“Come over here, George,” one ghost said to another. “The divining mirror is showing a rather disturbing vision of the future. It's about that witch who owns the magical apothecary. She's going to cast a disaster of a spell.”

George floated across the dust-covered floor of the abandoned mansion. A moonbeam momentarily illuminated him as a transparent version of the old man he had been--white-haired, in an old vest with a stopwatch, squinting as if his afterlife vision wasn’t perfectly keen.

“Ah yes,” he said as he peered into the divining mirror. “Willow Van Doren. What sort of spell is she up to now?"

In the vision reflected in the magical mirror, Willow knelt nude in a circle of half-burned black candles. As she consulted an old grimoire, her beautiful face was serious with intent, and her long, honey blonde hair flowed over her breasts. From the black candles, powdered belladonna, and other supplies waiting nearby, the ghosts could tell that she was about to engage in a very destructive spell--a dark rite dedicating herself to baneful magic.

“After all the good work she’s done, she’s going to ruin her life,” Elspeth, the first ghost, sighed. She moved into George's moonbeam, appearing as a hazy but elegant grande dame in a formal gown. She snapped her phantom fan shut, then opened it again, an old habit. "And on Halloween night, too--why, I’ll just bet this has to do with her love life."

“That girl needs someone to talk to!” thundered George. “What is wrong with people these days, always making these bullheaded decisions without seeking advice?”

“No one seeks advice when they’re young, dear. They already know everything.”

“Hmph,” George grumbled. “I say we go over there and give her a good talking to.”

“Oh George, that really isn’t a good idea. We’d scare the life out of the poor girl, for one thing.”

“And so what? We’ve watched her cry her eyes out over one bad boyfriend after another. I say we teach that little witch a thing or two.”

Elspeth peered into the mirror. “Is that ... is that a mandrake root she has? Oh dear, she is going to choose the dark path. How foolish.”

“She has no idea of the consequences of this spell,” George said grimly. “Come on, Elspeth. Let’s drop in for a visit.”

“Yes, I suppose we must. But not now, dear. This is a vision of later tonight... Willow still has several hours before she chooses her path. She may yet change her mind.”

The two ghosts watched the divining mirror and waited to see what fateful choices would unfold for Willow on Halloween night.

* * * *

Autumn rain poured down the apothecary windows as twenty-six-year-old Willow Van Doren paged through an old grimoire. Next to her were the cider, donuts, and frosted Halloween cookies she’d put out for her customers, but they didn’t appeal to her. Her stomach was too knotted up with anxiety for her to eat. Willow had a date tonight with the sexiest man she’d ever met--a man who could make her every nerve ignite with erotic fire with just a glance. A man who possessed a silent magnetism that promised he’d be physically passionate beyond her wildest dreams. Yet far from feeling happy about it, she felt almost sick with negative anticipation.

Willow had a habit of losing men the way other girls lost lipsticks and car keys. It didn’t matter that she was considered one of the most beautiful witches in town, with her wide, china blue eyes and thick, honey blonde mane. For some inexplicable reason, her relationships never seemed to last for long, and the thought of embarking on another emotional disaster with Drake Morgan was too painful to contemplate.

Drake Morgan. Just thinking of his broad shoulders and lustrous sweep of black hair made her heart pound. His brooding, dark eyes brimmed with experience and sensual knowledge, and his full lips were always offset by the perfect amount of dark stubble. The classic tall, dark, and handsome, that was Drake, but with a brooding edge that separated him from any other man she’d known. He was so gorgeously hard, with big hands that she ached to feel all over her entire body. Yes, Drake was a real man, slightly dangerous, slightly older, and more than slightly mysterious. Ever since he had moved to Aradia Falls five months ago, he had frustrated the town gossip network with his reserved manner. Drake was a man of few words and had rebuffed the pointed questions about his love life with a good-humored detachment that insulted some of the local witches. He’d rebuffed the women who’d hit on him with that same polite disinterest.

