Chapter 2

I stepped closer to Mr. Speedy Zone, close enough to see the golden spokes flecking his green eyes and the dark shadows underneath. "There are two car shops in town," I started, my voice measured but with just enough bite to drive my point home right between his blond eyebrows. "Yours and this one. And since you've opened yours, we've never been busier. People come here when they actually want to get their cars fixed."

"Amen," Boxy muttered and gave the sign of the cross to the holy car gods.

"Tell me, which shop do you take your car to?" I asked Travis.

His green eyes narrowed, then tracked down again to the shop's smudged name stitched to my shirt. He held out his hand. "I'm Travis."

Since he was introducing himself, he obviously didn't remember me. I backed off and jazzed my hands Boxy-style so Travis would see that actually fixing cars made me not fit for touching. Ever. Especially by him. "My friends call me Vic. You can call me Victoria."

"You're Victoria?" He nodded as if something had just clicked into place. "That makes sense, but wow, you've changed. Are you always like this with everyone who walks in here?"

Boxy rocked back on his heels and muttered, "Yes."

I shot him a mock hurt look. No way could I ever really get mad at Boxy. "Like what?"

"So..." Travis winced as if rattling around a whole toolbox of possibilities in that head of his, most of which I probably didn't want to hear. "Spicy."

I snorted. "Only toward rude people who come in here to cast judgement on this shop when they absolutely have no right to. Otherwise, I'm the least spicy person you'll ever meet."

He smiled and somehow made it look skeptical. "Is that right?"

"That's right."

"Well, then." He bowed his head, his gaze never leaving mine. "I'm sorry I was rude."

I shrugged. "Apology accepted if you get your car exorcised soon."

"Exorcised?" He chuckled, a low, pleasant sound.

"She's a tad obsessed with ghosts and spooky things," Boxy said, hiking his thumb toward me. "Too much TV, this one."

I snorted at the King of Horror Movies, who fed my addiction with his impressive stash of old DVDs. The witchy ones were my favorites.

Studmuffin blinked sleepily up at Travis. Poor thing must've needed a nap after his long day of naps.

"So. The reason I'm here." Travis fished some folded-up papers out of his back pocket. "You two have probably heard about the mini-mall that's coming to town?"

Oh yes. The mini-mall. It was a rumor that had bred conspiracy theories about Belle's Cove, our small coastal town in Georgia, becoming more like a city. The worry was that if Belle's Cove grew larger, it would have all the same problems of cities like crime and road rage due to increased traffic. The exact same concerns had cropped up when Safe-Mart had been built about twenty years ago, so I'd heard. As far as I knew, the only thing that made people criminals or ragey was the one open check-out lane among a seemingly endless row of closed check-out lanes.

"Yeah," I said, posting my hands on my hips. "My microwave may have mentioned a mini-mall to me."

Boxy shot me a grin. "Was that before or after the weekly world alien-sighting report at eleven?"

"Before," I joked. "Keep up."

Boxy chuckled and shook his head. "Been hearing about that mini-mall for years. Nothing's ever come out of it."

"Until now." Travis ticked his gaze between us, a frown creasing his forehead. "Despite what your microwave may have told you... Whatever that means. It just so happens that construction starts in a couple months on the empty lot next to Speedy Zone."

"Right next door?" I quirked an eyebrow. "Well, congratulations. You'll be a lot busier."

"The shop could become a lot busier a lot sooner with the right person calling the shots." Travis handed me the papers.

I took them, trying to read his blank expression and decipher the words he'd just said. A sudden tremor started in my hands, and a sour taste slid to the back of my tongue. Whatever these papers said, I was pretty sure I wouldn't like it. I glanced down, and the words swam over the page, the letters rearranging themselves into nonsense. If I concentrated, I could read them, but not right then, not in front of him where he could watch me closely.

"Give me the condensed version," I said, gazing up at him again.

"It's my offer to you. A generous deal for you to buy Speedy Zone from me. I'll make sure you have everything you need to meet the growing demand from the mini-mall."

Boxy growled. Studmuffin snored. Travis didn't seem to notice the ball of fur that had fallen asleep on his left boot.

"What?" I demanded. "You want me to buy your shop? From you?"

"Well..." Travis glanced at Boxy, who gave him no love in return. "Yeah. Look, I know what my dad did - " He broke off, likely at the projection of rage, much stronger than that for one open check-out lane, written all over my face.

He didn't know anything about anything. My dad had started Speedy Zone with Marcus Black, Travis's dad. Marcus liked to do business as shady as possible and pulled the financial rug out from under my dad by stealing from the company. With most of his money now gone and with a young daughter to raise, my dad started again from scratch with this shop, Sunray's. Growing up, I was the one who had attached myself to his hip since I could walk and had learned everything there was to know about cars. Now, I managed Sunray's the best I could with Boxy's help. My dad had handed the shop over to me shortly after he'd met and married a sugar momma and was now honeymooning the world with her. Which, good for him. He deserved all of his happiness. I told him so as often as I could.

But hearing Travis's offer to buy back the company that should've belonged to Dad anyway felt like a slap to the face.

"...and you can stick it where the sun don't shine, you filthy blood sucker," Boxy was saying, his voice snapping sharp like a rubber band.

Travis raised his hands to ward off Boxy's wrath. "I'll leave the paperwork here. How about you two think on it."

Boxy pointed to the door with his cane. "How about you see yourself out."

Nodding, Travis settled his green gaze on me once again. "Just...think about it."

I looked away, shaking my head. Buying another business? I might as well have been chasing Boxy's glass eyeball into uncharted territory. I had no idea if that was, or would ever be, a good business decision.

My mind flashed the college application lying next to my unopened grimoire on my kitchen table. Those things had been waiting for close to twenty years. The whole table had become The Place To Put Things I Don't Want To Think About Today. Maybe business school would help me make these types of decisions, though. Maybe it wouldn't, but I would offer up a kidney to have the savvy to keep this place around for the next forty-plus years. But two shops? Maybe more eventually?

The ambition and the car know-how had never been what held me back. It was my dyslexia and my failed witch status. All of my doubts centered around those things. Always had.

"We can't be persuaded so easily," Boxy snapped. "I know, the nerve of us. How dare you try to sell something to us that Vic's dad bled his whole life into."

To his credit, Travis gently removed himself from underneath my sleeping familiar. Then he turned and sighed, placing the papers on top of the empty oil quarts and other trash. Fitting spot. His shoulders filled the doorframe as he left. Seconds later, his car screamed to life. I could almost hear the pea soup gurgling under the hood in preparation for a purge, hopefully right into Travis's face.

"Vic?" Boxy asked. "What's going on in that head?"

I shook it, trying to rattle out a coherent thought. "I think He Who Only Comes Out At Night should only come out at night."