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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either arethe product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales isentirely coincidental.Copyright ©
2010
by Camille Marjorie DeAngelisAll rights reserved.Published in the United States by Crown Publishers,an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group,a division of Random House, Inc., New York.www.crownpublishing.comCrown is a trademark and the Crown colophon is a registered trademarkof Random House, Inc.Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication DataDeAngelis, Camille.Petty magic: being the memoirs and confessions of Miss Evelyn Harbinger,temptress and troublemaker / Camille DeAngelis.—
1
st ed.p. cm.
1.
Older women—Fiction.
2.
World War,
1939–1945
 —Veterans—Fiction.
3.
Loss (Psychology)—Fiction.
4.
Magic—Fiction. I. Title.PS
3604.
E
159
P
47 2010813
'.
6
 —dc
22 2009034348
ISBN
978
-
0
-
307
-
45423
-
2
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
 
“All witchcraft comes from carnal lust,which is in women insatiable”
1.
W
itch
, n.
1
. Any ugly and repulsive old woman, in awicked league with the devil.
2
. A beautiful and attrac-tive young woman, in wickedness a league beyond thedevil. —Ambrose Bierce,
The Devil’s Dictionary 
{|
 T 
here are
many misconceptions of which I must disabuseyou, but the most offensive concerns the wands and warts andblack pointed caps. Some of us may be wizened and ratherhairy in unfortunate places, but we’re certainly no uglier than the restof you lumps.I look grandmotherly enough myself though, for it’s a rare morn-ingIdon’tnabaseatontheuptown103—andwhenI
am
compelledtostand, the respectable citizens around me will grouse on my behalf atthe bad manners of those buffoons claiming knee injuries or feigningdeafness. As I disembark I wish the respectable ones a pleasant day,and I can see I remind them of their dear great-aunties. Don’t I looklike the sort who bakes oatmeal cookies by the gross, slips a fiver intoyour birthday card? Nobody ever has an inkling, do they?SomenightsIridethebusathirdtime,butyouwouldn’trecognizeme then. I’ll tell you how I do it. First I run a crooked forefinger over
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