Page 1 of Of Poison & Pumpkins (Of Witches & Men #3)

CHAPTER ONE

Rynn

I don’t even belong in my own shop.

The back hallway is the safest space right now, hidden from people. I’ve abandoned my best friend, Tinsley, to deal with any magic mishaps or disgruntled customers.

On any other day, I’d be out there flashing a forced smile while passing out unapproved fliers that read:

For every purchase here at Purple Palooza,

90% off next door

I haven’t met the owner of our new competitor, but since we’ll be vying for revenue, we definitely won’t be getting along. Hence the brilliant flier.

I plaster my back against the shadowed wall as a young girl approaches with a purple unicorn toy in hand. She passes by, so I release the breath I’d been holding. The girl’s caregiver trails in her wake, dropping a pair of pomegranate sunglasses into a periwinkle cart.

My eccentric shop, Purple Palooza , offers everything in shades from plum to violet. Even the lavender scent spraying from the automatic air freshers adds to the vibe. The only product I wouldn’t recommend is the fizzy grape soda, but no one needs to know that.

“Rynn? I saw you! I need you up front!” Tinsley calls as she spins like a chaotic carousel, making her hat, decorated with an array of purple peacock feathers, topple from her head.

“Here ya go, Miss Fuzer,” the little girl says to Tinsley, holding the hat up.

The lady, who I presume is the mother, grabs her tiny shoulder faster than I could recite a spell and whispers, “Honey! We don’t call people that word.” She turns towards Tinsley. “I’m so sorry. She’s still learning.”

“But you can use magic, right?” The girl pushes the unicorn onto the checkout counter.

Tinsley crouches next to the girl. “Yes, I do have magic, and I don’t mind if you call me Miss Fuzer. In fact, I’m rather fond of that honorary title.”

Leave it to Tinsley to always have the perfect response.

It infuriates me that we are forced to defend our rare genetic trait to Nergs (those without magic).

They don’t understand us. All my life Nergs have taken advantage of or have tried to control my power.

Having an extra gene doesn’t make us bad.

Some Fuzers might say I’m over-exaggerating, but I’ve had too many negative interactions with Nergs to feel positive about them.

Mulberry bubbles float by, creating a charming dragon shape as they magically merge. It’s beautiful how they can alter the sunlight flooding the room just by casting tiny rainbows. The girl chases the bubble-dragon, then hops up and down like she’s on a trampoline.

“Mommy, look! Mommy, Mommy!” She jumps in and out of the light rays shining on the purple floor.

I groan at her piercing pitch, which draws her attention.

“Heya there! Peek a boo, I see you! What you doin’ back there?” She meets my eyes. “Do you have any candy?”

I muster a forced grin and nod as the girl pulls me out of the darkness. Tinsley tosses me a look—one that means I owe her. My ordinary hazel eyes are boring compared to Tinsley’s sharp, dark gaze.

She grabs a dark berry lollipop by the register then sings our slogan, “Thanks for coming to our cozy Palooza, where all your dreams surely come truza !”

The next person buys a fuchsia cutting board that chops food automagically and a puce keychain with “Best Grandma,” etched on the front. It’s one of the few items without any added charm, merely a souvenir for tourists who visit Oakmar, North Carolina.

A mass of helium balloons hides the next customer. They add their items to the conveyor belt: disposable cups with an orchid design, mulberry paper plates, and my personal favorite, napkins with eggplants on them. Someone’s planning to get festive.

“Why aren’t you wearing the amazing peacock hat?” a deep voice asks from the other side of the counter.

“Because I own the store,” I say without looking up. “So I give the honor of wearing the hat to my staff.”

I don’t force myself to wear purple every day for the sake of the store. As usual, I’m dressed in black from head to toe, layered with cat hair. I judge the man’s choices while scanning the bar codes.

“Since you own the store, you should definitely have a purple hat, twice as tall.” The man’s tone carries a hint of a challenge. “I could make you a custom hat. I’ve been told my hands work miracles. I wouldn’t disappoint.”

The sheer audacity.

“That’ll be forty-six, twenty. Cash or credit?” I ask, tapping one foot on the floor.

The tick-tock of the clock reminds me to finish this transaction before I miss the big moment. After all, I bribed Tinsley to help today for a reason.

“You must be killing it in sales.” The man lingers longer than necessary, still hidden behind the balloons.

“Busiest day of the month,” I mumble.

“Ah, yes, the Ceremony is tonight.”

Somehow, the man doesn’t get the message that a conversation with him, or anyone for that matter, is not on my list of priorities. The back hallway pulls my attention like a magnet. What if I miss it? Miraculously, Tinsley pops out from behind a shelf and motions for me to leave.

