After a while, Dara emerges with Martin. She’s all smiles. “Time for me to take Aaron home,” she says. “Thanks again.”
Martin nods at me as he gathers the boy in the blanket. “Told her I’d help. Great celebration. I can’t wait until next year.”
I watch them wander off and feel content at being a matchmaker, not to mention the fact I’m glad to have Dara off Tristan’s trail. Selfish? You bet and I don’t care.
Staring at the bonfire, I become so relaxed I nearly don’t notice when Tristan suddenly appears in the illumination. He walks to the porch in casual clothes once again, light from the fire bouncing off the wolf pendant around his neck. He stops and sets his foot on the bottom step.
“Looks like the party’s a huge success,” he says tossing a glance over his shoulder toward the revelers.
It’d be polite to ask him about the case, but I don’t want to talk about it, nor anything that happened the past couple days. I want to toss my worries into the bonfire like a posy and start fresh with him, with everything.
We sit on the top step, side by side. “So, this is your first Beltane celebration,” I say.
“I have a feeling it won’t be my last.” He glances at me. “I thought about bringing you flowers, but you have so many you grow, it seemed a weak gesture. You’re an excellent baker, so bringing food also seemed unimpressive.”
“Why are you trying to impress me?”
He grins. “I feel like I have a lot to make up to you, for being so cynical when we first met, not believing what you told me originally.”
“That’s all in the past. I think we should start over, don’t you? But you do owe me for getting Dara off your back.”
“Oh?”
“She has a new love interest, thanks to me.”
He looks completely relieved. “Thank you. How about chocolates? Do you like those? Wine? Whatever you want, it’s yours.”
I laugh. “Chocolate is always welcome, but I make my own blackberry wine, so save your money on that. My wine is strong, but super tasty.”
He looks at me amazed. “Is there anything you can’t make or do?”
I shrug. “Like Dara and Annie, I have trouble making friends. I could use one of those.”
“I think we've passed that point, don't you?”
I glance at Summer, wishing I had her bubbly personality that attracts all kinds of people. Or Autumn’s. They’re always surrounded by friends.
I toss that thought into the fire as well. They have their skills, I have mine.
“You know, my dad has shifter friends, a certain shifter who’s cool in the group,” I tell Tristan. “If you have questions about that part of your life, I’m sure she could help.”
He stares at the fire. “I was hoping you might be able to answer a few questions for me.”
“Of course. If I can. What do you want to know?”
He reaches over and takes my hand gently, interlacing his fingers with mine. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to sneak off into the woods with me,” he says boldly, “but that’s probably not the best idea, is it?”
I chuckle, enjoying the feel of his strong hand in mine. “I’m pretty sure the woods are safe, but let’s not risk it.”
My pulse races as he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “We could dance around the bonfire, or take a turn at the maypole.”
I consider tossing a posy into the bonfire with a wish for me and Tristan, but at this point, I don’t need magick or ceremony to encourage the natural attraction between us. “Are you hungry? I have a casserole we could reheat, and you could tell me about yourself.”
“Do you have any of that blackberry wine?”
“I might,” I tease. “Do you think you can handle it?”
He kisses my knuckles again and helps me stand. “I have the feeling with you by my side, I can handle anything.”
I smile up at him and he kisses me. Hand-in-hand we leave the fiery party behind and go into the quiet calm of my cabin.
Ready to find out what happens next?
Click here to get your copy of Of Curses and Charms (Summer’s story) so you can keep the magick going!
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Keep reading for recipes, crafts, and a sneak peek at Of Curses and Charms, book 2 in the Sisters of Raven Falls Cozy Mystery series!!
Recipe for Bannock
Ingredients:
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons sugar
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons butter
1 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup dried currants (optional)
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Directions:
Combine flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Cut butter into flour mixture with pastry cutter. Add buttermilk until dough is soft. Stir in currants.
Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface. Knead for 5 minutes, or until smooth. Form dough into a 7-inch round. Place on a lightly oiled cake pan or cookie sheet. Cut ½-inch deep cross side to side. Score with cross ½-inch deep on the top.
Bake in a preheated 375 degrees F (190 degrees C) oven for 40 minutes.
Recipe for Strawberry Bread
Ingredients:
2 cups fresh strawberries
3 1/8 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups white sugar
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 1/4 cups vegetable oil
4 eggs, beaten
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Directions:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Butter and flour two 9 x 5-inch loaf pans.
Slice strawberries and place in medium-sized bowl. Sprinkle lightly with sugar, and set aside while preparing batter.
Combine flour, sugar, cinnamon, salt, and baking soda in large bowl; mix well. Blend oil and eggs into strawberries. Add strawberry mixture to flour mixture, blending until dry ingredients are just moistened. Divide batter into pans.
