Witching You Weren’t Snowed In (Witching You #2)

Chapter 1

Sage

The meteorologist looked into the camera and scratched the back of his head. His normally chipper tone was thick with confusion. “Well folks, what can I say? Mother Nature can be unpredictable, and the storm we experienced earlier today came out of nowhere.” He coughed and cleared his throat, then scraped a hand over his paisley tie. “It’s been a wild November so far with record snow totals.”

I winced as a chart of historical data filled the screen and waved away the approaching waiter so I could keep watching the news on my phone. The man veered to the next table with his giant tray of shrimp, making my stomach growl in protest. Unfortunately, the shrimp had to wait.

This was bad. Real bad. Graphs didn’t lie. But the unusual forecast wasn’t proof the accumulating snow was my fault. There were plenty of reasons for the sudden storm and none of them had to do with my family’s magic. Though I had to admit, if you paired our history with past weather trends, that graph would be awful telling .

The most recent event can be traced back to my cousin Tif. She claimed responsibility for a seasonal drought following her cursed journey through the wonders of online dating. Her experience gave new meaning to the term dry spell.

There have been other occurrences with various relatives—a hail storm here, and a windstorm there. However, it all started with a torrential rainstorm after my great-grandmother was accused of using witchcraft during the highly competitive flower show at her hometown’s spring festival.

She literally rained on their parade.

Not intentionally, of course. The weather manifested itself based on her emotions. Which was why I suspected the surprise snowstorm blanketing the city was a coincidence.

Because I was fine.

No, not just fine, fantastic.

After years of hustling, I was one of the top agents at my office, dedicated to granting holiday miracles and seasonal wonders. Think festive matchmaking and the oddly frequent need to save Christmas—an epidemic, if you asked me—but it made for good job security.

So far, I’d saved historical landmarks from evil conglomerates, planned my share of holiday festivals, and even saved a reindeer. No, it wasn’t one of Santa’s, but the ones in the zoo are waiting for their shot.

Thanks to my high completion rate and the secret intel I’d gathered from the office rumor mill, tonight, I would become the youngest agent to receive corporate’s most coveted award: Agent of the Year .

Assuming no one questioned my last case. And possibly the one before that. The reviews were still out on those.

But again, I was fine.

I mean fantastic.

“Here’s your drink!” My best friend Delia singsonged as she shimmied over to our table carrying a stemmed glass filled with red wine and a frosty cocktail.

I closed the weather forecast on my phone and forced a smile before I collected my glass of wine. Soft music and the hum of conversation flowed around us in the whimsically decorated lounge. The party planning committee had outdone themselves this year.

Twinkling lights were strung throughout the room, giving off a magical glow, while colorful faux leaves hung from invisible wire as if falling from above. In the corner, a fountain spilled sticky caramel alongside a tray of apple spears, and next to it, a massive charcuterie board had been ravaged.

Somewhere, the shrimp cocktail guy still roamed.

Tonight’s party was the kickoff to the agency’s busy season. Even though our main headquarters was based in the city, many of us were spread out, working remotely, or constantly on travel. This was a chance to gather, be rewarded for our hard work, and allow us to let off some steam before we delved into our latest cases.

No—I would not be hitting the dance floor. I was still living with the vivid memory of my first kickoff party. A fever dream of too many shots and a cringeworthy attempt at the Macarena that led to a wardrobe malfunction thanks to an overzealous hip shake.

The video evidence I’d had erased. Memories, those lasted forever.

Delia leaned her elbows against our high-top table and sipped her cocktail through a tiny straw. She eyed my phone before I tucked it out of view.

“Are you watching the weather again? At a party? I hate to break it to you, but the guy from the news is going to get fired unless you figure out how to stop the snow. It’s the third storm this week.” Delia smirked. “Have you tried unclenching?”

“I don’t need to unclench,” I said through ironically clenched teeth. Relaxing my jaw, I plucked a bacon-wrapped scallop from my appetizer plate and chewed, letting the savory bite distract me from Delia’s unsolicited attempt at humor. My gaze slid to the bank of windows, granting a panoramic view of the city. Flurries from the earlier storm still floated in the air. “ That is not because of me.”

Delia shrugged. “I’m not convinced. My psychic said your aura felt off when we saw her last week. She said, and I quote, ‘A storm is coming, and you can’t run from it.’ That is seriously cryptic.”

