1. Natalie

1

NATALIE

I was supposed to be out of here already, on my way back home.

Back to the human lands, where things work in an… explainable manner.

I drum my fingers impatiently on the armrest of the overstuffed chair, my eyes flitting around the cluttered office. Shelves overflow with ancient, leather-bound tomes that seem to hum with magical energy. Loose papers are shoved between the stacks of books, their edges yellowing from time.

A collection of enchanted hourglasses glitters in the sunlight streaming through the bay window, the sand flowing upwards in some of them. All of them emphasize how late this meeting is running.

As I glare at the hourglasses, I sense movement in my periphery. In the corner, a seemingly sentient plant waves its fronds at me in a seemingly friendly greeting.

This is too much .

I’m a practical person, more comfortable in my sleek, modern office in the city than in this eccentric den of magic. My tailored blazer and dress feel out of place amidst the quirks and clutter.

Beside me, my friend and client Ecco lounges comfortably in her chair, completely at ease. She would be, of course. She’s a siren who grew up here in the magical town of Elderberry Falls. This feels like a regular day for her.

For me, not so much. I was only supposed to be in Elderberry Falls for a weekend. Just long enough to help Ecco and her gargoyle boyfriend Graeme settle into their new home, just long enough to get a taste of the magical realm for the first time in my life before going back to my nice and normal everyday existence.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans. Almost as soon as I stepped foot into this town, I started getting pelted by magical paper airplanes. Next thing I know, I’m being told that the paper airplanes are legal documents and that I’m the beneficiary of some sort of mysterious inheritance.

From a woman I’ve never heard of before.

The clip-clop of hooves on hardwood pulls me from my thoughts. Barnabus Clover, an elderly satyr and also an estate attorney, shuffles into the room. He has a quill tucked haphazardly behind one curling horn. His mismatched socks peek out from beneath rumpled trousers as he makes his way to the desk, nearly knocking over a precariously stacked pile of papers.

“Ah, Ms. Russo!” he says warmly, peering at me over the top of his glasses. “Thank you for your patience. Now, let’s see here...”

He shuffles through the papers on his desk, mumbling to himself. I resist the urge to lean over and straighten the stack.

Finally, he pulls out a crinkled envelope and clears his throat.

“Per the letter you received via, ah, unconventional delivery, as you put it,” he says with a twinkle in his eye, “you have been identified as the next of kin to the recently deceased Myrtle Hobbes.”

Ecco nods. This was listed on the paper airplane and she was as shocked as I was. She actually knew the deceased… because of course she did, it’s a small town.

I blink, still unsure what the name means to me. As far as I know, my only relative is my mom, Elaine. My dad is dead, as are all of my grandparents. “The next of kin? Are you sure?”

“Yes, next of kin,” he repeats patiently. “While the bulk of Myrtle’s estate has been left to her wife, Velda, her town square storefront and attached apartment now belongs to you.”

He slides an ancient, ornate key across the desk to me, along with a rolled-up piece of parchment that must be the deed. I stare at them, trying to process this information. A property? Here?

A million questions swirl in my mind, but before I can voice any of them, Barnabus is already moving on, prattling about property taxes and zoning laws. I try to focus, but my head is spinning.

“Why me?” I blurt out, interrupting whatever Barnabus was saying. “How am I related to this woman? I’ve never even heard her name before.”

Barnabus blinks at me, surprised by my outburst. “Well, my dear, I’m just the messenger. Her will only said, ‘next of kin.’ The magic does the rest, finds the intended.”

Frustration bubbling up inside me, I grip the edge of the armrest. I like things to be organized, straightforward, laid out in exhaustive detail.

All this uncertainty is throwing me for a loop.

Ecco, sensing my discomfort, places a soothing hand on my arm, but it does little to ease the tension coiling in my shoulders.

Barnabus, oblivious to my inner turmoil, chuckles. “Most people are pleased to inherit property! You should think of this as your lucky day! And such prime real estate, too.” He switches out the nameplate on his desk, and now it reads Barnabus Clover - Real Estate Lawyer . “But if you decide you want to part with the building, I can help you with that too.”

I force a smile, standing and shaking his hand. “Thanks, Barnabus. I appreciate it.”

Leaning over, I grab the document and key. Its hefty brass is cool in my palm.

Worry about what I can control first , I think to myself before turning to Ecco. “Well, we should probably go check out this place I own, huh?”

As we walk through Elderberry Falls, I marvel at the stark contrast between this quaint, magical town and the city I call home. Cobblestone streets wind past cute, painted shops, most clustered around a large town square.

