Bewitched, Bothered, and Biscotti: A Magical Bakery Mystery (15 page)

At least that’s what I told myself in the middle of the night.

Mama, however, was not on board with the ideas of serendipity and forgiveness. The
relationship between her and her little sister, never that great, had soured even
more since Lucy’s revelation that I was a witch. Mama was furious, determined not
to forgive Lucy and none too happy with me for pursuing magic, either.

“Any news?” she asked now.

“I learned how to plant a prosperity spell.” I wasn’t proud of myself for baiting
her, but I couldn’t seem to help it.

There was a long silence. Then she said, “I ran into Andrew the other day. He was
house hunting.”

Touché
.

“In Fillmore?” I forced myself to ask.

“He said he’s tired of Akron. He has a new job here, at the school. Vice principal.”
She sure seemed to have a lot to say about him, given that she’d made no secret of
her dislike of Andrew when we’d been engaged.

“Fancy doin’s,” I said. “In a town with only five hundred and sixty-three people in
it.” About to be 564, it sounded like.

“His girlfriend was with him.”

Okay, make that 565. Maybe. Andrew wasn’t great at the commitment game.

I sighed. “Of course she was, Mama. Is Daddy around?”

Another pause, pregnant with regret and frustration and a few other things I couldn’t
readily identify.

“Hang on. I’ll get him.”

Mungo bounded up the two steps leading into the gazebo, turned around three times
on the purple star,
and lay down smack-dab in the middle with a little snort. I didn’t know for sure how
much he knew from the afternoon doings at Lucy and Ben’s, but I figured it was a lot.
Maybe I should consider sleeping in the middle of a pentagram, too.

I heard a rustle on the other end of the phone, and then, “I don’t know what you just
said to your mother, but she’s got a very unhappy look on her face.” Daddy’s voice
was low.

“It went both ways, believe me.”

He exhaled. “Well, anyway. How are things in Savannah?”

“Strange,” I said.

“How so?”

“Well, I found a dead man under a rhododendron bush yesterday morning, and it turns
out he was a member of a secret druidic society. Since then another member of the
society warned me off with thinly veiled threats. I’ve been assaulted by flying pumpkins,
and the newest detective on the police force is apparently on the prowl for magicians
of all sorts.”

“Assaulted? Are you all right?” At least he sounded matter-of-fact, despite my reference
to airborne squash. Mama would have gone into instant hysterics.

“I’m fine.”

“God, Katie. How do you get yourself into these things?”

“It’s not like I tried to find a body.”

“Well, how about you steer clear of the situation now?”

“I planned on it. I did. But today things changed again.”

I heard a door close, and now my dad’s voice was a
little louder. I guessed he’d gone into his den. “Tell me,” he said.

So I related Andersen Lane’s visit and his plea for the spellbook club to help him
find Lawrence Eastmore’s murderer. Daddy listened without interrupting.

“If he’s telling us the truth, then it’s not just a matter of justice. We don’t have
much time, either.”

Daddy finally spoke, his words careful and considered. “Do you have reason to think
this Lane fellow is lying to you? Does your intuition tell you not to trust him?”

“Hmm. Not really. He’s an odd duck, that’s for sure, but he seemed sincere. It’s just
that I’m naturally suspicious of a request of that magnitude from someone I’ve never
met before, and it seems there might be more to the story than we know.”

“That’s logic talking, and it’s good logic,” he said. “But for now if your gut is
telling you he’s telling the truth, I suppose you have to go with it. I really, really
don’t like the idea of you going up against something like this Zesh, though. You
make sure you keep the rest of the coven around you, and if you do find anything out
let those crazy druids take care of it themselves.”

“Oh, Daddy—”

“You’re still a newbie, Katie, still wet behind the ears. You simply don’t know enough
to be safe.”

“Okay, okay,” I said. “I will be careful, I promise. But there’s something I haven’t
told you yet. About Nonna.”

The reference to my maternal grandmother was greeted with a long silence, and then
Daddy said, “Nonna?”

“When the pumpkins fell? A voice told me to get out of the way. There wasn’t anyone
around.” I paused and
licked my lips. Would he think I was crazy? “I could swear it was her, Daddy. Remember
that strong Boston accent of hers?”