“It’s called a cold reading, Del! It’s a high-probability guess. The “storm” could be anything. I’m never letting you drag me to another fortune teller,” I grumbled.

The last thing I needed was mystical wisdom. The woman had taken one look at me and acted as if my presumptive weather curse might be catchy. I’d been tempted to fake a sneeze on her crystal ball, but I didn’t want to get my best friend banned from future readings.

Delia pinned me with a knowing stare. The kind she liked to deliver before dropping a truth bomb. I balled up a cocktail napkin, wondering if there was time to grab my plate and make a dash out of the blast radius. Maybe I could still track down the shrimp guy and drown my doubts in cocktail sauce.

“Admit it, Sage.” Delia lowered her voice to a murmur. “You’re off your game. Last month, you fell asleep while playing matchmaker to a couple of horror buffs on Halloween. You were inside a haunted house. Next to a chainsaw-wielding villain.” She shook her head. “Who does that? There’s so much screaming.”

There had been a lot of screaming. Not that it had helped. One moment I was lying in wait for my targets inside an open coffin, surrounded by waves of magical fog, and the next, lights out. I blamed the dreamlike mist and the oddly comfortable coffin. Delia blamed my constant caseload.

“First off,” I said, glancing at the neighboring table to make sure my coworkers weren’t eavesdropping. “I swore you to secrecy about that case. Second, I wasn’t sleeping. Yes, my eyes were closed for a couple of minutes. But it worked out all right. The chainsaw guy jumped out of the shadows with the assist. My couple will probably invite him to the wedding. They’ll even create a mini chainsaw replica to use as a cake topper. Once I got them inside the haunted house, my participation was supervisory at best. ”

I lifted my wineglass and clinked it into her cocktail before taking a confident sip, certain I’d proved my point.

“Okay, then what about the Fourth of July incident?”

The wine went down the wrong way, and I coughed, sending droplets of Merlot onto the white table linen. “We don’t talk about the Fourth of July incident.”

Delia sighed and moved my appetizer plate to hide the wet stain. “Sage, you’re the best agent in our office. Everyone knows that. You give perfection a run for its money. And one day, if upper management ever gives me a shot at my own case, I want to be just like you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Well, like you, but with way more work-life balance. And better dance moves.”

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. Will memories ever fade?

“Speaking of work-life balance, how’s your office crush on Simon Delacour coming along? Have you spoken to him?”

Delia couldn’t resist glancing at the object of her affection holding court by the bar. There were two things she wanted most this Christmas: a promotion to agent, and a date with Simon. Delia’s judgmental fortune teller seemed to think both love and money were in the cards—and I hoped it was—but I still didn’t trust that woman.

Looking away, Delia blushed and bent to sip her cocktail until the ice rattled.

“You mean have I spoken to him outside of my head? No. But the two of us had a very witty exchange that I practiced in front of the bathroom mirror this morning. So it’s only a matter of time until I graduate to mimicking a conversation with the potted plants in the breakroom.”

I stifled a laugh. “You’re a study in emotional growth.”

“At least I have an emotional well! You bury yourself in casework and avoid anything personal. When was the last time you went on a date? And playing a matchmaker for someone else doesn’t count.”

She had me there. But I didn’t have time for dating. Top agents didn’t slow down, they pushed harder. Nose to the grindstone. You’ll sleep when you’re dead—or conveniently inside a haunted house prop.

“I don’t need to find love because I already love my job.” I drained my glass and popped the last scallop into my mouth with a grin.

“That’s gross, Sage. Do you know who also spent all their time working and ended up alone and unloved around the holidays? Scrooge. Let me be a little Ghost of Christmas Present for you and tell you to get a life. Preferably one with some good kissing.”

I faked a gasp and grabbed my purse. “How dare you use Dickens against me? I’m getting us another round before you’re possessed by any more ghosts.”

As I weaved through the crowd toward the bar, other agents paused in their conversations, giving me a thumbs up or a secret smile. This was my year! I could feel it. Once I reached the top, everything else would fall into place, and I’d finally have the life and recognition I’d always wanted .

Delia was being ridiculous. Though, she might be right about the good kissing part—it had been way too long since I’d experienced any of that. But love? No, thank you. I’d leave that to the couples in my case files.

“Excuse me, Ms. Bennett? May I have a moment of your time?”

The no-nonsense question stopped me in my tracks. Joan, from human resources, waited by the nearly empty cheese display.

