Page 1 of Magic & Mochas
Chapter one
Home & Heartbreak
Clove
Threedaysafterhexingmy ex’s underwear drawer, I came home to Willowmere with nothing but my grimoire, my cat, and a very expensive espresso machine.
My parents’ little cottage looked exactly as I remembered it: peeling purple paint with black window shutters and a shingle roof, with ivy climbing up the sides and marigolds and snapdragons cascading from the window boxes.Despite the fact that it was October, all of the plants were magically enchanted to bloom year-round.Smoke puffed in a wide array of colors from the chimney—most likely from my mother’s latest potion brew.And the organized chaos of the front garden was neatly guarded by a wrought-iron fence, upon which a raven perched.
The purple cottage fit in perfectly with the other craftsman-style houses that lined the street.But what made the quaint town of Willowmere so special was not the architecture of the houses or even the main street, which was filled with mom and pop shops, but the residents themselves.
Willowmere was one of the only magical communities in the state of Washington where all kinds of extraordinary creatures could live together in harmony.Normally, witches, werewolves, faeries and orcs dwelled only with their own kind.But in Willowmere, you could find just about every sort of magical folk you could imagine.
Humans were the one exception; there was a ward around town that prevented humans from accidentally stumbling in.It was a marvel of magical engineering—a fact which my father would never let me forget.Itwasour family’s proudest achievement, after all.
And now that I was moving back in at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, I was certain I would get to hear all about it.Again.
With a sigh, I lugged my heavy suitcase along behind me as I approached the front gate.I waved a hand to unlock it, and the raven croaked at me in greeting.My mother’s familiar, Fig, cocked his head at me, then flew inside through an open window—no doubt, to announce my arrival.
Are you sure I can’t eat it?My own familiar, Silas, asked me telepathically.The black cat twined around my ankles, but his eyes were riveted fixed on the window.Not even a little nibble?
You know better than that,I chided him.Familiars eating other familiars is strictly forbidden.
Never liked that law,he grumbled.He trotted up to the front door, which he magically opened and shut behind himself—right in my face.
“Bratty cat,” I mumbled.
I heard that!
You were supposed to!Though I could hardly blame him.I wasn’t exactly thrilled with our new living arrangements, either.
When I approached the door, it swung open, as if the house itself were welcoming me home.The smell of apple cider teased my nose as I stepped inside, and I smiled, despite myself.
No matter how long it had been, this place would always feel like home.
My mother swept into the entryway from the kitchen, with her raven perched on her shoulder.“Clove Morelli!Fig just told me you arrived.I wasn’t expecting you till this evening!”
I let her pull me into one of her motherly hugs.“I took a flying carriage to avoid the traffic.”
“Oh, let me look at you.It’s been far too long since your last visit.”Ginger Morelli held me at arms’ length, her blue eyes scanning me from head to toe.She was dressed in the black-lace style that most witches favored, and kept her dark hair drawn up in a bun.
“Welcome home, pumpkin,” my dad said as he came around the corner.Tristan Morelli stood a head taller than my mother, though it was his green eyes and dark purple hair that always made him stand out in a crowd.His bit of a belly told me mom must have been baking more frequently since I’d left home.
I’d always thought that I was a perfect combination of the two, with my turquoise eyes and black hair with purple undertones.I liked to think my own style of dress was a tad more…modern, however.I preferred leather boots over ones with pointed, curly toes, and purple dresses over black-on-black, lacey colonial outfits.
“Thanks, dad.”I mustered a half-smile for him.
“Why don’t you go upstairs and unpack?Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes.”Mom patted me on the shoulder, but I noticed how her eyes kept darting away from my left ring-finger, like butterflies afraid to land.
I nodded.“I’ll only be a minute.”
Wandering down the hall and up the stairs, I glanced at all of the family portraits that my mother had hung with such pride.Accomplished witches and warlocks, every last one of them.
Continuing on down the hall, I entered the last door on the left.My childhood bedroom looked exactly as I remembered it: Spellbooks and romance novels lined my bookshelves, and a worn woolen rug blanketed the hardwood floor.Warm rays from the setting sun filtered in through my white curtains and dappled the small desk in the corner.Silas was already curled up on top of my bed’s lavender duvet cover, snoring away.
Quietly, I unzipped my suitcase and carefully lifted my espresso machine onto my desk.After a quick examination to make sure it hadn’t been scratched, I threw the handful of tops and pants I had used to swaddle it into my tiny closet.Finally, I placed my grimoire on top of my dresser.
I had beensoupset, that I had left behind everything else.But going back for the rest of my things was out of the question.
