“Then explain Whiskey,” Belfry demanded. “Look at him, Arkady. Frozen in place. How did that happen if not for magic? I don’t have any magic and neither does Winterbutt.”

  Poor Whiskey, sitting in the middle of the kitchen, looking like he’d just returned from the taxidermist, made me want to curl up in a ball and cry.

  “Belfry is right. Why else does this happen, my malutka?”

  Instead of crying, I went with angry. I was angry Whiskey was a victim of my hapless magic. “I can’t explain it, but I can tell you if he can’t be fixed, I swear I’m going to hunt Baba Yaga down at one of her stupid eighties parties and shred every last one of her pairs of leg warmers, then set them on fire and roast Twinkies over them!”

  Win’s eyes narrowed. “Ah, yes, the beautiful Baba Yaga.”

  Yes. The beautiful, ageless, stuck-in-the-’80s fearless leader who’d kicked me out of my coven instead of listening to my side of the story.

  She’d shunned me. I thought I was over it, but I guess I wasn’t totally over it, because it still niggled at me a little. “I’ll make her fix him if I have to.”

  Belfry tucked himself against my ear. “Calm down, Boss. We’ll figure Whiskey out. Until then, we need to figure out your magic and this Sal thing.”

  I cupped my chin in my hand. “Let’s focus on Sal. How could Sal possibly get a message to me through someone else? How did he convince someone else to do it and to punch me in the face? Wouldn’t Sal have to possess him to get him to do what he wants?”

  As I held the package of peas against my throbbing eyeball, Win said, “Possession seems to rather be the rage these days, doesn’t it? I feel like everyone but me has mastered possession.”

  “But wait. Before we jump to possession, did he possess him or did he just whisper a suggestion in his ear?” I wondered. “I mean, that’s pretty common. You know, devil on one shoulder, angel on the other, that sort of thing? He probably didn’t cross over. He’s likely on one of the other planes. Now that would make sense.”

  “I thought the angel/devil concept was simply your conscience talking?”

  “Sometimes it is. And sometimes it’s a spirit.”

  “Either way, it still means someone wants you harmed, and I won’t have it.” He tightened his fists.

  Win’s protectiveness when it came to me always made my heart warm and my toes tingle. “Maybe it was just a prank?” I suggested with hope in my words, setting the bag of peas down.

  “Who, after all this time, is even thinking of Sal Finch? It feels like ages ago since he almost killed you, Stephania.”

  I wish my head felt the same way. It still ached sometimes where he’d cracked me but good. “I don’t know, but kids will be kids. Maybe it was some kind of hazing or something. Like the high school kids had to do something to the psychic lady who killed a guy.”

  “Bah! That’s ridiculous. You said he looked like he was in his thirties. Regardless, I have to doubt a hazing would involve punching you in the face, Dove. Scaring you? Maybe. Taking something of yours that’s personal? Maybe. But all the children at the school love you. They think you’re—”

  “Snatched, which means cool,” Bel interjected. “None of them would ever hurt you. Nah, something’s brewing, I can feel it in my bones, Boss, and it has to do with your magic. Remember I said those words.”

  Just then, Whiskey’s tail fluttered, and then he was all sound and motion, jumping into my lap and licking my face.

  I threw my arms around him and hugged him hard, burying my face in his thick fur. “Oh, thank the goddess you’re all right! I never would have survived this if something happened to you. I love you, buddy.”

  Just as he was about to lavish my face with more wet kisses, he suddenly reared back and looked at me as though he’d never seen me before in his life.

  I frowned, my heart thumping in my chest. “Whiskey? What’s the matter, pal?”

  He sniffed the air around me, smelling my drying hair and the skin on my arms before he jumped off my lap and ran to hide behind Win’s chair, almost cowering from me.

  What the heckadoodles was going on?

  “He smells it, too,” Belfry remarked cockily. “He smells your magic.”

  No, no, no. I wasn’t buying into this. “Oh, he does not, Bel. Maybe I smell like the guy who socked me in the face?”

  “Let’s bring Spike in and see what he thinks,” Bel suggested. “Animals have a sixth sense about these things. Win, do you mind getting the door?”

