Page 7 of Bewitched By the Wicked Witch
The icy chill that seeped into my bones had nothing to do with the approaching winter.
No one traveled Old Hollows Road this far from town. The old town feel still has its grip on this section of the small, magically hidden town of Old Hollow. The very first street ever created still sported cobblestones that suddenly turned into newly poured pristine concrete.
The entire street stretched about a mile long, with only a small cobblestoned section that I loved for its clinging history. That historic part led directly to the grand entrance of Blackstone Manor, while my cottage sat just outside the manor gates where the cobblestones ended and a dirt path wound through the surrounding woods.
It was early fall in our New England town, and the cold was already creeping in. The leaves had turned brilliant shades of gold and red, with the first of them drifting to the ground. I could smell pumpkin spice on the breeze, though Halloween was still weeks away.
Every morning at seven, I stood at the end of my path where it met the cobblestoned road. I had two choices: turn left toward town, or turn right toward the oldest houses in Old Hollows. I always turned right and walked quickly through the half-block stretch where the street lamps were broken or missing entirely. Only when I reached the working Victorian-style lamps did I finally exhale, feeling some semblance of securityreturn.
At this time of year, the early morning light was still dim and dusky. You would think, looking at me, that I loved the dark. But the truth was, I hated it. That unlit stretch of road made my skin crawl every single day, yet I refused to take the longer route just to avoid a few minutes of shadows.
It was a secret that no one would believe if you asked them, not even my grandmother Bertie, the oldest, most powerful witch in our tiny magical town.
At twenty-eight years old, I'd lived in this town most of my life. The only time I'd left was four years before I went to university. Which ended up being the best and most heartbreaking years of my life. Before, they teased me about being a black magic weilding witch, but after I returned, I became one.
Broken hearts will do that to you.
I walked into my second favorite place in the world, taking a deep breath as the bell overhead dinged loudly. The smell of magically infused coffee invaded my senses and washed over me in a sweet embrace I welcomed. Coffee.
I sighed.
Moving closer to the counter, I ignored the sudden hush that silenced the usual busy noise like a knife. I came here every day simultaneously, yet they still acted this way, as if the Wicked Witch of the East had arrived to spoil their fun. A grin spread across my face at the thought before I pressed my lips together to hide it, letting that evilness out just enough.
I liked being the wicked witch.
People moved and parted to let me by. Not because I told them to or at any point in time made them, butbecause they just did. I did have a reputation, after all. One I carefully cultivated and maintained. But today, the whispers were different.
"Another one missing," drifted from a corner table.
"That makes four now," someone else murmured.
"Heard the council's bringing in outside help," came a worried voice.
The usual hush followed my entrance, conversations stopping mid-sentence as customers either stared or suddenly found their drinks fascinating. But underneath the typical fear and avoidance, there was something else now. Something that made the air feel charged, dangerous.
Today, I'd get to cultivate that fear more. The thought had my lips twisted up into a devilishly pleased grin. As I approached the coffee shop, I could see Cate Bennett behind the register finishing up with a customer. The man was counting out his change when he glanced toward the door and spotted me. His face went pale, and he quickly grabbed his coffee and darted past me toward the exit, muttering a curse under his breath as he hurried away.
I smirked but ignored him and breezed up to the counter. My singular eyebrow lifted as I first looked at Cate, then around the shop for Danny or Cindee instead. Hell, their thirteen-year-old daughter, Brexley. Anyone but Cate. She was the only one dumb enough in this town to try to go up against me. At least she had been in school; she'd been the bully that had helped to create me.
Maybe I should thank her.
I plastered on a too-wide smile, teeth bared in something close to a threat, and when her face blanched, my grin softened into something real.
"Sage," Cate began, but then she just stood there. Her chestnut brown hair was pulled back into a low bun and covered in a fishnet. Her big, doe-like brown eyes were too expressive to hide her true feelings. She hated me. The look in her eyes mirrored mine; unspoken understanding passed between us like silent agreement.
When she saw me, her expression shifted from mere dislike to something approaching fear.
"The usual," I announced, inspecting my blood-red nails, which matched my blood-red lip color, feigning boredom.
"Uh..." she began, scanning the room as if searching for help. No one offered any. "This is my first day. What is your usual?"
I could tell she was barely listening.
I let out a long, dramatic sigh. My gaze bore into Cate's until she squirmed. "Large Black magic brew with full-whipped milk and a splash of hazelnut and cinnamon. Make sure it's hot as hell."
Cate turned but muttered under her breath, thinking I couldn't hear her, "Hell seems fitting for you."
"I'm sorry?" I asked, letting her know I caught her words.
