Chapter One

“Sebastian Bane is a wicked man,” declared Fenady Clark, scowling at the flyer she held in her hands. “A wicked, wicked man.”

The flyer in question, brightly colored, slick and professional-looking, bore the legend Wicked Good Sundae Shoppe across the top, and screamed in four-inch letters about the newest flavor to go on sale, Marshmallow Madness, billed as a dream of marshmallow-whipped ice cream drizzled with hot caramel sauce and garnished with a cinnamon stick.

“I detest the man,” Fenady elaborated. “I truly do.”

“You don’t even know him,” protested her good friend and employee, Kara Lewandowski. “In fact, you’ve never met him.”

“Doesn’t matter. He’s done it again.”

“Done what again?”

“Stolen my newest flavor—before I can get it into production. Here, see? He even lists it on this flyer. Marshmallow Madness. And what’s in the kitchen of this shop, even as we speak?”

“Your latest brainstorm—Marshy Magic,” Kara replied dutifully, her expression one of concern.

“How does he keep doing it? It’s the fourth time. It’s almost like he has a spy in my kitchen.” She slid her eyes to Kara. “You’re not spying for that man, are you?”

Kara did not take the question seriously. “You know better than that. Besides, some of the flavors were still just in your head when Bane nabbed them, right? Must be coincidence.”

“Like hell. I don’t believe in coincidence,” Fenady huffed. “I think it’s magic. You’ve heard what people say about Bane, right?”

“That he’s a Wiccan—a witch?”

“Yes.”

“Like you,” Kara pointed out. “Actually, the two of you have a lot in common. Both Wiccans, both new business owners. Both creative ice cream aficionados.”

“Yeah, who would have thought?” Certainly not Fenady. She’d selected the little town of Rockpool, Massachusetts to found her lifelong dream of owning an ice cream parlor because she’d vacationed there with her parents as a girl. That had been back in the days when things were still good for her family. The quaint shops, cozy cottages, and wide beachfront had remained in her heart even after life took a turn for the worse.

Her parents had divorced when she was twelve. It had been just Fen and her mom then, until her mom got sick, only to pass away following a long and agonizing illness. And what had her beloved dad been doing all that while? Chasing other women, as if he didn’t give a damn. It had taught Fenady that she couldn’t trust men—even, or perhaps especially, the ones she loved.

It had taught her she couldn’t trust love at all.

After her mom died, there’d been nobody there to save Fenady, except Fenady. She’d thrown herself into her work, and her dreams. A big part of what had got her through were her Wiccan beliefs. Yes, she was a witch, but certainly not the cackling, warty-nosed, broom-toting kind.

She believed in harmony, balance, and putting good things out into the world so they might increase and come back to her again. It had taken her years of struggle and sheer hard work, holding down two jobs in Boston while attending college at night to attain her degree in Food Service. She’d moved to Rockpool just this spring, delighted to rent a tiny shop right on the beach, in the town that was only a stone’s throw from Salem—the witches’ mecca. She’d had no idea then that someone else was about to open a shop of his own, right at the other end of the beach.

Or that he would begin stealing her creations before she could manifest them.

Could he be doing it through magic? If so, it must be the very darkest kind. Because Sebastian Bane threatened everything Fen had worked for. He threatened her dreams—the ones that, for so long, had kept her alive.

She scowled at the flyer once more. “Maybe you’re right,” she told Kara. “I think it’s time I had a talk with Mr. Wicked Good and told him to stop poaching from us.”

Kara’s expression turned serious. She’d been Fen’s best friend since their days in high school together and had followed her into food service out of both love and loyalty.

Kara was family to Fenady, and Fen could read her pretty well. Now, Kara’s clear, gray eyes filled with doubt.

“Fen, you don’t want to antagonize him. This is a small town, and you can’t afford to start a war you can’t—” She broke off.

Fen propped her fist on her hip. “What—that I can’t win? You think I can’t compete with this—this devil? You think I can’t put his Wicked Good Shoppe under?”

Kara bit her lip. “I didn’t say that. I think there’s room in Rockpool for two ice cream parlors, especially when the tourists come streaming in. But you’re just getting off the ground, and he does have a reputation already.”

“You suppose I’m afraid of him?” Fen didn’t fear much. The fires through which she’d passed while young had tempered her, and her faith surrounded her like a cloak of protection. She crumpled the bright flyer in her hand. “Well, I’m not.”

Kara smiled suddenly. “I never suggested it. Just, if you go see him, be polite. Sometimes you can get a bit snippy and sarcastic.”

Fenady nodded. Sarcasm made a fine and ready defense. “I can tell him, can’t I? He can’t keep stealing my ideas. Let him learn who he’s dealing with.”

Kara blew out a puff of air so hard her flaxen bangs bounced. “Oh, boy.”

“I can be perfectly polite, Kara.” And bold and very, very clear in her intentions.

She wanted to take this Sebastian Bane’s measure. As she very well knew, there were good witches who called the light, and there were others who summoned the darkness. She’d find out if the rumors about Sebastian Bane were true, discover exactly what kind of witch he was.

And then, just as she’d dealt with every other problem in her life, she’d deal with him.