Witchy Family Familiar (EBOOK)

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Dressed in a sharply tailored three-piece suit the color of thunderclouds, the man ran a finger around his collar, then straightened his black tie with the precision of someone used to control. His eyes flicked up and down the quiet street, then fixed on the café window with an intensity that made Jess’s magic stir like wind across still water.
Something about him didn’t sit right.
She narrowed her eyes. A thrum of uneasy energy vibrated at the base of her spine—her witch’s instinct, quiet but insistent.
“Should I go speak to him?” Amy’s voice broke the tension.
The round-faced, soft-hearted waitress hovered near the espresso machine, wringing her hands in her apron like a nervous hen. She stood beside Daphne—Jess’s sharp-edged, black-clad business partner and Amy’s longtime best friend. The contrast between them was always a source of local amusement: Amy, the cinnamon roll; Daphne, the scorched espresso bean.
Jess bit back a grin. When Daphne had first suggested Jess could co-own the café, Jess had nearly choked on her scone. Running a business meant dealing with people—and Jess much preferred pastry to patrons. Still, Daphne had proven herself a tireless partner, even if she did wield sarcasm like a chef's knife.
Sometimes her people skills were passable. Other times? Disaster.
“He might be lost,” Amy added, peeking out the window again, “or maybe he’s not sure what kind of food we serve.”
“Looks like he usually dines somewhere with chandeliers and silent staff,” Daphne muttered, steam hissing from the milk wand.
Jess took another glance at the man. Polished shoes. Perfect posture. A tension in his jaw like he was bracing for something unpleasant. Definitely not a local.
“Well, if he’s looking for fine dining, he’s out of luck,” Jess said, dry as burnt toast. “There’s us, or the diner.”
Amy gave a cheeky wink. “Then he’s in for a treat. Trixie’s doing her best since she got promoted to head chef over there, but working for Liz is like cooking in a thunderstorm. Lots of pressure. No warmth.”
“She’s apparently almost as good as the old chef,” Daphne added, sliding a latte toward Jess with a raised brow.
“And she’s not even using magic,” Amy whispered, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush.
Daphne’s nostrils flared, and Jess winced. The warning ripple of protective magic rose in her chest. The Council had made it very clear: no one outside their little circle could know about the magic that pulsed beneath Good Fortune’s cobbled streets—not about Jess’s talent, nor the lineage she came from. Her parents, her half-sister Jenny, even Jenny’s crusty old Aunt Liz—proprietor of the diner—were all witches too.
Amy and Daphne weren’t supposed to know. But the last mystery had blown more than just secrets wide open, and their help had been invaluable in stopping a magical disaster from unraveling the town at its seams.
Still, Jess couldn’t risk that kind of exposure again. Not for anyone.
As if reading her thoughts, Amy flushed and lowered her gaze. “Sorry,” she mumbled, then bustled away to take an order from a couple who had just walked in.
“No one heard,” Daphne murmured.
Jess nodded slowly, but her fingers curled around her coffee cup. “This time.”
The two women exchanged a look. Daphne might be blunt as a brick wall, but when it came to Amy, she was fiercely loyal. If Jess ever had to erase Amy’s memory to protect their secret, it would drive a wedge between them—one that might never be mended.
Daphne’s jaw tensed, but she didn’t speak. Some truths didn’t need words.
“He’s coming in,” Amy stage-whispered as she returned to the counter. She smoothed her apron and darted across the café to greet the stranger with a welcoming smile.
“Good morning! Would you like a seat by the window?”
The man hesitated just a beat too long before nodding. Amy handed him a menu with practiced ease.
“We serve light meals, and our pastry cabinet’s full of magic—I mean, goodness,” she said, shooting a guilty glance toward Jess. “Jess is our baker. Best hands in town.”
Jess smiled faintly and sipped her coffee. The morning rush had passed. Her feet ached, her hands were dusted with flour, and her heart was still half in the kitchen. The café felt safe this time of day—warm and humming with the scent of cinnamon and coffee beans.
“What did you want to discuss about the coffee machine?” Daphne’s voice pulled Jess back to the present.
Jess winced.
Ah yes. The Beast.
The espresso machine was a behemoth of brass and chrome, imported from Italy and polished like a trophy. Daphne loved that thing more than she loved most people.
But Jess had a plan. One that walked the delicate line between her magical obligations and the quiet life she’d built. A plan that would allow her to use her power without headlines or hexes.
Every witch had a path. Jess’s late mother, Lissa, had been a potion-maker with a shop full of bottled magic. Lavender’s Lotions and Potions still stood proudly across the street, now run by Jenny—her half-sister and a witch still in training.
Jess did inherited the store. It was her birthright. But she had always preferred cinnamon to cauldrons.
After a year of arguing with her familiar—and the occasional guilt trip from her ghostly mom—Daphne’s offer had come like a miracle.
Still, she couldn’t ignore her duty forever. Magic, when ignored, found dangerous ways to express itself.
The customers were chatting quietly, the clink of teaspoons and low murmur of conversation forming a cozy background. Jess leaned closer to Daphne, voice low, eyes bright with resolve.
“I want to use the Beast to deliver an elixir,” she said.
Daphne blinked.
Then narrowed her eyes.
The espresso machine let out a hiss.
Jess took a deep breath. There was no turning back now.