Chapter One
Slightly Magical Puppies

Hocus and Pocus were born in late October, when even the wind was full of mischief.
A witch found their entire litter wandering outside as the last of the leaves fell. She could tell they were too small to stay out in the cold. They needed homes with soft laps and plenty of treats. She could also tell the pups were slightly magical. They needed witches, wizards, and warlocks who would take care of them.
This witch wanted to help. She took the litter to the Shelter for Slightly Magical Pets.
The shelter held a slew of bewitching kittens, dozens of enchanted fish, three charmed chinchillas, and a sad tortoise whose shell changed colors when it rained.
“It’s good to have you here,” the human who owned the shelter told them. “You probably won’t stay long, though. People love puppies. Magical humans are always looking for magical puppies. You are all slightly magical and more than slightly adorable.”
Hocus, who had been born first, was the biggest of the litter. Her coat was partly white and partly the color of sweet, salty caramel. The thing that made her slightly magical was this: she could stare deep into a person’s eyes and see what would happen in exactly two minutes.
Pocus, who had been born last, stayed little. His coat was white with spots like chocolate sprinkles, and his head was the color of a perfect cup of hot cocoa. The thing that made him slightly magical was this: he could snuggle up to you and any bad feeling you had would float away. First Pocus turned it into a brightly colored bubble. Then he ate the bubble with a snap of his jaws.
Double, Toil, and Trouble each had enchanted ears that could pick up the sound of a spell being cast miles away. Whenever they saw a witch, wizard, or warlock, they ran up and flipped over for a belly rub. All three were adopted within days.
Hocus and Pocus wanted a home, too. But they didn’t want to go to different homes the way Double, Toil, and Trouble had. They wanted a home together.
“What do we do?” Pocus asked, gnawing the shark slipper he’d borrowed from the shelter owner. “Someone will take you first, I know it. I’ll never see you again!”
“Unacceptable,” Hocus grumbled. “We’ll use our magic to stop it.”
“What if that’s not enough?” Pocus asked.
“Then we’ll use our mischief, too.”

Chapter Two
Too Much Mischief?

When a warlock and witch couple came in the next day and asked to look at puppies, Hocus stared deep into their eyes.
“Oh no,” she said. “In exactly two minutes, they’ll ask to adopt one of us! Only one!” Hocus knew it would be her, but she didn’t want to make Pocus even more nervous, so she didn’t add that detail.
“No!” Pocus cried, already nervous enough. “We have to stop it!”
Pocus leaped into the witch’s arms.
Hocus squatted low.
Hocus had what the shelter owner called “an accident”—but this was an “on purpose.”
The warlock danced around, shouting, “It’s getting on my robes!” Pocus turned all their bad feelings into bubbles and ate them. He didn’t want these people to be too mad at Hocus.
But they definitely didn’t adopt anyone.
Another day, a wizard came in with a small wizard-baby and a wand that looked like an excellent fetch stick. “I’m looking for one perfect pet who will grow up along with my little one.”
“Just one pet,” Hocus said.
“Mischief time!” Pocus shouted.
Hocus climbed the wizard like a tree.
Hocus slurped a hundred kisses on the wizard-baby’s face.
Pocus grabbed the wizard’s wand while they were distracted and did what he did best: power chew.
He spent the next two days burping sparks.
The shelter human shook their head. “This might be harder than I thought. You’ve been here for months and nobody’s even filled out an application.”
Pocus had actually eaten several applications.
“What if no one ever adopts us?” Pocus asked. “What if our mischief is backfiring? Like a wand when you chew on it?”
“Hmmm,” Hocus grumbled. “Maybe we have to stop thinking about what we don’t want . . .”
“We don’t want to get split up!” Pocus yelped.
“And spend time trying to get what we do want.”
“We want treats and a person to give us lots of treats,” Pocus helped.
“We want a home. Together. Right?” Hocus had to help her little brother along sometimes. He needed someone to talk him into things. “We’ll be extra good when the next magical human comes in, okay?”
“We’re good dogs,” Pocus said, but he didn’t sound so sure.
Right at that moment, a witch burst through the door. The same witch who’d brought them to the shelter in the first place.
Hocus said, “We’ll be this witch’s puppies in no time.”
But the witch had other ideas.