by Zoe Arden
“Hello, Ava. Good to see you again.”
She greeted me like we were old friends instead of a murderer summoning me to my death.
“Wish I could say the same,” I told her.
She laughed and held the door open for me.
“Step inside, won’t you?”
I hesitated with one foot inside the doorway, one foot out. She gripped my arm tightly and hurled me in. I fell to the ground and, when I looked up again, she was hovering over me.
“There now, that’s better, isn’t it?”
The bakery had only one level. No basement. No attic. There was a large back room and an equally large front room. A swing door with a porthole-style window separated the two. Polly pushed me out the door to the front.
Damon was lying strapped to a metal table in front of a display of lemon loopy poppy bars. My mind rejected seeing him there. I wanted desperately to believe this was all a bad dream. Damon’s head was bleeding. His hands and feet were cuffed to the table. I had no idea where the table had come from. I’d never seen it before in my life. It was like something out of a horror movie.
To the left of Damon’s table stood an identical empty one. It was perpendicular to Damon’s. The cuffs were attached to the table. They were open. Waiting for me.
“Damon!” I yelled, running to him. I kissed him tenderly.
His eyes rolled around in his head, trying to focus.
“Ava?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m here. Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“No,” he muttered, coughing as he tried to fill his lungs with air. I touched his head where it was bleeding. A deep gash lay at an angle across his forehead.
“What have you done to him?” I demanded.
“What’s the matter? He’s alive, isn’t he?”
Damon opened his mouth to speak but his words were jumbled. “Noo, Ava, noo. Izza trap.”
“Ssh, I know. It’s okay.” His eyes closed again, and I kissed him once more. I had to fix this. I looked around the room for something that could help me and realized that something important was missing.
“Where’s Margaret?” I asked.
Polly’s shrill laugh echoed through the bakery, making my hairs stand on end.
“What have you done to her? You promised you wouldn’t hurt her if I came down here.”
“I haven’t hurt her,” Polly said. I didn’t like the way she was smiling at me.
“Then where is she? Let me see her,” I demanded.
“Margaret!” Polly yelled. The door to the customer restroom popped open and Margaret stumbled out, looking frazzled. Her white hair was disheveled, and her violet eyes were lackluster.
“Oh, my roses,” I said as she stumbled toward me. I left Damon and went to help her.
“What did you do to her?” I snapped at Polly as I helped Margaret to a chair.
“Me? I didn’t do anything.” Polly looked amused about the whole thing.
“Ava,” Margaret said, her voice sounded tired. “Does anyone know you’re here?”
“No, but don’t worry. I’ll get us out of this.”
“Are you sure you weren’t followed?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m sorry. There was no other way for me to get to you. I had to do what Polly wanted. I couldn’t risk her killing you and Damon.”
Margaret smiled and patted my hand.
“Good. That’s good.” She stood up and suddenly her face seemed brighter. Her eyes were more alive. She had a strange look on her face that made my heart skip a beat.
“M-Margaret?” I asked.
Slowly, she walked from the chair to Polly, taking a place at her side.
“I’m so sorry I lied to you, Ava, and I really hope you don’t hold it against me,” Margaret said.
“W-what’s going on? Margaret, what are you doing?”
Margaret clucked her tongue and took a step toward me. Every fiber in my body told me to run.
“What I’m doing,” Margaret said, “is fixing a mess you created. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this, and you’ve given it to me. When the Wolf Moon rises tonight, I’ll have your soul, and no one will be able to stop me.”
“Stop you from what?”
“Stop me from taking over.”
“Taking over what?”
“The Council on Magic and Human Affairs, of course.”
* * *
3 6
* * *
“You can’t be serious,” I said.
“Why can’t I?” Margaret picked a cupcake off its tray and began slowly undoing its wrapper.
Polly was watching me like a hawk, but her eyes strayed to the cupcakes as well. Her stomach rumbled. She grabbed one before Margaret could say anything. When she did, I noticed a vial of nuggerwart extract sitting on the counter. Polly devoured her first cupcake in five seconds flat and made a mad dash for a second one. The nuggerwart fell over and rolled down the counter toward me. It stopped near a stack of muffins.
Margaret was still talking. Her violet eyes shined like two flashlights. She was excited that her scheme had turned out so well and was more than happy to regale me with the details. This was the old Margaret. The Margaret filled with hate and prejudice.
“The Council on Magic and Human Affairs will never allow you to lead them,” I scoffed. “How could you ever think you’d get elected to something like that?”
“Elected? Oh, no, after Polly and I take things over, there will be no more elections.”
I gulped. “No more elections? How do you think you’re going to get away with that? People will fight you.”
“Not after I finish the Raine Ritual.”
Polly cleared her throat. “You mean, after we finish it.”
“Right. Of course, I did, dear.”
“Margaret,” I said, deciding to try a different approach. “Let’s be reasonable. Why would you even want to head up such a large organization as the Council on Magic and Human Affairs? Do you know how much work that would take? You just resigned from the Witch’s Council. Do you really want to take on another responsibility like that so soon?”
Margaret’s smile faded.
