Chapter 1
Tully
I n the busy marketplace, a light snow floats down to land on my customers’ shoulders and hats. Thankfully, the cold doesn’t dissuade them from waiting to buy my potions and vials of magic.
Halvard, the large orc male who runs the sword training sessions at the armory and works at the pub lifts a sparkling vial. “Tully, does this new flying potion work on larger folks?”
A gust of wind tugs at my pointed witch’s hat and the ends of my wild, red hair. I do my best to hold my hat on.
“It does. Just be sure to take it on a full stomach or it might make you nauseated.”
He closes his big green fist around the potion and retrieves a handful of coins with his free hand. I accept the payment and look to the next customer in line.
It’s young Greta. As a goblin, her skin is nearly as green as the orc’s, but it has a sheen to it. Her black eyes take in my wares.
“I need a love potion,” she whispers.
I lift a scarlet-hued sachet from the box beside my wooden vial holder. “Remember, I announced a new rule concerning these types of magical potions.”
She raises her head and her chin barely reaches the cart’s shelf. Goblins are always on the short side, but she is even smaller than most.
“I know,” she says. “Only use them at the town dance and you must inform the one taking it before dosing them or yourself.”
“Correct!”
Lord Mayor Rustion insisted on this new rule after hearing about what I did to Laini and Rom during the harvest season. I think the rule takes a good bit of the fun out of using a love potion, but I don’t want to go against Rustion and lose my right to sell at the market. It’s not as if Laini and Rom weren’t absolutely dying for one another at that point. I just shoved their shyness out of the way.
Greta pays me, and I lean to the side to see who is next, but my line is gone.
Poof.
Like I waved my wand and made them disappear.
What in the world?
I turn to see a new cart set up only a stone’s throw from mine.
It’s him .
It’s the arrogant minotaur that had the nerve to suggest he could help me with one of my spells on Laini’s wedding day. He has wide, broad horns that are decorated with metal bands and a chain. A ring glints from his aristocratic nose and his wavy hair falls into his dark eyes. A tail like a whip flicks behind him. I swallow and grit my teeth as he smiles at his line—a row of customers that were mine.
I march over and point my wand at him. Blessed Stones, he’s tall.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
His gaze peppers my cheeks, forehead, and eyes, and his lips flick upward at the sides like this is completely amusing.
“I’m taking a bath, Mistress Tully. What does it look like?”
“Hilarious.” I bare my teeth. His eyes twinkle like he’s just super happy. Well, he’s about to be a lot less happy.
“Good morning to you, too,” he says with a smirk that enrages me.
“It was a good morning until you showed up,” I snap. “What are you hawking here?”
I finally look at his cart of goods. My mouth falls open and my wand arm drops to my side. Like me, he has a vial holder filled with sparkling magical concoctions. Two smaller shelves on the side of his cart show small bags of what smells like sage and wishberries.
“You are selling magic?” It’s impossible. Appalling. “But you’re a minotaur!”
“Quite the observant creature today, aren’t you?”
My face goes hot. A sure sign that I’m about to annihilate someone.
Like he has no cares in the world, the minotaur hands a vial to his next customer—a customer that should be mine—and takes their payment. I glare at him and raise my wand again.
“How dare you attempt to trick my fellow townsfolk?”
“I’m not.” He points to the green vials. “These are memory enhancers.” Next, he gestures to the pink vials. “These allow the drinker to fly for a bit. The sachets are for easing difficult relationships. They’re a twist on a typical love potion that I’m particularly proud of. Took me a full two months to perfect that mix.”
Ridiculous. He’s lying through his pretty white teeth. I spin to address those gathered.
“This is a sham,” I announce. “Minotaurs don’t even have a spark of magic.”
The crowd eyes me, then glances at the minotaur. They should know the truth of this already. The only Leafshire Cove folks who can do magic are Rom the gargoyle and Grumlin, my wizard friend with benefits. Their powers are incredibly niche though—nothing like a witch’s power.
I lift one of his vials and shake it over my head, my witch’s hat trembling like it’s angry along with me. “He is selling you junk. I guarantee this does nothing. He’s a charlatan. Only witches can create magic like this.”
“If you think I’m scamming these fine people,” the minotaur says, “why don’t you try one yourself?”
“Ha!” I jab my wand into his broad chest. His skin is a tan color, and he obviously doesn’t feel the cold much since his throat and part of his collarbone are exposed. “That just shows you know nothing about magic. Witches can’t be swayed by potions.”
The crowd is just watching all of this, and I’m over it. I have a powerful reputation in my town. I am not going to ruin it for this idiot.
“Oh, well, thanks for telling me,” he says. “I didn’t know that.”
I narrow my eyes at the trickster. “I suggest you get your stuff out of here before the hour is up. Someone will likely report you to the mayor and then you?—”
He lifts his hands suddenly and drops two handfuls of glittering dust. A unicorn appears in front of his cart, and the customers draw back, gasping and shouting with excitement. It’s just a stupid illusion, but I have no clue how he managed it without magic. The unicorn bucks and whinnies then disappears in a shower of stars. Everyone except me claps and cheers. They rush toward the cart again, pushing me back, and they begin demanding products from this charlatan.
“Can we buy one of those?
“How about two, one for each of my younglings?”
“Can you make one that looks like a lion instead? I’ll also take three of your relationship potions.”
“I need a flying potion! Yours are cheaper than hers.”
I blink at them, my former customers. I have to stop this or I’ll be ruined. I push between two pixies to get back in the minotaur’s face.
I jab his chest with my wand. “Listen, you, what kind of trick is this?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
“Are you serious? What kind of infantile statement is that?” My blood boils in my veins, and magic snaps and crackles within me.
Tail snapping behind him, he holds out his hands, palms up. “Easy, beautiful. Please don’t blast me to bits.”
I don’t even know what to do with his response. Growling, I whirl and storm away, my feet lifting from the cobblestones a few feet as I hurry away. If he won’t come clean about his little unicorn illusion, he must be using something dark. It must be dangerous. No matter what, his illusions go against the natural order of things. I can feel it in the air. It’s like a storm approaching and dropping the air pressure. And I can hear it—a high-pitched buzzing that likely no one but a witch can hear. I must tell Rustion. He will kick this fool out of town.
I pack up my things so no one can pity me. I loathe anything like that. I don’t need anyone’s kind smiles right now. I need a person of authority to take action. If Rustion won’t do it, I might have to do it myself.
I’ll probably accidentally murder the minotaur and the repercussions from that…
Well, it would be such a pain to deal with. Hiding a body. The threat of hanging. Far too much trouble. It’s time for winter fun, not managing a menace to our town. I want to ride in sleighs, make snowball cookies with Kaya, and join in on the new moon ritual that Grumlin always hosts at his tavern.
Stupid minotaur. Just the thought of that smirk of his has black smoke hissing from my wand.