Page 1 of Hungry As Her Python

Prologue-Bella

Everything good starts with a leap of faith.

At least, that’s what I’ve learned.

But whoever came up with that cute little Pinterest quote probably wasn’t talking about diving headfirst into a relationship with a giant, smug Shifter who kisses like sin and rearranges your whole life just by looking at you.

Or about running a bakery in a magical town where the probability of a fire, curse, or spontaneous goat stampede is higher than the odds of a cake rising evenly.

Still, I guess I’ve always been the leap-first, pray-later type.

I wasn’t born that way, though.

Once upon a time, I was the opposite.

Quiet.

Timid.

Downright shy.

I was the little Witch who always sat in the back of the classroom, clutching my spell primer like a shield and hoping no one noticed me—because if they didn’t notice me, they couldn’t laugh when my magic fizzled or went sideways, especially when I tried to increase whatever my mom had packed for snack time.

I still remember that first day at the Castor’s Corner Preschool, where most gifted young Witches went.

My hair was in two braids so tight my scalp ached, my shoes were new and pinched my toes, and I was so sure I’d spend the day hiding behind the potted asphodel in the corner until Mommy came to take me home.

And then they walked in.

Donny, with her wild curls, paint-smeared dress, and big eyes, like she already knew every secret worth knowing. And Evie, in a sparkly cape she’d borrowed from her older cousin, marching in like she already ran the place—as she would inevitably run the whole town.

They plopped down on either side of me without so much as a “Can I sit here?” and started chattering like we’d been friends forever.

Donny showed me how to charm the class crayons into coloring by themselves. Evie slipped me one of the gummy frogs she’d smuggled in her pocket and swore she’d hex anyone who tried to mess with me.

By the end of that first morning, I wasn’t hiding anymore.

I was laughing.

I was belonging.

That leap of faith—letting them both in—changed my life.

Fast forward a couple of decades, and here we are.

Still besties.

Still causing trouble.

Still saving each other when the cauldron boils over—sometimes literally.

We were the Witch Trifecta of Castor’s Corner—capital T, like it was an official title, which in a way, it kind of was.

Three Witches.

Three different specialties.

Three very different personalities.