Eh. Who cared? Pity parties didn't have rules anyway. I could weep into a pint of Cookies & Cream and suck wine through a loop-de-loop straw if I wanted to. And yeah, I was tempted to wallow in my sorrows.
But tears, empty calories, and alcoholic beverages wouldn't change anything that had happened today, yesterday, or eight years ago. A good old-fashioned pity party wouldn't even make me feel better for very long.
On the way home, I'd deposited my paltry last paycheck into the bank. It would barely be enough to cover the bills.
And then what? Pete had been right. No one else in town would hire me. All the work I'd put into maintaining our gardens and fixing up the apothecary was worthless.
As long as the coven kept the ban on the Willowstone witches, no one would buy their plants and herbs from us. Worst of all, April and May's chances for getting into Garden Grove's College for Witches were officially nil.
I hung my purse on the halltree. "April? May?"
The answering silence put me on immediate high alert.
Until I remembered they were taking care of the cranky, elderly witch next door. I should probably go rescue them. Or rescue Mrs. Moore. I'm not sure who would need more help. Maybe they'd turned each other into frogs.
Ha, ha.
I went upstairs to my bedroom and changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, leaving my feet bare. I plopped onto my bed and sighed. I didn't want to tell my sisters the bad news. Emotions swirled through me. Anger. Defeat. Grief. Frustration.
Our lives had been destroyed. Not by Dorianna Miller. Or Carol Jones. Or Mike Hanover. Or Joe Banton. Or the Narrows. Or any of the witches or humans who wouldn't give us the time of day.
My mother had obliterated us.
Mom's inability to accept rejection from her lover led her down the dark path to black magic. To suicide. And murder.
I refused to spend the rest of my days paying for her decision. My sisters and I deserved better.
I stood up and opened the jewelry box on my dresser. Among the necklaces and bracelets was a brass key.
My stomach roiled with anxiety, but at this moment, my fury was greater than my fear. I exhaled a steadying breath, grabbed the key, and marched down the hall to the last door on the left.
Heart racing, I put the key into the lock.
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CASSANDRA WILLOWSTONE