Fruitcake and Familiars E-Book

Sierra Cross

• Herausgeber: Sierra Cross
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Hazel needs a miracle and only Elliot can help ... but will their budding romance survive his secrets?

Deputy Elliot James is a walking—and flying—contradiction.

A loner crow.

An outlaw cop.

A shifter who shows up to events on time and dressed appropriately, more or less.

Hazel’s struggling to come to terms with Elliot’s complex double life. She’s got trust issues and who could blame her, after a magical upbringing more screwed up than Cinderella’s?

But now Granny Sage, Hazel’s beloved mentor, lies helpless in a magical coma.

With her Beige Witch relatives scheming to sell off Gran’s cozy cottage, Hazel's only hope is to join Elliot on a dangerous forest trek to find Gran’s cure.

Can their quest survive an onslaught of chaotic forces -- from wintry mix to Elliot’s array of supernatural exes to the epidemic of vanishing familiars around town?

If you like witty, witchy, cozy mysteries and paranormal romantic comedy, escape to the sea-swept village of Blue Moon Bay.

Leseprobe

Copyright © 2023 by Sierra Cross and Enigmatic Books

All rights reserved.

Cover Design by Arcane Covers

Interior Formatting by Qamber Designs

“To therapy creatures, large and small”

Ordinary girls, non-witches, that is, spend their high school years crushing on the hot star quarterback. The smooth-talking class president. Or the stoner dude with perfectly messed hair who’s popular for reasons no one quite understands … till he starts losing said hair at twenty-seven, dons khakis, and becomes a grumpy insurance salesman.

Looking at you, Beau Batowstki.

Me? My crush was a tall, dark-eyed loner who turned out to be a supernatural thief.

Granted, almost no one in Blue Moon Bay knew the truth about Elliot James. Those who did were criminals themselves, longtime members of the shifter gang he ran with as a teenager. But even his old friends were convinced he’d left that life behind after his own crow elders — as punishment for his crimes — stripped Elliot of his shifter magic.

No one ever knew how he got his powers back.

Ironically, these days people knew Elliot as Deputy James, AKA The Law. A hardworking young officer serving justice.

And burning up his tan uniform.

Oh, yeah, the last ten years hadn’t just made Elliot better at hiding his criminal activities. They’d also made him hotter. Annoyingly hot.

To his credit, he never seemed to notice or care how many women checked out his “assets” when he stopped by my bakery each morning for his usual coffee order.

Grande drip as black as a crow’s wing, if you’re wondering.

I shivered in the four a.m. December cold, wishing I’d thought to bring him one of his stupid, gross-tasting, macho coffees out here.

It might not have kept our conversation from cratering, but the steaming cup could have saved me from frostbite while I waited in the dark for Elliot to reach the edge of Corvid Woods on his jogging route. In shorts.

We stood face-to-face in the false dawn. Elliot’s arms were crossed over his chest defensively, his gaze so close to a glower it wasn’t easy for me to meet his sharp, brown eyes. Snow flurries confettied happily down all around us like they hadn’t gotten the message that the party was cancelled.

Things, like I said, weren’t unfolding in an ideal manner.

“You didn’t come all the way to the woods just to call me out.” His voice was controlled, a forced light tone, but his eyes smoldered with barely held-back rage. “What are you really after, Hazel?”

 “I told you. I need your help to save Gran.” My mentor Granny Sage had lost her magic — for much more heroic reasons than Elliot. Since she was an elder witch, her magic was entwined with her life force so deeply that it seeping away had put her in a coma. My voice faltered. “She’s in real bad shape, Elliot.”

His gaze softened a little. “I know what she means to you.” Aaaand right back to glaring. “How much do you need then?”

Whoa. “What?” I took a step back into a giant snowdrift, freezing my left heel and cursing my choice to wear sneakers. “What are you talking about?”

“How much money do you need to hire a witch doctor?” His voice was low and tight, like he was trying to hold a volcano inside him from going off. “If that’s what you meant by me ‘stealing back’ your gran’s magic, all you had to do was ask. You didn’t have to threaten to out me.”

I blinked. “Is that what you think? I’m shaking you down?”

My throat burned with hurt — and a little anger. How could he think that little of me, that I had it in me to extort him, after all we’ve been through together? From the way we’d slow danced ten years ago on Grad Night, like we were the only two people in the world, to how he’d just days ago steeled himself to let me turn him invisible to solve a crime, even though he obviously had major trauma around witch magic.

