by Bailey Cates
“I’m so happy for you,” Jaida said.
I leaned down to pocket level. “Welcome, Puck.” Straightening, I took the basket from Bianca and gestured toward the kitchen with my chin. “Help yourself to some wine if you’d like.”
They liked. When they’d returned, I said, “Now listen, everyone. We’re going to celebrate tonight. Right?”
Wren solemnly nodded her agreement as we all exchanged glances.
I grabbed one of my three kitchen chairs to add to the six already set up around the fire. “At least we’ll celebrate the best that we can under the circumstances. Now I’m going to go out and get the fire going. Grab your jackets, ladies.”
Cookie’s eyes met mine, holding my gaze for a long moment before looking away. I realized that she hadn’t said a word since her initial greeting. Her face was a careful mask, but I could tell something was bothering her.
“Cookie—,” I began.
“Let’s get this party started,” she said, and led the way outside.
• • •
The crackle of the fire warmed my mind as much as the flames warmed the surrounding air. I respected all of the elements, but nothing was as comforting as fire, especially on a cold night after seeing cold death.
Usually I cast in the relative privacy of the gazebo, but tonight we used salt to cast our circle deosil around the fire, beginning and ending in the east and encompassing all the chairs and the small table I’d added at the last minute. The tabletop held a small vase of snowdrops—sometimes called the maids of February and a traditional symbol of Imbolc—which Mimsey had also chosen to represent snow. The bundle of cinnamon sticks tied with a ribbon the color of bright sunshine also rested on the table, along with a felted woolen lamb Cookie had bought from Annette Lander, who owned the knitting store next to the Honeybee, and the cut-glass bowl containing several packets of organic heirloom flower seeds I’d been hoarding for this night. All the items represented the coming of spring and light and the birth of new plants and animals—especially lambs.
On the southern side of the table a mason jar half filled with sand shielded Jaida’s yellow candle from the night air. The bottle of champagne Bianca had brought from Moon Grapes was on the western side. She’d gone totally overboard with the Dom Perignon, but I wasn’t exactly surprised. Bianca had a talent for making money in the stock market, and tended to spoil us a bit when she could.
Our glasses of wine had been traded for mugs of hot cider, which now balanced on the gravel next to each chair. The bannock cakes filled a tray on the ground in front of the makeshift altar. Puck reappeared and wrapped himself around the side of Bianca’s neck. Anubis and Mungo lay between the chairs Jaida and I had chosen, and Heckle perched on the back of Mimsey’s chair. He was uncharacteristically quiet after his outburst, concentrating on preening his brightly colored wings. Honeybee stretched out as close as she could get to the fire, almost touching the copper bowl. Purring, she did that squinty thing with her eyes, which made me smile. It was too bad I was so allergic to her.
After the circle was cast, everyone else took their seats around the fire. Looking around at my friends, I realized yet again how lucky I was to have them.
“Katie,” Lucy said, “how would you like to proceed?”
I hesitated, unsure if what I was about to propose was a good idea now. Might as well find out. “I was thinking that I’d like to add a twist to the usual incantation.” Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out several sheets of handmade paper and a variety of pens. “I do have something short and sweet to recite, but I’d like to incorporate some burning magic as well. What do you all think about writing down our wishes as spring approaches and releasing them in the fire?”
Mimsey clasped her hands and beamed. “Oh, my stars, Katie. That’s a wonderful idea.”
Jaida said, “It’s certainly in keeping with the spirit of looking forward with anticipation and thankfulness.”
The others nodded their agreement. All except Wren.
“Anyone who doesn’t want to participate doesn’t have to,” I said, watching her.
Her eyes met mine, but she didn’t say anything.
“Okay, so let’s get started,” I said, passing around the paper.
There was silence as everyone bent to writing their wishes. In my peripheral vision I saw Wren writing, too. Perhaps this ritual would give her a modicum of peace.
When we were done, everyone rose and moved closer to the fire and to one another. Lucy’s gloved hand squeezed my own before dropping away. With a quick glance at Margie’s house, I moved to the table. The circle was to protect our working, and I’d added an incantation to create disinterest next door. It seemed to be working.
I cleared my throat. Lucy gave an encouraging nod. I placed the fingertips of one hand on the wooly lamb, plunged my other hand into the bowl of flower-seed packets, and began to recite my short and simple Imbolc incantation.
Hail Brigit, protectress
Of women,
Of children,
Of lambs and babes,
Of seedlings and fledglings,
Of all newborn creatures.
My hand moved to the scented yellow candle and the vase holding the delicate sprigs of snowdrops.
With this golden light
We welcome you tonight.
Come February maids
And darkness fades.
I brought my hands out in front of me, palms up.
Brigit, bless the plants of yesteryear
And carry forward new creation,
Transformation,
Inspiration.
May you heal ill’s cost and return joy lost.
Let it be so, in celebration.
“Blessed be,” Bianca murmured.
At the last minute I’d added the bit about healing ills, mostly for Wren. After all, Brigit was the goddess of healing as well as midwifery, and I figured we could use all the help we could get. At least no one seemed to think it was out of place.