“Gotta be gay.” “Weirdo.” Those were a few of the conclusions that some of the women were beginning to toss around, so insulted were they that Drake had ignored their charms. Yet every now and then, Willow caught him watching her with a smoldering intensity that made her think he wanted her. She wasn’t silly enough to confide this to anyone, save her best friend Rochelle. She knew that everyone saw her as the ultimate good girl of Aradia Falls and not the kind of sultry femme fatale someone as hot as Drake would want.

Her thoughts drifted back to the party last weekend, when they had wound up talking around an autumn bonfire. Every woman at the party had been following Drake with her eyes, yet it was Willow he chose to engage in a conversation that steadily grew more flirtatious. His handsome face had been both shadowed and golden in the firelight, his dark hair gleaming around his shoulders like silk. Just the depth of his voice was so sexy she could scarcely concentrate on the story of his recent conjurations. Those gorgeous dark eyes bore into her like burning coals but with a seriousness she slowly came to respect.

Drake isn’t like the other guys around here, she’d realized. He’s a man, not a boy. He’s not just out to get his rocks off by being the new hottie in town; he’s the real deal.

At last the flames of the bonfire had flickered out, and the October night had grown cold. As Drake walked her to her car, he’d draped a casual arm around her back and uttered those unforgettable words: “Maybe we could go to the Witches’ Ball together on Halloween.”

“I’d love to!” she’d said breathlessly. Later, she would chastise herself for sounding overly enthusiastic. Well, it was too late now. If Drake wanted someone sophisticated and lofty, he had the wrong girl. Willow wore her heart on her sleeve, and if that was a foolish strategy when it came to men, she didn’t care. She wanted to be loved for who she was--straightforward, sweet, and open-hearted.

Until Drake, that was. Because with every day that had passed since the bonfire, she’d grown more and more nervous about playing her cards right with him. Drake wasn’t just a fine piece of man candy; their conversation told her he was serious and honorable enough to be a worthy contender for her affections. This could be the guy, a little voice in her head kept chanting. It was important, crucial even, not to let this one slip through her fingers. After all these months of unrequited yearning, she would finally have her chance tonight to really make him fall for her. Her dream was to wow him in every way--emotionally, visually, and sexually.

Hence the grimoire.

The leather-bound old tome before her had belonged to her grandmother. Many of its spells were outdated, but she was hunting through them anyhow for a different kind of magic: a lost love spell, a mojo bag, an irresistible-attraction potion. Anything to give her love life a serious boost and turn her into the bombshell sex goddess she knew she could be.

After all, it’s Halloween, she thought, looking up at the rain-streaked windows. Tonight’s the most important night of the year for witches, but it’s also the night everyone gets to be someone else. Beginning tonight, no more nice girl for me...

The door of the apothecary shop opened, admitting the sound of rain falling onto the street. Willow looked up from the dusty grimoire pages to see a grinning, bearded face over a leather jacket: Buzz, one of her favorite customers.

Despite his warm smile, he looked tired. “Hey, Willow,” he greeted her. “Is there any way you could concoct something to help me sleep at night? The baby’s teething, and both me and Sarah are having a rough time falling back to sleep after we’re up with her.”

“Of course,” she assured him, pushing the refreshments at him. “I’d start with a good sleep tea, but I’d also recommend an herbal sachet to tie to your bedpost... Here, Buzz, have a donut.”

Her preoccupation with Drake faded, and she fell back into her familiar groove of magical assistance. For as long as she could remember, Willow had been helping her fellow witches with problems from heartbreak to legal trouble to unemployment. That was the family business. As a child she had learned the trade from her mother in the back lab of the apothecary shop, Garden of the Goddess. Together, they had concocted magical potions, bath salts, elixirs, and unguents for all the local witches. When her mother passed away five years ago, Willow had taken over the business completely. Buzz was one of her success stories--a former drug addict who had come to her several years ago for potions to both kick his habit and heal his broken heart. Now he was sober, healthy, and happily married.

Willow enjoyed helping people. Not only was she good at her trade, but she was discreet and sympathetic, as well. Her customers knew they could confide their vulnerabilities and dreams to her. Willow didn’t judge, scold, or repeat their confidences. She simply listened then offered whatever assistance she could.

“Hope this’ll do the trick,” Buzz mused, biting into a cinnamon donut while she bagged up his tea and sachet. “It’s incredible how much noise a baby can make at two in the morning. Just wait until you have kids ... you’ll see.”