Elliot was a complicated man, but at the deepest level, where it counted, we were on the same side. He’d proved that.

“I would never tell a soul your secret,” I said fervently.

He leaned back against a tree, shoulders relaxing a millimeter. “Good,” he said. “Let me cover your gran’s medical bills anyway. One less thing for you to worry about.”

“That’s kind of you, but she’s beyond doctors.” Tears stung my eyes, and the lump in my throat grew, but I was determined to get the painful words out. “She’s … down to her last drop of magic.”

Instantly, his warm hand was on my shoulder, squeezing it, rubbing my arm. His touch felt so warm, and the black pepper scent of his skin that would normally drive me crazy with desire smelled comforting. But I was afraid I’d cry all over him.

Mutely, I shook my head and he took his hand back, his expression somber.

“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “Wish there was some way I could help you.”

“I think there is a way.” I looked into his eyes, which were no longer angry but only filled with sadness and concern. “Elliot, I know that you lost your own magic once.”

Elliot looked down at the snow, his face flushing deep red. The strength of his reaction stunned me. After a decade, had he still not made his peace with that punishment? Disgrace in the eyes of his fellow crows had been temporary; since he became deputy, the whole murder bragged on him like he was a celebrity in the family.

Yet I sensed that somewhere inside him that old shame burned on.

“My only point is, you got it back,” I said quickly. Somehow. “Whatever you had to do to regain your magic, I’m willing to do the same for Gran. Just show me how. I’ll do anything.”

He ran his hand through his short black hair, an exasperated curse escaping him. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

I bit back my own frustration. How could I know when he wouldn’t let me in? Even now that I’d discovered his big secret, he still seemed to be holding back. The moments of openness between us were always intensely sweet and powerful; I craved them. But they were few and far between.

Now wasn’t the time to let loose the torrent of my personal feelings. If there was any chance left in the world for Granny Sage to see the new year, that chance was in Elliot’s hands.

“So tell me about it then,” I implored him. “What are the steps I have to take? How do we bring Gran back?”

His voice turned cool, steely. “There’s no ‘we’ in this. I’ll handle everything.” He gestured to the lot where my truck was parked. “You go to work.”

I stared at him, confused. What just happened? Suddenly, Elliot the cop was back. Logical, dependable, protective of me. Too protective.

Emotions warred inside me. Elliot’s agreeing to help made me grateful. Hopeful, for Gran.

And super damn annoyed.

The man’s go-to was to shut me out. Every freakin’ time.

Frankly, it was giving me deja vu from when he told me I wasn’t a detective and had no business solving crimes. But whatever, he’d come around on that.

I’d just have to change his mind again.

For now, what mattered was that he was in, right?

“Don’t worry. I got this for you,” Elliott went on, oblivious to my internal tug of war. “Now get out of here. People need their life-changing muffins and scones.”

“Are you patronizing me right now?” I put my hands on my hips. Despite the grimness of the moment, his hyperbole was goading me. “Don’t try to act like you’re a fan of my bakery. You won’t even try our salt-rocky-road cookies.”

“Only because they’re like crack,” he threw back at me, his stony face twitching to reveal his own amusement. “The whole Bay knows you can’t eat just one. You’re a threat to my macros, witch.”

Okay, I couldn’t help but grin at that backwards compliment to my baking skills.

Truthfully, Elliot’s strict diet mystified me. As a shifter, he could be washing down donuts with soda all day and still beat any regular human in an Iron Man competition, but he was obsessed with protein and hydration. Weirdo.

“Right. I forgot,” I snarked. “Your stomach’s the one part of you that has scruples.”

Oof. The sudden hurt in Elliot’s expression told me, too late, his thieving ways weren’t an appropriate subject for teasing. I twisted my hands. “Crap. That came out wrong … ”

“It’s okay. I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” he said quietly, “but I’d hope you knew by now that I live by a code of honor. You may not like what I do, but it’s in service to a higher cause.”

“Great, well, far be it from me to argue with a man’s code of honor.”

“Great.” Elliot regarded me with a patient look. He knew I was itching to argue.

“It’s just … ” I lasted one entire second before I tore into his pretzel logic. “How can you justify bad deeds with good intentions? Yeah, I know it’s cool these days to delve into the murky waters of moral ambiguity and whatnot,” I added, “but I guess I’m old-fashioned.”

