Page 35 of Hungry As Her Python

But here I was, about to become a cautionary tale in Retail 101.

If you’re here, you’re open.

That was one of Granny’s golden rules, and the voice in my head sounded exactly like her when I thought it.

And she was right, dang it.

I was here.

So I was open.

Even if my feet ached, my hair smelled faintly of buttercream, and I could no longer feel my left pinky toe.

Petyr would be back any second.

He’d gone to my house to grab the half gallon of paint I’d left in the garage so we could finally finish repairing the wall the arsonist had torched.

We’d patched it days ago with spackle, but thanks to the week-long rain, it had taken forever to dry.

I know what you’re thinking.

Why not use magic?

Well, magic came with rules.

And one of those was the big, murky, “no personal gain” clause that could and would bite you in the butt if you weren’t careful.

So, elbow grease it was.

Paint, a little sweat equity, and a new baker’s rack from Happy’s Natural Wood Furniture & Lumber.

That Beaver Shifter could build a shelving unit that belonged in a fairy tale.

By tomorrow, you’d never know my shop had been the target of a pyro’s idea of a fun night out.

Speaking of which, you little creep. Wait till I find you.

I heard the back door creak and Petyr’s distinctive muttering as he came in, no doubt grumbling about the “paint for my Witchy” like it was a royal decree from the Tsar himself.

That little Domovyk was more protective of me than a guard Dragon, and if I let him off his leash, I was ninety-nine percent sure he’d string our mystery arsonist up in the town square.

Petyr was a good familiar.

Loyal, grumpy in a charming way, and the best moral support a girl could ask for.

He made me want to be a better Witch—and after this week, I was absolutely baking him something special as a thank-you.

But first, I had to survive Mrs. Gennaro.

Then, I had to make it to our monthly bonfire, drink something hot and alcoholic, and while I was readying myself, I had to try really hard not to wonder if a certain Python Shifter would be there.

Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

Or it would be if Mrs. Gennaro hurried up.

Chapter Eleven-Bella

Thirty-Nine Minutes Later