I took the paper with my wish on it—there was only one—and gently placed it among the glowing red coals. It flamed bright and quick, releasing a brief puff of smoke that wended toward the starry heavens. I leaned my head back to watch it go. One by one the others followed suit.
When we had regained our seats, I passed around the bannock cakes on napkins decorated with vivid sunflowers.
Bianca took a hesitant bite. Delight replaced her doubt. “Oh! I’ve had bannock cakes before, and they were simply awful. What’s your secret?”
Lucy leaned forward to hear my answer.
“Bacon,” I said.
My aunt smiled. Any other night she would have laughed, but nothing was normal tonight.
Cookie snorted and leaned forward, staring into the flames. “I hope you’re burning magic works, Katie. Brandon is leaving in a month for a stay in Europe to work on his latest art exhibition, and Xana has decided to close the gallery and go with him as his manager. So I’ll be out a boyfriend and a job.” Her words held an undertone of bitterness.
The rest of us exchanged glances. Cookie was known for holding on to both men and jobs for no longer than four months, and she was already three months into the current cycle. Even if her boyfriend and job with the Xana Do! Gallery weren’t going away, she would have been moving on. However, she’d always been the one to move on, and this time the choice hadn’t been hers. It sounded to me like Brandon and Xana might be doing more than just touring Europe together in the name of art.
Ouch.
“Oh, well,” she said with a shrug. “Something will come along.”
Bianca patted her arm. “Does anyone else want to share their wishes?”
“Um,” I said.
Jaida cocked her head to one side. “Yes?”
They were all watching me. “I wished for clarity.”
“In what regard?” Bianca sounded puzzled.
“As a candela, a lightwitch,” Lucy supplied, with a gentle look. “It must be difficult not knowing exactly what that means.”
Wren’s voice was raw. “Grandma and Lucy were talking about it on the way over here. I don’t really know what a lightwitch is, but it sounds like you’re supposed to do something to bring Autumn’s killer to justice.”
My aunt looked at me apologetically.
“That’s what I wish for this spring,” Wren went on. “No, before this spring. I want justice. And money.”
I blinked. “Money?”
“Autumn had been funding most of Georgia Wild’s day-to-day operating expenses with her own money so the first donations we received could go directly toward saving habitats. I don’t have enough to keep it going. Heck, I can’t make it without a regular paycheck, small as it is. Autumn willed what she had left to G.W., but that’s going to take a while to go through probate, won’t it?”
Next to me Jaida inclined her head in reluctant agreement. “How long depends on how complicated it is and whether anyone challenges the will.”
“Well, her ex-husband might,” Wren said. “In the meantime, Georgia Wild was just getting started, and we were operating on a shoestring. We’re waiting on a couple of grants, but the coffers are empty right now. I can get into the nonprofit’s bank accounts, but I don’t have access to Autumn’s. I don’t even have the money to pay the rent that was due two days ago.”
Bianca looked thoughtful. “Let me do some checking with my bank. I’m sure I can at least cover that for you.”
Wren took a deep breath, and when she spoke, her tone had lost its desperate cast. “Thank you. I just need a loan until the grant money comes through.”
I was grateful the subject of money had crowded out Wren’s insistence that I investigate her friend’s murder, but my relief was short-lived. She turned toward me again, and the flames that were reflected in her glasses hid her eyes. I could feel her watching me, though. Willing me.
Bianca popped the champagne cork then, and we toasted Brigit before reversing the circle and watching the fire die down in the copper bowl. As I drained my glass, I wondered whether Dom Perignon was supposed to taste like sawdust.
• • •
The party broke up a little after eleven. Though the next day was Sunday, many of us had early mornings—Lucy and I in particular. She had offered to stay the night, concerned about me being alone after the grisly discovery, but I assured her it was unnecessary.
Lucy, Mimsey, and Wren were the last to leave. The Coopersmiths’ windows were dark as they got into the Thunderbird, everyone battened down for a good night’s sleep before Margie rousted the kids out of bed in the morning to go to church. I was glad to learn Wren was going to stay the night with her grandparents. She slumped wearily into the passenger seat, fastening her seat belt before removing her glasses and rubbing her eyes. She blinked myopically up at where I stood by the passenger window, a tentative smile flitting across her features. It was the first time she’d smiled all night.
I leaned down. “Wren, you know the paper bat Detective Quinn showed us this afternoon?”
“Like I could ever forget it.”
One corner of my mouth twisted up. “Right. Anyway, it felt . . . odd to me.”
She put her glasses back on and peered at me through the lenses. “Odd how?”
“You didn’t get any strange hit off it? Like an aura, but not really an aura? More like a scent or a flavor, but not something you could actually smell or taste?”
She frowned.
“Guess I’m not making any sense, huh?” I said.
“Sorry, Katie. I didn’t feel anything but ill looking at that thing.” She looked nauseated just remembering. “What do you think it means?”
I squeezed her shoulder. “I wish I knew.”