Elliot shook his head, looking incredulous. “You pose as a common baker and do magic on people without their consent.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Taking away someone’s cranky mood is hardly the same as robbing them,” I said. “You know I’m just doing my best to navigate two very different worlds, magical and ordinal.”

“Exactly,” he snapped. “Now imagine if you had to navigate four or five worlds … shifter, vampire, gang rules, laws, civilian rules. Then maybe you won’t judge me so harshly.”

I scoffed at his attempt to put this on me. “You know you don’t have to be a thief, right? Can we agree that you’re making a choice? Or are you going to tell me next you didn’t steal the money from Drew Kensington, that it just jumped into your bank account?”

That earned a grim chuckle. “Oh, no. I took that fool’s money.”

Pride flashed across his features, and for the first time I wondered about his motive. As a teenager, Elliot was an anti-vampire radical, but he wasn’t the same angry young crow these days. Hex, I’d witnessed him handing over a chunk of that money to a destitute and hunted pair of newblood vampires.

So was he some kind of shifter Robin Hood? Did he steal for fun? Or was this political — one more skirmish in the ancient war between fur and fang?

Who are you, Elliot,behind all the masks?

It was on the tip of my tongue to say it out loud, but his face was telling me to back off. Now wasn’t the time to get into it, not when he’d just agreed to help me save Gran.

“Okay.” I held up my hands to show I was moving on. “How about you just tell me what the plan is to get Gran’s magic back?”

“How about you go bake your crack cookies.” His smile was not friendly. Joking over. “No more questions, witch. I’ll tell you when the job is done.”

“Wait, seriously?” I didn’t get to ask even one basic question about the most important operation in the world to me, saving Gran? I was just supposed to go along and trust him, a known liar? “Why are you still being secretive? I don’t get it.”

“Don’t you?” A dark note entered his voice again, bitter as his coffee. “Let’s just say I can protect a good citizen like you from any … inconvenient knowledge, so you won’t have to face moral quandaries.” My face must have looked clueless because he added, “In case helping your grandmother calls for breaking any laws.”

I gasped. “What laws? Magical or ordinal?”

“Hypothetical,” he snapped. “The point is you don’t need to know.” He paused and his features sank sadly in his face. “You don’t need to sully yourself.”

Panic flooded me. “Elliot, this is about Gran. I need to be in the loop. I have to know what’s happening!”

“You’re going to need three rare materials for the ritual to restore her magic.” His voice was cool. “I’ll obtain them and hand them over to you, end of story.”

“Uh, wow, yeah, that doesn’t work for me at all.” My heart was pounding. I’d thought we were close to an agreement, to helping Gran, but this was crazy. “If I don’t even know your plan — ”

“You don’t get a say, Hazel.” His voice was quiet, but I felt his anger erupt in every syllable. “You don’t get to question my methods. You don’t get to lord it over me that ‘I’m living a lie.’ Take the deal or leave it.”

I thought back to all the times I’d taken some version of this deal from him. Let him be the cop, the protector. Let him run the show. This time, I couldn’t take it. This was Gran’s life we were talking about. “No, Elliot. I can’t agree to your terms.”

Elliot drew in a breath, and in the tense silence, I reflected on how many times recently I’d earned his respect by standing up to him. How much closer we’d gotten solving crimes together, as partners.

But when he looked at me again, his eyes were cold. “Then go find some other thief to do your dirty work.”

Needless to say, I was in a foul mood that afternoon when I pulled up to 333 Fern Lane, just as the sleepy winter sun dipped below the horizon.

There wasn’t a sliver of parking in Gran’s driveway, not between my mother’s gleaming white Benz and Bea’s Godzilla mom-mobile. I scouted a spot on the next block, hurled my Santa hat across the front seat of the truck, and slammed the cab’s door behind me.

It had been a grueling Sunday, starting from the moment Elliot turned and sprinted away from me faster than an Olympic runner. To add insult to injury, he looked really damn good in those shorts.

My heart hurt, and my face hurt, too — from smiling at holiday tourists and faking good cheer while all I could think about was Gran. You’d think that sympathy from the locals would have made it better; our regulars knew Gran was unwell and their compassion was real. 

