Page 7 of Hungry As Her Python

Always has been.

This tiny coastal New Jersey town has been a supernatural safe haven since the U.S. flag only had thirteen stars.

Our founding Witches laid down wards so strong they nudge humans away from our borders without them ever realizing it.

And me? I share a bloodline with two of the most powerful women in town—Evie and Donny.

We found out we were cousins not too long ago.

It was the kind of soap-opera twist that made my mom clutch her pearls, but I thought it was awesome.

Our mutual grandfather, Al Castor, was a total dog—literally and magically.

He strayed outside his marriage and fathered at least two illegitimate kids, one of them my dad, the other Donny’s.

Magical men. They’re charming until they’re not.

Mostly not.

Which is exactly why I’m single.

Okay, partly.

The other reason is that once your heart’s been drop-kicked into oblivion, you get a little gun-shy.

Fool me once, shame on you.

Fool me twice? Not happening, Buster.

Besides, my life is full—baking, casting, and hanging with my girls.

What else does a Witch need?

Okay, fine.

Maybe I missed having someone to keep the bed warm.

But options? I had them.

Plenty of them.

I just wasn’t biting.

Well. Not unless you counted him.

Which I didn’t.

“The glass is gone,” Petyr grumbled, dragging me out of my mental spiral.

“Thanks, Petyr,” I said, patting his shaggy head.

My Domovyk familiar was all big eyes and bigger attitude.

We’d clicked instantly, unlike Evie and Donny with theirs.

Honestly, I think that was their fault, not the familiars’.

“You’re welcome, my Witchy,” he said, hauling a trash bag to the dumpster like a furry little mafia enforcer.