A Tale of Two Witches

I went into *A Tale of Two Witches* expecting a fluffy paranormal rom-com, but Peterman pulled me into a story that’s equal parts *Sabrina* meets *Gilmore Girls*—if Rory had a side hustle selling enchanted pastries and her grandmother was a retired mobster witch. Riggio’s narration is a masterclass in comedic timing; she nails the rapid-fire dialogue, the witchy growls, and the sheer exasperation in characters’ voices as if she’s lived in this world. My favorite moment? When the Cookie Witch’s rival literally turns into a literal banana peel during an argument—Riggio sells the sheer absurdity with the gravitas of a Shakespearean actor, making it feel like a Greek tragedy of fruit-based humiliation. The pacing, however, stumbles slightly in the middle act, where the plot threads start tangling like headphones in a purse. The romance, while sweet, lacks the slow-burn tension I crave, and the magical mishaps, though frequent, occasionally veer into repetitive territory before the story rights itself with a third-act twist that felt earned. Production-wise, the audio quality is crisp, but the occasional overuse of sound effects—like exaggerated whooshes for spellcasting—bordered on cheesy. Still, these quibbles fade against the book’s infectious energy. If you’re craving a witchy rom-com that treats its tropes like a buffet (all you can eat attitude, spicy banter, and plots as twisty as a pretzel), this one’s a cauldron of delights. Just don’t blame me if you start craving cookies—or hexes—afterward.