The man’s deep voice follows, ringing out, “Nice to see you again. I’ll swing back soon, Rynnlee.”

I freeze. No one has called me by my full name since high school, over a decade ago. Who here would be visiting from middle-of-nowhere, Indiana?

I turn around, but he’s already out of sight. Now is not the time to get distracted.

As I make my way out the back, the large, purpliest door swings open automagically, like all doors do. Obviously.

Outside, an autumn breeze kisses my cheeks.

Soft heat from the fading sun erases the gooseflesh that had been covering my arms, and the scent of pumpkins wafts in the air.

Because of the new rival store, I’m morally obligated to hate everything pumpkin.

Which is unfortunate since I adore pumpkin spice lattes.

From the other side of the stretch of buildings, cars honk and rumble, and cardinals sing a tune to encourage dusk’s arrival.

A long meow echoes off the brick walls and my attention darts to the box in the alleyway, tucked behind crates and bins. I rush over and kneel to check Momma Kitty’s progress. Damn it. It already happened. Three gross, adorable, slimy, perfect kittens wiggle as mom turns in place to feed them.

“Shh, it’s okay, Momma. I’m back. You did great,” I whisper.

I plop onto my butt and watch her finish cleaning her babies until it’s obvious that they’re orange with stripes.

Fates Alive … Seriously? The only male orange cat on this block is the cutie that sleeps in the window of Peculiar Pumpkins.

Annoyingly so, the baby-daddy belongs to my competition.

Do I have any obligation to tell his owner about these squirmy little angels?

“That’s a good name, Momma.” I slide my finger over her spine as she purrs. “Squirmy. And these two can be Squiggles and Squeaky.” I carefully test the sturdiness of the box then lift it. “I’m gonna move you inside now.”

I transfer her box into the back hall of Palooza and drape my jacket over half to give her privacy.

“Rynn!” Tinsley’s heels clickety-clack at a rapid pace as she approaches. “I can’t believe you deal with this influx every month. It’s a madhouse! One boy dropped a clock, and I swear we all moved in slow motion for a few seconds. Absolutely terrifying!”

Tinsley gathers her fallen hair to form a fresh ponytail.

Her black hair is the opposite of my bland, ashy locks.

I’m best at camouflaging into a crowd, whereas she could never disappear in a group.

Growing up, I was always at average height, normal weight, etcetera, etcetera, while Tinsley towers over me like a model.

Even my complexion is ‘medium’ compared to her perfectly fair skin. Next to her, I could be wallpaper.

“You okay?” Tinsley’s brows furrow. “Something looks … off.”

Tinsley and her daughter, Maya, are my everything. They’re the main reason our sales matter so much. After all she’s been through, I can’t allow Purple Palooza to go bankrupt and shut down. Hopefully, everything goes according to plan tonight to give us another month of security.

Nervous that I’ll fuck up somehow, I wrap my arms around my bestie in a massive hug.

“Oh, Rynn, whatever’s wrong, it’ll be okay. We’ve got this. Do you need to cry? I can make you cry.” She pats my back softly. “Remember when we kept our face masks on too long and we thought they’d never peel off?”

“You looked like a zombie.”

“And remember when you knitted your first sweater and it ended up crooked, with one sleeve twice as long as the other?”

A strangled sob-laugh explodes from my lips and I back away from her, wiping away a tear. “Stop it.”

“Wow. My dear, grumpy Rynn Pozinne, bad-ass boss-lady, shed a tear.” Her voice stays whimsical, even though her eyes show concern. “Are you upset because I watched Tuns of Drums without you last night? Because you know I’ll rewatch it with you, right?”

“No, just got something in my eye. There’s your payment for helping today,” I say, pointing to the box of kittens. “You can take them home if you want.”

“Oh, my Sols! Kittens!” She scampers to the box. “Before I turn into hysterics, I have to tell you something. I came back here to tell you someone up front is asking for you. Said it’s important.” Tinsley coos in baby-talk, then asks over her shoulder, “You sure you’re okay, chica?”

“Yeah. Do you know the customer? What’d they look like?”

“Hhm, how to describe that man …” Tinsley strokes Momma’s ear. “He’s a brilliant sunset in September. A thick, delicious, addictive milkshake in suspenders.”

“Suspenders?”

“He’s a bearded wizard sent from the Goddesses. And if you aren’t interested, then I get dibs.”

“I’m definitely not interested.”

“He bet you’d say that.”

“What? … Never mind, I’ll take care of it. Thanks again, Tinz. You saved me today.”