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only one wayward glance, one missed birthday, one wrong word away from pissing off two women critical to Meaghan’s well-being.
    I’m getting padlocks for their zippers , she thought. Bastards. Why do they have to sleep with women I depend on?
    Jhoro, at least, had an excuse. Grief made people do stupid things and he’d only been human for ten weeks. A certain allowance had to be made for bad behavior.
    But Russ? He knew how much Meaghan relied on Natalie and he knew his own history with relationships. And he’d known Natalie since she was a young teenager, barely out of childhood, which made the whole thing extra creepy.
    At least they weren’t flaunting it under her nose like Jhoro and Marnie.
    Jhoro finally noticed Meaghan. His face lit up. “Mama!” He shoved Marnie aside and wrapped Meaghan in a hug. Marnie and the witches now glared at Meaghan, making her grateful she was impervious.
    She patted him in a motherly way and stepped back. “Where’s Russ?”
    “Roos?” he answered in a deep rich voice.
    Meaghan nodded.
    Jhoro pantomimed driving a truck, then patted his belly with a smile.
    “He’s working on his food truck,” Marnie said, putting a proprietary hand in Jhoro’s back pocket while the other witches seethed.
    Meaghan turned to them. “Ladies, I’m sorry, I know we’ve met, but I forget your names. Are you waiting for me or Russ?” Or for Marnie to drop her guard?
    The older woman, somewhere in her forties, trim, with carefully highlighted, chin-length brown hair, shook her head slightly, as if to clear it. She wore a sleeveless white polo shirt and pastel plaid capris and looked like she’d just stepped off a golf course. “We’re waiting for you. I’m Susan. I’ve been helping Lynette with the Fahrayans.”
    Meaghan nodded. Country club Susan. She remembered her now.
    Susan had moved to Eldrich after her wealthy husband’s death. She had Junior League connections throughout the Northeast, some of whom practiced witchcraft or were otherwise clued in. She’d proved instrumental in gathering supplies to help clothe, feed, and house the Fahrayan refugees now living in Eldrich.
    “And you are . . .” Meaghan prompted the other two. Much younger than Susan, they had both adopted what they believed to be appropriate attire for witches. Lots of black velvet and silver jewelry and too much eye shadow.
    Real witches, Meaghan had learned, didn’t dress any particular way, didn’t require mystical accessories, and could improvise spell ingredients from whatever was handy. Meaghan had asked a group of witches once if they were Wiccans. Lynette, an older grandmotherly woman, had sniffed with disapproval and said, “I don’t know about the others, but I’m a Presbyterian.”
    The more flamboyant of the two apprentices, the girl who had seemed the most upset by Jhoro and Marnie kissing, tossed her dark hair over her shoulder and said, “I’m Circe.” She pointed at her companion, a round-faced girl with blonde hair, freckles, and far less eye makeup. “This is Cassandra.”
    Oh, brother, Meaghan thought. Their real names are probably Debbie and Lisa.
    Susan rolled her eyes discreetly and winked at Meaghan. “Circe and Cassandra are my apprentices for now, but Circe is about to move on to Gretchen. We’re waiting for her here.”
    Meagan suppressed a laugh. Gretchen, the city’s human resources coordinator, looked like a kind, grandmotherly woman, similar to Lynette, until she started talking. Profane, sarcastic, and wickedly funny, Gretchen reveled in screwing with uppity apprentices. She’d knock the Stevie Nicks right out of Circe. If the girl had enough sense to lose her pretensions, Gretchen would hone her into a gifted practitioner.
    Susan would keep Cassandra, who had all the earmarks of a follower. Her efforts to dress in the witchy style favored by Circe were half-hearted—jeans, a black velour T-shirt, and a few silver rings—and without Circe bossing her around, she’d