Bake until a tester inserted in the center comes out clean, 45 to 50 minutes (test each loaf separately). Let cool in pans on wire rack for 10 minutes. Turn loaves out of pans, and allow to cool before slicing.
Directions for making a Witch’s Ladder
Items:
Yarn or cord in three different colors (red, white, and black are traditional, but not mandatory)
Nine talismans such as beads, shells, buttons, feathers (please only use those naturally found), etc.
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Instructions:
Cut the yarn so you have three pieces. A yard or so in length is good. Tie the ends of the three together in a knot.
Begin braiding the yarn together, tying the talismans into the yarn and securing each in place with a sturdy knot. Be sure to focus your intent on each talisman and knot. Chant or count as you braid.
By knot of one, the spell’s begun.
By knot of two, the magick comes true.
By knot of three, so it shall be.
By knot of four, this power is stored.
By knot of five, my will shall drive.
By knot of six, the spell I fix.
By knot of seven, the future I leaven.
By knot of eight, my will be fate.
By knot of nine, what is done is mine.
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The energy (magick) is now stored within the knots and items of your ladder. You can either knot the end and hang the ladder up, or tie the two ends together form
ing a circle. Some folks like to make a witch’s ladder at Beltane and release their wish in the bonfires, or save it until Samhain and release it then to the spirit world.
Sneak peek at Curses and Charms!
Ready for more witchy fun and mystery? Enjoy this sneak peek at Summer’s story, Of Curses and Charms
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I have a confession… I can see the future.
That is, except when it comes to my sisters. The three people I most want to protect in this world.
I’m Summer Whitethorne, fire witch. My favorite time of the year, Summer Solstice, is only a few days away, falling on my birthday this year. The one wish—the only wish—I have is to see what’s going to happen to the four of us.
I touch my mother’s crystal wand, lying on my dresser, and it instantly reveals a secret she tried to keep from us before she died. One I have yet to tell Spring, Autumn, and Winter.
Along with the gift of claircognizance, I have the Touch. Psychometry is the one thing I wish I didn’t possess. I often pick up messages I'd rather not when I touch people or things. Mostly it happens when death is near, and combined with my ability to see the future, it creates quite a conundrum for me. I detest lies and secrets, but I can’t go around telling people when and how they’re going to die.
Harm none…the spirit of that rule is one I embrace whenever possible. Foretelling someone’s future can certainly create more harm than good.
Leaving my cabin, I step outside and warm summer air flows over me. It’s Monday morning and my to-do list is as long as my broomstick. While I’d love to skinny dip in the hot springs or go hunting for crystals in the cave next to it, I’m looking forward to marking everything off during these longest of days.
Cinders, my familiar, calls a good morning as he flies down to land on his perch. The Phoenix is a mythological creature, but after a near-death experience at three years old, I conjured one for myself.
Before the incident, Mother had read me a bedtime story about a beautiful witch transforming into a phoenix upon her death in a fire set by her enemies. Not exactly normal for a three-year-old to hear, but I wasn’t exactly normal. The witch rose from the ashes in order to protect her family, and it’s still my favorite story. When I accidentally drowned in the hot springs, it was Cinders I met on the other side and who brought me back to life.
Since he bursts into flames at inconvenient times, he stays outside and rarely goes close to the woods. This morning, I greet him with a stroke of his feathers and a handful of shredded carrots for his breakfast.
“We have a lot to do today,” I tell him, my jet and carnelian bracelets making a soft clicking noise on my wrist as I pet him. “I hope you’re ready.”
He squawks and rustles his wings, the red and blue feathers soft and new, telling me we should be safe from a fiery transformation until the full moon. That’s his normal time for going up in flames, but if he becomes alarmed or stressed, he erupts early.
As he gulps down the carrots, I make an offering to my goddess, Hestia, protector of hearth and flame. “North, South, East, and West, protection and health as you know best. This is my will, so shall it be. Thank you, goddess. Blessed be.”
I set off down the path toward Conjure, the shop we run. We sell a variety of products and services for those into holistic, organic, and Wiccan living. We carry everything from bakery goods and jewelry to bath products and home décor. My love is crystals, and I have a section devoted strictly to them including raw and tumbled stones, crystal wands and assorted jewelry.
People think witches sacrifice animals, worship Satan, or will put a curse on them. In reality, most drink too much tea, have too many cats, are into crystals and smudging, and just want to be left alone.
The temperature is climbing into the eighties already, but there’s little humidity and I enjoy the sun on my face and smelling the flowers and herbs my sister, Spring, has planted along the path. The lavender is blooming, filling the air with the sweet scent along with roses and hydrangeas. A smattering of wild violets is interspersed with the other plants, and I stop and pick a few to weave into my braid.