Too real: it made me break down in tears in the bathroom twice. Before I knew it, instead of the hearty winter squash, farro, and pomegranate salad I’d planned for lunch, I was devouring a rich slice of our Yule log. 

At nine o’clock in the morning. 

Oh, well. Sad girl plus dessert was a classic combo for a reason.

And besides, I did eat the salad, too. At nine-thirty.

The bare-branched plum tree in Gran’s front yard pulsed with silvery-green magical holiday lights. Each year Gran enchanted those lights with a long-lasting magic spell that made them look extra fancy to witches. Tonight they featured the shapes of various fruits and candies, very Gran. As I approached, I felt a mild ping of Green Magic and wondered morbidly if this was the last spell of hers I’d ever see.

When I glanced up at the tree, its empty branches struck me as forlorn. Lonely.

Great, I was projecting my dark mood into trees.

As I climbed Gran’s creaky front steps and slipped in through the unlocked door, a female voice barked out from the front bedroom.

“ … Unacceptable. No bog-standard, cookie cutter facility is going to cut it, do you hear me?” My mother was scolding Bea, a rare event. “We must go high end. It’s a matter of pride.”

My heart pounded. She’d mentioned putting Gran in a nursing home, but I’d shut it down hard. Not hard enough.

At least she wanted it to be a super luxe nursing home?

“Of course, Mother,” Bea said in her smooth, diplomatic, suck-up voice. “I just thought adding a budget option for venues would be smart, since we’re already splurging on wardrobe, catering, and a florist.”

Wait. Catering and a florist? Good lord, they weren’t talking about a nursing home. They were planning their annual solstice party. The Beige Witches Ball, as I’d always thought of it. 

In Gran’s bedroom, while the woman lay unconscious. 

“I’m not stressing cashflow this year,” Mother said ominously. “Did you download those comps from the real estate agent like I asked you to?”

“I … had a Zoom call with her, actually.” Bea sounded hesitant. Was she capable of feeling shame? She’d always been the closest thing to an ally I had back in Mother’s house, but that wasn’t saying much.

“What did the realtor say?” Mother pressed her. “Too dated. Too ‘Grandma’? Did she use the word ‘teardown’?”

My pulse thumped in my ears. So Bea and Mother were at Gran’s very sickbed plotting to sell her house out from under her and take a wrecking ball to it.

Gee — sarcasm quotes — I wonder where my trust issues came from.

“Mother, she didn’t say any of that.” Again with Bea’s gentle voice. “Kaila thinks this place would go, like, tomorrow as is, not for a flip. It’s ‘darling cottagecore.’” She named an impressive sum, and my stomach felt sour. 

Livid, I marched right in, up to the old white, twin sleigh bed in the corner where Gran lay under a quilt and patted her listless hand.

“The two of you monsters aren’t selling Gran’s house with her in it,” I fumed.

“Whoa, Hazel … ” At Bea’s blush, I felt grim satisfaction. “I didn’t mean literally tomorrow.”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant. Granny Sage is going to live many more years,” I declared out of sheer desperate wishfulness. “Healthy years. Powerful years.” 

After making this pronouncement, which left both my mother and sister speechless, I looked away from them and focused on tucking the quilt gently around Gran’s shoulders. It rose and fell reassuringly with her breaths. Though as I looked at her ashen skin, I couldn’t help but notice those breaths seemed shallower.

For the third time today, tears filled my eyes. 

“Oh. Honey.” Mother reached out her toned arms toward me but stopped and grew a strangled expression as if she wasn’t sure whether to pat my head, squeeze my hand, or hug me. “Do you … ” She began, hesitant. “Do you … need a … anything?”

I shook my head and walked out of the room.

In Gran’s cozy sitting room, family pictures and silly embroidered sayings hung all over the green, floral-print papered walls. I looked up at a photo of Gran and me from the Oregon Coast Bake-athon five years ago where my calming lavender rose cupcakes won. Gran’s hefting the trophy in one hand while the other is raised with mine in victory. I’m caught mid-blink at the burst of flash … but Gran’s looking straight at me. With pride.

I let the tears fall, sobbing softly. 

I didn’t even hear the footsteps approaching from the hall, only a sharp yipping sound, and then Bea’s perfumed embrace surrounded me. As I hugged her back without thinking, I met the teddy bear face of a very fluffy, beribboned Pomeranian glaring indignantly from Bea’s bag.

