The second hint something's wrong in a town that pretends its magic is perfectly under control?

A hex mark on your front door.

It showed up overnight—burned into the wood, smelling faintly of sulfur and sage. Just another Tuesday in this charmingly cursed town. But when fires start flaring in places they shouldn't—like the potion storeroom, the town bakery, and my actual hair—it's clear someone's stirring up more than trouble.

Potions are misfiring. Tempers are flaring. And my dragon-possibly-cat just declared war on the broom closet.

Add in a string of magical house fires with no clear cause, a missing charm-maker, and a long-buried feud between coven members that no one wants to talk about, and suddenly my quiet apothecary life is going up in smoke.

If I don't unravel the truth soon, Willowbark's cozy little hearths won't be the only thing burning.

Because in this town, old magic doesn't die quietly—it explodes.