  Obviously Win knew Bel was trying to prove a point, but he didn’t want to hurt me—or at least the look he gave me suggested as much.

  I waved a hand. “Go ahead.”

  Win opened the French doors that led to Spike’s outdoor cage, where he sat under a heat lamp. Sometimes he seemed to enjoy spending time alone, so we’d made sure he had a space of his own that connected to the house.

  “Spike!’ I called. “Gobble, gobble, punkin’! Mama’s got treats.”

  I don’t know if he really understood the bit about me having treats or even what I was telling him. But he did know the sound of my voice and he always responded.

  He came waddling into the kitchen as I rose to get him some dried cranberries, which he adored. Pouring some in my hand, I held them out to him and he ran toward me, stopping just shy of the tips of my fingers.

  “Look, bud. Cranberries! They’re your favorite.” I wiggled my fingers with a smile, but his webbed feet took a couple of steps backward before he turned tail (or is that feather?)—and made a run for a spot behind Whiskey.

  “I don’t understand,” I whispered, my shoulders sagging in defeat as tears filled my eyes.

  If it were true, if this was my magic, and it meant Whiskey and Spike wouldn’t come near me, I didn’t want it. Baba Yaga and the coven could keep it.

  “Well, I guess you made your point, Bel. Happy?”

  “Oh, my sweet malutka, I am hugging you right now. Little man means no harm. He is only trying to help.”

  Bel buzzed to my shoulder and tucked himself against my ear, his soft fur soothing me. “He’s right. I’m just trying to help. It’s gonna be okay, Stevie B. They’ll get used to you again. I promise. But they have to get to know the new you, that’s all.”

  My eyes filled with tears, the sore eye stinging. “But I’m not new, Belfry! I’m the same old Stevie who was thrown out of her coven like week-old leftovers after basically being called a liar. The same one who made a new life for herself—from scratch, mind you—in her hometown, where everyone thought she was a murderer! I’m that Stevie. I’m not Stevie the witch anymore. I’m not.”

  Win held out a hand to me, his handsome face pained, his crisp ice-blue shirt still wet from the rain. “Dove, please. Let’s sit and talk this through, the way we always do.”

  But I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Secretly, for months upon months after losing my powers, I’d prayed to the goddesses—begged them to give me my witch powers back, to let me back into the coven. For someone, anyone, to show up and let me go back to my old life in Texas.

  But that never happened. So I started over, and now my life was good. Really, really good. Better than it was in Texas. I had friends here. People who were loyal to me, unlike my coven, with the exception of Winnie.

  And then there was Win. We had a life, a home I loved. He had the garden society, his friendships with Dana and Sandwich, and I had Madam Zoltar’s, and Arkady, and my own friendships with various business owners in Eb Falls.

  I didn’t want that to change, and being a witch again would change it. It would change everything. They’d want me to come back to the coven, and I wasn’t going back to a place where everyone had betrayed me.

  “No!” I yelled into the kitchen. “I don’t want to talk about this. There was a time when I would have given almost anything to have my magic back. For Baba Yaga to believe in me—stand behind me when Adam Westfield did what he did. But she didn’t, and I had to start a new life, and I’m happy now. I don’t want to be a witch anymore. I just want to be Stevie Cartwright from Ebenezer Falls, Washington, who can see ghosts and is going to marry Crispin Alistair Winterbottom and live happily ever after in their mini-mansion. End of.”

  Win wrapped his strong arms around me and pressed a kiss to the top of my head, pulling me close. “Oh, my sweet Dove. Being a witch is part of who Stevie Cartwright is, no matter how much you wish it weren’t so.”

  Bel buzzed to his shoulder and nodded his fluffy head. “He’s right, Boss. No matter what that fruitcake Adam did, you’ll always be a witch.”

  I pushed away from Win, despite the warmth his arms brought me, panic setting in. “Fine. I can be a witch all you want, but if I am a witch again, if my powers are returning, I’m not going back to the coven in Texas. I won’t. I’m not leaving Eb Falls.”

  “Now, Boss—”

  “I said no!” I yelped like a petulant child, and when I did, quite suddenly, The Backstreet Boys were standing in the middle of my kitchen.