“Was Lana del Rey in your purse the whole time?” I blurted out, wiping my eyes. Mascara stained my wrists. “I can’t believe you didn’t try to talk Bea out of this horrible house-selling plan, Lana.” 

“I assure you, it’s not my idea,” Bea said in a hushed tone. “But you know Mother — if someone tries to fence her in, she doubles down. No one can ever tell her no.”

I looked at my sister’s earnest face. Bea meant well, most of the time, and she couldn’t stand to have people mad at her, but I wasn’t about to let her off the hook so easily. “That doesn’t mean you have to help her.”

“It does,” Bea said, ducking her head. “I’m literally her assistant.”

I tilted my head. “Oh, yeah.”

It was easy to forget that Bea worked for our mother’s event planning company. It was part-time, with nebulous hours and duties. It seemed like Mother had never taken the company seriously; it was more like a hobby.

Well, until now.

“Is she having a midlife crisis or something?” I said.

“Uh … ?” Bea cringed, her gaze darting to the hallway. “I … I don’t think we should talk behind her back.”

I rolled my eyes. “You brought it up.”

“I know. I’m walking a fine line here,” she pleaded. 

“Between what, kissing Mother’s ring and licking her Manolo Blahniks?”

Bea shot me a look of betrayed hurt, but I shrugged it off. Let her enjoy all the perks of being Mother’s favorite.

Bea’s familiar yipped again. It was uncanny how she could act like an ordinary dog when she felt like it, but the furry little being was so much more. She was a benign nature spirit that had lived thousands of lives as a witch’s familiar and would no doubt live thousands more. Any animal body she commandeered would live a long life and behave in a way that was tamer than most others of its breed, thanks to her presence.

Which is why I was shocked when Lana del Rey growled at me.

“Wow, seriously?”

“It’s not you, Hazel. Lana del Rey has been acting weird all day.” Bea frowned down at her pet. “She won’t even talk to me. She’s stressed to death about this party planning.”

I was about to tell Bea she was textbook-example projecting, when Mother’s stilettos tapped down the hall. I looked up to see her looming behind the worn, flower-print settee, arms folded rigidly so she didn’t touch anything old.

“My Cher’s acting just as crazy as Lana, but the other way around,” she said dryly. “She’s been pestering me for a plus one.”

Given that Cher was a chihuahua with dumbo ears, that would be funny under normal circumstances. But things were far from normal, and I didn’t feel like sharing a laugh with Mother, not when she was acting so selfish — even more so than usual. 

“How about we don’t talk about your fancy party?” I said. “Gran’s lying in the next room — ”

“My goodness, Hazel. I was merely joining the conversation.” Mother’s hurt tone almost made me forget that she’d ignored my point. “While we’re still on the subject,” she added breezily, “are you going to be using your plus one?”

I blinked. “Unbelievable. What, are you going to give it to Cher?” 

“Mother,” Bea stage whispered. “I begged you not to bring that up. Hazel doesn’t want to talk about her date for the party right now.”

“Thank you.” I felt the slightest tug of guilt for giving Bea such a hard time.

“She is deeply heartbroken,” my sister went on, and I nodded along, “over losing Bryson.”

No longer nodding, I tilted my head, mouth ajar as if I hadn’t heard right. But of course I had.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get more infuriating, they had to go and mention my charming, passive-aggressive fiancé — of twenty minutes.

My parents had thought he was A-plus husband material, so of course he’d turned out to be a con artist. And a literal demon. (Gran called that one.)

“Please, you think I’m pining for that fraud?” I laughed grimly. “He’s, like, an embarrassing youthful mistake.”

Though, if you want to be super technical, it was last month.

“Darling, don’t pretend to be tough.” Mother’s voice was suddenly serious. “No woman’s ego is immune to the pain of being unceremoniously devalued.”

“I left him, actually?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll bounce back,” she said, “but first you have to land. It’s nature’s law.”

“That’s not a law of nature. It’s just kind of obvious?”

No one was listening to me, but in fairness, I might have been muttering under my breath and not making much sense. Even when my Beige Witch relatives were trying to be helpful — I think? — they had a way of making me feel like I was still fourteen and trying in vain to keep up with some trendy hair magic while the perfumed scent of their spells made me dizzy. The calmer their condescension, the faster I lost my ability to fake being okay.

