“Reese McDonald.” I looked up, doing my best not to spit my beer all over this intruder’s garishly made up face surrounded by gigantic black curls tied back in a bright red scarf hanging over her heavily bangled ears, neck, and wrists, brightly painted fingernails, flowing long skirt and, might I say, witchy blouse, as she spoke again. “I know why you’re here.”
That made one of us.
“I understand how you might fall for the half-truths and misleadings of the frauds who call themselves the Lovely Witches Club.” Now that was a laugh and a half. They were frauds? Okay, sure, I had been thinking that, but had she looked in the mirror lately? Like, when she left the house today? “But I want you to know, I’m here to help.”
Reese struggles with frustration over the secrets she knows the Lovely Witches are keeping from her despite hiring her to make their documentary. What do they want from her? So when the chance to film another “coven”—one she’s positive is a fraud show meant to fool the foolish—arises, she jumps at it, if only to prove to herself the whole idea is bunk. Isn't it?