Though she tried to retain a pleasant expression, a tight smile stretched across her face. Kids? She didn’t even have a boyfriend in the works, let alone a long-term relationship. She was starting to hate every mention of the future, because it reminded her that a husband and family might never happen for her. “Twelve seventeen,” she told him.

He rummaged in the pocket of his leather jacket for money. “So who are you dating these days?” he asked, as if reading her mind. “Sarah and I never can figure out why a pretty girl like you is still single.”

Guess what, Buzz? I can’t figure that out either. She struggled not to snap at him, but Buzz’s words ignited a slow burn inside her. She was so tired of being dateless Willow, that sweet blonde who could never keep a boyfriend. “Just haven’t met the right guy, I guess,” she answered, taking Buzz’s twenty-dollar bill.

Luckily, the entrance of another customer spared her from any further questions. “Hi, Mrs. Reed,” she called. “I’ve got that mojo bag you were looking for--give me one second.” She handed Buzz his change. “Blessed be, Buzz. See you tonight at the Witches’ Ball.”

He yawned. “Hope so. Honestly, we might be too tired to make it.”

Okay, so there was an upside to still being single and childless, Willow thought as she sold a weight-loss mojo bag to Mrs. Reed. At least she got eight uninterrupted hours of sleep a night, with the luxury of staying in bed as long as she wanted. Of course, having the right guy in her bed would cause an exhaustion she wouldn’t mind at all. Once again, Drake’s dark eyes flashed through her mind. When two young girls entered the store and requested a bottle of beauty bath salts, she shook it off.

They were leaving when the store phone rang. She answered, her stomach fluttering nervously with intuition.

“Willow... It’s Drake Morgan.”

Good Goddess, even the simplest sentence sounded sexual coming from his mouth. Just the resonance of his deep voice sent a throb between her legs.

Her heart rate went skyrocketing up, but she tried to sound casual. “Hi, Drake, what’s up?”

“It’s about tonight...”

Her heart plummeted to her feet. Dammit, he was going to cancel. Her bad luck with men had cursed this relationship before it even got off the ground.

“I was thinking the Witches’ Ball is going to be crazy busy,” he said. “I know how your customers are always bugging you, and we probably won’t be able to spend much time together. So I was thinking you could come over beforehand for dinner.”

Thrilled and astonished, she couldn’t reply.

“I make a mean shrimp alfredo,” he added with a chuckle.

Was that nervousness she heard in his voice? Could the aloof and brooding Drake Morgan actually be anxious about their date, too? “I’d love to,” she said immediately, before he proposed an alternative plan.

“Great. How does five-thirty sound?”

She’d have to close up shop early, but that was more than okay with her. She wrote down his address on a leftover receipt scrap and managed to say a composed good-bye. She was still staring at the paper when the door opened again.

“You in a trance, Wil?” It was Rochelle, wearing a soft fleece hoodie and jeans, her curly brown hair wild from the rain. “If I had to guess, I’d say your dazed look just might have something to do with tonight.”

Willow blushed, unable to stop herself. “He just called.”

“Did he now. Look at you. You are so smitten.” Rochelle came closer, her gaze resting on the grimoire on the counter. “And you’re ... looking for a new love spell to seduce him? Willow, come on. You don’t need witchcraft to get Drake. He already likes you or he wouldn’t have asked you out for the Witches’ Ball.”

“Oh, really?” Willow asked. “I’d advise you to check my track record with guys, Rochelle. I’ve always been ethical and abstained from using love magic on men--and look where it’s gotten me. Dumped, ignored, forgotten.”

Rochelle’s brown eyes were implacable behind her glasses. “Because they weren’t the right guys.”

“I’m starting to think there’s no such animal.” Willow restlessly bit into a frosted ghost cookie. She didn’t want to debate the pros and cons of manipulative love magic just then. Drake’s deep voice had left an erotic tingle inside her that felt increasingly urgent. “Look, Rochelle, he just invited me over for dinner before the Ball. I think I really like him. What am I going to do?”

“What do you mean? You’re going to go over there and flirt, talk, and then make love like dogs gone mad. I know it’s been a while since you went on a date, but the basics haven’t changed that much, trust me.”

