He smiled then, and made her shudder. “I told you I’d always find you, wherever you went, whatever you did.” He gave her a hard shove that jammed her back into the counter. The pain registered in kind of an absent way, like a memory.

“Do you know what I found here, in your little nest, Helen? Helen, my whore? Men’s clothing. How many men have you slept with, slut?”

The kettle began to shriek, but neither of them heard.

“Did you find yourself some strapping local fisherman, let him put his fumbling, workingman’s hands all over you? All over what belongs to me?”

Zack. It was her first clear thought. Clear enough that her swimming eyes registered bright fear.

“There’s no fisherman,” she said and barely cried out when he slapped her.

“Liar. You know how I detest liars.”

“There’s no—” The tears escaped at the next slap. But it snapped her back to who she was. She was Nell Channing, and she would fight. “Keep away from me. Keep away.” She grabbed for the knife block, but he was quicker. He’d always been quicker.

“Is this what you want?” He drew the long, jagged-edged blade free, turned it in the light an inch from her nose. She braced herself. She thought: So, he’ll kill me after all.

Instead he reared back, smashing the side of her face with a vicious backhanded slap that sent her flying. She crashed into the table, striking her head against the edge of the thick wood. The world went bright, went dark.

She didn’t feel her body hit the floor.

Mia treated a young space explorer. The bookstore was one of the most popular spots on Halloween. She had dancing skeletons, grinning pumpkins, flying ghosts, and, of course, a coven of witches. Her usual store music had been replaced with howls and shrieks and rattling chains.

She was having the time of her life.

She served a cowboy ghoul a cup of punch from a cauldron as the dry ice packed beneath it sent out curls of smoke.

His eyes were huge as he watched her. “Are you gonna ride on your broomstick tonight?”

“Of course.” She bent down. “What kind of a witch would I be otherwise?”

“The witch who chased Dorothy was a bad witch.”

“She was a very bad witch,” Mia agreed. “I happen to be a very good one.”

“She was ug–ly, and had a green face. You’re pretty,” he giggled and slurped his punch.

“Thank you very much. You, on the other hand, are very scary.” She handed him a bag of candy. “I hope you won’t trick me.”

“Huh-uh. Thanks, lady.” He dropped the bag in his begging sack, then ran off to find his mother.