Be Careful What You Witch For: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Wishing For A Magical Midlife: Wish Upon A Midlife Witch, Book 1)

Be Careful What You Witch For WISHING FOR A MAGICAL MIDLIFE BOOK ONE TEE HARLOWE M&F BOOKS Copyright © 2023 by Tee Harlowe All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Cover design by Karen Dimmer/ArcaneCovers.com Created with Vellum To Dad and the light you shine even in the darkest of times Contents Introduction Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Epilogue Your Witch Is My Command: A Sneak Peek Acknowledgments About the Author Introduction Hi, and thanks so much for your interest in Be Careful What You Witch For! If you want to get all the latest updates, fun bonus chapters, scenes, art, and more, then join Tee Time, my biweekly newsletter! Happy reading, Tee Chapter One Forty sure was turning out to be fabulous, alright. Aching joints no meds could solve ✓ Graying temples that appeared overnight ✓ Chin hairs that popped up like whac-a-moles ✓ Mediocre job with no chance at advancement ✓ Just think about eating a cookie and gain ten pounds ✓ Oh, and I was currently being yelled at by an eighty-year-old man who wore a sweater vest despite the fact that it was ninety degrees outside. The restaurant had emptied long ago, staff clearing the tables, stacking chairs, sweeping the floors, and instead of doing inventory like I needed to, I had been dealing with Burt for an hour. He raised his cane in the air and pointed it at his medium-cooked steak that he claimed had too much pink in it. It was the third steak he’d sent back tonight. I planted my hands on my hips and gestured to the meat sitting on the table in front of us. “Burt, this is the third steak we’ve given you, and all have been cooked medium, like you requested. This is medium, I assure you.” He slammed his cane on the floor with a sharp crack. “It is not, gosh darnit. You don’t think I know what a good medium-cooked steak looks like?” No, actually I didn’t. Because this steak was a perfect medium. As a restaurant manager to a steakhouse, I saw hundreds of steaks every single day, and I knew the exact shade every temperature should be. Burt, however, had no clue what he wanted. Just last night, he’d claimed he liked his steak rare—I’d told the cook to make sure it was medium, and Burt didn’t even notice. His order was the same every night: Sprite, beer-cheddar soup, medium-cooked NY strip, and a basket of fries with a side of ketchup. And yes, Burt was normally crotchety and not particularly friendly, but tonight, he was taking grumpy to a new level, and I didn’t know how to fix it, especially when I needed to get the hell out of here. I sighed heavily, peeking at my phone. Shit, I was late, and my daughter was going to kill me. “Listen, Burt, how about I comp your meal? I’ll even throw in a free appetizer to-go. But our kitchen is closed, and at this point, we cannot cook you another steak.” He pointed a shaky, wrinkled finger at me. “Now, you listen up. I eat here every doggone night. So if I want another steak, I’ll get another steak.” The servers and busboys averted their gazes as they flitted around me, wiping tables, filling salt and pepper shakers, rolling silverware. I plastered a smile on my face that I hoped said I’m on your side and not If we don’t wrap this up soon, I’m going to throat punch you. “We’ll have a do-over tomorrow. Come on in, you can get another meal on the house, and we will cook your steak until you’re happy.” I wasn’t being a good manager right now. No manager should give the customer this much power, this much free steak, but I needed to get out of here, and that wasn’t going to happen until Burt, here, set me free from his rampage. Burt tapped his foot for a moment, his underbite going strong as he mulled over my offer. Then he eyed the juicy steak sitting on the table and shook his head. “No deal. I want my steak now.” “And I’ve already explained why that can’t happen,” I said through gritted teeth, my fake smile slipping, and my sanity along with it. Moments like this I regretted leaving my home so long ago, leaving my life, my powers, behind. I had been on a path to greatness—but no. I gave up my life as a witch for a reason, a good one, and I wasn’t going to let this elderly man who had nothing better to do with his time than terrorize restaurant managers make me forget why I’d left. Burt was currently poking at the lump of meat with the end of his cane. “Look at that, you see that indent? That’s not right. It’s not.” At this point there would be no negotiations, no talking any sense into Burt. He’d gone off the deep end, and he wouldn’t be returning unless he got a brand-new steak, something that was impossible, given our kitchen was closed and our cooks left—I checked my watch—twenty minutes ago. My phone lit up with a text from my daughter. Remy Hello? Where are you? It’s getting late. Now Burt poked me with his cane, face red, spittle flying from his mouth, and I did something