“I didn’t resign.” The cupcake she’d been holding smashed between her fingers. Cake and frosting smushed together, oozing out between the cracks.
“What do you mean? You told me—you told us all—that you resigned. Right before you moved to Mistmoor, you came to the bakery. You said... you said you had resigned. That-that you were moving on.”
“I was forced to resign,” Margaret said.
Polly patted her back sympathetically. Margaret glared at her and shoved Polly’s hand away so hard Polly’s wrist twisted. She let out a soft cry and cradled her wrist like it was a sick baby. Under other circumstances, I would have felt bad for her.
“But the members of the Witch’s Council were your friends. Paisley and Lottie.” My eyes stretched in their sockets. “Oh, my roses. Paisley. You... you killed your best friend.”
“Ha! Some best friend Paisley was.”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said. Don’t you understand things yet? I was LYING. Paisley and I were best friends... once. But when it came time for a vote on the Witch’s Council, guess who voted me out? Paisley.”
“But why? If you were friends, wouldn’t she want to help you?”
“Lottie wanted to help me. She voted to keep me in. Paisley decided I’d grown too smug. That I was giving a bad name to the Witch’s Council. She convinced the others that if I wasn’t voted out, I’d bring the whole organization down. There were only a few witches strong enough to stand up against her. That evil witch.”
I decided to try a new tactic. “Well, I can certainly understand why you’d be upset. Paisley had no right to do that.”
“That’s right,” Margaret said. “She didn’t.”
“Did they even give you a chance to speak? To defend yourself?”
“No!” Margaret was
getting riled up now.
“That’s ridiculous! Every witch should have a chance to defend her title!” I stood up and slapped my hand on the bakery’s countertop for emphasis. When I lifted it off, I was palming the nuggerwart extract.
“Technically,” Polly piped up, “you did have a chance to defend yourself. You just didn’t do a very good job of it from what I heard.”
Margaret narrowed her eyes. Her finger twirled at her side and suddenly Polly’s forehead broke out in zebra stripes.
“What?” Polly asked when she saw me staring at her.
“Nothing,” I said. Apparently, zebra stripes were painless.
“Enough of this,” Margaret said. “Ava, get on the table.”
“No.”
Damon stirred lightly from his table, mumbled something about donuts, then closed his eyes again.
“Get on the table now or watch your boyfriend die.”
“How many people do you have to kill before you’ll be satisfied?” I asked.
“Just two more. You and him.”
“Why’d you kill Melbourne if you’re just going to kill Damon anyway?” I asked, stalling for time.
“Melbourne?” Margaret asked, looking confused. “You mean, he’s really dead?”
“Yes. Didn’t you kill him?” I asked.
“No.” She turned to face Polly. “Did you?”
I unscrewed the cap from the nuggerwart.
“Kill a vampire?” Polly asked, shocked. “No, of course not. I wouldn’t touch a vampire with a pole let alone stab him with a stake.”
They seemed like they were telling the truth. But if they were... then who really killed Melbourne?
“Enough!” Margaret shouted. “On the table. Now!”
I walked toward the table. Margaret and Polly were there waiting for me, ready to strap me down. I sat down and waited for Margaret to do something.
“Come on,” Margaret said, “we don’t have all day.”
I threw the nuggerwart at her as she reached for me. She ducked just in time and I missed her completely, but I got Polly full in the face. Her eyelids drooped. Her mouth opened. Suddenly, a small giggle escaped her lips. She forced it back down, but it kept coming and coming. She tried to take a step but her knees began to buckle. She fell toward the ground, reaching out around her for support. She caught a handful of Margaret’s hair.
“Aaaah!” Margaret fell to the ground with Polly, who was still laughing and giggling. I stepped over them and ran.
* * *
3 7
* * *
“Stop her!” Margaret screamed.
Polly just lay on the ground, laughing hysterically. Nuggerwart tends to have that effect on people. In moderation, it can be a useful extract for overcoming depression. In excess, it can keep you engulfed in a fit of giggles until you turn blue.
I pushed through the door to the backroom. Margaret was right on my heels. She picked something off a table and threw it at me. It bounced off my back. I shot a quick glance to the floor and saw a pastry bag lying there with yellow frosting spilling out. Trixie would not be happy.
I almost tripped over a baking tin that had fallen on the floor. Instead, I picked it up and hurled it at Margaret. She ducked just in time. It landed at her feet. She picked it up and threw it back at me. It missed.
There was a flower petal cookie cutter lying on a nearby table. I giggled and picked it up, flinging it in Margaret’s direction. It hit her just above her eyebrow, leaving a mark.
She touched it and saw blood on her hand. She puckered her lips like a fish.
“Blood! You drew blood!”
I giggled even more.
“What’s so funny?” she yelled.
I could barely get the words out, “F-f-f-fish face!” I bent over laughing and realized with horror that some of the nuggerwart extract must have gotten on me when I nailed Polly with it. Rather than making me panic, it made me laugh that much harder.
Polly’s voice echoed from the other side of the door. “F-f-f-fish face!” She was laughing, too.
Margaret’s face was turning red. I tried to run. I tried to walk. My legs wouldn’t budge.
