Page 2 of Hungry As Her Python

Evie Castor was our fearless mayor-slash-overworked miracle worker, all polished poise and political charm—until you put her in a kitchen, then it was may the Goddess help us all.

Donny Andrews was the bold, brash, curse-like-a-sailor hair magician with a flair for drama and an entire drawer of battery-operated stress relievers she’d recently retired when she mated a certain big Bear Shifter who occasionally worked for me and made the best croissants ever.

It was the hands. The man had enormous hands and rolled out a thousand layers faster than my magic could.

But what did you expect? He was a Grizzly Bear, for Pete’s sake!

There was simply no comparison.

And then there was me—Bella Strega.

Baker extraordinaire, Kitchen Witch, and the glue that kept us together, mostly because I bribed them with marshmallow frosted cupcakes.

We didn’t do things the same way—not even close.

Evie planned.

Donny improvised.

I typically winged it with a smile and a pastry box.

But somehow, it worked. It had always worked.

And I never wanted it to change.

Except, well, change was inevitable, wasn’t it?

Like accidentally baking your emotions into a batch of muffins—you didn’t mean to do it, but there they were, puffed up and impossible to ignore.

True friendships endured, at least that’s what they say.

And mine with Evie and Donny? Unshakable.

If the world ended tomorrow, I’d be passing out sugar cookies while Evie organized the evacuation routes and Donny hexed anyone who got in our way.

But this past year?

Oh boy.

We’d had more disruptions to our cozy little slice of South Jersey than in the entire decade before combined.

First came those darned Shifters, wandering into town like the world’s hottest lost-and-found items.

One minute we were minding our business (if Evie being late to our bonfire was minding our own business, then yeah, let’s go with that), the next minute—bam—walking, talking Shifter-sized sex dolls claiming to be our fated mates started popping up everywhere.

Okay, there were only three of them, but sheesh, they were big.

Anyway, then Grandpa Al’s ghost decided the cemetery was the perfect place for a long-term staycation.

And just when we thought we’d seen it all, Magdelena—La Befana, the supreme Witch in these parts who worked directly under the magic-freaking-master Morrigan herself—gifted us three familiars so strange they made even me question the ingredients for my go to chocolate chip pumpkin muffins with chocolate cream cheese frosting.

And trust me, I’ve made those blindfolded wearing nothing but a sequined apron after an all-night Hex & Mingle party over at Castor’s Bar on Woodlock Lane.

So, yeah. We’d been busy.

But if I’m going to tell you the latest story—the one where things went sideways faster than Donny at a clearance sale at Sephora—then we have to roll the clock back.

To the exact moment when the magically mischievous shit hit the metaphorical fan.