Everywhere I look, there’s a mix of monsters and magical beings going about their daily lives. A mermaid haggles with a street vendor over the price of a shimmering necklace, a watery wave somehow suspended in the air around her tail. A pair of pixie children flit by, their gossamer wings catching the sunlight. It’s like something out of a storybook.

As charming as it all is, I can’t shake the feeling of being out of place. My shoulders are tense, my steps are quick and purposeful as I navigate the unfamiliar surroundings, moving so quickly that Ecco has to trot to catch up.

It’s not that I dislike the magic and the whimsy. I’m not one of those humans who scoffs at anything otherworldly. My biggest client is a siren, for gods’ sakes.

No, I’m just not a fan of small towns in general. Everyone here is too friendly, too familiar . They smile and wave at passersby, stopping to chat about the weather or the latest town gossip. It’s a stark contrast to the anonymity of the city, where you can go about your day without anyone giving you a second glance.

It makes me uncomfortable.

Ecco, of course, is the opposite. She greets people by name, asking after their families and their businesses. I envy her ease, trying not to grow impatient each time she stops. This is her community, I have to remind myself.

The storefront we’re headed towards comes into view, and I slow my steps, taking it in.

“Well, it’s certainly got character,” I mutter, my mind already calculating renovation costs and resale value.

It’s a charming little building, with intricate woodwork and big bay windows that hint at its potential. But the peeling cornflower blue paint and crooked sign also make it clear that it’s seen better days.

Ecco, however, clasps her hands together in excitement. “Oh, Nat, it’s just like I remember it! Myrtle and Velda used to invite me over for tea and cookies after school. We’d sit right there in the window seat and watch the world go by.” Her eyes go soft at the memory.

I raise an eyebrow, trying to picture a young Ecco in this space. It’s hard to imagine my put-together friend as a gangly middle schooler, but her fond memories are clearly written all over her face.

We approach the door, and I slide the key into the lock. It turns with a satisfying click, and I push the door open, bracing myself for what awaits inside.

The first thing that hits me is the scent. It’s a blend of herbs and something else, something that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Magic , I realize. Traces of it still linger in the air.

I take a few steps inside, my heels staccato against the worn wooden floors. The space is generous, with plenty of room for displays and shelving, many of which still hold dusty bottles and jars of all shapes and sizes. A long counter stretches along one wall, and I can picture it lined with salves and tinctures back when the store was still in operation.

“Myrtle was an incredible herbalist,” Ecco says softly, running her hand along the counter and displacing quite a lot of dust in the process. “She could cure anything, from the common cold to a broken heart.”

In the back of the space, a narrow staircase leads up to what I assume is the apartment Barnabus mentioned. I glance at Ecco, who gives me an encouraging nod.

We climb the stairs, and I find myself in a homey, if cluttered, living space. Mismatched chairs surround a worn wooden table, and every available surface is lined with knick knacks and jars of dried plants and other mysterious concoctions.

“Did she live here?” I ask Ecco.

Ecco shakes her head. “No, at least not while I knew her. Maybe before she and Velda got married? They lived together in a cottage a short walk from here. I think this was mainly used as a storage space.”

I pick up one of the jars, examining the neat handwriting on the label. “Rosemary,” I read aloud to no one in particular, unscrewing the lid and breathing in the pungent scent. Replacing the jar, my fingers trail along the dusty mantelpiece. I try to imagine the woman who owned this, the supposed relative I never knew.

What was she like? What secrets did she keep?

Surveying the mess, I realize it’s going to take a lot of work to get this place cleaned up and sorted out. And with everything else on my plate right now—work, Mom’s health, the general chaos of life in the entertainment business—it feels like an impossible task.

“You okay?” Ecco asks, placing a gentle hand on my arm.

I force a smile. “Yeah, just... hungry. And tired. And maybe a little overwhelmed.”

Ecco nods in understanding. “I know just the thing. Come on, I’m treating you to the best muffins in any realm.”

She links her arm through mine and guides me down the stairs, back out into the bustling town square. The scent of warm spices and sugar waft towards us, and despite everything, my stomach rumbles in anticipation.

I can handle this mess. One magical muffin at a time.

Following Ecco’s lead, I head to the shop next door to the one I’ve just inherited. The sign reads “The Hungry Minotaur,” I notice, as the chimes above the door jingle merrily at our entrance.

A delectable aroma of spiced pumpkin mingles with sweet cinnamon, making my mouth water.

The bakery is adorned in buttery yellows, peaches, and warm, honeyed wood tones. Glass displays showcase an array of tempting treats—glistening fruit tarts, flaky croissants, and artfully decorated cupcakes. The towering, golden-crusted muffins immediately catch my eye.

