Jodi Redford - The Seven Year Witch

Scooting her chair closer to the desk, she opened her day planner and eyed the massive amounts of entries with an impending sense of weariness. Just because her days were numbered didn’t mean everything else was coming to a standstill. No, the exact opposite. With the upcoming Autumn Equinox festival less than a month away, there were a gazillion things that needed to be done, like yesterday.

The packed schedule staring back at her was a glaring reminder that the coven would have a near-impossible chance of surviving without a mistress. Her top priority was finding a replacement, and soon. She rubbed her temples, the entries in the planner blurring on the page. The most logical choice would be Fiona. Besides being the most responsible of the local coven sisters, Fiona held the distinguished honor of being the great niece of Gertie Howard—Clarissa’s predecessor and former mentor.

Gert’s legendary dogged persistence was the prime reason Clarissa had decided to take over as head mistress when Gert announced she was retiring to a life of leisure.

She resisted the urge to snort. Who was she kidding? It’d pretty much been Gert’s decision that she take over. And once Gertie Howard made her mind up about things, life had a funny way of aligning itself to do her bidding.

Maybe that’s what she should do. Channel her inner Gert so she could convince Fiona that taking over as coven mistress would be the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. Yeah, that plan sounded much better than the alternative—begging on bended knee, followed by bribery involving excessive amounts of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts, Fiona’s personal Kryptonite. She tapped her pen against the planner in contemplation. The phone resting on the corner of her desk suddenly released a shrill ring, jerking her from her musings and causing Izzy to twitch and give a sleepy woof .

Tossing aside the pen, she gave Izzy a reassuring pat with one hand and snatched the phone from its cradle with her other. “Hello?”

“Clarissa? It’s Marabella. I hope I’m not calling too early, but I was too excited to wait. I think I’ve found the perfect place to set up shop. It’s on River Street, with the most fabulous views and location. And it even comes with its own upstairs apartment. Everything is telling me that I’m meant to sign on the dotted red line so I can get the keys and start living my life.”

The sound of Marabella sucking in a deep breath carried across the line and Clarissa used the opportunity to gently nudge into the younger witch’s tidal wave of exuberant chatter. “Yes, that all seems better than wonderful, but do you think maybe you should sit on it for a day or two? At least let someone you trust look over the lease agreement first.”

“Well, now that you mention it, I was sort of hoping you could help me out with that. Pretty please? With cherries on top?”

Clarissa stared at the opened day planner and the endless other things she should be concentrating on at the moment. Giving a resigned exhale, she picked up her pen so she could jot down the address for the River Street shop. “Do me a favor and make sure those cherries are soaked in plenty of brandy.”

Exactly an hour later, Clarissa left Marabella to finish signing the lease agreement on her newly acquired storefront and walked outside. She dug her keys from her purse and swore beneath her breath when they slipped from her fingers and fell on the sidewalk. Stooping, she reached for the key ring, but her attention snagged on the display in the front window of River Front Books, stalling her in her tracks.

Staring back at her was a framed print of a priest in red robes clutching a book. The astonishing part—and what held her complete attention—was the mountain in the distance. It bore a striking resemblance to the one that’d been depicted in all of the paintings in Seven’s mansion.

Her heart pounding, she blindly dropped her keys back into her purse and pushed open the door of the bookstore. An elderly gentleman with kind eyes and snowy white hair offered her a welcoming smile. “What can I do for you, young lady?”

“Your display in the front window. What is it for?”

“Ah, you’re referring to our Dante collection. He’s our featured author and poet of the month. Are you familiar with his works?”

Unconsciously gripping her purse tighter, she shook her head.

“Then I would be honored to give you a brief tutorial.” Behind his thick spectacles, his eyes twinkled. “Don’t worry. I promise not to make this too dull or boring.”

He offered his arm in a gallant, courtly manner, and Clarissa allowed him to lead her toward a section of the store a few aisles back from where they’d stood. The smell of old leather and parchment wafted to her nose, embracing her in a familiar, soothing hug. Her thoughts immediately turned toward the massive volumes of books in her office back at the coven house and the endless hours of enjoyment she’d found between their pages. There’d been numerous times when she’d considered those books her best friends. Particularly during those bleak, painful years prior to her leaving home to live permanently at the coven house. The years that refused to budge from the cobwebbed recesses of her memory, despite her best efforts to exorcise them. Unnerving silence snapped her back to the present and she realized her companion was looking at her expectantly. She dropped her gaze to the book in his hands and read the title. The Divine Comedy .

It took several heartbeats for her brain to register the connection. Comedy. Commedia .

“Dante’s most famous masterpiece.” The man passed the book to her. “It’s heavy reading, but well worth it.”

Her fingers trembling, she brushed the spine with her thumb. Could it be possible? Did this book hold a connection to the one back at Seven’s mansion? And if it did, was there some clue inside it that could shed some light on Seven? Help her defeat it? Almost afraid to believe any of her hopes could be answered, she peered up at the shopkeeper. “I’ll take it.”

A hard rap on the cottage’s sliding glass doors bolted Logan from a sound snooze. “Wha?” Shaking the sleep gremlins from his head, he stared blearily at the fuzzy outline of Kegan Justice through the pane of glass. The bear shifter had his fist raised, clearly ready to pound the door again. Logan leapt off the couch with an irritated growl. Fucking heads were gonna roll for waking him from a damned good sex dream about Clarissa.

He stalked to the sliding glass door and after springing the lock, rammed it open. Kegan’s gaze immediately veered to the obvious tent pole in Logan’s shorts and he grimaced. “Jesus, could you put that thing away?”

“What the hell are you doin’ here, Justice?”

“Constance bought a new display cabinet.”

Logan scrubbed his forearm across his jaw. “That naturally brought you here why?”

“You own the truck that’s going to haul the old unit to the donation center.”

What a fucking coincidence. He also owned the balls that were undoubtedly gonna be busted in the process of hefting the damn cabinet. He was half tempted to tell Kegan to find another willing chump, but then he remembered that Clarissa was supposed to be helping Constance mind the store today. “Give me a sec to throw on some clothes.”

Sweeping his attention once again to Logan’s groin, Kegan grunted. “Yeah, we don’t need you taking out low-hanging power lines with that fuckin’ thing.”

“Blow me.” Tuning out Kegan’s excessive cursing in reply to that invitation, Logan traipsed to his bedroom and got dressed in record time. Less than five minutes later, he and Kegan were cruising toward Savannah in the pickup.