Charmed and Dangerous

Maeve Whisper winced as the ground shook beneath her feet, and glass shattered around her. Delicate bottles lining the shelves of the Cauldrons and Candlesticks Potions Shoppe toppled to the floor from the force of the explosion. Even though there was a silencing bubble to muffle the sound, her employers would not be able to hide the fact that they blew something up again. Though, sadly, their neighbors were used to the chaos that the Dupree sisters generated whenever they retired to their workshop in the basement. If only they would stop trying to create potions and stuck to selling supplies.
But the BrewFest was coming up, and they were determined to win it this year, after being humiliated for the past four years straight by the Rathbone brothers, who came out of nowhere five years ago to defeat the Duprees. Now they were warlocks with style and skill. Most of the witches in Grimm Mawr panted after them every competition, but they came, they competed, and they withdrew to their mansion in the outskirts, true hermits. Clearly, they thought they were too good for the likes of the witches of Grimm Mawr.
Arrogant bastards.
Not that it mattered to Maeve. She never tried to engage the Rathbones in conversation or attract their attention. She could barely speak to the warlocks she knew, much less the Rathbones. She was happy hiding behind the counter of Cauldrons and Candlesticks, avoiding the crowds. Sadly, this year she’d been roped into volunteering to test the potions at the annual BrewFest. Again. There was only one way to know if the potions worked and that was to test them. After they were tested to ensure they wouldn’t cause harm, then local townspeople volunteered to show if the potion worked. Fortunately, they also had bezoars on hand in case there was a reaction and they needed an all-purpose antidote. So it was as safe as it could be.
She pulled her curly red hair back into a ponytail and surveyed the damage. Glass littered the floor and had to be cleaned before anyone came in and got hurt. So, she grabbed the broom, non-magical variety of course, and the dustpan, and started cleaning up the shards of glass littering the floor. Really, the sisters should switch to something less breakable than glass if they insisted on continuing to experiment with their potions. But their customers preferred to put their supplies and potions in glass, so the Duprees needed to experiment elsewhere or get better at their potions, or they’d bleed more money in lost products.
She bent over to sweep up the shattered pieces of glass and the front door flung open, slamming against the wall, making the sides of the building shudder under the force. Maeve jumped for the second time in fifteen minutes and dropped the dustpan, the pieces of glass scattering at her feet.
“What the hell are those sisters doing now?” A voice bellowed from the doorway and she shrunk back against the desk, then scurried behind it, staying low and out of sight, hoping he didn’t see her.
Damn it. It would have to be Saul Grimsbane, the grizzly bear shifter from the Honey Buns bakery two doors down. He terrified her, with his six-foot-eight frame that towered over her. He had shaggy hair, a perpetually snarling expression, and big bear energy. Every time she crossed paths with him, he always seemed angry with her, even when she had done nothing.
Though, he also was devilishly attractive, with dark, chocolate brown eyes, thick hair that made her want to run her fingers through it, and a body that seemed hewn from a boulder. While part of her ducked and shook, it wasn’t all fear that made her quake. Whenever she saw him, a low heat curled deep in her belly, that sometimes made her wonder what it would be like to be the sole focus of his desire. Then he opened his mouth. That big mouth that seemed to come with a side helping of ginormous foot.
A heavy sigh, then a gigantic face peered over the counter, the shadow of his body blocking out all the light. “Why are you down there?”
She tilted her head up at him and snapped, “Because you’re scaring me, you big jerk.”
He recoiled, giving her some space, but the scowl remained firmly in place. “I wasn’t trying to scare you, little mouse. What are those sisters doing now? Trying to blow up the block? Pretty soon we’ll have a hole in the ground where our shops used to be.”
She took a deep breath and stood, locking her shaking knees and steeling herself. “They’re practicing for the BrewFest.” There. Her voice was calm, collected, no trace of fear at all.
He snorted. “Like they have a chance in hell of winning that. They’re more likely to blow us all up. Where the hell are they, anyway? Could it be too much to ask for that they ended themselves in this last attempt?”
