“All the world needs is more donuts,” my best friend Aggie told me as we headed up the stairwell to her new apartment. “There’s something for everyone. Bear claws, cream-filled, gluten-free, and those pyshki ones your mom bakes.”
I wrinkled my nose as Aggie cradled a sack of groceries in one hand and a box of donuts in the other.
If only those custard-filled, happiness-in-a-bite confectionaries had such power. Donuts were notorious for being gooey, germ-laden morsels or rock-hard lint traps.
“Just you wait.” She adjusted her goodies. “I heard that Bashful Brownies Baking Company has a new selection of enchanted cake donuts. Just one nibble and you’ll forget carbs or calories even existed.”
I balanced the boxes in my arms and kept smiling. If one of those donuts could magically haul her stuff up these stairs, I’d be game. “Where did you find the furniture for the place?” I asked.
“Actually, like the humans, I used my persuasive personality to get a deal at Furniture Mart.”
“That’s good.” We made it up yet another flight of steps before I said what was truly on my mind.
“How come you don’t want to live in my old house?” I said, only a little hurt. “Is it the plastic bins I store there?”
Aggie never minded my collecting—well, hoarding habits —before. Just mentioning my stuff brought the tidy rows of packed away holiday cheer to mind and shame followed.
She carried the bag of groceries up the steps, and I hurried behind her. “You know it’s not that. I need a fresh start. Your old house has got too many memories of him.”
I sighed, knowing by him she meant Will, her former boyfriend. Aggie had returned to South Toms River a couple of weeks ago, then her ex-husband had kidnapped her. Will swooped in, kicked some ass, and rescued her. I still hadn’t asked Aggie about what had happened the night Will had saved her, but that conversation would happen sooner or later.
Maybe a pizza, donuts, and ice cream night at Aggie’s new place would lighten her mood.
We finally made it to Aggie’s new apartment on the fourth floor. I dropped my box off to the side and sucked in the cool air. June had come to a roaring end this past weekend, and now we were into the first week of July. This month promised sweaty armpits, incessant mosquitos, and burnt toes on pavement. A delightful summer, I say.
I swept my gaze over Aggie’s home. She had a top floor studio apartment with a bunch of nice perks: skylights, an open floor plan, oak floors, and a fresh coat of white paint. (Give me the clean slate of a painted wall any day.) The faint scent of cigarette smoke lingered near the balcony, but other than that, I liked the place.
While Aggie hefted sacks of groceries onto the kitchen island, I couldn’t help but ask, “So is there a reason you’re in the same apartment building as Erica?”
Aggie snorted. “South Toms River is a tiny town even for New Jersey. The selection left little to be desired.”
With the hum that only a mother carrying her children would make, Aggie stuffed four to five servings of food into her fridge. I held in a laugh. I didn’t bother griping about her overeating habit, and she supported me while I worked through my obsessive-compulsive disorder.
“Does she know you’re moving in?” I asked.
“She’ll know when she comes home from work.” Aggie winked at me.
I gave her a wary look.
“Chill, Nat, chill. People change. Erica might be ready to change, too.”
“Maybe.”
“Are you worried Erica and I are going to become BFFs? Maybe we’ll polish our nails and binge Netflix variety shows?”
That got a laugh out of me. “That doesn’t sound like your kind of thing.”
“Maybe not now, but who knows? You really need to learn how to trust others.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Yes,” Aggie admitted, “she tried to force Thorn to marry her.”
My eyebrow rose at the mention of my husband, and I waited for her to keep going.
“And she mocked you five ways from Sunday.”
I folded my arms. Might as well accept the reminders and let them bounce off.
“But in the end, you came out top dog.” She tapped my shoulder. “You’re alpha female and you have Thorn. It’s time for you to move on. Make peace with those who have wronged you.”
I snorted. She had a point, but what could you do when a shit-ton of people pissed in your backyard, walked away with a middle-finger salute, and then you’re stuck in the aftermath?
Speaking of hands… “Have you ever painted your nails?” I asked.
She opened a bag of dill pickle chips and tossed one into her mouth. “When I got married,” she said dryly. “So, when do you have to report in at the demon’s store?”
“Don’t remind me. I can’t believe I got myself into this mess.” Back when the Basilisk King wreaked havoc on the town, I broke into a rival flea market to buy—yes, I broke in and left money—an item crucial to uncovering who was behind the attacks. In the process, I angered the flea market’s owner, a goblin named Kramkar, and I became indebted to him for a favor: a limited employment agreement.
But that wasn’t the fun part.
I learned I wouldn’t work at Kramkar’s store; he made another deal and hurled me toward another store. Good God, these supernatural creatures tossed around deals like Halloween candy.
I glanced at my watch. “T-minus six hours until I have to show up. This is my first job at a twenty-four-hour shop.”
Aggie’s reddish-blonde eyebrows rose. “Feeding the shopaholics all night long, huh? Sounds like the perfect place for you.”
“The prospects of getting my shop-freak on whenever I want sounds divine, but I’m not so sure about demons. Have you ever met one?”
“Probably. A lot of the ladies I’ve met on the Upper East Side are probably demons. They raise hell if little Johnny or Jenny don’t get into one of those upper-crusty boarding schools.” She offered me a chip, but I passed. “Look, the Basilisk King isn’t a threat anymore. Just put on your big-girl panties, march on in there, and sell some shit.”
All that sounded easier said than done. Less than a month ago, Thorn had left town for a conference. Not long into his absence, all hell broke loose as mysterious trunks showed up around town. My friends and I learned that the trunk hoarder, the Basilisk King, was a part of a magical shift happening. The Great Northern Fairy Path shifted southward and brought magical mayhem of epic proportions to our doorstep.
Even with the Basilisk King gone, I’d learned the hard way that when you think you’ve cleaned the dog shit off your shoe, there are more piles out there to step in.
At least all I had to do was work at another supernatural store for a while. A week should be easy-peasy.
“You’ve faced some pretty crazy shit,” Aggie said with her mouth full. “I’m betting you’ll either make some extra cash on the side, or you’ll buy half their stock.”
I flashed her an I-doubt-it look. As tempting as shiny, holiday-oriented treats could be, many of them might be possessed or something. The last thing I needed was a haunted pair of Christmas shears cutting holes through my Santa Loves Me sweaters.