As Ecco chats with the sprite behind the counter, my gaze lands on a familiar figure emerging from the back room. It’s Rian, the minotaur I met briefly during Ecco’s move.

In the close confines of the bakery, Rian’s large presence fills the entire space. I’d never met a minotaur before him and I can’t help wanting to stare. He’s an imposing figure, with broad shoulders and thick muscular arms straining against his flour-dusted t-shirt, all of his visible body covered in golden fur. He has a dark brown beard and wavy, dark brown hair cresting around the two giant, ivory horns that jutting off his head.

Every part of him feels shockingly male. Primal.

An unexpected flutter fills my stomach as I take in his strong features, the way his warm brown eyes crinkle at the corners when he spots Ecco and smiles.

He’s impressive, that’s all. And I’ve had a long day. A long week.

“Natalie!” Ecco calls, waving me over. “You remember Rian, right?”

I approach the counter, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickens as Rian’s deep brown gaze meets mine—a side effect of the stress, I figure, since I normally don’t get nervous meeting new people.

He smiles warmly, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Of course,” he says, his deep voice seeming to reverberate through my bones. “Nice to see you again.”

“Thanks,” I manage. “I hear your muffins are the stuff of legend.”

Rian chuckles, a rich, welcoming sound. “I don’t know about legends, but I like to think they’re pretty darn good. Here, let me grab you one fresh from the oven.”

As he turns to retrieve a muffin, I watch the muscles flex in his arms, the way his broad back tapers to a trim waist. Stop staring, I scold myself. I must have low blood sugar.

Ecco, oblivious to my inner thoughts, leans against the counter and grins at Rian. “Make it two, big guy. And throw in a couple of those cinnamon rolls while you’re at it.”

Rian laughs, the sound warm and affectionate. “Anything for you, Ecco. You and Graeme keep me in business, with that sweet tooth of yours.”

I watch their easy banter, feeling a pang of something that might be envy. Ecco is more comfortable in her world than I am in mine; even at the coffee shops and restaurants I frequent regularly, I’m not on a first name basis with anyone.

But I want that, I remind myself. I like that. It feels good, the anonymity.

Lost in thought, I startle slightly as Rian places a plate with a steaming muffin on a high-top table in front of me. The scent is heavenly, the top golden and cracked, revealing a tender crumb beneath.

“Careful,” Rian warns with a smile. “It’s hot.”

I nod my thanks, tearing off a small piece and popping it into my mouth. Flavor explodes on my tongue—the rich, creamy sweetness of pumpkin, the warm spice of cinnamon and nutmeg, the buttery softness of the muffin itself. There’s something else too, a subtle undertone I can’t quite place. Something that feels like... magic.

“Oh my gods,” I moan around the mouthful. “This is incredible.”

Rian grins, his wide mouth splitting his face pride. “Secret family recipe. Well, secret plus a little bit of kitchen witchery.”

I take another bite, savoring its deliciousness. For a moment, I forget about the storefront, about the mystery of my inheritance and my connection to Myrtle, and all the meetings I’m running late for and will have to reschedule.

All that matters is this perfect muffin.

Reality quickly intrudes as Ecco nudges my arm, her expression sympathetic. “So, what’s the plan, Nat? For the store, I mean.”

I set down my muffin, the weight of responsibility settling back on my shoulders. “Honestly? I have no idea. I don’t even know how I’m related to this Myrtle person, let alone what I’m supposed to do with her property. Part of me is wondering if this is all some fluke.”

Ecco nods, her brow furrowed in thought. “I can’t believe you’re related to her. I mean, what are the chances?” Then her face brightens. “You need to talk to Velda.”

“Velda?” I frown, vaguely remembering the name being mentioned in the midst of the satyr’s explanations.

“Myrtle’s wife. Well, widow now, of course.” Ecco’s eyes mist up a little, and she takes a sip of her coffee, seemingly to steady herself. Her voice is stronger when she adds, “If anyone can help you figure out your connection to Myrtle, it’s her.”

I’d hoped to get answers from Barnabus, but that meeting left me with more questions than ever. Asking Myrtle’s wife seems logical enough, but I’m worried it might unlock even more entanglements.

“Okay,” I relent, pushing away my empty plate. “Let’s go see Velda. Maybe she’ll have some idea what to do with the property, or at least want to keep some of Myrtle’s old things.” Removing all that extra junk would be a great help.