She wasn’t dressed for the party and still wore her agency badge clipped to the pocket of her fitted blazer. Joan crooked her finger, and my shoulders slumped. Had news of my Halloween nap reached her desk? Getting summoned by human resources after hours was never good.

I nodded and watched longingly as the crowd gathered around the dance floor. They were about to announce this year’s award winner. But instead of following them, Joan clasped her hands together and frowned, waiting until I’d joined her.

“Sage, I realize this is a terrible time to have this discussion, but after today’s events, it couldn’t wait until Monday. It’s come to our attention…”

I tuned out Joan’s voice and watched over her shoulder as the head of the holiday division picked up the microphone. The festive music went silent when she cleared her throat and began her welcome speech. Next came the big announcement. I held my breath as she presented the award.

“And this season’s Agent of the Year award goes to— ”

“Ahem, Ms. Bennett? Did you hear me?” Joan waved her hand in front of my face. I blinked, hearing my name, but it wasn’t through the microphone. A cheer rang through the crowd as Delia’s crush, Simon Delacour, shook hands with the division head before lifting the award trophy into the air.

I’d lost.

But I wasn’t supposed to lose.

Something inside me cracked. The applause rose like a gust of wind whipping through the lounge and rushed past my ears. I blinked again. No, the noise wasn’t coming from inside. I looked toward the windows where giant flakes mixed with sleet pelted the glass.

I inhaled a shaky breath. The storm had started again, and this time, I couldn’t deny it. We weren’t dealing with strange weather patterns; we were dealing with magic.

My magic.

Joan rested a hand on my arm and ushered me toward the coatroom. I trailed behind her in a daze. The sound of the wind and the cheerful party grew muffled by the cocoon of thick winter coats. But the coats did nothing to soften the voice in my head.

They didn’t wish you good luck; they were laughing at you. Nothing’s changed. You haven’t changed.

I fixed my watery stare on my dress shoes, then glanced at Joan’s red pumps, trying to block the memories from my past I’d tried so hard to leave behind. The lump in my throat refused to budge.

“As I was saying,” Joan continued. “After a thorough review of your employee file, including relevant background information, upper management has initiated what we call Operation Merry Reset.”

My brow creased at the unfamiliar term. I gave up shoe-watching and asked hopefully, “Is that some form of promotion? Does it come with a plaque?”

“No. It’s listed in the handbook. Chapter twenty-six, Section 4, Paragraph 2.6. To summarize, it’s when one of our agents enters burnout and is offered the chance for a reset.”

A harsh laugh burst from my throat. “But I’m not burned out. I promise! If this is about Halloween, or—” I coughed into my fist. “The Fourth of July—”

“It’s about the snow,” Joan interrupted. “Well, it’s about those other things too, but specifically the snow. We know about your family history, and we can’t have our agents manifesting uncontrollable blizzards when they’re meant to cast a gentle snowfall to enhance the holiday season. A white Christmas is one thing. Downed power lines, treacherous roads, and postponed festivities are another. It’s better if we address the issue before we have to—“ Joan leaned in and whispered, “Cancel Christmas.”

I barely suppressed a groan. How original. This year, someone needed to save Christmas from me.

The agency was overreacting. It was just a little snow! Yes—three unpredictable storms in a week were unusual, but I was sure I could fix it without having to reset, or whatever phrase the agency used in the handbook .

Joan snapped her fingers, and a white envelope with the agency emblem stamped on the front appeared in her hand. She offered it to me with a practiced smile.

“What is that?” I eyed the envelope as if it might give me frostbite.

“Inside is a one-way ticket to the hometown listed in your employee file. We’ve verified the address with your family and informed them of your arrival.”

I froze, feeling like Joan had dunked me in the caramel fountain. “You told my parents I’m coming home for the holidays?”

I hadn’t been home in years. Not since I’d left town humiliated and desperate for a fresh start in the city.

Joan pressed the envelope into my hand.

“Your length of stay is based on the successful completion of the terms listed inside your reset paperwork. Please turn in your badge and company laptop to security before you leave.” She wagged her finger. “No official casework allowed until you’re cleared. It’s a liability, and we take these things very seriously.”

I nodded, still reeling from the turn of events.

Done with her presentation, Joan tugged on the ends of her blazer and readjusted the badge clipped to her pocket. She gestured toward the door.

“Ms. Bennett, the agency, and myself want to wish you a very merry reset, and best of luck!”