I heard him suck air in through his teeth. “Oh, my. Well, that doesn’t entirely surprise
me.”

The muscles in my shoulders relaxed. I hadn’t realized how steeled I’d been for his
disbelief. “It didn’t surprise Lucy, either.”

“Your grandmother Sheffield was a powerful witch. Stubborn and protective of her loved
ones, too. I wouldn’t put it past her to watch over you. In fact, the idea makes me
feel slightly better about this whole situation.”

“How can I get her to talk to me again?” The thought of being able to communicate
with my witchy grandmother was strangely exciting.

“I don’t think it works that way.”

“So,” I said, thinking out loud, “I’d have to be in danger again?”

“Katie! Don’t even think such a thing.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’m not going to do anything stupid. I was just wondering.”

“You promised to be careful. Just stick to that,” he said. “So you’re going to meet
one of these druids tonight?”

I fingered the thin silver band Andersen Lane had given me. It only fit on my thumb.
“Yes, and I need to go get ready so I don’t stand out too much in Savannah’s artsy-fartsy
crowd.”

“What do you hope to learn?”

That gave me pause. What exactly was I hoping to gain from tonight’s outing? “I want
to meet this Brandon Sikes,” I said. “See if I get any kind of intuitive hit.
See if he seems desperate enough to kill a fellow druid in order to summon this Zesh
character. Maybe even find out where he was the night of the murder.” I sighed. How
the heck was I going to do that without arousing his suspicions?

“Katie?” Daddy had heard my sigh.

“Just thinking about what to wear tonight. I suppose I ought to do something with
my hair, too.”

He laughed. “Once a tomboy, always a tomboy.”

“Right. A tomboy who cooks for a living. Somehow I don’t think that’s in the definition.
I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

We hung up. For a long moment I watched a jet paint a snowy contrail against the blue
sky, right above the treetops down the street. When talking to Daddy, I’d made pretty
light of the prospect of someone summoning Zesh onto this plane, leaving out Andersen’s
other dire warnings. No reason to worry my dad even more. I’d left specifics about
Franklin Taite out of my tale as well. I didn’t need any I-told-you-sos from Mama,
and who knew how much information Daddy would share with her?

“Come on, Mungo. Help me pick out something to wear.”

He stood and stretched into a wide yawn that showed his startling pink tongue.

In my bedroom, I stared at the items hanging in the two matching armoires that served
as my closet. Lots of skirts and T-shirts for work, and my nonwork wardrobe was just
as casual. But there, in the back. I pulled it out and nodded to myself. A floor-length,
silk tiered skirt, tie-dyed brown and orange and gold. Lucy had given it to me because
it was too large for her tiny
frame. I added a shimmery brown tank top and a nice pair of sandals. I should be set
for the Bohemian crowd.

The glint of the thin ring on my thumb caught my eye. No reason to advertise anything
given me by a Dragoh. I slipped it off and, unhooking my dragonfly amulet, slid the
ring onto the chain. It hung perfectly hidden behind the O of the necklace, slightly
cold against my skin.

In the bathroom my reflected eyes gazed back at me, assessing my features for a moment
before I shrugged and reached for the hairbrush. I liked my face well enough to leave
it out there bare of makeup most of the time, but my short hair needed help tonight.
First I tried to slick it down, but hated that, so I loaded it with styling product
and ruffled it up all over until I thought it looked, well, artsy.

I checked the time. It would have to do, or else I’d be late picking Cookie up. I
slipped into the skirt and tank, grabbed a little sweater, and glanced over my shoulder
into the full-length mirror one last time. Lucy had been right: The color combination
complemented my auburn hair and set off my eyes.

Even if I did say so myself.

The gallery opened at seven thirty, and Cookie and I arrived at eight fifteen. It
was not fashionably late by any means, but we figured Brandon Sikes would be there
for his whole show in order to meet and greet as many potential buyers as possible.
The fewer competitors for his attention, the better.

Of course, we were wrong.

Inside, the air-conditioning was going full blast, and I was happy for the small amount
of warmth my sweater offered. Black track lights hung from the high ceilings, focused
on the oversized artwork on walls and partitions painted the color of roasted red
peppers. The spotlights left the areas between in relative shadow. Several knots of
people murmured amongst themselves. A group of high school students huddled together
uncomfortably in a back corner, and I wondered if Sikes’ opening might be an art class
assignment. A hint of something savory in the air—bacon?—snagged my notice for a moment
before it was overcome by a whiff of expensive perfume.

