Payback's a Witch (The Witches of Thistle Grove #1)

by Lana Harper

The night air gusted against my face, smelling like an absolute of fall; woodsmoke and dying leaves and the faintest bracing hint of future snow.

I love fall soooo much.

Healing magic felt wonderful; comforting and somehow ineffably luxurious, like an aromatherapy massage complete with one of those gingerbread-scented pillows warm under your neck.

I looked up to see my mother on the ancient porch swing on the back deck, snug in a cozy bathrobe and fleece slippers, a mug of something steaming in her hand. It was almost eleven, but my mom was a big fan of stretching her mornings as far as they could go.

I told her how I’d taken to going on long midday walks to savor the fall weather; wandering in and out of the familiar tourist traps on Yarrow Street, getting lunch at Golden’s or the new sandwich place with the incredible falafel wraps. Dipping into the funky coffee shop Talia had taken me to, exploring the new galleries, jewelry stores, and boutiques that had sprung up in my absence. I’d even picnicked by myself next to Lady’s Lake, in sunshine so pure it felt medicinal, and taken a book and a hot chocolate to the town cemetery like I’d once loved to do, whiling away an entire afternoon. Slowly falling back under Thistle Grove’s spell without even putting up a fight.

I could tell she wasn’t speaking English, but the bespelled mirror had a Babel Fish effect; I had no trouble understanding every word.

Cheers, Douglas Adams!

Places from the past are usually much smaller than you remember when you return to them years later, shocked that they’d ever managed to command so much space in your brain at all.

Then the Blackmoore matriarch’s shrill voice pierced the quiet, Igraine being terminally incapable of calming her tits in any situation not proceeding according to her design.