  The Backstreet Boys.

  CHAPTER 3

  I blinked and then I blinked again. “Is that…are they…?”

  “The Backstreet Boys, Boss? Yep. Every last one of ’em. Like they were cryogenically frozen, doing whatever it was they were doing before you zapped ’em here.”

  “But…how did I…?”

  Bel flew around Kevin Richardson (who was dressed in the cutest pair of pajamas ever. Flannel and checkered. Who knew? Phew, he was as cute up close as he was from afar) and chirped, “I don’t wanna say anything, but it might be your magic. Just sayin’.”

  I’d swoon, but I couldn’t move. I almost couldn’t breathe. Kevin Richardson was standing right in front of me. I could see his every pore, see every whisker on his chin.

  He was so dreamy…

  But why would my magic summon, of all things, the Backstreet Boys? That made no sense. Whiskey’s frozen state sort of made sense in correlation to Jake, but a boy band?

  Win circled the men, hands in his trouser pockets, cheeks hollow from sucking them inward. “So these are the men you’re always fawning over? The ones who screech like cats being skinned on that setlist you have on Spotify?”

  I made a face. “Well, fawn is a big word. Maybe more like admire,” I replied coolly.

  My heart raced as I stared at Nick Carter in jeans and a holey T-shirt, his blond hair ruffled, his eyes so blue I thought I might fall into them like a pool of glistening water.

  “Admired, schmadmired. You were in love with Kevin and you know it. You bought every magazine he was ever in. You had posters of him on your walls, and one you even kissed good night every single night for a year before you went to bed.”

  My cheeks flamed hot. “I was only eleven or twelve, for cripes’ sake, Bel. Stop revealing all my childhood secrets!”

  Win put his hands on Kevin’s shoulders. “Is this the beloved boy-singer Kevin?”

  I looked down at my feet and shrugged, fighting a grin. “Maybe. Are you a little jealous, International Man of Mystery?”

  Arkady began to laugh, deep and hearty. “Zero, the look on your face is without price.”

  “I most certainly am not. But I can assure you, he’s never hung from the side of a mountain with shark-infested waters below him while chasing a world-renowned arms dealer,” Win mumbled.

  I put my hands behind my back and chuckled, giving him a smug face. “He kind of didn’t have to. He was busy singing to sold-out stadiums to millions of swooning teenagers. Now stop being jelly and help me figure out how to get them back to whatever it was they were doing. Obviously, Howie was in the middle of his dinner.” I grabbed a paper napkin from the counter. “He has spaghetti sauce on the corner of his mouth.” I gently wiped it away, my pulse racing.

  I was actually touching Howie Dorough! Boy, did he smell good. I had to fight to keep my knees from melting.

  AJ must have been preparing to go out, sleek in a burgundy suit and tie, and Brian, whose eyes were as blue as Nick’s, was dressed as casually as Nick. Simple jeans and a T-shirt, with some sneakers.

  I had to move away from them. I couldn’t stand near Kevin or I’d fall apart. Bel had been right. I’d been madly in love with him at one time and had planned our magical wedding at least a hundred different ways. Being so close to him was surreal.

  But that still didn’t explain how they’d gotten here.

  “So how do we send pretty boys back to home?” Arkady asked.

  I swallowed hard. That part of it worried me. What if I couldn’t get them back where they belonged? “I don’t know, Arkady. I don’t know how they got here in the first place.”

  “Maaagic!” Belfry sang. “You were angry, and earlier you were talking about Jake Whatshisface and the tenth-grade dance. You were slow-dancing to a Backstreet Boys song when he got fresh, right?”

  I gripped the counter, trying not to allow the panic of my wildly out-of-control magic take over. “Yes. I did say that.”

  Bel flew to my face. “It’s your emotions, Stevie. They’re all out of whack right now, but you can control them if you just try. Once you calmed a bit, Whiskey came back, right?”

  My dog was still cowering behind Win. “Well, yeah, but he hates my guts. I’m not sure I could take Whiskey and the Backstreet Boys hating my guts.”

  “Stevie, don’t be a derp. Whiskey doesn’t hate your guts. He’s confused. He just smells you differently now. You’re like a new person, that’s all. Now get it together and stop complaining. Take a deep breath and think about sending the pretty boys back to their families.”

