How to Stone a Crow (Witch Like a Boss Book 2) by Willow Mason (great novels txt) 📕

spell to produce groceries would never need to use it because they’d never forget to buy food in the first place. That logic could only show me in a bad light, however, so I restrained myself, launching into the obvious question instead. “Who’s Vi—”

“Uh-uh.” The supreme held a finger to her lips. “If you were on your way out to lunch, I won’t keep you.”

Paisley sat back on her haunches. <Where are we going for lunch?>

My eyebrows arched at the question. “There’s no we about it. I’m popping across to the bakery for a treat. I’ll grab some milk for you—”

<And a salmon and cream cheese bagel. I’m staaaaaarving. I don’t think I’ve eaten for three days.>

Genevieve snorted. “I’ve fed you twice already, and I only picked you up at nine o’clock this morning.” Turning to me, she added, “You should drop by the Ambrosia Café. They’ve got a special on this week for cruffins with Earl Grey cream.”

My stomach growled with pleasure at the suggestion, even as I tried to act nonchalant. “What’s a cruffin?”

“Half croissant, half muffin, all good.”

It sounded delicious.

Paisley sidled up to rub herself against my lower leg. <Cancel the bagel, I’ll take one of those. Violet only ever keeps healthy food in the house and I quite fancy a treat with the year I’ve had.>

I cast my eyes toward the supreme, wondering if I should dare to ask about the cat’s rough year. In response, she mimed a phone at her ear and mouthed, “I’ll tell you everything later,” before she skedaddled out the door.

Great. Left without an instruction manual. “I’ll see what I can do. Annalisa, would you mind keeping an eye on our new arrival while I pop out?”

Paisley’s mouth opened in alarm. <You’re not leaving me alone with that giant! It’s feline bullying. I want to come to the shops with you.>

“You can’t. They don’t allow pets in cafes and I can hardly tie you up outside.”

<Your tote.> The cat raced over to my voluminous handbag and crawled inside, fitting into the confined space like her body was liquid. <See, no problems.>

“Fine.” I pulled out my wallet, trying not to disturb Paisley too much. Judging from the amount of hair that dislodged during the brief contact, she was deep in shedding season. “But keep your head down while we’re in the café, all right?”

Paisley ducked down, muttering, <Like I want to be seen in public with you.>

“You’ve left the front door wide open again,” Patrick chided as he strolled inside, a leather strap holding one of his paranormal detection machines securely across his chest. “We’re going to give our potential clients the wrong idea if we don’t beef up security.”

“How’d it go?” He’d been out on a consultation, hoping to secure a contract from a new fixtures and furnishings shop that had set up in Briarton just a month or two before I arrived.

The ever-so-hipster owners had refurbished an old dentist’s office for their enterprise, keeping a host of original fittings to lend the appropriate air of authenticity to their store. What pain and fear had to do with selecting taps, I didn’t know, but the heart wants what it wants.

Ever since their grand opening, the poor dears had been inundated with a soul dragging sadness that seemed to leak out from the walls. After attempts at brightening the décor and overhauling the merchandise had proved fruitless, someone had suggested they give us a call.

“There’s something supernatural at play,” Patrick said with an enormous grin. “My meter was ticking off the charts. Very exciting. And…” He pulled a cheque out of his back pocket. “Ta-da. A deposit.”

I stared at the slip of paper in dismay. “You realise we don’t have a bank branch here, right? The hole in the wall isn’t going to be happy when you shove that into its slot.”

“They’re still set up for cheques, for another few months.” Patrick removed his machine, setting it delicately on the table. “I phoned them before taking it.”

“Hm. Well, tell our new clients the next payment better be by direct deposit, no matter what their core belief system is.” I took the cheque out of his hand and examined it closely. “I don’t understand how this ever became a thing. It’s just an IOU with a bank account printed on it.” My suspicion turned to outrage when I saw the date. “This is for a fortnight from tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Running a store full of sorrow doesn’t help with upselling clients, but they’ve promised me they’re good for it.” Patrick wrinkled his face. “In a few weeks.”

I folded the cheque, about to put it in my purse when Paisley stuck her head up, frowning with distaste at the interruption to her promised lunch.

“Um. Why is there a cat in your handbag?” He held out a finger for Paisley to sniff, then froze, perhaps realising that if Annalisa could use a cloaking spell, so too could our new arrival.

“The supreme has designated us as her new foster parents.” I tilted my head to one side. “Or rather, you, since I have my hands full with Annalisa.”

<Hands full… Yeah, right. I practically run this entire household.>

“I hope she’s paying us for this.”

“Oh, she’s good for it, in a few weeks.”

“Touché.” Patrick picked up his machine again and wandered into the office.

<Good. Now, can we get going? Cruffins don’t eat themselves, you know.>

Annalisa shook her head and sauntered over to the window seat, collapsing into the pool of sunlight. <What kind of cat eats bakery items when they could be eating meat?> She fell asleep before Paisley could respond.

Somebody knocked on the door and I glanced that way in surprise. In the past few weeks, I’d grown used to everyone I knew just bowling in whenever they felt like it. “Coming,” I yelled when it became obvious that Patrick wasn’t moving a muscle to answer.

A bedraggled middle-aged woman stood on the doorstep, her face flushed, and her hair tied back in a ragged ponytail, lumps and bumps protruding