She gasped. “How can you say that? They’re wonderful women and very kind to everyone. They may not be the best potion makers, but they’re known for their healing potions.”
How dare he insult her bosses like that? The Dupree sisters may not be the most talented, but they certainly weren’t the worst. That honor went to the Vonner twins, who disappeared after the last BrewFest in a puff of noxious gas. No one knew if they died, opened a portal to hell, or vaporized themselves. They just vanished. At least they only took themselves. And the Duprees often donated their time and supplies to people who needed it.
Though, to be fair, Maeve made many of their healing salves and potions and sold them here. Tempest’s strength was in hexes and charms. Phoebe was tolerable with potions, but tended to get distracted. And Fleur was better with her soaps and scented perfumes.
Saul seemed to have calmed down marginally. “Hopefully, I never need one of their potions.”
She smirked. “Your sister buys the burn salve from the sisters. Why do you think you don’t have any scars?”
His look of horror was perfect. Then he narrowed his gaze. “Why are you afraid of me, mouse?”
“Maybe because you call me mouse.” She hated to admit that the nickname hurt her feelings.
“Then don’t act like prey.”
“I’m not prey,” she replied indignantly.
He leaned forward, a smirk on his face. “Then don’t act like it.” He straightened and scowled at the closed basement door. “Tell the sisters to stop their experiments.”
And he turned and stormed out with a final building-shaking slam of the door.
Maeve let out a shaky breath and leaned against the counter.
“You really need to stand up to him, Maeve,” Phoebe Dupree said from behind her.
Maeve jumped again, her heart barely started from the last fright. She turned to face the kindest of the Dupree sisters. Phoebe was the middle sister, the peacemaker, smoothing over every rough patch for her sisters. And there were quite a few.
Fleur was barely twenty-five years old, the baby of the family and closest to Maeve in age, yet somehow felt the furthest apart from Maeve. She was sweet and fun, yet a flirt and tease around town, knowing for liking a good time and trying to get Maeve to join her, which Maeve did not. Tempest, the oldest sister, was thirty and more inclined to issue orders and expect them to be done forthwith and exactly as she directed, whether she was clear or not. Phoebe was the middle sister and spent most of her time making peace between them all and trying to smooth out issues with suppliers created when Tempest pissed them off or Fleur broke their hearts.
Maeve much preferred to deal with Phoebe. “I didn’t see you there. What do you mean?”
Phoebe smiled gently. “Saul. He’s a bear shifter and divides people into two camps. Predator or prey. You are prey until you stand up to him. He’ll leave you alone once you do that.”
“I think I’ll take the third option and avoid him. What happened downstairs? We lost more bottles.”
Consternation flashed across Phoebe’s face. “Just a minor mishap with our potion entry in the BrewFest. Nothing serious. We have it all under control now. Why don’t have a nice cup of chamomile tea to settle your nerves?”
Phoebe bustled over to the teapot and used a burst of magic to ignite the flame under it.
Maeve scowled and settled on the stool. “I’m not an old woman who needs to be treated delicately. I won’t break, you know.”
Phoebe turned, a small smile on her face. “I know that, Maeve. You just need to find your courage. I’m confident that you will. You just need some time.” She brought over two cups of tea, handing one to Maeve. “Here you go, just the way you like it.”
Maeve took a sip of the hot liquid. She gasped and shuddered. “It’s a little bitter. Did you put any honey in it?”
“I did, but this is a new batch of chamomile. Maybe it’s too strong. Let me get you some more honey, dear.” Phoebe liberally added more honey, and Maeve sipped it again.
“Better. Thank you.” She wasn’t really a fan of chamomile. Her father used to make it for her all the time to keep her calm and out of his way while he worked. But she didn’t want to disappoint Phoebe, especially not the way Phoebe was studying her so carefully.
Once they finished it, Phoebe seemed disappointed. She slid off the stool. “Feel better? Good. I’ll leave you to it then. Let me know how that new chamomile works. It’s a special new leaf.”
Maeve barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She hated being their guinea pig. “I will. Thank you for the tea.”
“My pleasure, dear.”