  I thought about that for a minute. They could always stay for dinner. Sure, it’d be a little weird at first, but Win’s so charming, he’d win them over.

  “Do I have to?”

  I mean, c’mon. How often does a girl get the boys of her prepubescent dreams in her kitchen all at once?

  “You do, indeed, Dove,” Win said from a tight jaw.

  I chuckled. Win was even cuter when he was jealous. “Okay, okay.”

  “Now take a deep breath and clear your mind of everything but sending the boy-toys back home,” Bel instructed as he flew to Kevin’s shoulder and sat on it.

  “Fine, but we have plenty of room, you know,” I protested. “They could all stay here.”

  “Not today, young lady,” Bel chastised while Arkady snickered.

  Closing my eyes, I thought about how much the Backstreet Boys’ families would miss them and how sad their children would be if they weren’t there, and when I popped my eyes back open, they each shimmered…and then they were gone.

  Bye-bye, Kevin. I’ll always remember our time together, even if you won’t.

  Bel and Arkady cheered, but Win obviously saw how defeated I looked.

  “Dove? Are you all right?” he asked, his handsome face fraught with worry.

  Sighing, I decided I was being a whiny baby and maybe I needed a shower and some alone time before dinner.

  Standing on tiptoe, I pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m fine, Win. Really. I just need a hot shower and a moment to myself. You okay with that?”

  He pressed a kiss to my lips. “Of course, my love. How about I order in, yes? Maybe something from that new French place? They deliver. Some beef bourguignonne sound good?”

  I nodded and squeezed his arm. “That sounds great.”

  “I’ll pop the cork on that red wine we grabbed while we were there the last time, and you’ll feel better in no time.”

  I started to make my way toward the stairs. “Okay. Thanks, guys. I’ll be down in a bit.”

  Traipsing up the steps, sad my shadow Whiskey wasn’t following me the way he usually did, I headed straight for my bathroom with its freestanding oval tub and its beautiful marble sink, and I turned on the water as high as it would go to cover the sound of my sobs.

  No, I wasn’t crying over the Backstreet Boys having to leave, though, it was a good thing I wasn’t twelve or there’d have been legendary hysterics.

  I was crying because of Whiskey and Spike. I was crying because I felt in my gut—in my soul—that my life was about to drastically change, and I didn’t want that.

  I didn’t know if the change would be about me getting my magic back, or it was something else.

  I only knew I didn’t want whatever it was.

  I didn’t want it at all.

  Win poured me a glass of wine and I took a huge gulp, toying with my beef bourguignonne from Juliette’s. Tender and delicious, I love the beef and carrots, but my appetite was almost nonexistent.

  He’d changed into a light blue sweater and a pair of black trousers, looking as though he’d never been outside in the pouring rain. He reached for my hand and caressed it with his thumb. “Can I butter you a piece of that crusty baguette you so enjoy? You know how much you love it. I had Juliette put in an extra loaf for us. You can have the leftovers for breakfast with that godawful store-bought apricot jam you so treasure,” he enticed.

  “Thanks, Win. You’re the best fiancé a girl could ask for.”

  “Better than Kevin?” he teased as he buttered a thick slice of bread and handed it to me.

  “I don’t know. I think I need to see you in a pair of plaid pajamas and get engaged to him before I decide,” I half-heartedly joked.

  He grinned, those deep grooves on either side of his mouth standing out. “I shudder at the mere thought of those pajamas.”

  Win wore silk pajamas, and only the bottoms, his strong, incredibly sexy chest remaining uncovered when he slept. I’d caught a peek at him once when he’d left his cell phone at the house. If you’re wondering, I didn’t leave disappointed.

  He was still staying in our decked-out guesthouse and planned to do so until we married, to keep tongues from wagging. I told him in this day and age, no one cared, but he reminded me that some of the ladies of the garden club cared, and they reminded him often to stay on the straight and narrow.

  Biting into the chewy-soft bread, I thought about what my attacker said right before he knocked me in the kisser. Sal owed me one…that part, I got. I had sort of killed him.

 

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