Penny & Her Heru Ch 1

Rent-A-Witch: Whynot Coven

So … I’ve been in my Hobbit Hole tippy tapping and have another story for you. This one is how Penny reacted to being claimed by her mate at her sister’s wedding.

There are 15 chapters, and they are all scheduled! You will get one every Tuesday and Thursday until 1-7-25. Make sure to read them all before I have to take them down on 1-10-25 for the anthology to be published.

If you are interested in preordering a copy :

If you can’t purchase the anthology this novella will be available on my Substack in the middle of next year, and I will be doing book boxes of the Whynot stories in the future.

But if you like funny witch romances and want to try out some other authors get a copy of Resting Witch Face on Amazon now for $.99 before it is unpublished in December.

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1 - What’s Up Buttercup?

”What do you think of that one?”

I shifted my focus from the spoon in front of me to the man on the other side of the counter. It was a shame his family’s collection of enchanted objects landed in his hands. I didn't have to be a medium to know every witch in his family’s history was either clutching her pearls or hexing him as he stood there waiting for the value of the things they enchanted over the centuries to take care of their families.

“It’s a medicine spoon.” He was so clueless he didn’t catch my glare or the tone of my voice. Just kept tapping on his phone screen. “It simply makes medicine taste good.”

“How much for the lot? I need to get to the jewelry shop down the road before they close.” Judging by his involuntary step backward when he finally looked up from his phone, he finally clued in on my disdain for him.

I tapped the glass counter in front of me. “Show me the jewelry.”

His hand flexed over the messenger bag at his side. “No. It’s just some old rings and things. Nothing magic about any of it.”

I tapped the glass again. “No offense, but there is no way you could know if something is enchanted. Besides if you go to any of the stores that buy estate jewelry in Salem, they’ll send you right back here to get a certificate that it is not enchanted.” I took a deep breath when his hand flexed over the bag again. “Pawn shops too. You might as well do it now while you are here for this appointment, or you can wait three weeks for my next opening. The only other person in town who will see you charges twice as much and only takes two appointments a week. I heard her calendar is full for the next four months.”

He pulled out a black velvet bag with a scowl. “Fine but hurry up. I have a train at eight back to Philadelphia.”

I took my time shaking the contents out of the black velvet bag onto a foam mat. If anything, his little speech made me want to take my time. I ran my fingers over the four rings, two pendants, and string of pearls. One ring was enchanted to help with joint pain, the pearls for luck, and the rest was pretty, but not enchanted. It was tempting to tell him it was all worthless costume jewelry, but I couldn’t. First, my mother raised me right. Second, if I wanted to get a license as a retail witch I needed to treat every customer ethically – even if he was a little shit whose entire family line was ashamed of.

His interest perked up when I pointed at the ring that helped with pain until I explained it was the equivalent of taking two Advil. He got excited about the pearls until I explained the luck was for not spilling something on the wearer’s clothes. Poor dumb shit. There were a lot of ladies who would happily pay for a necklace that would stop them from spilling things on themselves every time they went to lunch. I know, because I was one of them.

“For the house stuff, I can offer you three hundred. I’ll take all of the jewelry for another one hundred dollars so you can make your train and not deal with the jewelry shop.”

He scanned the items on the counter while chewing his lip. For a moment, I thought he was having second thoughts about selling his family things. I was wrong. He was thinking of a counteroffer.

Five minutes later I passed him five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills for the entire lot. As he was signing the paperwork verifying the items weren’t stolen, I asked who left him the stuff. The little shit shrugged his shoulder and said it belonged to his grandmother Holly. I didn’t know her but in a tight community like Salem, chances were good the head of the Salem Rent-A-Witch House would know her where she lived and sweep the house before it was sold for any magic items left behind.

My sister Bea’s face lit up my phone screen as I carefully labeled each piece after he left to be added to the shop's inventory. I dropped my pen and answered, "What's up Buttercup?"

It was hard to keep my tone light when she called unexpectedly. My first thought was always that her demon stalker found her again. Thankfully she was simply worried she was being pranked by her new boss again. I let out a sigh and continued labeling things as I listened to her complain about picking turnips and wearing a pink boa. She eventually decided that talking to me was more trouble than help and let me go with a promise to check in when she got back to Pink House.

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