“No, you don’t get it.” Willow shook her head, running distressed hands through her hair with a groan. “I can’t just treat Drake like any other guy. You know how I am, Rochelle. All of my relationships go bust. I want to do it right with Drake, make him really want me. That’s why I need ... this.” She flicked the flaky pages of the grimoire.

“You need only to be yourself,” Rochelle insisted. “When you meet the right guy, the magic comes from within. There isn’t an oil or potion in the world that can replicate that true chemistry.”

“Easy for you to say. You’ve had a boyfriend who's adored you for years.”

Rochelle merely smiled. “You can’t hurry love, as the song says. Come on, do you really want to turn into some nasty hex mistress like Lucretia Stone? She might get a lot of guys, but she doesn’t seem very happy.”

Lucretia Stone was one of the most powerful witches in the area. Many unpleasant rumors went around about her negative spell casting, but it couldn’t be denied that she had enough lovers and admirers for a dozen women. Willow had never quite understood why so many men fell for her, but she was quite sure that manipulative magic had a lot to do with it.

“I’m not going to hex anyone,” Willow said. “I’m just, you know, going to do some casting to make myself more ... appealing.”

“But you already are appealing. You’re beautiful, Willow. Guys are always drooling over you.”

“No--strangers drool over me,” Willow corrected. “The men who actually get to know me, leave.” Feeling her blood get hot, she stopped.

Rochelle’s look of sympathy just annoyed her more. “Look, just relax and have fun tonight. It’s Halloween, not National Drake Morgan Day. Don’t let your date with him take up so much space in your head.”

Willow stifled a groan. Rochelle was a witch, too, but she was also a graduate student in psychology; an unfortunate amount of psychobabble tended to pepper her otherwise good advice, in Willow’s view. “Look, I need to get back to work,” she said. “The Ball committee asked me to blend a special Samhain incense for tonight’s ritual. I’ll see you there, okay?”

“Okay. Have fun on your date ... and remember, Willow, just be yourself. No coercive love spells. No good ever came from manipulative magic.”

Willow kept her smile plastered on until the door swung shut behind her friend. Then she headed into the back lab to begin her incense preparation. No coercive love spells, she mimicked to herself, getting out her bottles of dried marigold, mugwort, and damiana. No manipulative magic. She knew those were the rules all witches followed, all good witches, at least. Interfering with another person’s free will went against everything witches believed; hence, even a simple love spell to win a specific man’s affections was forbidden. But just once she wanted to be bad, or at least cheat a little. After all, Drake liked her anyway, right? He’d asked her out. All a spell would do would intensify the existing attraction. Should she really skip all her spell work and hope that he wanted her just as she was? It wasn’t as if she would cast a manipulative spell to control his emotions; simply a glamour to make herself appear more alluring. That couldn’t hurt, right?

She just couldn’t stand to watch another guy walk away from her. By anyone’s standards, she should be the ideal girlfriend: she owned her own business, looked gorgeous, and treated her boyfriends like gold. And yet her love life had been a parade of men who lost interest in her for no reason they could ever define. If Drake did the same thing, she’d go ballistic.

The sound of the shop door swinging open interrupted her thoughts. She wiped the herbs off her hands, took off her apron, and headed back into the shop to greet her new customer.

When she saw the tall, pale woman who’d walked in, her smile faded. Lucretia Stone--the most feared witch in town. She was the last person Willow wanted to deal with on such a nerve-wracking day.

“Hi, Lucretia.” She refused to show her dismay. “Happy Halloween. How can I help you?”

Lucretia walked straight toward her, never lifting the intensity of her ice blue eyes. Lucretia was, in a sense, her business rival; like Willow, she dispensed magical cures to troubled people. But there the similarities ended. Lucretia’s potions and charms were comprised of mysterious ingredients she refused to disclose. She charged a fortune for them, too--but people were happy to pay her exorbitant fees, for her magic was powerful. More than once, Willow had lost customers to Lucretia’s practice.

“Hello, Willow,” she said, her words sweeter than an overdose of saccharine. She brushed the rain from her curtain of platinum blonde hair. “Happy Halloween to you. I wasn’t sure if you’d be open today.”