They drove off, Honeybee gazing enigmatically out the window and Mimsey’s hand still fluttering good-bye as Lucy turned the corner. I kept thinking of what Wren had said about the overdue bills at Georgia Wild. It didn’t seem fair that she had to worry about that on top of finding her best friend murdered.
Inside, I double-checked that the fire in the backyard was thoroughly out and locked up. My nerves were on high alert, so I brewed a cup of chamomile tea. While the water heated, I picked up the living room, which took about three minutes. There was space for the slope-backed, purple fainting couch, a Civil War–era trunk that served as a coffee table, and two small wingback chairs but not much else. The built-in bookshelves displayed all sorts of knickknacks and reading material, though most of my spellbooks were up in the loft where I kept my small altar tucked inside a lidded secretary desk.
Hot tea in hand, I shut off the lights and headed into my bedroom. Mungo sprawled on the bed, waiting for me with sleepy eyes. The small lamp on the bedside stand cast a quiet light on the Williamsburg blue walls. Next to it a scented geranium offered a subtle citrus fragrance from its tiny twisted leaves.
Fire or no fire, after spending a couple of hours outside, I was feeling pretty chilled. Rooting through the bottom drawer of one of the armoires that served as my closet space, I pulled out a pair of flannel pajamas. Baby pink with white snowflakes, they weren’t exactly what I would have bought for myself, but my mother had always insisted that pink was a good color for me because of my dark red hair. She’d sent the pajamas last Christmas, perhaps forgetting that winters in Fillmore, Ohio, were a bit more severe than those in Georgia. Still, tonight they were just what Brigit ordered, and I donned them with gratitude.
As soon as I had plumped my pillows and climbed under the quilt, my phone rang. Leaning back against the filigreed wrought-iron headboard, I peered at the display. Dear Declan, calling well after Emily Post’s recommended cutoff for telephone calls. He knew that I didn’t sleep more than a few hours a night, though, and would still be awake.
“Hey, you,” I said.
“Back atcha. How’re you doing?”
“Okeydoke.”
“Katie.”
“Seriously, I’m fine. The ladies just left, I’m wearing my flannel pj’s, and Mungo is passed out on the bed.”
“Flannel pj’s, you say. Somehow you make that sound sexy.”
I laughed. “You are so biased.”
“Yep. So, did you hear that Punxsutawney Phil didn’t see his shadow today? We’re looking at an early spring.”
“Just another method of divination on St. Brigit’s Day.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Imbolc, Groundhog Day, St. Brigit’s Day, Candlemas—all pretty much the same thing to different people. So things are slow at the firehouse?”
“So far only a couple of traffic accidents, even though it’s Saturday night, and a smoke detector triggered an alarm in a hotel. A false alarm as it turned out. The chili was a big hit earlier, though.”
“Here, too.” No need to mention that I’d eaten only a couple of bites. My stomach growled at the thought, and Mungo lifted his head to peer at me.
We chatted for a couple more minutes. Then we indulged in a few sweet nothings and said good night.
This time I finished the whole bowl of chili.
Chapter 6
A regular routine had developed on Sunday mornings at the bakery. Ben was off, either playing his weekly golf game with a bunch of his cronies or, in bad weather, hanging out with them at the clubhouse. Lucy and I got most of the baking done early so we could cover the register and espresso counter. Croft Barrow generally came in for a double espresso before heading next door to open his bookstore, and Annette Lander from the knitting store on the other side of us popped in a couple of times to indulge in her twice-on-Sunday
cookie fix.
“These are on the house,” I told Annette as I handed her a selection of all four sandwich cookies Lucy and I had been experimenting with the day before. “All I ask is that you give honest feedback. Especially on the chocolate filling.” The addition of cayenne pepper had already convinced me that was our winner.
She grinned. “Can do—and thanks!”
The bell over the door rang as she hurried back to her store with the Honeybee Bakery bag clutched tightly in her hand.
Once a month the spellbook club met to talk spellbooks—yes, we were a real book club, too—after the bakery was closed to the public. But every Sunday morning the ladies of the spellbook club came in to tidy and update the books in the big shelving units in the reading area. Each would bring a few new selections, chosen through spell work or simple intuition to help customers. They’d remove other items they felt had already served their purpose.
So when Jaida and Bianca breezed in around ten a.m. the morning of February third, I waved from the kitchen and called to Lucy for a venti coffee frappe and a large mocha. I loaded up a couple of plates with chocolate chip gingerbread and took them out to the table where the two women had settled. Next to Jaida’s elbow, I spotted a how-to guide for upholstering your own furniture and a copy of Pride and Prejudice. Bianca had a tote bag of old copies of Life Magazine, a copy of Jitterbug Perfume, and a coffee-table book showcasing the art of Georgia O’Keeffe.
Did I mention the Honeybee library housed an eclectic selection?
“Where’s Mimsey?” Jaida asked. The older witch usually showed up before the rest.
I shrugged and glanced over at where Lucy was wiping down the front of the glass display case.
She looked up. “Might not come today. Depends on how Wren is doing, I imagine.”
