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stop her—the poor woman was too mortified over what she’d just done.
Keaton, and the rest of the council, was going to have her head for this! New
paranormal creatures needed to be slowly and carefully introduced to the
magical world, and she’d really bungled things. With a sigh of despair, Mallory
pulled her phone from her pocket and began to dial.
    “Keaton, it’s
Mallory—we have a problem…”
    Harper raced home,
ducking down the first alleyway she came across and taking the long way back.
She didn’t want to run into any more townspeople right now. They were nice, and
well-meaning, but they stared at her like she was the latest exhibit at the
local museum. They tried to bury her in an avalanche of pies and other baked
goods, and at least one of them could hug so tightly she probably needed a
spinal adjustment—it was too much! Harper felt like she was just one more hug
or pie away from having a major breakdown.
    The hot Alabama
sun beat down on top of her unmercifully, and an unladylike sweat broke out
across her back as she finally emerged from an alley and jogged the last block
to the house. The house was waiting for her, the same as it had always looked,
and so was Mr. Bell. He was stretched out on the front porch swing, swinging
gently like he didn’t have a care in the world.
    “Miss. Jones,” he
said with a friendly smile as he looked up and saw her walking up the path
towards him. Harper paused, no more in the mood for company than she had been
twenty minutes ago, but it was too late now. It would be rude to run out on her
gran’s estate lawyer. Mr. Bell uncurled himself from the swing, making the wood
groan under his weight, and Harper barely suppressed a wince.
    “Mr. Bell. Nice to
see you again,” Harper fibbed as she walked up the steps to meet him with a
handshake. Mr. Bell seemed to be studying her closely, and it had the effect of
making her feel like a bug under a microscope.
    “Are you feeling
alright?” he asked out of the blue, and Harper nodded automatically.
    “As well as can be
expected,” she told him as she reached up to pat at her hair. Did she really
look so bad that Mr. Bell thought she had taken ill?
    “I am glad to hear
it,” he said, letting a smile crease his serious face. “It seems you had some
deliveries while you were out,” he continued, motioning to an array of
casseroles and baked goods that had been left on the front porch in her
absence.
    Harper goggled at
everything as Mr. Bell reached down to pluck a cardboard box of donuts that
were obviously not homemade, from the pile. “These are from me,” he looked
awkwardly down at the slightly squished box and gave her a crooked smile. “I
don’t cook.”
    Harper felt a real
smile tug at her lips. “They’re perfect,” she told him, “Thanks.” She took the
donuts under her arm, pretending she didn’t see the smear of jam that nearly
obscured the view into the box.
    Mr. Bell nodded,
looking far less serious than the last time she’d met with him. “Oh…did you
happen to get a chance to look through that stack of stuff I sent home with
you?” Mr. Bell hesitated before asking casually, and Harper shook her head. She
had nearly forgotten all about it between the rogue possum last night, the
group of people this morning, and now the blow out at the apothecary…
    “Sorry, no. I hope
it wasn’t time sensitive?” she asked, and Mr. Bell shook his head.
    “I didn’t mean to
rush you—take your time—and just remember that it’s best to remain calm,” he
paused and gave her an assessing look. “I just want you to know that I am in
the loop about…everything, so please don’t hesitate to call if you have any
questions. I’m sure you will have many,” he said mysteriously as he shuffled
off the porch, leaving Harper’s curiosity sufficiently peaked.
    Harper carried everything
in off the porch so it wouldn’t spoil before curiosity got the better of her,
and she lugged the bag out from underneath