Lucretia had a powerful presence. Above a heavy onyx pendant on her chest, her sapphire eyes imparted a sense of deadly purpose. Rumor had it she was highly skilled as a hex mistress--that for the right price, she would curse your enemies and rivals. No one knew how she did it exactly, but it was true that Lucretia almost always won her battles. Especially when it came to making handsome men follow her around like lovesick dogs.

Willow forced an impatient smile, not fooled by the small talk. “Of course I am,” she replied, trying to sound pleasant. “Everybody needs last-minute spell ingredients on Halloween.”

“That’s why I’m here. Wolfsbane--I ran out. Business has just been so brisk lately. Do you have any I could buy?”

“Absolutely.” Hopefully, this was all Lucretia needed. Willow fetched three ounces of the herb and rang Lucretia up at the register with amazing speed. The sooner she got the witch out of her shop, the better. “Nine dollars and--”

She glanced over her shoulder to see Lucretia reading her grimoire. “Don’t read that!” she flared. “It’s, uh, private. Old family spells.”

Lucretia continued to read. “Oh come on, Willow, we’re old friends,” she said with a sly smile. “Looks like you’re seeking a love spell. Oh, and look--here is Drake Morgan’s address. Whatever could be the connection, I wonder?”

“This has nothing to do with him.” But Willow was a terrible liar, and she knew it. She blushed to the roots of her blonde hair.

Lucretia leaned close to her. “Willow, come on now. I can read your aura from across the room. You want Drake so badly. I can feel it.” Her eyes glowed with pale fire. “And I can help you get him, Willow--for a fee.”

Insulted anger flared in Willow. How dare Lucretia suggest that Willow couldn’t work such magic on her own?

“I don’t need your help, Lucretia,” she snapped. “I already have a date with him tonight for one thing--and, oh yeah, I’m an experienced witch in my own right.”

Lucretia smiled coolly. “Oh. Is that why you’re still single?”

Ouch. That hurt.

Willow tossed the bag of wolfsbane at her. “Get out,” she hissed. “It’s on the house. Consider it a payment to get out of my store.”

Lucretia merely laughed. “Oops. Looks like I touched a nerve.” She tucked the wolfsbane into her black leather bag and winked. “Sorry, Willow... But the truth is, when it comes to both magic and men, I’m the expert, and you’re strictly amateur.”

She sauntered out of the apothecary with a smug expression.

“We’ll see about that!” Willow roared after her.

But it was an ineffectual comeback and she knew it. Damn that bitch. Why did Lucretia get under her skin so easily? Why was it she could see past Willow’s cheerful demeanor to her most vulnerable insecurities? For in reality, Willow did often feel like an amateur when it came to men. Surely there was some reason all of them left her high and dry. Alone at night, she sometimes worried that she was an inadequate lover or a boring companion. Or maybe men really did prefer bitches, and she was just too sweet to hold their sexual attention. Sure, guys thought she was pretty, but they seemed to view her as the nice, innocent girl who ran the magical apothecary... Someone they regarded as platonically as a sister.

A bolt of rage shot through her. Dammit, she was through being a good girl. Where had it gotten her, after all? Nowhere, that’s where. Lucretia had all the business as well as all the men, and she was the biggest bitch their town had ever seen.

“I’m done,” Willow muttered, returning to the back lab. As she finished the Samhain incense, her mind fumed. “I’m so done being nice. Tonight with Drake, I’m going to be different--the kind of woman men never forget.”

She bottled the incense, labeled it, and closed up shop early. Collecting her own spell ingredients for the night, she noticed her grimoire open to a different section now--Baneful Magic and Dark Conjurings.

How typical of Lucretia to turn to that section. Then again, maybe it was a sign that love magic wasn’t what she really needed. She grabbed the book and brought it upstairs to her apartment over the shop. There she stripped and changed into a sexy black lace bra that showed off her round breasts to their best advantage, adding skimpy panties to match. Touching up her makeup, she slipped into the most seductive black dress she owned, chilly October downpour be damned. Tonight she was going to blow Drake’s mind. She grabbed her purse and left.