I couldn’t let Dan Rutherford win, and I couldn’t stand working for his cronies. Watching incompetent assholes take credit for my hard work? It sucks.

But she couldn’t say any of that in front of the volunteers. Even people who were on her side gossiped, and it often came across as bitter when a woman told the truth about workplace dynamics after leaving a job. So she bit back the torrent of words and basked in Ethel’s kind smile. Stretching her neck from side to side, Leanne got up from her laptop, aware of the aches from sitting too long.

“Pace yourself,” Ethel advised. “Yes, you’re running behind the curve right now, and you don’t have as much time as would be ideal, but you have two months. You can do this.”

Most of the tension drained out of her body. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

“Then how about this? No matter what happens, I’m incredibly proud of you.” The older witch delivered the short speech in a serious tone, quite unlike her usual breezy jokes.

“I don’t know what to say. What’s with you and Hazel today? You’re both trying to make me cry or what?”

“Not even slightly. I’m having lunch with Angelica. Gonna try and talk some sense into her. She needs to leave Danica and Clem alone.”

Leanne chuckled. “Good luck with that.”

“I’ll need it. But before I go, I wanted to give you this.”

Leanne accepted the sweet-smelling herbal sachet. To a mundane, it would look prosaic as hell, potpourri to keep clothes smelling fragrant. A text popped up on her phone as Ethel sauntered toward the door. I spent hours on this. Put it with your campaigning clothes, and it should attract success. When we get closer to election day, I’ll do a divination to check your chances. We’re with you, every step of the way.

This was the kind of message she deleted immediately. It contained too much information for her to risk leaving it be, but Leanne did stare at Ethel for a long moment, letting the support soak in. Junie had raised her like a nomad, and her mother had never really connected to a coven. Leanne had been lucky to find her heart’s home in St. Claire.

I appreciate it, she sent back. You’re my hero.

Back atcha.

With a whisper of regret, she purged the whole chat then, as she had countless times before. Witches tended to speak in code even online because of past persecutions. But…what would it be like to live a world where she didn’t need to worry about this or perpetually hide her identity?

My existence isn’t a crime.

Sighing slightly, she decided to focus on what she could change—for now.

***

At 1:00 p.m., Trev sat at a table at the Coffee House.