The very idea made her tighten her grip on the wheel, anger sparking in her chest. They couldn’t. She wouldn’t let them.
Thankfully there was no one there when she pulled into the parking lot, no mad-eyed worshippers with angry cardboard signs.
Sage Widow was her second favorite place in town. It had started out as a tea shop and slowly, over the years, morphed into something more. Something exciting.
Of course, there was no Witches Only sign, and it was visited by a fair number of patchouli-burning hippies and vegan football moms from the next town, but this was the only place with the ingredients for most everyday potions, so Dayna knew a good number of the clientele at least had witchy tendencies. It was a small, dimly lit shop that often smelled strongly of basil, and the sign over the door hung slightly crooked, but there was a special sort of magic to it despite this. Or perhaps because of it.
The bell jangled as Dayna pushed her way into the low-light interior. Instantly she was hit by a wall of fragrance, a mixture of herbs and incense so strong it made her eyes water. Margery, the woman behind the desk, eyes fixed on the TV, gave her a cursory wave as she came in.
Dayna moved farther into the shop, past shelves of talismans and teas, wooden symbols and stacks of pewter bowls. As she made her way under the wooden sign hanging above the aisle—Herbs & Oils to Bewitch the Senses!—her cell phone chimed.
She grimaced down at the screen. It was Samuel.
Hey, I’m still shaken up about that weird crow thing. Are you okay? We should get a coffee. Tomorrow?
She sighed and shoved the phone back into her pocket. That was all she needed right now, on top of everything.
It had been three months since they’d broken up. Since she’d insisted she needed her space because of the rumors flying around the school. She didn’t know how to talk to him now, how to deal with the shame that flared up and made her stumble over her words.
One day no one knew a thing, and the next, the entire school was whispering: Dayna Walsh is a lesbian. Dayna Walsh is bisexual.
No one seemed to know or care which one it was, just that she was hiding a secret that must be discussed, picked apart, delivered to anyone who didn’t know.
Now every day at school was pure misery. It was walking down the hallway trying not to make eye contact or accidentally brush past someone. Every second was spent overanalyzing everything.
All of that was precisely why Sage Widow was one of her favorite places. Here, there was no way she would see anyone from school. And the church didn’t seem to know about it. No one knew she was a witch, outside her coven, and she intended to keep it that way. Her father could continue believing her overnight stays with Reagan had been full of rom-coms and popcorn instead of spell books and cauldrons, that the summers had been beaches and barbecues, not nights of memorizing protection prayers and learning counterhexes. When she was very small she’d begged her father to let her be homeschooled with Reagan. She could think of nothing better than to quit private school and learn magic with her best friend. Of course, since Reagan and her mother weren’t Christian—Yemi went to the mosque in Waterford once a week—the reverend had shot that down fast.
She moved through the aisle, looking over boxes of crystals and jars of clover and cardamom. It was tempting to buy something for her stash beneath the bed….
But she was here for Bronagh’s tea.
She reached for the tea chest, directly beneath the black-and-white television on the top shelf, currently playing some kind of catchy jingle. She was mostly ignoring the commercial, but the words Struggling to catch a breath? jerked her upright. The woman on TV smiled wide, saying something about medication. Dayna staggered back, already fighting the first wave of panic, struggling to remember the cognitive behavior therapy she was supposed to be using.
One. The tea chest in front of her.
Two. The pink-jeweled mirror on the wall beside the shelves.
Three. Someone’s hand. Slender fingers, short nails. Black polish—
Dayna’s head snapped up as the owner of the hand came into view. The girl reaching past her was tall, nearly six feet. She was sharp-featured and pale, with dark brows and eyes. The black lines of a tattoo snaked up from the collar of her jacket and onto her throat. The girl’s hair, wavy and just past her shoulders, was so pale blond it was nearly white, and one side was shorn just above the ear. The effect was striking, and for a moment Dayna only stared, which gave the other girl enough time to turn away, and Dayna realized she’d taken the last satchel of Ceylon black tea.
“Um,” she stammered, caught between feeling foolish and indignant. “I was reaching for that.”
The girl turned, and her dark eyes flicked over Dayna from her shoes to the top of her head. The light caught the ring in the center of the girl’s lower lip, automatically drawing Dayna’s eye. When she looked up, she felt herself blush nearly to the tips of her ears.
“Were you, now? Seems to me you were staring at the TV with your mouth hanging open.” The girl’s voice was low and a bit husky. She looked amused, which sent a flare of irritation through Dayna.
“I was distracted for a moment.” It came out more defensively than she meant it to.
The other girl shrugged, hands tugging at the edges of her leather jacket in a way that was somehow dismissive. She turned on her heel. “You were too slow.”
For half a second Dayna only stood there, stunned. Are you kidding me? And then as the girl began to walk away, she shook herself and followed. “Uh, no. That’s my tea.”
She didn’t even turn around. “Doesn’t look like it.”
“Are you serious?” Dayna doubled her pace to catch up to the girl.
It wasn’t like she was looking for a fight, but she wasn’t going back without that tea.
She rounded the shelves, and there were suddenly three women staring at her. Dayna blinked, feeling ambushed.
“Made a friend in the tea section, have you, Meiner?” The girl on the far left crossed her arms over her chest. She was short, with straight blond hair and glasses, her skin tanning-booth bronzed. Her tone was inquisitorial, almost demanding, and the way she looked at her friend made Dayna wonder if they were an item.
“Not exactly.” The other girl—Meiner—gave Dayna a wry look over her shoulder. “She’s accusing me of tea theft.”
“I’m sorry, but I was reaching for that.” Normally she would have backed down. Been too shy to face off with a stranger as intimidating as this white-haired giant. But this was important.
Bronagh was waiting for this tea, and she’d be damned if she let some creepy frost giant–looking girl take it from her.
Okay, maybe she was looking for a fight. Just a little one.
The girl’s other companion, an elderly white woman with steel-gray hair, seemed to be muttering to herself. “Should have known not to trust her with anything.” She didn’t look at Meiner or Dayna, glaring at the shelves around them. “What the hell is this place?”
As Dayna watched, the old woman fished into her pocket and pulled out a thin silver case.
Meiner looked irritated. “Gran, you can’t smoke in here.” She turned back to Dayna. “Listen, we should check with the store. Maybe they have more tea in the back room.”
Dayna frowned, still a little indignant. “I suppose—”