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Hazel Primm's grandmother always said there were three things a witch should never do: dance with a vampire, trust a fairy with a bargain, or agree to marry someone whose father could literally rip your arms off.

As Hazel sprinted through the wedding venue's kitchen in a dress that wasn't made for a marathon, she was really wishing she'd paid more attention to that last one.

She should have listened when Smokie gently suggested she might want to keep her spellcasting more low-key once they were married.

She definitely should have listened when Sheriff Lawman mentioned that married witches in his jurisdiction had more traditional magical licenses.

But the final straw had been this morning, when she'd overheard this gem:

"Once the ceremony's done, you make sure that the only wand that little witch touches is yours,” Sheriff Grizzley T.

Lawman, her future father-in-law had said.

The 'T' stood for Terrifying, at least according to local legend and the unfortunate deputy who'd sneezed during last year's Fourth of July parade.

“But Daddy,” Smokie had replied. “I don’t have a wand.”

“No shit,” Grizz said. “Or any balls neither.”

It was true. And that begged the real question: Why had she agreed to marry Smokie in the first place?

At the time, it had almost made sense. He was polite, loyal, huge —and she’d thought having a bear for a husband might deter any more ex-boyfriends from showing up at her coven’s doorstep with bouquets and unresolved trauma.

But after realizing he was too dim witted to stand up to his overbearing (pun intended) father, Hazel could admit to herself that she hadn’t fallen for Smokie. She’d fallen for the idea of safe, soft, predictable love with a man that she could manipulate and not feel too guilty about.

Unfortunately, Smokie was a package deal with his father. And Grizz didn’t just want a daughter-in-law. He wanted someone else to boss around. Or more specifically, a magical subordinate with kitchen skills and no opinions.

Hazel had barely gotten through the rehearsal dinner without being lectured on “witch modesty” and the virtues of hexing barefoot. Grizz made warlocks look progressive.

Worse still, Smokie never pushed back. Not once. Every time Grizz growled, Smokie just nodded, hunched his big furry shoulders, and tried to make peace with another bowl of honey pudding.

Hazel could handle weird. She’d dated a kelpie once. But this? This was slow-motion suffocation with matching bath towels. She'd rather be single, hexed, and running for her life than married to a man whose spine had apparently been surgically removed

"Left. No, other left. Great croaking chaos, who taught you to run in a dress?

The same person who picked those bridesmaids' dresses?

Because that shade of pink was a hate crime against eyeballs," Hopper, her frog familiar, croaked from her shoulder.

“Though I guess anything's better than this wedding dress. You looked like a marshmallow that got into a fight with a glitter factory and lost.”

"Not helping." Hazel skidded around a corner, her white satin heels slipping on the polished floor. Behind her came the crash of something large and furry hitting the swinging doors.

"Neither is panicking," Hopper pointed out with the infuriating logic that made him an excellent familiar and a terrible comfort in emergencies.

Behind her, she could hear the enraged roars of her almost-father-in-law. She ducked behind a massive copper cauldron just as the kitchen doors burst open. The smell of beef stew and love potions filled her nose.

"Where is she?" the sheriff's growl rattled the pots hanging overhead. "Nobody stands up my Smokie. Especially not some second-rate witch from a third-rate coven."

Hazel bit back a retort about how her family had been brewing potions since before his great-grandpa was a cub.

The Primm family had power—real power—but three generations of increasingly restrictive magical legislation had forced them to downplay their abilities.

Better to be underestimated than regulated into uselessness.

She pulled her wand from where she'd strapped it to her thigh. Grandma's second-best piece of advice had been to always have a backup wand at formal events. She whispered a quick transformation spell.

"Finally, some practical magic," Hopper said with approval. "I was wondering when you'd realize that running for your life in a wedding dress is like trying to swim in a parachute. That dress was less blushing bride and more walking wedding cake accident.”

"The dress wasn't that bad," Hazel whispered back, watching her thousand-dollar wedding dress shimmer and transform into jeans, boots, and a leather jacket. The spell pulled more power than she'd expected, leaving her slightly lightheaded.

"Honey, even Smokie's teddy bear called to say it was too fril "Also good thing they left before I sneezed," Hopper added helpfully.

"Because I was about to blow that spell sky-high.

Dust makes me twitchy." ly. And that bear wears a tutu to bed," Hopper muttered.

"Next you'll be telling me you've got a getaway broom parked out back. "

"The broom's in the shop. Besides, I've got a better plan."

"Better than the plan where you agreed to marry Smokie I. Lawman?" The I stood for “I have serious Daddy issues.”

"That wasn't a plan. That was a momentary lapse in judgment brought on by too much fairy wine."

