I set down the last box of ornaments and looked at the Christmas tree. It was glorious. Thanks to the atrium in our Victorian mansion-turned-library, the fir rose more than twenty feet, filling the air with the scent of fresh spruce. I’d be able to lean over the banister from my apartment in the former servants’ quarters on the third floor and see the halo of mercury glass stars sparkling at its tip.

Roz, the assistant librarian, considered the tree. It was after hours, and only the two of us were left in the library. “Patrons are going to love it.” She pulled a fan from her rear pocket and batted at her neck. “You’d think with snow on the ground these hot flashes wouldn’t be so bad.”

My black cat Rodney emerged from beneath the tree and sat, licking a paw. My guess was he’d been drinking from the tree’s water. I hoped he wouldn’t get ideas about using the tree as a jungle gym.

“Does the library always have a Christmas tree?” I asked. I’d only been in Wilfred a few months.

“Most years. One of my favorite holidays was when Marilyn was alive” —Roz glanced toward the full-length portrait over the main entrance of the library’s founder, Marilyn Wilfred, as a young woman in a jewel-toned flapper gown— “And she had apple cider and Christmas crackers for all the millworkers’ kids.” Roz leaned against the doorway to the old drawing room. “What about you? Do you have any favorite Christmas memories?”

I did. As I thought back, the star-shaped birthmark on my shoulder tingled. “When I was four, Santa brought me Grimm’s Fairy Tales. That was a good Christmas.”

“That’s it? A book? I bet you weren’t even old enough to read.”

She was right. I couldn’t read. But I’d discovered I could lie among the brightly wrapped gifts, and look up through the lights twining the tree’s branches. Next to me, the book, still in its paper, told me stories of Sleeping Beauty and Rumpelstiltskin in a mesmerizing, German-accented voice.

My mother had caught me under the tree and shot a warning glance at my grandmother. “It’s starting,” Mom had said. Grandma had merely smiled.

“It was a good book,” I said to Roz. “I’m going upstairs. Will you turn off the lights when you leave? Except the tree. I want to enjoy it a bit longer.”

“Sure. Goodnight,” she said. “Don’t forget about story time tomorrow at ten.”

“I won’t. Goodnight.”

Goodnight, Josie, the books whispered from throughout the library, upstairs and down, their voices shushing in tones only I could hear.

Bait and Witch is the first book in the NEW “Witch Way Librarian” mystery series, coming December 29, 2020.

Josie Way loved working among the Library of Congress’s leather-scented stacks—until she uncovered corruption and made herself a target. As Wilfred, Oregon’s new librarian, Josie can stay undercover until the case goes to court. But life in this little town isn’t as subdued as she expected. The library, housed in a Victorian mansion, is slated to be bulldozed. Still digesting the news that her safe haven is about to become scrap lumber, Josie discovers a body in the woods . . .

Almost as shocking, Josie learns that she’s descended from a long line of witches—and her powers have suddenly sprung to life. With help from a spoiled alley cat who just may be her familiar, Josie’s thumbing through a catalog of suspects, hoping she can conjure a way to save her library—and her life . . .

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About the author
Angela M. Sanders writes the Joanna Hayworth vintage clothing mysteries and the Booster Club capers (Widows Kiss Books). As Clover Tate, she’s the author of the Kite Shop mysteries (Berkley Prime Crime). Her new series featuring the librarian and witch Josie Way debuts January 2021 with Bait and Witch (Kensington Books), praised by Kirkus Reviews as “Zippy and fun, with just enough ambiance to satisfy readers seeking spooks and humor.” When she isn’t at her laptop, Angela is rummaging in thrift shops, lounging with a vintage crime novel, or pontificating on how to make the perfect martini. Visit her website at angelamsanders.com.

All comments are welcomed.