Bewitched Brew: Bigfoot Bay Witches, #2 by Cat Larson

Author:Cat Larson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cat Larson

Chapter Eleven

Where is she?

I clutched the red coat, staring out the window. It was going on thirty minutes, and Clare was late. I understood that she was working, and there could’ve been an influx of customers who hadn’t allowed her to leave, but I was more than impatient to get this over with.

More than impatient to get to Violet.

Desperate to put an end to the senseless spell that was wreaking havoc six ways from Sunday.

I cradled my Fernando-filled purse, vowing to never, ever, ever let him out of my sight again. Unless he was sequestered in the bedroom, guarded by plastic hawks while I was right in the next room.

I’d resigned to the fact that he could change colors to blend in with his surroundings. I could handle that. What I couldn’t handle was him morphing into a different frog species at the drop of a hat. I couldn’t be out in public and have my purse swell up like a bloated cow.

And what if he was able to go in the opposite direction? Could he make himself smaller? Just exactly how tiny did these things get anyway? I could lose him altogether.

I smacked my palm to my forehead. The other day… Sage… she’d mentioned seeing something little and blue. Could that have been Fernando? Had he shrunk down enough to slip underneath the closed door?

I unzipped my purse and gave him a stern look. “You need to stop this, Fernando. How do you expect me to take care of you if I don’t even know what you’re going to look like from one moment to the next?”

His two-lidded eyes blinked twice, then his neck puffed up and he broke out into a sweet, soothing song. It reminded me of softly ringing sleigh bells.

Oh, Fernando.

I didn’t know if that was his version of an apology or an admission of guilt, but it placated me all the same. Even though it’d looked fishy when he’d turned into this beast of a frog right when Griffin asked me to kiss and make up, I couldn’t prove Fernando had done it intentionally.

When he’d finished singing, I stroked him on the back for a few minutes before zipping him back in. Another glance out the window showed no sign of Clare, so I took advantage of the extra time to find Violet’s stash of mugwort.

There was none out front, initiating a trip to the supply closet. The labeled jar contained a few small sprigs; it was better than nothing, so I shook them out into my hand and went back out to find something to hang them with.

I couldn’t recall what Violet had used to secure the herb to the door frame. When I’d come into the shop that first night, they just seemed there, as if dangling of their own volition. They’d been much fuller and larger too, not like this puny greenery I held between my two fingers.

After finding some tape behind the counter, I dragged over a chair and hopped up to stick them to the door frame.

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