A clatter of pots made her jump. Through the steam rising from the cauldrons, she could see Sheriff Lawman's massive form moving between the cooking stations. His deputy werewolves were sniffing the air behind him.

"I can smell her," Deputy Jenkins announced, his tail wagging proudly like he'd just won Best in Show at the supernatural police academy. "And the prime rib."

"We need to throw this deputy a bone.”

Hazel jabbed Hopper with her finger. "Shush!"

Sheriff Lawman's heavy footsteps approached their cauldron. "Come on out, Hazel. You're only making this worse. Think about poor Smokie. He spent three weeks practicing his vows. Got them down to almost-rhyming and everything."

That did it. No more hiding. If she was going to get caught, at least she'd go down swinging. She gripped her wand. A simple stunning spell would be satisfying, but it would be illegal. A confusion charm might work, but werewolf deputies had notoriously good recovery times.

"Hopper," she whispered, "I need you to create the biggest distraction you can manage."

"Sweet lily pads, the last time you asked me to create a distraction, we ended up hitchhiking with a vampire pizza delivery guy who kept calling me snack-sized."

"Just do it."

Hopper sighed dramatically. "Fine. But I want it on record that this is a terrible idea." He puffed up his throat and let out a croak that sounded like a foghorn having an existential crisis.

The response was immediate and overwhelming.

Every frog, toad, and amphibian within a five-mile radius suddenly felt an irresistible urge to attend what they apparently perceived as the social event of the season.

They poured through open windows, hopped up from storm drains, and squeezed through cracks in the foundation.

Within seconds, the kitchen was a writhing carpet of croaking, hopping chaos.

"I may have overdone it," Hopper muttered as his distant cousins swarmed the room.

"Perfect," Hazel whispered, then pointed her wand at herself. “Velox Strideus.”

The speed spell hit her like a shot of espresso mixed with liquid lightning. Her legs suddenly felt like they could outrun a centaur, though the magical drain made her vision swim for a moment.

"That's still not proper Latin," Hopper said from his perch on her shoulder.

"Grandma always said magic responds better to enthusiasm than accuracy."

"Your grandmother also thought dating a wood nymph was a good idea. We had splinters in the couch for months."

Sheriff Lawman's roar of fury mixed with genuine confusion as hundreds of amphibians began their impromptu invasion. "What in the Sam Hill? Deputy Jenkins, why are there frogs in my crime scene—I mean—wedding ceremony?"

"I don't know, sir. They just keep coming. Should I call animal control?"

"Animal control? That's spellwork without a permit. Call the Wand Breakers. We’ve got an incident on our hands.”

Hazel didn't wait to hear more. The speed spell made everything feel like slow motion as she darted between the chaos.

A werewolf deputy lunged for her, but she was already gone, weaving past him like he was moving through molasses.

Another deputy slipped on a large bullfrog that croaked indignantly at the insult.

She burst through the kitchen's swinging doors at supernatural speed, Hopper clinging to her shoulder like a scaly racing flag.

The main reception hall erupted in startled screams as wedding guests dove for cover, though she noticed her Great-Aunt Iris calmly continuing to sample the charcuterie boards, completely unfazed by the high-speed bride.

Then again, this wasn't even the most dramatic exit from a family wedding.

That honor still belonged to Cousin Marnie and the incident with the enchanted chocolate fountain and the lovestruck bigfoot.

"You know," Hopper shouted over the wind whipping past them, "when I signed up to be a witch's familiar, the brochure mentioned mystical wisdom and spiritual guidance. Nothing about aiding and abetting a runaway bride."

"Less complaining, more navigating." Hazel dodged a startled bridesmaid who shrieked something about the bride going rogue. "Where's the exit?"

"Left. No, other left. Bog's breath, who taught you to run at superhuman speed? The same person who picked this venue? Because this place has more dead ends than a fairy tale hedge maze."

Behind them, the sounds of hot pursuit were building.

Sheriff Lawman's bellows mixed with the confused yelping of his deputies and the increasingly loud chorus of frogs that seemed to be multiplying by the minute.

The speed spell was starting to fade. Her supernatural pace dropped back toward merely Olympic levels.

Bursting through the venue's front doors like a leather-jacketed comet, Hazel left behind a reception hall full of very confused wedding guests, several hundred displaced amphibians, and one very angry bear sheriff who was definitely going to have some explaining to do to the insurance company.

And right there, gleaming in the afternoon sun like salvation on wheels, sat a black Trans Am with a minotaur in the driver’s seat.

How did he even fit in a car like that? Must be magic.

But as she got closer, the mating bond her grandmother had whispered about—the one she always thought was malarky—suddenly made perfect sense.

Because the moment their eyes met, everything just clicked into place.

This stranger, this strange creature, was her one true mate.