Page 44 of Bewitched by the Wicked Witch (The Bewitching Hour #4)

Just then, a resounding boom echoed through the town square, followed by a blinding flash of light that announced the arrival of what could only be described as the cavalry.

Leading the charge was my indomitable grandmother Bertie, perched atop a gleaming silver broomstick like some geriatric valkyrie.

Her wispy white hair streamed behind her like a banner of righteous indignation, and her eyes sparkled with the kind of mischievous glee that usually preceded expensive property damage.

"Release my granddaughter, you ignorant peasants!" Gran bellowed, her voice amplified by magical enhancement that probably violated several noise ordinances. "Or face the wrath of the Blackstone matriarch!"

The mob scattered like startled pigeons as Gran swooped low, firing off a barrage of stinging hexes that sent them yelping and howling in directions that suggested they'd suddenly remembered pressing appointments elsewhere.

"Took you long enough, Gran," I called out, grinning up at her with genuine affection. "I was starting to think you'd gotten lost on your way to the senior center."

Gran snorted, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Watch your tongue, missy. I'll have you know I was organizing reinforcements. Speaking of which..."

She gestured grandly behind her, and my heart swelled as I saw the families of the girls we'd rescued marching into the square like an army of righteousness. Their faces were etched with gratitude and fierce determination to set the record straight.

"Sage saved our daughters!" one mother cried out, her voice trembling with emotion. "She's a hero, not a villain!"

"The only evil in this town comes from willful ignorance!" declared another parent with the authority of someone whose child had nearly died.

As the crowd's hostility transformed into bewildered uncertainty, I saw movement from the corner of my eye. Callum and Cosmo were stirring, shaking off the effects of Hank's underhanded tactics.

Callum leapt to his feet, his eyes immediately finding me among the chaos. "Sage!" he cried out, his voice raw with relief. "You're alive!"

"Did you seriously think a little bonfire was going to take me out?

" I drawled. The rope that tied me to the pyre snapped in the flames that flickered and licked at my feet, and I sauntered toward him with an exaggerated swagger.

"It takes more than some oversized matchsticks to roast this particular marshmallow. "

Callum's gaze raked over me with the kind of heat that had nothing to do with the dying flames. "Remind me never to underestimate you again," he murmured appreciatively.

Before I could formulate a suitably provocative response, Cosmo bounded over with his starlit eyes wide with concern and residual fury. "Sage! Are you alright? I tried to claw that deputy's eyes out, but he blindsided me with a cheap shot!"

I reached down to scratch behind his ears, my heart swelling with affection for my loyal familiar. "I'm fine, Cosmo. Though I appreciate the attempted eye-clawing on my behalf."

Gran touched down beside us, her broom vanishing with a pop as she fixed Councilman Bishop with a look that could have frozen molten lava.

"Bishop, you sniveling excuse for a public servant," Gran snapped, her voice dripping with decades of accumulated disdain. "I always knew you were a few ingredients short of a proper potion, but this exceeds even my lowest expectations."

Bishop puffed up indignantly, his jowls quivering with outrage. "Now see here, you old crone! I am a respected member of this community!"

"Respected?" Gran barked out a laugh. "The only thing people respect about you is your ability to clear a room with your speeches!"

Before Bishop could retort, a frog hopped across his foot, croaking loudly in what sounded distinctly like profanity. He lifted his foot to stomp on it, and I lunged forward.

"That's your son!" I screamed, grabbing his ankle.

Bishop stared down at the frog in horror. "You turned my son into an amphibian?"

"Your son was caught torturing kidnapped girls," Callum announced, stepping forward with eyes hard as flint. "He's being charged with multiple counts of kidnapping and murder, among other things. The only question is what your charges will be."

"Councilman Bishop, as a representative of the High Council, it is my duty to inform you that your son, Tommy, along with Cate Bennett, were apprehended in the act of systematically torturing innocent young women."

Bishop's face cycled through several interesting shades before settling on an alarming purple. "My son would never?— "

"Perhaps you'd care to explain the underground torture chamber?" Callum interrupted with arctic politeness. "Or the magical extraction equipment? Or the cages filled with terrified teenagers?"

Gran stepped up beside Callum, her expression carrying the authority of someone who'd spent decades dealing with this particular brand of willful stupidity. "The evidence is irrefutable, Bishop. And the High Council investigators are already here to conduct a full investigation."

Bishop's bluster deflated slightly as the implications hit him. "This isn't over!" he declared, though with considerably less conviction than before.

"By all means," Callum replied with a cold smile, "file your complaints with the High Council. I'm sure they'll be fascinated to hear how you attempted to burn an innocent woman at the stake to cover up your son's crimes."

I couldn't resist adding my own commentary. "You know, Bishop, I always thought you were missing a few cards from your deck, but trying to murder me to protect your precious baby boy? That's impressively unhinged, even for you."

As if summoned by our conversation, several figures in High Council robes appeared at the edge of the square. They surveyed the scene, the burning pyre, the scattered mob, the two frogs hopping frantically around the cobblestones, with the patient expression of people who'd seen it all before.

Within minutes, they'd taken custody of Councilman Bishop, and began the process of taking statements from witnesses .

Justice, I reflected as I watched Bishop being led away in magical restraints, had a sense of humor almost as dark as mine.

"So," I said to Callum as the chaos finally began to settle around us, "this is probably not how you imagined your investigation going."

He looked at me, singed, soot-covered, and still crackling with residual magical energy, and smiled in a way that made my heart do things that had nothing to do with the recent trauma.

"Actually," he said, reaching for my hand, "this is exactly how I hoped it would end."

When our lips met in the middle of the town square, surrounded by the smoking remains of a failed execution and the satisfied croaking of justice served, I realized that some stories really do have happy endings.

Even the ones that start with accusations of witchcraft and end with turning people into frogs.