Ecco smiles, giving my hand a quick squeeze. “That’s the spirit. Trust me, Nat, we’ll figure this out together.”

Rian, who’s been quietly wiping down the counter, looks up with a sympathetic smile. “For what it’s worth, I think Myrtle would be glad to know her store is in good hands. She always hoped to pass it on to her family.”

His words, kind as they are, send a fresh wave of confusion and apprehension through me. I have no idea how I’m related to this Myrtle, so how is that any different from her giving the shop to a complete stranger?

I force a smile, thanking him for the muffins before following Ecco out into the bright sunlight of the town square.

As we walk, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m standing on the edge of something big, something that’s going to change my life in ways I can’t even begin to imagine.

But I’ve always dealt with whatever life throws at me and carried on.

This will be no different, surely.

The living room in Velda’s cozy cottage is crammed full of overstuffed armchairs and crocheted afghans in cheerful colors. Shelves line the walls, lined with ancient books and crystal orbs that glimmer in the light. The air is thick with the faint crackle of magic.

The cozy atmosphere helps me relax, just a little.

Velda bustles about, preparing tea, her gray braids swinging as she moves. Every so often, she casts a long, appraising glance in my direction, her expression unreadable. I shift on the plush, floral-patterned sofa, trying to get comfortable, but my nerves are wound too tight.

Finally, Velda approaches, a steaming teacup in her hands. As she holds it out to me, her dark brown skin creasing into a smile, she finally speaks.

“You look so much like Myrtle did when she was younger.” Her voice is soft and a little awed.

I freeze, the teacup halfway to my lips. “What?”

Ecco starts in surprise as well, but stays silent, her gaze darting back and forth between me and Velda.

Velda settles into the armchair across from us, her kind eyes never leaving my face. “Myrtle. Your grandmother. You have her eyes, you know. That same spark.”

The room seems to tilt around me, my world shifting off its axis. I set the teacup down with a clatter, my hands shaking.

“I’m sorry, but there must be some mistake. My grandparents are all dead. And my dad, he wasn’t... he couldn’t have been...”

“A mage? A warlock in training?” Velda supplies gently. “But Bruce was, dear. Before he left for the human lands, that is. He grew up in Witchhaven, of course, not Elderberry Falls.”

“Are you... are you sure?” I ask, my voice sounding small and far away.

Velda reaches out, taking my hands in hers. Her skin is soft and warm, her grip strong and reassuring.

“He really never told you? This must be quite a shock, Natalie. But yes, I’m sure. Myrtle was your grandmother. Bruce’s mother. Your family.”

Beside me, Ecco makes a soft sound of sympathy, her hand rubbing soothing circles on my back. I barely feel it, lost in a whirlwind of emotion.

“He said his parents were dead,” I say weakly. “My whole life. Up until he died. He didn’t want to talk about them. I never thought…”

Velda’s face hardens, a flash of anger sparking in her eyes. “Oh, that man. I’m not an angry woman but I swear, if he wasn’t already gone, I would… ooh, I don’t know, I could just curse him! It was so selfish of him to keep you from us. From your heritage.”

I shake my head, still trying to process it all.

One thing is crystal clear. My father lied to me. He kept a whole part of himself, of our family, hidden away. And clearly, there’s a lot that I don’t know about.

Velda squeezes my hands, her expression softening into one of understanding. “I know it’s a lot, dear, but you’re not alone in this.”

Ecco nods and leans toward me, support written all over her face. “We’re here for you, however you need us.”

I stare down at my hands, my mind reeling. My dead father, a warlock. My dead grandmother, a witch.

And me, a talent manager. With no living family to give me answers and no idea how to process any of this.

“I can’t believe it,” I murmur, more to myself than to anyone else. “He should have told me. I had a right to know.”

Velda settles back onto the sofa beside me, her expression sympathetic. “You did,” she agrees gently. “And now you do.”

I breathe in deeply, trying to steady myself. “So the building, the storefront...” I begin, my voice trailing off as I struggle to put my thoughts into words.

“All yours, my dear, and you can do what you want with it,” Velda confirms with a smile. “Myrtle owned that property before we started dating. She bought it when she first moved to Elderberry Falls from Witchhaven, after she divorced her husband and needed a fresh start. She was hoping her son would someday come to his senses, return to our realm, and take it over. I have our house and everything I need from our shared lives.”

She leans forward, her eyes glinting with a hint of mischief.

“And who knows? You might find the contents useful. You probably have herb witch powers too, after all.”

I blink, and set my teacup down on the coffee table with a decisive clink. “Velda,” I say, my voice carefully calm. “Do you have anything stronger than tea?”