Bartholomew’s house, though—that never stopped.
And most of the familiars sauntered off to do cat things under the waxing harvest moon. Only two—a battered, intact orange tom and a skittish five-pound tiger-striped tabby—remained to sit casual watch in the corners of the patchy cottage lawn.
As a collective, everybody’s shoulders sagged, and Lachlan trotted from the front lawn to wrap his arms around Bartholomew’s waist from behind and pull him in tight.
“So is that it?” he asked. “Are we safe for the night?”
“Until… when is it?” Jordan asked.
“At 7:14 a.m.,” Kate responded promptly. She had a Farmer’s Almanac app on her phone.
“I’ll be here at six forty-five,” Bartholomew said. “Here, Alex, let me say goodbye to Glinda.”
Alex looked fondly at his roommate. “Say goodbye?”
“Yeah. To the dog. She misses Dante and Cully. It just doesn’t seem fair to her to go kiting off without a good ear rub.”
Alex suppressed a smile. Bartholomew could be practical as a two-penny nail when it came to running his small catering business, but when it came to matters of the heart… well, he was exactly what his last name, Baker, promised. Butter, sugar, soft flour, and vanilla. Sweet and squishy and kind.
Alex had been so happy when Barty had hooked up with Lachlan. Lachlan was just as whimsical and certainly kind, but he was unfailingly protective, and Barty needed someone in his life who could keep him safe and warm.
“Go,” Alex shooed. “Give me a chance to put my bike in the garage, and then I’ll take her for a walk.”
“We’ll bring her out,” Bartholomew told him eagerly before trotting toward the house. Alex shivered a little and hefted his bike up, thinking he was glad there was a hooded jacket and tennis shoes in the garage for moments just like this one.
“It’s getting cold,” Kate said, picking up his helmet and carrying it for him. “Want Josh and me to come with you?”
“We’ll all go,” Jordan said definitively.
“To walk the dog?”
Jordan let out a sigh. “Neighborhood isn’t getting any safer,” he said, and they both watched as the garage door opened because Barty could read their minds. Alex hefted the bike into the tiny slice of space cordoned off by a tiled wall, and hung it up on the side of the garage that didn’t house shelves, extra refrigerators, and extra ovens. Neither one of them parked their cars inside the garage—Barty’s van and commuter car were side by side in the driveway, and Alex parked his car in the driveway of the witch’s cottage next door. Barty had paid to have the garage modified to health-inspected specifications, including the extra expense to give Alex the space he needed for his bike and a small workbench so he could repair it when needed.
Alex was grateful. He hadn’t asked for it. Had, indeed, expected to keep his bike in his room. He’d made the sacrifice willingly because Bartholomew’s dream was solid and true, and his gift with baked goods was extraordinary. That Bartholomew would think of him when he was building his dream—that’s what real friends did for one another.
Which was one of the reasons Alex had more than one fleece hoodie on the pegs in his little slice of the garage.
“Anyone cold?” he asked, and Jordan raised his hand sheepishly. He was dressed in baggy khakis and a T-shirt, which were probably what he wore under his lab coat. He worked for a forensics lab in Sacramento, right down the 50 Corridor, so his commute wasn’t too nightmarish. It was funny, because Jordan Bryne was one of the first people to characterize himself as an awkward lab nerd, but that’s not who he was to his friends.
To a one—from Barty to Dante to Cully to Kate and Josh and down to Alex himself—Jordan had snagged each one of them in college and said, “Hey, we can be friends! Let’s go on adventures together.”
And they had!
When Helen, the witch next door, had walked in literally out of the blue one day to give Jordan her little cottage and all of the witchcraft paraphernalia that filled it top-full, Jordan had said, “Hey, look at this! Spells for things we might need. Who’s with me?”
And the long-ingrained habit of following Jordan anywhere, from the ocean to the mountains to a cool new wine bar he’d just heard about, had kicked in.
For a year and a half they’d practiced—and enjoyed modest success. Their first spell had been cast to help Josh find a job. Within two days he’d chatted