1. Luna

ONE

luna

L et's pumpkin spice things up a bit , read the sandwich board out front, complete with a drawing of a coffee cup and a scone. I smiled, knowing my sister would love it. Girl was obsessed with all things pumpkin.

Flicking on the lights, I took in the space, inhaling the smell of sweets and coffee beans.

It was a smell that instantly made me feel like home.

But maybe that was just from all the hours I'd spent here, whipping up new confections. After all, it was my bakery— the Witches' Brew. Years ago, I'd started it with the help of my sister. We had a pretty good thing going: I baked, and she did, well… everything else. I was probably biased, but she was the best barista in town. Willow never had to ask me twice when offering me a drink.

I loved this place. It was mid-October, and the entire storefront was decked out with Halloween decor. As soon as the air chilled, I'd started decorating. Pastels, because who said Halloween couldn't be cute? Bats were taped to the front windows, little paper ghosts hung from the ceiling, and orange string lights lit up the outside. Those barely scratched the surface of how in-depth my theming went.

Though once the season got in full swing, decorations were the last thing on my mind. I'd barely been able to keep my sugar cookies in stock the last few weeks. The Pleasant Grove townsfolk were constantly selling me out of the adorably frosted, spooky designs. Pumpkins, bats, black cats… the only limit was my imagination.

Luckily, in a town of witches, that wasn't too hard.

The sun hadn't even risen yet, but like always, I was here, ready to turn the ovens on and lose myself in a batch of cookie dough and a bowl of frosting. The refrigerated display case was empty, ready for me to fill it.

Of course, it helped that my commute to work was a whopping one minute since I lived in the one-bedroom apartment over the bakery in downtown Pleasant Grove. This morning, I'd pulled on a pair of jeans and a pink t-shirt that said Boo, You Whore with an adorable ghost on it. My pale blonde hair was pulled back and braided into two French braids. I'd only applied a light application of makeup on this morning to cover the dark circles under my eyes.

Even with the nippy October air, I hadn't bothered with a coat—one of the biggest perks of living right downstairs. Plus, I tended to overheat being in the kitchens all morning.

Grabbing my apron and sliding it over my head, I started my prep work in the kitchen. With the flick of a wrist, drawers and cabinets were opened, objects flying around me and settling onto the countertops.

I let myself get lost in a flurry of flour, sugar, and butter as the aroma of freshly baked goods slowly filled the air. Thank god for industrial mixers—they were practically better than magic. Maybe. It was close.

By the time I'd looked at the clock again, it was almost seven, and the bakery case out front was full. While I made fresh baked goods every day, I also kept a stock of popular items in our large fridges.

The tinkling of keys in the door alerted me to my sister's presence, and I attempted to brush some of the flour off my apron.

Willow finally shuffled into the kitchen, blinking back a yawn. "She's alive," I said with a hand flourish that made the air whoosh past her.

"Coffee," she muttered, dropping her stuff. "I need coffee." My sister was wearing a green sweater dress with tan heeled booties, and had left her light brown hair down, letting it fall in loose waves around her face.

I'd always loved her hair, given my own was stick-straight. Even with copious amounts of product, it would never hold a curl. Still, I hadn't given up yet. One day, something would work, right? Until then, I'd just be jealous of hers.

Willow went out front, fumbling with the coffee machines. When she came back into the kitchen, it was with two steaming mugs in her hand. She handed me one, and I took a small sip, careful not to burn myself.

The floral tang of the lavender latte exploded on my tongue, the sweet flavor overriding my taste buds. Delicious . Swiping my tongue over my lips, I caught the leftover foam before setting the mug down.

"That's better," she groaned, eyes shut as she took a long drink from the mug.

"Not getting much sleep, Wil?" I asked, teasing her.

"Shut up, Luna," my sister muttered, though there was no bite to her tone.

"Is your new houseguest keeping you up?"