The shop doesn’t open until nine, but I see the kitchen light on and Spring is inside. As I get closer, a breeze passes over me and I smell warm sugar and vanilla. Spring is baking and my gift shows me a pie in the oven. I see a bit of the purple juice bubbling up from the browning crust and I know it’s made with the berries we gathered in the forest yesterday. Looks like I’m having pie for breakfast.
Cinders flies by overhead. “Pie for breakfast?”
At least that’s what his squawk says to me. Another thing that came out of my near-death experience—I can hear certain animals, just like they’re human. Normal people hear barks, growls, chirping, etc., but my brain translates it into messages I understand. Not all animals, but certain ones, like Cinders, tell me quite a few things.
“Hey, it’s fruit, all right?” I retort. “Pie is no worse for me than her muffins or scones.”
He makes another squawk and it sounds like laughter to me.
I’m nearly to the back porch when Godfrey, Conjure’s resident cat, shoots around the corner. The beautiful black cat looks alarmed, white whiskers twitching like antennas, which puts me on alert.
Godfrey doesn’t get alarmed about anything, unless it’s his empty food dish, which being the diva he is, resides on a special antique dresser we have on the shop floor. He refuses to eat on the floor. Godfrey only has two modes—catnapping and eating.
“Small beasts! Extreme noise!” he says in my head, a high pitch screeching noise coming from his mouth. He’s named for the inventor because he insists he’s the genius reincarnated.
“Small beasts?”
“Make it stop!” Of course, I’m the only one of the sisters who understands him. Lucky me. I’m regularly subjected to his demands, and he constantly plies me with formulas and equations that mean absolutely nothing to me. He’s full of disdain for us humans.
“What kind?” I ask.
“Wiggly ones!” he shouts.
“Could you be more specific? Where are these small beasts?”
He flicks his tail, a slight curl on the end, before turning on his forepaws and leading me around the outside of the shop.
“I don’t have time for distractions today, Godfrey,” I tell him, wondering how far we’re going and why he’s so upset.
He takes me to the front porch, the closed sign still in view since it’s an hour before opening. He marches up the steps and I swat away a fly that buzzes around my head. I’m already starting to sweat a little along my hairline. It’s definitely going to be a blistering warm June day.
On the porch, all I see is a ragged cardboard box, the flaps folded in on themselves. On the side in slanted writing are the words Please Help in black marker.
As I jog up the steps, a tiny cry goes up, a sound that goes straight to my heart.
Dropping to my knees, I reach for it, as Godfrey hops up on the small round table off to the side with two chairs for clients who want to sit and chat. On the heels of the first small cry, another joins in followed by a third.
I don’t need claircognizance to know what’s inside.
Peeling back the flaps, my heart does a little skip. Inside are nestled five tiny kittens, not more than a few weeks old, their eyes still closed.
Tiny paws reach toward each other as they fumble over themselves and the blanket someone has left them with.
I glance around the parking lot and across the street to the woods, but there’s no sign of who left them here. They’re so young that without their mother their odds of survival are slim.
The mewing grows louder, shriller as they sense I’m near. From the north, I hear a familiar rumbling vehicle approaching, and a moment later, our neighbor, Hopper Caldwell, pulls in.
I reach in and pet each of the kittens in turn, cooing and trying to reassure them they’ll be okay. Mentally, I send questions but get nothing back. They have no idea who
their mother is, what happened to her, or how they ended up here.
The little bodies are cool to the touch where they should be warm, especially in this heat. I need to get them inside, figure out what to feed them. Hopefully, Spring will know of some formula that’ll help.
“Good morning,” Hopper calls as he bails out of his truck. In his hands, he carries three books and a velvet bag. He’s pulled his mahogany colored hair away from his face in a tiny man-bun at the base of his neck, the sun picking up auburn highlights in it and his beard. His worn jeans and Metallica t-shirt belie the fact he’s a millionaire. “Whatcha got there?”
“Someone dumped kittens on the porch. They’re too young to be away from their mother.”
His boots echo on the steps as he comes beside me, bending to look at them. He smells good, like he recently got out of the shower. He sets his things on the table and Godfrey makes a face and jumps down, jetting as far from the box as he can get.
Hopper’s big hand is gentle as he strokes one of the kitten’s heads. “We better get them inside,” he says. He motions at me to take the books and the bag before he lifts the box.
I always carry thin lace gloves with me to put on if I have to touch anything I might get a reading from. Pulling a pair on, I unlock the door and he carries the box into the coolness of the shop. “Take them to my treatment room,” I tell him.
Godfrey bangs through the cat door and hops on the counter, keeping his eyes on the box. “Too much racket! Make it stop!”
The kittens mewl loudly from the rough treatment, poor things, even though the giant man carrying them is doing so as gently and reverently as a mother would a sleeping baby.
Of Potions and Portents Page 13
