Pumpkin Spice & Poltergeist (Maple Hollow #1)

He jolted like I’d snuck up on him. He’d gotten lost gawking at Willow . . . again. “Yeah, mini?”

“Why aren’t any of these pastries Halloween themed?” I waved to the assortment of food. “I mean, they’re fall flavored for sure—caramel apple, cinnamon, pumpkin spice—but this place is called Witch’s Brew Café, you know? There should be more whimsy!”

He gave me a wary look. “I know,” he hedged.

“Maybe you could make some witch-hat sugar cookies or some cauldron-shaped macarons?”

“I could whip them up no problem, but . . .” He scratched the back of his head.

“Let’s do it!” I said eagerly. “Black macarons with green and purple buttercream centers.”

He glanced back out the window. “We really ought to ask Willow.”

“I’m sure she’d be fine with it,” I assured him as I used a pair of tongs to line up the cinnamon rolls in the cabinet.

He arched his brow and cocked his head, making him all the more wolflike. “Have you met your sister?”

I huffed. “Just add them to tomorrow’s delivery,” I pleaded. “Or whenever you can. We’ll work her up to the idea one sweet treat at a time.”

“Okay.” He shook his head. “But it’s on your head if she’s pissed?—”

“I’m good with that,” I insisted. Things were always my fault anyway.

This idea could really step things up a notch for her. I stared around the packed room—not that her business was struggling or anything. The café was cute, but there was nothing particularly Instagram-able or witchy about the place other than the coatrack.

My eyes landed on Agnes outside the bay windows. She sneered at the place as if she were cursing it and then kept walking. Not a single vampire had stepped foot in the café since I’d nearly poisoned her with nutmeg. I wondered if that had been the topic of her and Ramona’s conversation last night. Maybe they were joining forces to boycott the café. Maybe they’d turn the whole town against us . . .

I whirled to face Wyatt, who was making himself a complimentary cinnamon dulce latte. Usually, Willow made it for him, and I always noted the extra care she put into crafting his drink, but Wyatt knew how to work an espresso machine too.

“Do you know Ramona Henry?”

“The demon?” Wyatt asked with suspicion.

I waited until he stopped frothing his milk and the whine of the steamer died down to speak. “Yeah. Do you know much about her?”

Wyatt’s shoulders rose then fell when he turned back to face me. “She’s been here forever. She looks young, but she’s as immortal as a vampire. I think she owns quite a few souls.”

“Souls?” I nearly dropped the scone from the tongs.

“You know—demons, souls. She makes deals for the big guy downstairs.” Wyatt pointed to the ground.

“The devil?” I shrieked, and a bunch of heads turned.

I feigned a smile and tried to look busy until the attention was no longer on me.

“Welcome to Maple Hollow.” He brought his cup up to his lips and took a sip.

“Always something new,” I said anxiously.

“What’s your interest in Ramona? You’re not planning on selling off your firstborn for wealth or luck, are you?”

“Oh.” I waved his question away. “Nothing. I’m just helping Jordyn with something.”

Wyatt blew on his coffee. “What does Jordyn want with Ramona?”

I considered spilling the beans, telling him everything about Jordyn’s ex-girlfriend and her death and the scrying and the gazebo . . .

Wyatt watched me with quiet amusement. I could probably trust him. He had a very trustworthy face, and he was clearly in love with my sister . . . but it tended to be the sweetest, most innocent guys who turned out to be the murderers in these sorts of situations, and he’d been in the square last night, which technically made him a suspect.