of spells. But a Book of Shadows was different. A Book of Shadows was more like a witch’s personal journal. A narrative of her spells and rituals and manifestations. All of those journals back at my workshop, those were all my shadow books—kind of. Mine mostly contained recipes for my potions and tonics and the details of failed rituals I’d performed in the past in an attempt to boost my meager power. Part of me kept hoping that somewhere hidden in a Book of Shadows, a witch had found a way to unlock a weak witch’s power. A way to find what I knew was hidden deep inside of me. When nothing in particular called out to me, I went to the front desk.

Grandmother Beverly worked six, sometimes five days a week at the bookstore. Tuesday was her immutable day off, and seeing as I had flexible work hours and didn’t need to be at the shop if either of the twins were there, she’d conscripted me into filling in for her on her day off. There was a sheet of paper on the counter next to the cash register with a list of instructions for me. Like the witch herself, Gran’s handwriting was over the top and “loud,” if that makes any sense. She wrote in big, bold, cursive letters, and her scrawls were all over the place even though she’d written her list on lined paper—in a glittery pen, no less!

I could almost hear her smoky voice as I read out everything she wanted me to do: follow up on book orders, unpack the new stash of books that had come in, call customers who’d requested special orders to come in and retrieve said orders, freshen up the place, water Walter the cactus and the flowers out front, and so on and so forth.

I stashed my bag behind the counter and got to work, wiping down the counter first and checking the cash register to make sure we had change for the day. I was hauling out the book trolley for the second-, third-, and sometimes fourth-hand books that went for a dollar or less out to the front by the exit when I spotted Lucy, Gran’s part-timer, cross the street. She carried two Starbucks drinks in her hands, her skateboard clutched under an armpit, and wore a too-big helmet on her head that practically covered her eyes. She was lucky there were no cars cruising down Main Street right as she was crossing because I didn’t think she could see where she was going—but then again, she was a wolf shifter. Great reflexes and all that.

“I know! I know! I’m late, but I got you your favorite, so you have to forgive me, right?” she rushed to say, giving me a cheesy and dimpled smile, her hand stretched out to offer me my favorite order from Starbucks—an iced pineapple matcha tea.

“Thanks, but you’re only a few minutes late. Why do you look like you got dressed in the dark and rushed over here?” I asked, taking in her questionable outfit.

Like her helmet, the shirt she wore was too big for her, probably one of her three brothers’ shirts. The Manning boys were all giants compared to Lucy’s tiny and lithe dancer frame. She was at risk of being charged for indecent exposure with the way one side of the football shirt was slipping down her shoulder and showing off her neon green bra. I couldn’t even tell if she was wearing shorts underneath the shirt, and she had on the most horrendous striped rainbow socks I’d ever seen.

“I kinda did. I woke up a few minutes before noon. I’m late by an entire hour.” She sighed, pushing back the helmet when I took my drink. Unfortunately for her, she’d used the arm she was clutching her skateboard under, so it fell to the floor. She reached down to stop it from rolling onto the ground, but her drink tipped over, splashing her gummy bear drink all over the sidewalk.

“Ugh! Why is everything so craptastic today? First, I wake up an hour late, my car engine's busted, I still haven’t heard from—”

“Lucy! Lucy, snap out of it. You’ve got the wolf in your eyes, sweetheart. I need you to snap out of it. Now!” I yelled when her eyes went wolf amber, her emotions taking over. She bared her elongated teeth at me, chest heaving, and her claws were coming out. Lucy was only sixteen, at that awkward stage where she was too old to be wolfing out at the slightest emotional provocation, but too young and inexperienced to get overwhelming emotions under control and stop the beast from coming out inadvertently.

“Lucy, listen to me, you aren’t late. It’s only a few minutes after eleven; your watch must be off or something—” A low growl had me flinching away from her. Across the street, some people were eyeing us curiously, none of them locals.

While our existence was an open secret to the human residents of Mystic Cove, we were careful about revealing ourselves to the outside world. I couldn’t have Lucy wolfing out in the middle of the street during tourist season. The last thing I needed was to be called into the mayor’s office and face an inquisition from the council.

“Breathe, sweetie. You’ve been taking yoga and meditation classes at the gym, haven’t you? Use all those breathing exercises Janice has been teaching you.” I placed my matcha drink on the book trolley and cupped Lucy’s face, forcing her to look at me. “C’mon, Lucy, do what I do, okay?” I breathed in slowly through my nose and held it while counting to five in my head before exhaling slowly through my mouth. We kept repeating that until the wolf retreated and Lucy’s eyes went back to their normal honey brown.

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