Page 5 of Bewitched by the Wicked Witch (The Bewitching Hour #4)

Two

Sage

F ive more years later…

The missing girl posters hadn't been there yesterday.

I paused on Old Hollows Road, studying the fresh paper taped to the old Victorian lamp post.

"MISSING: Beverly Chen, 17, last seen October 15th."

The girl's bright smile stared back at me from the slightly rain smeared photo, hope radiating from her dark eyes.

A second poster caught my eye on the next post:

"MISSING: Ashlynn Parker, 16."

Then another:

"Chrysanthemum Walsh, 18."

Four girls. All young. All having gone missing within the past six months.

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 security return.

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, but because 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.

"Oh, that'll be four fifty, and do you want any spell magic in it today? You can upgrade to a blessed day for an extra fifty cents."

I raised an eyebrow. A blessing from Cate Bennett was like snow in July—possible, but suspicious. "Why? Going to bless your favorite witch?"

Her smile turned sharp, predatory. "Have you seen the papers? Those girls... they're all like you. Powerful. Different." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that somehow felt more like a threat than concern. "Dangerous times for girls who stand out too much."

"Are you threatening me, Cate?" I asked, my voice steady despite the chill that ran down my spine.

She straightened up, that false sweetness returning to her expression. "Just making conversation. After all, it would be such a shame if something happened to our town's most... notorious resident."

She shrugged. “You are the town wicked witch.”

I chuckled darkly and shook my head. Knowing Cate, she'd probably slip a curse into my drink and then spread rumors that every problem on this side of the river was my fault.

Believe it or not, Cindee's shop did get the occasional difficult customer, and a cursed drink wasn't too hard to believe around here.

I'd definitely need to watch Cate make whatever I ordered.

"No, thanks. Not today. But maybe later. " I winked at her.

Cate stood there waiting for me to pay, but I just blinked at her innocently, enjoying her obvious discomfort. "Oh, I don't pay."

Cate pressed her lips together as her gaze flashed briefly red. "Everyone pays."

"Not me." I shrugged and moved out of the way to await my coffee in a spot where I could watch Cate while she worked.

"Everyone pays," she repeated with more force than snorted as I flashed another glorious smile at her anger, and her fingers curled into fists, lips twisting into a sneer.

"Best work on that coffee, Cate," I said with a pleasant smirk, then bared my teeth in a quick snap, a silent warning beneath the charm.

Hexes and Brews had always been my favorite haunt.

So when Mark and Cindee nearly lost it a few years ago, I made them an offer: I'd buy the place, silently.

No one could know. In return? Free coffee.

Endless scones. And the satisfaction of saving my sanctuary.

No one would ever know I helped them because no one in their right mind would buy anything from me if they were smart. I started to roll my eyes but then decided against it. It isn't worth the fight. Cindee can set her straight later. I had more important things to do.

"Fine," I smirked. Most people wouldn't question my answer, but Cate had never been very smart.

Or she really didn't care. I wasn't quite sure yet.

Since Cate had already stalked away from the counter, I pulled out a ten and left it by the register.

"For whoever's actually making my coffee," I called out loudly enough for the whole shop to hear.

"How generous," she mocked before she moved to begin making the brew. I stayed close by, watching her. From the mischievous look in her eyes, I suspected that she would reach down under the counter to grab the vial that would curse the coffee to a bad day, and sure enough, she did.

I let her finish the incantation under her breath, murmuring my own just beneath mine, too soft for her to catch. As she finished up and set it on the counter, her smile was too pleased with herself. That smile would change quickly; she just didn't know it yet.

I scanned the café. Some days, I worked quietly in the corner, savoring the scent of pastries and fresh coffee.

But today wasn't one of those days. A young mother stared at me, clutching her children.

A boy, no older than eight, stood frozen, his eyes round as coins, lips parted as if the scene might vanish if he so much as blinked.

I gave him a small smile, which he returned. His mother warned him to leave me alone. The words ‘black magic’ slipped from her quiet lips as the boy's curiosity turned to fear. No, today was not the day to stay in the cafe and work. I sighed, took my cursed coffee, and moved to leave the cafe.

The door shut behind me, and autumn's bite hit hard, making me shiver. I turned back just in time to see Cate's luck unravel. The espresso machine sputtered and clogged. Then, when she reached for the frother, it exploded, scalding milk sprayed everywhere. She shrieked as it hit her skin.

Her angry gaze swung to the window, where I smirked and gave her a little wave.

Angry eyes met mine, and she snarled. And though I couldn’t hear her, her lips moved as she let a string of expletives go all directed at me.

I turned to walk up the sidewalk back to the path that would lead me home as I chuckled to myself.

It served her right to try to curse me. Didn't she know I was wicked?

I noted her curse as it slipped from her lips.

Before I could counteract it, it slipped past my defenses and nothing happened.

I raised an eyebrow as Cate fumed, glaring at me through the window.

Her body contorted from pain as whatever spell she'd thrown my way had mirrored back at her.

The spell I'd performed earlier was still working.

I smirked and shook my head, lifted my not- so-cursed coffee and took a sip before turning to walk away.

As I left the shop, movement in the alley caught my eye.

Someone had painted a symbol on the brick wall between the buildings—an old rune I recognized but couldn't quite place.

With my warm coffee in hand, I moved closer to inspect it.

When I reached out to touch the painted symbol, magic hummed beneath my fingertips, dark and purposeful. I jerked my hand back.

Biting my lip, I studied the rune. I'd seen it before, long ago, and I tried to remember where. It was old and represented purity... or no, close, but not exactly. I glared at it, as if the answer would just appear.

Taking out my phone, I snapped a photo, dread pooling in my stomach. Missing girls, mysterious symbols, and whispers about outside investigators. Something was hunting young witches in Old Hollows, and with my reputation, I'd be the perfect scapegoat when the real monster struck again.

I hurried away, sipping my coffee and avoiding the front of the shop in case Cate got some idea to zap me in her anger.

Some people never learned. Even with that thought, the symbol plagued me, because as much as I wanted to think it was benign, I had a sinking pit of dread that it was a sign that something bad was coming.

Something far more malicious than me.