Pincher

CASSANDRA WILLOWSTONE

I swallowed as cold shock washed over me. "What?"

"Dorianna called me," he said. "I know what really happened, so don't bother lying about it."

Indignation quivered in my throat, but I stalled the words that would get me into more trouble. Being accused of something I hadn't done—or planned to do—made acid roil in my stomach. I focused on the part that didn't make any sense. "You said owners, Mr. Paller. I thought you and your dad owned this factory."

"I bought Dad out when I took over." He glared at me. "Not that it's any of your business, but the Millers own one-third of Paller's Pickles." 

"They do?" I asked, appalled by this news. "Since when?"

"It's a recent development," he said. 

How recent, I wondered. Five minutes ago? I couldn't believe this. I expected Dorianna and her mother to exact some kind of revenge, but this was fast work even for them.

Pete was exactly the kind of sycophant who would happily kiss the ring—and buttocks—of Dorianna in exchange for perceived power. He wasn't smart enough to realize he was another puppet for the conniving woman.

She pulled on the strings of a lot of people in Garden Grove. She was an evil puppeteer who honed in on the weaknesses of others and used their vulnerabilities to control them. I should know. I was her favorite puppet. 

"I'm letting you go," said Pete. "We don't employ thieves."

"I'm not a thief." Desperation filtered through my outrage. I couldn't lose this job. Not now. Not when everything else had been taken away. "It was a misunderstanding." I inhaled deeply to steady my shaking voice. I tried to smile, but my lips refused to cooperate. "The sheriff straightened it out. He can tell you what happened." I pointed at the phone on his desk. "Call him."

Pete's expression soured. "I don't need to call anybody. I have more than one reason to sack you, Cassandra. For example, you're nearly an hour late to work."

"An hour!" My mouth dropped open. "It's thirty minutes at most, Mr. Paller, and it's… it's a first-time mistake."

His gaze narrowed and his lips pinched together, giving his squishy face a cartoonish appearance. "If you read your employee handbook, and I have a signed paper saying you did, then you know our policy. Specifically, Section Five, Paragraph A. If you will be more than five minutes late, you must call in with a verifiable, acceptable excuse." He lifted his hand and counted off his fat fingers. "You were more than five minutes late. You didn't call in. Even if you had, your excuse for excessive lateness is unacceptable. In case I'm not being clear, Cassandra, you're fired." He pulled open a drawer, reached in, and withdrew a sealed envelope. He pushed it across the desk. "This is your final check for all the days you've worked since the last pay period."

Misery crawled through me as I stared at the white envelope with my name typed on it.

"What about vacation and sick days?" I asked. 

"You only get compensation for those if you quit."

"Then let me quit." Pride clogged my throat, but I choked it down. "Please, Mr. Paller. Please. I need the money."

"You're fired." His gaze held no empathy. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying the fact I was groveling. He lifted his hands in a nothing-I-can-do gesture all the while his expression maintained cold superiority. He could barely contain the smirk threatening his lips. "That's the way it has to be. End of discussion."

I doubted Dorianna had to do much to get Pete to dance to her tune. Even if he had the heart to let me quit, which he didn't, he still wouldn't do it because Dorianna was a lot scarier than I was. I could imagine the delight the witch would take when Pete conveyed my piteous moment to her. I'm sure they'd laugh and laugh. Fresh humiliation rushed over me. 

Pete pushed back his chair and heaved himself to his feet. He held out a pudgy hand. "I need your apron."

"What about a reference? I have a good record here, Mr. Paller. The least you can do is give me a letter stating so."

He crossed his arms and sighed. "You know there's not another place in this town that will hire you."

"I'll apply in Ash City." I looked at him. "I've worked here for two years without any problems. I deserve a reference."

"Can't give you one." Once again, he extended his hand and this time, he wiggled his fingers. "Apron. Now."

Defeated, I stood up and took off my apron. Well, if I wasn't going to work here anymore, then the least I could do was make sure his female workers didn't have to tolerate any more of his misogynistic abuse.

As I gave him the apron, I made sure my hand touched his, and then I muttered under my breath, "If on women your unwanted touch lingers, then let this magic twist your fingers. Learn to leave women alone, or this magic will crack your bones."

My spell wormed under his skin, spreading through both of his hands. 

"Ow!" Pete jerked away from me, dropping the apron onto the floor. He lifted his hands and studied his fingers. He glared at me. "What did you do?"

"Pinch another female employee's rear end and find out," I said. 

His face went white. 

I think, up until that moment, Pete had forgotten I was a witch, too. And I had just as much magic at my fingertips as his new co-owners did.

I grabbed the envelope and left Pete Paller's office. The only other thing I carried with me was the petty satisfaction of ending Pete's mistreatment of female workers—one way or the other. 

I guess the Millers weren't the only ones who'd gotten revenge today. 

***|***|***|***|***

I entered the house, feeling like I'd been trampled by a soccer team and then thrown under a fast-moving train. 

It wasn't even noon yet and my entire life had collapsed. 

Again. 

I wanted to grab a pint of ice cream and a bottle of wine, go upstairs, get into my pajamas, and lay in bed.

Was it bad form to use a Crazy Straw in a bottle of merlot?