My family, the Whitlows, are basically the supernatural Corleones of the Carolinas. We run a magical safe house disguised as a quaint inn, backed by more old money than sense. My sisters are more likely to start an apocalypse than prevent one—Alafair's never met a margarita she didn't like, and if Emmery had to choose between her spellbook and her heels, I'm pretty sure the stiletto sling-backs would win.



So who gets stuck with the messes? That would be me, Tula Whitlow, because I'm competent enough to be useful and way too lazy to argue.



I'm not the most powerful witch in town (that'd be my aunt Ruby, who treats dark magic like a contact sport), but I'm the only one who bothers to show up.



Now there's an FBI agent on my doorstep with a case that's way above my pay grade. His sister's life is on the line, and all signs point to an upscale vineyard with some dark secrets. Ancient curses, old gods, and the kind of magic that makes even my aunt Ruby nervous. I'm going to have to wrangle my family into helping.



Look, I know what you're thinking—why not call in the magical equivalent of SWAT? Trust me, in this town, my family IS the nuclear option. Heaven help us all.