Best Hex Ever

Chapter 1

It was a crisp autumn day in the last week of October, the kind of day that makes you want to curl up with a good book and a steaming cup of hot chocolate. Golden leaves crunched underfoot and early-morning frost clung to Serendipity Café’s bright purple awning. It was Dina’s favorite time of the year. The insufferable heat of late September had finally passed, when the air in the tube felt thick and glue-like, forcing her to spend most of her days performing cooling spells on her armpits.

There was always a change in the air when autumn came to London. For one thing, business at the café picked up, and right now every customer wanted a croissant with their coffee order.

Croissant magic was tricky at the best of times, but it was proving especially difficult during the morning coffee rush. Dina stared down at the mess of pastry and butter—no way was this salvageable. Pastry had never been Dina’s forte. She tugged her mountain of curls into a bun and rolled up her sleeves.

Dina had just pulled out a new jar of her magic butter blend, ready to begin again, when Robin, her barista, called out, “Dina, where did you put the chrysanthemum tea blend you made last week?”

The croissants would have to wait.

She went out to the front, rummaged through her collection of teas and eventually lifted the tin of delicate dried blooms they were looking for onto the counter. Reluctant to return to the unfriendly croissants, Dina set about serving those who were just settling down at the tables and cozy armchairs of her café.

There was something different about Serendipity Café, a certain spark in the air that no one could quite put their finger on. It was a place where good things happened. Customers who dropped in to buy themselves a cappuccino would accidentally trip over the umbrella of someone at the table beside theirs, and that person would turn out to be the love of their life.

Dina loved how quickly the rumors about her café had spread: that if you bought a latte and a cookie on the way to a job interview, you’d get the job. She’d been particularly proud of that spell; it was one of her best. The special ingredient was a pinch of cinnamon and just a dash of calm. Like a hug with your loved one, or the feeling of kicking off your shoes after a long day.

The trick to Dina’s spells was that she put her own memories and emotions in them, and then the spell would take it from there, mimicking her feelings in the person who ate or drank whatever she had made. A confidence charm to help someone get a job didn’t give them artificial confidence, it just gave them a little magical push to find that confidence in themselves.

The spells didn’t last forever, of course. No magic did.

Even so, Dina had to make sure that she kept her magic secret. After all, she couldn’t have all of London knowing she was a witch.

As the city frosted over, customers would be flocking in through the doors, searching for comfort and a good cup of tea. A particular favorite was Dina’s special chai blend, full of warming ginger, clove, and nutmeg, and just a sprinkle of that feeling you get when you rub a cat’s soft, warm belly.

All around the city, coats were being pulled out of the backs of cupboards where they’d spent the year gathering dust and moth holes, radiators groaned to life, and people began searching for that special someone they could snuggle up with once winter really settled in.

Dina was far too preoccupied to even think about the start of cuffing season. She’d been on a couple of dates in the last year, one man and one woman, and only one of them had gone vaguely well. The guy had been a walking red flag, while Maggie—the insanely hot yoga teacher Dina had gone out with a few months ago—had been lovely, kind, and smart. Dina knew that she could have had something real with Maggie if she’d given it a chance, but she hadn’t wanted to hurt her. So, she’d left before things could get any worse.

Thankfully, the busy autumn season at the café was enough to take her mind off romance; Dina had sworn herself off dating for the foreseeable future. It wasn’t worth the pain it would cause herself and others. Besides, business was booming, and she had to finish making another batch of her ever-popular “Cozy & Calm” candles before they sold out again.

“Robin, could you take these to table four please?” Dina said, handing her colleague a tray bearing two slices of her apple and blueberry pie and two mugs of the Serendipity house tea blend. The couple sitting there had been regulars at the café for a few months now, coming here every Wednesday to study together.

At least that’s what Dina assumed they were doing, with their heads bent down over their respective laptops. Every now and again, the man would reach out for his partner’s hand and they would just sit like that, in perfect companionable silence. That’s what I want, Dina thought. Could she have that one day? Lately, even the idea of a happily ever after felt unattainable.

“Yes, boss.” Robin smiled, knowing full well how much Dina hated being called “boss.” Robin had been at the café for a couple of years, working shifts in between the spin classes they taught near Blackfriars station. They had walked in one day, only moments after Dina had placed a job advertisement for a barista in the window. Dina had taken in Robin’s dark green mohawk and effortlessly cool eyeliner, watched how they straightened one of the picture frames on the wall absentmindedly, and had known that they were the perfect person for the job.

Dina didn’t have much time to do anything but work today, not that she minded. Serendipity, with the buzz of its coffee machine and the warm scent of pastry, was her happy place. She’d founded this business herself—with only a little help from her magic—and every time she saw a customer return after their first visit her heart thrummed with joy.

This morning, however, Dina was acutely aware that it was only Robin and herself working in the café, and they were vastly outnumbered.

Time-slowing spells tired her out, so she tended to save them for the lunch rush. The coffee machine was being temperamental again, and Dina had already had to give it a thump (said thump may have contained a spark of something extra) to get it working again.

She was just finishing up the latte art—a cat on a broomstick on one and a ghost on another; it was spooky season after all—when the door swung open wildly in the wind, leaves swirling in the doorway, knocking an evil eye charm off the wall which fell to the ground with a clatter, smashing in half.

Dina sucked in a breath. She recognized a bad omen when she saw one.

The door slammed shut, the small bell above tinkling belatedly. A man stood in the doorway, picking a stray leaf off his sweater.

The first thing Dina noticed was his nose. It looked a little crooked, like it had been broken but hadn’t healed straight. And then his size. Not only was he tall, he was broad enough to take up the entire narrow entrance. That sweater, fluffy as it was, wasn’t hiding the muscles rippling underneath as he bent down to pick up the broken evil eye. What was a man with a body like that doing with tweed elbow patches and wire-rimmed glasses? He looked like a professor who moonlit as a cage fighter.

Dina swallowed, acutely aware of her dry mouth. Dark curling hair, a groomed beard—it was like he’d walked straight out of her daydreams and into her coffee shop. The evil eye was right; she was doomed.

“Sorry, this fell off the wall,” he said in a low, honeyed voice.

Don’t flirt with him, Dina, she told herself, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. When his eyes met hers, they were brown as caramel.

“Thanks,” she said, taking the charm from his outstretched hand. Their hands brushed as he placed the halves in her palm, a rough calloused touch. Dina quickly pulled her hand away. The henna spell she’d crafted last night when she couldn’t sleep was beginning to come alive and draw love hearts up her wrist.

“It’s a nazar amulet, right?” he said matter-of-factly. “Like your necklace.” He nodded toward Dina’s throat, where a hamsa with an evil eye set in the center rested. Her fingers reached up for it, and she felt the blush rising in her cheeks. She had no business letting a strange man—albeit a very attractive strange man—do this to her.

“Similar, yes. They’re both protection from the evil eye.”

“Should I be worried that it broke when I walked in?” He smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“No, it’s fine, I break my pendants all the time,” she said, fiddling with her hamsa necklace. “It means it worked.”

“So it protected you?” The man leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter, his voice husky. Dina could smell his cologne—cedar and something citrusy.