“Oh, no, ahahahahaha. I’m in trouble, ahahahahaha.”
Margaret grabbed my shirt collar and ushered me back out front. Polly had managed to pull herself along the floor toward the door and when Margaret came through, she stepped on Polly’s hand.
“Yikes!” Polly yelled and screamed with laughter.
Margaret had no problems getting me on the table now. She cuffed my feet and arms to each corner of the table. There was a briefcase in the corner of the room that I hadn’t noticed before. She opened it up and pulled out a giant knife. To my horror, the knife unfolded like an accordion and became three times as big.
“Oh, my roses,” I said, finally sobering up.
“Don’t worry, this is for him. For you, I have something much more special.” She removed a mason jar from the briefcase and held it up for me to see. Inside was a black snail-like creature. It crawled around the jar in circles, leaving a trail of slime behind it.
“What is that?” I asked.
“A simple garden slug. It turns out he is the key ingredient in the Raine Ritual. Can you believe that? All these centuries, witches and wizards have been trying to figure out how to make this spell work, and it turns out that the whole time the answer lay in our own backyards.”
“Do you kill it?” I asked.
I didn’t really care what Margaret intended to do with the slug. I just needed to buy some time. I had no idea what for, though. No one knew I was here. My best chance was trying to communicate with Snowball. I knew she could read my thoughts or emotions or something. If I could get through to her, I might have a chance.
I closed my eyes and concentrated. Snowball, Mama needs help. Snowball, Mama is in trouble. Snowball, get help. Mama is at the bakery.
“What are you doing?” Margaret asked.
“Asking Sara Sweetland to rise from the grave and destroy you,” I said, hoping that it was a strange enough thing to say that it would make her forget whatever she’d been suspecting of me. It worked.
“You finally figured it out, did you? Just your dumb luck that you’re related to Sara Sweetland. If you weren’t, I’d probably have gone after that friend of yours, Lucy. Her family has an interesting background themselves, you know.”
“No, I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me about it?”
Margaret laughed. “You’re done stalling.”
Snowball, Mama is at the Mystic Cupcake. Get detective man.
I thought over the message I’d just sent and added something.
Much tuna for Snowy if she does good.
I figured it couldn’t hurt to throw in a little bribe.
“I’m not stalling. How did you figure out that I was related to Sara Sweetland before I did?”
Margaret’s ego got the better of her. “Remember that old book I showed you? Forgotten Spells and Lineages?”
“The missing page,” I said. Everything was suddenly coming together.
“There was a whole page devoted to Sara Sweetland and her family.”
“But that book was old. It couldn’t have had a list with my name on it.”
Margaret shrugged. “I was surprised, too.”
“But who would update it?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I was lucky I even found it on my doorstep.”
“I thought you said you got it from an old bookstore.”
“I lied. It was waiting for me one day when I arrived home. Say, you don’t happen to have that bloodstone I left on your doorstep, do you?”
“No,” I lied.
I actually had it in my pocket. I’d been carrying it around with me like a fool since I found it, afraid that Eleanor or my dad might come across it and freak out. Why hadn’t I just told Colt about it when I’d found it? It wasn’t as though my imminent death was any kind of secret.
“No matt
er. I have plenty.”
She pulled one from her suitcase and placed it on my chest. There were at least five or six more. A second pile of bloodstones sat next to the first. These were darker and bulkier and pulsed with life. They almost looked filled with...
“Oh, my roses. Are those the bloodstones from the other victims?” I asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“Where did they come from? I thought the police had them.”
“Well, you thought wrong. Besides, it’s easy to sneak past police at midnight when they’re all sleeping on the job.”
I hoped she wasn’t talking about Otis.
“What about the rest of the unused stones? Did you get all those stones the night you killed Anastasia?”
I looked at Polly, who had finally stopped giggling and stood there watching us. “How could you sacrifice your own mother just to get your powers back?”
“What are you talking about?” Polly asked.
She was looking at me like I was an escaped mental patient.
“Your mother. How could you kill her like that? She loved you.”
“My mom’s not dead.” She stared at me blankly, panic starting to grow in her eyes.
“Oh, my roses. You don’t know.”
“Know what?”
Polly looked from me to Margaret, whose face was turning three shades of purple.
“What’s she talking about, Margaret?”
“Nothing,” Margaret spat back at her. “Come on, the moon is almost up. We must begin the ritual. Kill Damon. I’ll handle her.”
“No,” Polly said, grabbing ahold of Margaret and spinning her around. “What. Is. She. Talking. About.” Her words were sharp and clipped.
Margaret sighed. “I told you there had to be sacrifices, remember? We talked about this. I sacrificed my best friend for the greater good.”
“You hated Paisley for betraying you.”
“Yes, but prior to that, she was my best friend. Sacrificing her was not an easy thing to do.”
“You’re not saying that... you didn’t sacrifice my mother, did you?”
“Polly, it’s not that simple. Killing Anastasia was like getting two archetypes in one. She was the Caregiver because she was your mother and the Magician because of her powers. Don’t you see? I had no choice. I did it for us.”