“Sorry, Hazel. We really didn’t mean to upset you.” Bea made a sympathetic noise in my direction. “Grief takes many forms. Some of us deal by throwing ourselves into a project. It’s a hard time, but the show must go on, right?”

Her wan smile was clearly meant to placate me, and it almost did. She wasn’t wrong about grief. But was I supposed to believe that Mother, who’d never had one kind word for Gran, was devastated at the thought of her loss?

“Yes, I can see how much you two are struggling,” I said, folding my arms across my chest and realizing I’d forgotten to remove my flour-coated apron, “ … to plan the black-tie party of the year.”

Mother splayed frosted-sand manicured fingers over her heart, her face an artful blend of confusion and affront. “Why, what would you have us do, cancel a tradition?”

“Yes, cancel!” I said, and Lana del Rey yipped in agreement — at least I thought she was agreeing.

I couldn’t actually understand what other familiars said to their witches. Their conversation occurred telepathically.

Mother blinked at me, then blinked again. And again, till I began to fear she was having some sort of seizure.

Bea’s hand was patting her arm. “It’s okay, Mother. It’s okay. No one’s taking away the beautiful party. The beautiful party’s safe.”

Watching my sister, I marveled at how she had molded herself into our mother’s handler. Knowing when to step forward and hold her up. Knowing just exactly what to say, even if it was cringy nonsense.

Mother’s blinking conniption ceased. Her gaze fell on me, defiant. “That’s right, Hazel. Like it or not, Cher and I are throwing this party.”

Bea’s champagne-blonde lob tilted. “Don’t you mean Bea and I?” she said.

Mother’s eyes darted to the left as she shrugged, furtive, like a small-time criminal.

How did I even survive eighteen years of living with those two? Hecate’s left nostril, I’d have lost my mind if it weren’t for Gran and my trusty invisibility mints — and my refuge at Max’s house.

 “Cool,” I said, willing my voice to stay at an even keel. “Cool cool cool. Hope you enjoy that cheap, basic venue. Because you two are not selling Gran’s house out from under her.” Ignoring Mother’s sharp intake of breath, I added, “Honestly, setting aside the tackiness, you don’t even know who she’s bequeathing it to!”

“Do you know?” Mother said sharply.

I focused on the blue butterfly upholstered on Gran’s loveseat. “Uh, no … ” I lied.

Years ago, Gran had told me she was indeed leaving her house to them.

As a consolation prize to distract them from the fact that she’d willed me the bakery.

And all her savings.

And everything inside her house.

Except the breakable things; she knew me well.

But telling them all that now would surely make things worse. What if they started the sales process immediately, out of spite that I was inheriting more?

There was, however, one truth I could and should reveal.

“You need to know,” I said, “that Gran told me she’d give me power of attorney once I reached age twenty-one. That means you can’t put her in a nursing home, not without my permission.”

I was expecting another blinking fit, but to my surprise, Mother’s confidence didn’t waver.

“Oh, honey.” She gave a fly-swatting wrist flip. “Gran loved to say stuff, but writing it down? Not so much.”

Bea pursed her lips, clearly trying to come across as neutral. “It’s true,” she said. “Gran never updated her Power of Attorney from when you were a minor. It’s still in Dad’s name.”

I shook my head. “That’s not possible … ” 

But it was very possible. Green Witches and paperwork, not a match. Oh, Gran. Just like Bea, our dad always did whatever Mother wanted him to. 

How could I help Gran now? 

“Excuse me.” Without waiting for goodbyes, I rushed out the front door into the drizzling rain.

I drifted home in a funk. Slammed the car door on my skirt hem. Slipped on my wet, herbal lawn in the rain and landed on my butt.

One of these months, I really needed to take the time to put up a stone path, but just the thought of perusing the dozens of options for river rocks and borders made my anxiety roar to life. The thyme kicked up a savory scent as I picked myself up and trudged into my empty cottage. I flicked on the light, hung my poor, overstuffed purse on its hook, and walked all of seven steps to the kitchen to turn on the cat-shaped tea kettle.

Britt’s Mini hadn’t been in the driveway; she was getting dinner out with her three newblood vampire mentees tonight to try to help them find jobs. Even though I’d been hinting daily to her that my place wasn’t big enough for two, that she could return to her own apartment anytime now that we’d caught the vampire hunters … I had to admit my house felt emptier right now than it ever had three weeks ago before she started staying with me.