“Welcome to Xana Do! Gallery.”

Cookie and I turned to find a woman in her mid-thirties wearing a sleek black sheath
that hugged her every curve until it widened below her knees and fell in a dark chiffon
froth to the tops of her very shiny and very pointy shoes. Her hair, streaked too
many shades of blond to list, was gathered in a sleek French twist at the back of
her head. The updo accentuated the diamonds glittering at her ears and diving down
to a respectable cleavage.

I suddenly felt like something Mungo had dug up in the backyard.

“I’m Xana Smythe. So very happy you could come! Are you fans of Brandon’s?” Her smile
revealed a small gap between her front teeth, and her eager-puppy demeanor was at
odds with the crusty British accent. I found myself utterly charmed, and forgave her
for being so well put together.

Cookie wore a cobalt blue minidress that barely covered her posterior and heels so
high it was hard for me to imagine her taking more than three steps in them. Her dark,
eggplant-tinted hair flowed straight down her back, accented with only a single orchid.
She was supremely comfortable in her own skin, and frankly, of the two of them, she
looked more at ease in the red-tinged light. She marched up to Xana and embraced her
like an old friend. “I’m Cookie, and this is Katie.”

A startled look crossed the gallery owner’s face, but then she relaxed into another
smile.

“I adore Brandon’s work,” Cookie said. “Always have. Katie has not been exposed to
his talent before, however.” She let go of Xana and searched the room. “I don’t see
him anywhere…”

“Brandon darling will be here soon.” Xana’s eyes
darted toward the entrance, though, and as they did, stress rolled off her in waves.

Brandon darling was late.

“Please help yourself to some hors d’oeuvres and take a look around. Oh! Mrs. Cisco,
welcome!” And she was off to talk to a new arrival.

My companion looked at me with raised eyebrows. “I wonder where he is.”

“I wonder where he was when Lawrence Eastmore was killed.” I took a step in the direction
Xana had indicated. “Are you hungry?”

But Cookie stood riveted in front of one of Brandon Sikes’ masterpieces.

Moving to her side, I leaned my head back in order to see the whole thing. “That is
one of the ugliest things I’ve ever seen on a wall. Or a floor, for that matter.”
Then I saw the price on the placard that stated the title of the work:
Afternoon
Destiny
. “Good Lord, Cookie! How could anyone pay that much for this?”

“Shh!” she hissed. “Someone might hear you.”

“Why is he so famous, again?” I whispered.

“Can’t you see?” She spread her arms out in a wide gesture. “His unique use of media,
how he mixes paper and wood and paint in with the images?”

Squinting, I ticked my head to the side. She was certainly right about his mix-and-match
method, but the piece left me cold. Though modern art wasn’t generally my thing, I
had to admit that much of it left an emotional impression, or at least an aesthetic
one—for good or bad. But this was devoid of effect. Empty and dull.

Yet, somewhere deep down I had a curious desire to purchase it.
What the
…“Oh, Cookie.” Looking around to make sure no one was standing nearby, I leaned
toward her ear and spoke in a low voice. “This piece is glamoured.”

She blinked. Took a step back. After a few moments she turned and looked at me with
wide eyes. “I feel so stupid. How could you tell?” She didn’t come right out and say
anything about my being a newbie to magic, but I knew that’s what she was thinking.

I shrugged. “Not sure. But it’s a good job, don’t you think? Subtle.”

“I’ll say.” She moved to the next piece on display. “This one feels the same way.
And even though I can tell it’s charmed, I still want it.”

“No wonder he’s so successful,” I said, glancing around at the thickening crowd. Xana
was posting a
SOLD
sign next to a piece near the front door, looking pleased.

“Cookie!” A goth vision approached, dripping black leather and metal buckles and sporting
black lipstick and hair spiked straight up. The voice and the five o’clock shadow
identified the newcomer as male despite the heavy eyeliner.

“Damien,” Cookie responded, hugging him. “It’s so good to see you. This is Katie.”