Merlin's Magical Mysteries

My name is Gracie Springs, and I am not a witch… but I’m pretty sure my cat is. I first started to get suspicious when he jumped just a little too high while chasing after a robin in our front yard. I knew for sure when he opened up his mouth and addressed me by name! The first thing he told me? That he doesn’t like the name I gave him—even though “Fluffy” fits him like a warm sweater at Christmas. Now we’ve compromised on “Merlin the Magical Fluff,” which according to him references his long and proud lineage just fine.

It was hard enough serving as my witchy cats familiar when we only had to deal with threats we could see. Now he's gotten himself into a bitter feud with a newly dispatched ghost, leaving me to wonder: How in the heck are we supposed to defeat this thing? I miss the simple days when all I had to worry about was finishing my thesis paper and not getting fired from my part-time job as a barista.

When my cat brought me a dead bird as a present, I cringed. When that dead bird suddenly flitted back to life, I screamed. At first, I shrugged it off as one of the random things that happens when your roommate is a magical cat, but then it kept happening. Turns out a familiar foe is creating an army of undead creatures with the goal of forcing us to surrender. But Merlin and I refuse to let dark magic prevail—not when the entire existence of magic is now at stake. And if magic dies, so too will all who wield it.