Lonelier.

I plopped down on the couch, scowling at the depressing pile of bills and grimoires on my fireplace mantle. Normally I lived for holiday festivities, but this year I hadn’t bothered to decorate. In the corner where in past years I’d displayed a quirky, colorful tree was a stack of Kelley Blue Books from the library. I kept meaning to look at them, but buying a used car seemed like an overwhelming task right now, even if I knew giving Graham back his stinky truck would be a win for us both.

The tea kettle meowed, and I stood to go grab my favorite mug. Digging through my tea collection, I felt unsatisfied with all my go-to blends. Nothing sounded comforting enough for the level of gloom I was facing down. I pulled out every tin, jar, and box, knowing in my heart exactly what I was looking for and came up with it in the very back of the cupboard.

A gold tin from our own Sage’s Bakery.

Bewitching Comfort, with its gentle sweetness and a subtle cheer-up spell, was Gran’s special concoction for the holidays last year. She’d made this batch with blossoms from her potted orange trees and sweet woodruff from her backyard shade garden.

And, of course, with her own powerful magic.

I had just this one tin left. Should I save it for a rainy day? Well hex, wasn’t it already raining?

The boom of thunder outside startled me so hard I laughed despite myself. I moved fast to batten down my kitchen windows before a torrent of icy rain crashed my pity party.

Then I sat on my couch with the tea that was Gran’s love in a cup and sipped until I had the guts to call Elliot. Whatever terms he wanted, he’d get. I’d give anything to save Gran, no matter how difficult the crow made it for me.

But my call was shunted to voicemail. Had he turned off his phone? I left a rambling message begging him to call back, then I texted.

Please do this for my grandmother, and I will never ask anything else of you again.

Just say something, okay?

I get that you’re mad at me, but you can’t ghost my grandmother. Or she’ll BECOME a ghost and HAUNT YOU.

I’m calling you. Please answer.

Again, it went straight to voicemail, sending me into a panic — and a plate of ginger snaps.

It was unthinkable, but I had to face facts.

This time I’d pushed him too far, and for once, he wouldn’t come around.

Elliot had blocked my number.

“Sold out?” The teenager in a Blue Moon High letter jacket ran his fingers through his messy blond hair and frowned as if he hadn’t heard me clearly. “How can you be sold out of fruitcake?Does anyone even buy it?”

“Sorry, is there anything else I can help you with today?” I said, trying not to sound irritable and impatient, though there were a dozen people in the after-school rush line behind him. “Cranberry scones just came out of the oven,” I added.

“No, it has to be fruitcake.” The customer looked put out. “It’s for a joke gift. Guess everyone else had the same idea.”

“Hey, buddy. Fruitcake’s no joke around here.” Max spoke up from her comfy coworking booth, which she was sharing with Britt today. “Hazel makes hers with marzipan frosting, cinnamon-wine-bathed raisins, and citron she candies herself. After the last bite melts in your mouth, you will radiate good cheer.”

“It’s clearly your first time in Sage’s Bakery,” Britt added, “but it won’t be your last.”

The customer made a snorting noise. “Only because I have to come back tomorrow morning for the fruitcake.” He paused a moment. “Whatever, since I’m here, I guess I’ll take a scone. They do smell good.”

“Great, we also sell them in four-packs,” I said.

Kade’s hand hovered over the iPad screen, waiting along with everyone else in the bakery for the kid to catch up and acknowledge reality.

No one could eat just one.

“I’ll take a four-pack,” the teenager said, his voice cracking in defeat. “And a four-pack of salt rocky road cookies, too.”

“You only live once,” I said, though according to Gran it was way more complicated.

After Kade rung up the lad and sent him off, I adjusted my Santa hat and took my break, sitting at the big booth with Max and Britt. I wolfed down a strawberry-lemon oat bar with a cup of chai, then caught them up on my traitor family’s latest antics.

“I can’t believe they’re still having the party with Sage in a coma,” Max said, then frowned. “And yet I can.”

Britt reached across Max for the last oat bar. “I don’t know. ‘The show must go on’ is a legitimate grief response. Hazel, do not glare at a vampire,” she lectured with her mouth full. “That’s asking for trouble.”

