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“That was not a coven, Wren Salem. It was a holistic gardening group, and we were brewing herbal remedies.” “You were stirring a cauldron and chanting in unison while passing around an expertly rolled blunt.” “It was a spring simmer pot! And—” Another scoff. “And you had to be there to get it.” She shrugs.
Left of Forever (Spunes, OR, #2)
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