She looked into the cup of coffee, her cheeks pink as I grinned .

At the beginning of the month, Willow had adopted a black cat named Damien. I'd encouraged it since she'd seemed lonely lately, living in our childhood home all alone. Only later the next week, she'd surprised me by showing up with a dark-haired man with the same name on her arm to our town's annual Pumpkin Festival.

I wasn't dumb. I could put two and two together. Clearly, there was magic behind it. But why hadn't she asked me for help? The idea still stung, though she hadn't approached the coven, either. But that was Willow. Headstrong and determined. A trait the Clarke girls both shared.

Even if she'd been avoiding the topic of conversation about what had happened altogether, something was happening between them. I could feel the change in her heart.

She cared about him. And wasn't that the most dangerous thing of all?

My sister was quiet, so I just carried on. "I'm just happy you finally agreed to go to the bar with me."

I'd bought a new dress recently, and I desperately needed to let loose. I loved my job—loved my life—but I wanted to forget about everything for one night. Wanted to get happy drunk and dance my ass off in the Enchanted Cauldron.

That way, I didn't think about the dreams haunting my sleep—the vision of those golden eyes that I just couldn't shake off.

But mostly, deep down, the feeling that something was missing in my life.

Willow relaxed at the subject change, running her fingers through her hair. "Me too. It'll be fun. Sorry I've been so MIA lately."

I waved her off. She'd given up everything to help me start my dream. We'd bought it together, but she'd taken on both running the storefront and playing barista until we'd been making enough to hire staff. So, I didn't blame her for taking some time for herself.

Sometimes I still felt bad for moving out and leaving her in the big house that our parents had left us, but I'd wanted to feel like an actual adult instead of letting her take care of me. And I didn't mind living alone much, especially considering that I saw most of our little town's residents every day. The Pleasant Grove residents couldn't resist one of my scones, and I'd happily take their money to do what I loved.

"I'm okay here. Plus, I have Eryne." We'd hired the short-haired ginger last year as a barista. She was an enormous help, especially when Willow was busy with ordering supplies and bookkeeping. Lately, she'd been closing the bakery down on her own, letting me head upstairs since I'd been up before the sun.

Secretly, I thrived in the night. I always felt like I had my best ideas when the moon was still high in the sky.

Like it somehow called to me.

To the magic in my veins.

Or maybe it was just the only time I felt comfortable letting it free.

I'd always been different. For as long as I could remember, I'd always had strange dreams. Hazy visions of moments that hadn't happened yet. Things that didn't quite make sense.

And I knew things. Things I couldn't explain.

What sort of witch didn't even understand her true magic?

A sorry excuse for one. One who could have become a powerful seer but had chosen something safe instead. Something comfortable. Something that felt like home.

That was how I'd chosen to become a baker.

Flicking my fingers to pull a cookbook off the shelf with magic, I moved my finger in the air to swipe through pages till I landed on the recipe that I was looking for .

"What are you doing?" Willow asked, watching me rumble through cupboards, using my powers to pull out bowls and then the flour, sugar, and everything else I needed.

"Making another batch of scones."

I didn't normally make lemon lavender scones—my favorite—during October, but Willow's coffee had inspired me, and maybe it would settle the restlessness in my gut.

That, and drinking a lot of alcohol tonight.

Shrugging, Willow left me to it, tying on her apron before heading back out to the front to serve the citizens of Pleasant Grove, who'd be arriving as soon as we opened the door at eight sharp.

After dumping all the dry ingredients in my bowl, I tried not to think about my dream from last night. The one that always started the same way. A flash of dark hair. Golden eyes. Mighty wings that unfurled in front of me. A palace that I was sure I'd never seen before.

A shiver ran down my spine. Those eyes had always followed me. Sometimes, in the darkness or when I was alone, I thought I'd see them looking back at me.

And yet, when I looked again—they were gone.

I had a feeling I'd see them again. I always did.