“I’m not glaring. It’s more of a pointed look of judgment.” I averted my eyes nonetheless. “Anyway, there’s a good chance Gran will have recovered by then, so it’s fine.”

From the corner of my eye, I caught Max and Britt giving each other significant looks. They were worried about me. Thought I was in denial.

Of course I was.

Last night and this morning, I’d checked my texts and voicemails obsessively.

I had to believe Elliot would come around, that Gran would be saved by a miracle.

That I wouldn’t have to deal with the cursed solstice party.

“You could just not go,” Max said.

I laughed. “Boycott Mother’s party? Good one. She’ll take it as a personal betrayal,” I added, “and be salty about it all next year and complain about me to the whole family.”

Max looked thoughtful. “Have you ever considered just cutting them all off, going no contact?”

“Cut off my own family?” Was she nuts?

“Well, on a scale of one to ten,” Max said, “what value do they add to your life?”

“Max-y,” Britt said in a singsong voice, “don’t tell Hazel truth she’s not ready to hear!” She patted my arm and smiled impishly. “I have a brilliant idea … Ask Elliot to be your plus one, as an emotional support shield.”

“Huh,” said Max, whose major trigger was her friends dating her brothers. Elliot wasn’t a blood relative, but they’d grown up together and considered each other siblings.

I waited for her to veto Britt’s idea, so I wouldn’t have to.

“Huh. You’re a, Britt. He’d make a great shield!” Max snapped her fingers and pointed at me, excited. “And Elliot totally gets it about screwed up family dynamics.”

“He does?” That made me curious to know more about Elliot’s crow shifter kin. Maybe they had more in common with my family than I’d first guessed. After all, for stealing, they’d stripped a teenage boy of his magic. Forever, from their point of view.

Warm and fuzzy, they were not.

“Crows are complicated birds,” Max said, as if following my train of logic. Though as far as I knew, she had no clue about her honorary brother’s criminal ways or the punishment they led to. “He’d understand.”

“Plus, your sisters would be so envious of your hot, lawman date.” Britt fanned herself. “He’d be your midnight kiss.”

In a parallel universe where I hadn’t mortally offended him.

I played with the chipped manicure on my pinky nail. “Yeah, I don’t know if Elliot wants to kiss me these days.”

“Hazel, come on!” Britt said. “The way he looks at you — ”

“Bruh, even I see it,” Max backed her up. “And I don’t want to see it. I’m related to the guy.”

In my apron pocket, my phone buzzed, and I scrambled to grab it, hope flaring wild in my heart … till I looked at the screen and saw a text from my dentist’s receptionist:

Press C to Confirm your cleaning appointment Wednesday at 3 PM. As a friendly reminder, we charge 100% for no-shows. Note: if you must Cancel, do NOT press C.

“Augh.” I dropped the phone back in my pocket. “Let’s talk about something other than stupid Elliot.”

Britt narrowed her deep-brown eyes. “What? Why?”

Because I found out his secret and pushed all his buttons, and now he won’t take my calls, and I may have lost him and Gran forever.

“I don’t know,” I muttered.

What could I say about the situation when his big secret wasn’t mine to blab?

Still, it felt weird keeping something big concealed from my friends. Lately, those two ladies were coming through for me, more than my sisters ever did.

I brightened. “Hey, why don’t you two be my dates for the party?”

Max shuddered. “Please, no. Beige Witch small talk is always so … so … ”

“Barbed? Passive-aggressive?” I stacked my plate and saucer and stood. “Six-dimensional chess to strategically deliver a middle-school insult?”

Max nodded. “Yeah, that, plus the food will suck, but you should do it,” she told Britt. “Could be a feeding frenzy for you. All those unsuspecting art and fashion twits doing Whole 30 detoxes. Their blood must be as pure as organic strawberries!”

“Delicious as they all sound — ” Britt could barely hide her grin. “ — I won’t be in town for the holidays. Driving up to Portland this weekend.”

I gasped and sat back down. “So you and Graham are still together?”

“No … ”

“So you split.” Max nodded sagely. “I share an ex with a vampire.”

“Well, we didn’t officially break up, because we weren’t officially a couple?”

Max tilted her head. “Confusing.”

“Yes,” Britt wailed. “I don’t know what’s happening. That’s what we’re hoping to clear up with this visit.”

“Fine, you and Max both suck,” I said. “I don’t want to face this party alone.”