I was a divorced, middle-aged witch banished to Ireland.
My life could be summed up in a limerick…
There once was a misguided witch Who tried a man’s fate to switch Her punishment set To Ireland she must get But better than feathers and pitch!
With a name like Quinn Calahan I sounded as Irish as a leprechaun dancing a jig on a four leafed clover, but the truth was, I’d never been closer to the emerald isle than drinking green beer at the St Patrick’s day street party in Boston until I messed up so badly I had to leave the US. I was offered a job in a tiny village in Ireland that no one’s ever heard of. And I think that was the point in sending me there. How much trouble could a divorced, middle-aged witch get into in a village that boasted very few residents, one crumbling castle that attracted no tourists, and a post office that was only open Mondays and Thursdays?