Witch and Were — Eliza Gayle

All my life I've been told I need to learn the fine art of patience. Ironic considering that's what my hipster loving, sex addicted mother named me. Instead of dealing with my mother's woo-woo touchy feely ways, I'd rather keep my mind and my weak ass magic focused on business.

Today of all days, I especially can't deal. Not only do I have a meeting with some influential investors that I need to expand my skin care line, it's also my fiftieth birthday. That's right. The big 5-0. Ugh. Witches may not age like humans so I don't look a day over twenty-five. But in my business age is everything and my customers expect, well, magic.

So the fact I woke up this morning in the form of a white wolf is kind of a problem. Witches can't shift, so why the hell am I looking at a wolf in the mirror?

As if that wasn't enough, there's a silver fox now trying to sniff my butt. The fact he shifts into a smoking hot Gerard Butler look alike with a salt and pepper beard shouldn't matter. Uhhhh... Now he wants to be my guide for a cross country road trip to some nowhere town in West Virginia so I can figure out what's wrong with me.

This should be epic. Not.

Go ahead, cue the banjos. If you don't hear from me in a week, please send help.