After Sierra is gone, I clean up the kitchen. I fight the temptation to do a spell, opting not to give someone the opportunity to walk in on me. It feels very Samantha Stephens.

The downside of not being able to go back to sleep rears its ugly head as a yawning fit exacerbates my drowsiness. I elect to venture into town and find their strongest coffee.

I choose a pair of dark jeans and a powder blue t-shirt with 90s Nickelodeon characters on it. My beige cardigan goes well with the outfit.

My phone finds the nearest coffee shop with the highest rating, a place called the Moonpetal Cafe. The drive past all the similarly built craftsmen houses in the neighborhood is nearly maddening. It is a far cry from my previous apartment.

Prophecy Cove is a few miles outside of Salem. The town itself is scenic and out of the way, but there is something strange about it. It's cooler than the city. I can't put my finger on what makes it so strange.

With all the magic permeating this place, I just hope I can get to the beach and meet a mermaid.

If they exist.

The Moonpetal Cafe is only five to ten minutes away from our house. The cafe is on Main Street, beside an antique shop. I park in the only spot available in front of the cafe.

I'm lucky, it seems.

The scent of lavender assaults me as I enter the cafe. The decor of the cafe is subdued, utilizing mostly Earth tones and darker shades of purple.

A piece of royal purple silk hangs over the counter, where a barista is assisting a moderately long line. The counter is made of a darker wood with glass partitions that show off a selection of delicious pastries and sandwiches.

The cafe uses a purposeful mismatch of furniture. It's filled with different styles and sizes of tables and chairs. Against the wall is a worn brown and green sofa. A small hallway just beyond the area leads to what I assume are the bathrooms.

On the other side of the room, a small glass enclosure leads to a patio, where green wrought-iron patio furniture is lazily aligned along the patio.

The dulcet sounds of a woman singing about her lovelorn past overpowers the bustle of customers.

I step forward into the line, craning my neck to see the menu above the counter better. The white mocha caramel ombre sounds like the best choice.

The door behind me opens and closes, causing the bells above the door to jingle loudly. The hair on the back of my neck stands on edge without reason. Instinctively, I reach to the back of my neck and cover my hair. My hands feel hot, as if something is covering them.

The feeling only intensifies as the line begins to move. A faint static accompanies the feeling. I focus on my order, repeating it in my mind over and over. The wait isn't too long.

I order the largest size they have before moving to the side.

I bump into something burning hot and stern. It could have been a pipe for all I knew. To my surprise, it is a man.

The man is generating an ungodly amount of heat from his tall, bulky frame. He has a days-old scruff that makes him look rugged. Surprisingly, I can still see his chiseled jawline through the beard. His hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, the same jet-black color as his scruff.

His flannel button-up barely fits his muscular frame.

"Oh my God! You're really hot!"

I stammer out the words before I can catch them. The man stares at me, perplexed as I clear my throat to correct myself.

"I mean your body is hot. No! Your body temperature is ridiculous."

The man grins before he utters it's okay. He opens his mouth to speak only to clear his throat. Without another word, he turns and leaves the cafe.

"Don't take it personally."

The voice belongs to a blonde man with shimmering green eyes. The broad-shouldered man has a small cut on his left eyebrow. He is wearing a black designer coat that hangs below his knees and a fresh blue button-up.

A small T with a snake curled around it as it dangles from his neck.

"Excuse me?" I ask.

"Michaels. Don't take it personal. Him and the rest of his group aren't talkative. Anti-social, really."

"His group?"

"At the Reserve. Sorry, we haven't met formally. You're very new here, right?" He extends his hand. "Archer Tereso."

"Archer?"

"My parents were avid book readers and had a bit too much imagination."

I think back to the night I visited with Aria in the graveyard. I remember passing a rather decadent crypt with the name Tereso on it. Between that and the extravagant clothes, I take it they aren't peasants.

I introduce myself to him as I shake his hand. The moment our hands touch, I see a stream of visions. The images pass by too fast for me to take in each of them individually. They are accompanied by voices, some speaking normally, while others are yelling.

One image stays with me. Archer is warning someone that they are trespassing too deeply into something I shouldn't be. The other man's face is obscured but he, too, has a full head of blonde hair.

I pull away when I realize I am going to far into his memory. The visions are soon replaced by Archer's bewildered expression before he smirks. "I knew it!"

"What?"

"What do you mean what? What you just did. I felt you as soon as you walked through the door."

"No clue what you're talking about."

"And you're a psychic. That's rare."

Psychics and mediums are rare in the magical community. My powers are potent, but I wouldn't say I have the firmest grasp on them. My uncle Lachlan used to work with me on controlling my abilities, but after his disappearance, I concentrated on other aspects of magic.

Archer beeps. He reaches down to his side and pulls out a pager. I hope he's a doctor rather than a drug dealer. He swears under his breath before smiling at me.

"It was really nice meeting you. Listen, I'm part of a coven. We meet often. If you don't already have a coven, we'd love if you—"

"No thanks."

Archer nods. "Understood. Look, I have to go. But I hope I'll see you around, Parker."

Archer grins as he leaves. Memorizing his smile isn't hard. He is an attractive man.

I retreat to the corner to wait on my drink. A reporter, Christy Markoff, on the TV in the corner catches my ear. Christy is covering a newscast for a murder. She explains they have found a seventh victim in a series of wild animal attacks.

It sounds like an unreal series of coincidences. Animals hunt to eat, for the most part, or they protect their territory from those encroaching upon said territory. Seven times is a bit more than a coincidence.

Christy continues that the teeth marks found on the body are consistent with canines, however, the bite marks indicate a larger animal. The marks appear to come from something the size of a bear. The witch in me understands that this town might be suffering from a bout of werewolf attacks.

But werewolves are solitary creatures. It wouldn't make much sense unless people were continually overstepping their bounds.

Christy identifies the newest victim as a student at the local college named Cece Devaigne. Christy lists off the girl's accolades, including being on the Dean's List.

A new barista calls my name and I head to the bar. As I reach the bar, Christy moves on to a report on the missing people.

"It's a shame. It used to be such a quiet town. Isn't that what older people say?" the barista asks.

The barista, a woman in her late twenties with shoulder-length blonde hair, idles beside my coffee. I pick up the coffee cup and pretend not to notice she is staring at me.

"You just spoke to two of the most eligible bachelors in Prophecy Cove. Congrats."

"Spoke to is debatable."

"It's further than the rest of us have gotten."

Unable to ignore her any longer, I take in the woman's aesthetic. She is wispy. Her flowy, flowery top confirms it. She fits the Eurocentric standard of beauty. Her emerald eyes make her the perfect fit for a successful social media influencer.

Her name tag reads "Mori" and I find it a peculiar name. I smile politely at her.

"Michaels. He lives on the Reserve outside of town. They're super secretive. They only really come into town when they need something." Mori explains.

It perplexes me as to why she is telling me any of this. I never asked and, even if I did, it is an odd first conversation for us to have. Regardless, she seems harmless if not a busybody.

"Well, maybe next time he'll say more than two syllables at a time." I say.

"Who cares! You caught the attention of Mcsteamy."

"Archer?"

"King of the Teresos. And all-around yum factory."

Mori is entertaining. She is the type of person who is easy to talk to because she says whatever is on her mind at the time. I can relate to her.

Mori leans against the counter. "You're new here, right? Maybe I can show you around sometime. Or at least give you the scoop."

The idea is appealing. I could use a new friend. Sierra's voice splits my head open urging me to be open to new people. I accept her offer and we exchange numbers. Mori's co-worker impatiently calls her back to work, much to the annoyance of Mori.

I laugh as I head out of the cafe.