So, to keep up the facade of my carefully crafted world, I ignored the gnawing of my conscience, smashed aside all thoughts of Amazons, and went down the worn marble stairs that connected our living area to the main floor and my office.

The reception area was nothing but a couple of tall chairs in front of a barlike structure made of paneling and plywood. The shop wouldn’t open for another hour, and I had no early morning meetings, so I had the place to myself. I walked around the reception desk/bar and opened the glass-and-wood door that hid my office. The room had housed the school’s principal in its past life. My employees commented on that whenever I called them in to talk. Having been homeschooled myself or, more accurately, “road schooled,” since I grew up traveling from place to place, I got no negative vibes when entering the space, but it didn’t bother me that others did. There was nothing wrong with starting out with an upper hand-the principal thing did that for me.

A folder thick with papers sat squarely on the center of my desk.

Interview day. With everything going on, I’d forgotten.

Artemis bless Mandy for remembering.

My hand drifted down to the manila folder and rested there. Our business was growing-a good thing-and it was time to add an artist, also good. But I couldn’t help question if now was the best time to be adding a new employee to the mix-another set of eyes to take note of whatever strange thing happened next.

This was no spur-of-the-moment decision. We’d talked about hiring another artist in our weekly staff meetings for months. If I backed out now, it would turn more than one pair of curious-make that outraged-eyes on me.

To make matters worse, even in the best times hiring an artist could be tricky. To work for me they had to be the absolute best at what they did, and they had to ignore little things like Bubbe’s spell casting and Mother’s weapon practice in the basement below the shop.