by Bailey Cates
“I’ll tell Wren about what just happened,” I said. I knew it was lame, but it was all I had to give him.
“You do that,” he said.
• • •
“What do you think?” Bianca asked. “Smart, active, good-looking. And that deep, sexy voice? Whew!” She was referring to Evanston Rickers, of course, and she wasn’t asking me. Her dating adviser was sitting in the backseat while I rode shotgun this time.
Cookie leaned forward and put her hand on the back of my seat. “It would be better if he didn’t have to leave in two months.”
Bianca laughed. “Oh, but what a fun two months it could be.”
I blinked. “Bianca!”
“What? Cookie can play the field. Why can’t I? I never said I wanted to get married again. I just want a little company. And some fun. If I knew it would only last a couple of months, I might not even tell him I’m a witch.”
“Well, that is simply stupefying. Don’t you want a relationship to be honest? If you lie to him, he might lie to you—threefold.”
Cookie made a noise in the backseat. “So now omission is a lie? You didn’t seem to see it that way when you were flirting with Declan and the poor man had no idea you were spending your time casting spells and juicing up the Honeybee baked goods with magic.”
I bit down on a retort and counted to ten. “You’re right. I was getting used to the idea of being a witch myself. Until I did, I couldn’t talk about it with someone I was just getting to know. And in the end, I did tell him and it turned out fine.”
“Ladies, please don’t bicker. Maybe you’re right, Katie. Maybe I should think more about exactly what I want.”
We were all quiet for a few miles. Then I couldn’t help saying, “What about that tree?”
“The giant cypress?” Bianca guided the Jag smoothly around a curve in the highway. “You seemed quite drawn to it.”
“Really drawn to it,” Cookie said from the backseat.
“Didn’t you two feel it?”
“No,” Bianca said at the same time Cookie said, “Yes.”
“Well, there was something going on, but I didn’t associate it with that tree,” Bianca said.
“You were distracted by the man candy,” Cookie said.
Bianca rolled her eyes before glancing over at me. “So what’s the deal with that tree?”
I looked back at Cookie. “Do you know?”
She shook her head.
“Me, neither. But whatever is going on with it is strong.”
“And it hooked you. I saw it,” Cookie said. “I think you should stay away from it.”
Bianca frowned.
“You’re probably right.” I imagined I could still feel the pull of the cypress, calling to me across the miles in a wordless whisper.
• • •
Steve picked up on the third ring. “Hello, Katie-g—sorry.”
Well, at least he was trying. “I have a bone to pick with you, Mr. Dawes.”
“Uh-oh. But I’m afraid I’m in the middle of something. Can I call you back?”
“Sure,” I grumbled.
“We need a berry shortcake,” Ben called from out front where he was ringing up a young couple with a baby at the register.
I hurried to the kitchen to construct the shortcake for Ben’s customer. First I split the giant, biscuit-shaped shortcake with the tines of a fork and laid the lower half on a plate. Macerated strawberries, blackberries, blueberries, and stewed and sweetened gooseberries piled on next, followed by a layer of honey-balsamic whipped cream, a few more berries, the top of the shortcake laid across at an angle, another dose of whipped cream, and a sprig of spearmint topping the whole tower of sweet goodness.
“Two forks?” I asked as I set it on the table in front of the couple.
Their eyes widened at the giant treat, just as Mrs. Standish’s had, and they nodded. I handed them the forks already in my hand and returned to the kitchen.
Fifteen minutes later Steve still hadn’t called me back. I was putting a batch of thumbprint cookies into the oven and was thinking about trying him again, when the devil himself came in the front door. He spoke to Ben and gestured toward where I was wiping my hands on a dish towel.
I heard him say, “Katie wanted to talk to me.”
Ben came into the kitchen. “Dawes is out front,” he said, his brow knitting. “Said you called him?” He couldn’t keep the disapproval out of his voice. He’d encouraged Declan and me to get together almost from the day we met.
“Tell Steve I’ll be out in a minute,” I said.
I finished loading up another sheet with cookie dough and let Steve cool his heels a bit while I gathered my thoughts. It wasn’t that I was avoiding him, but Ben made me feel self-conscious about seeing him.
That’s ridiculous, Katie. You can be friends with anyone you want.
Worrying about it was stressful and unnecessary. I decided right then and there to take back my power; Steve and I could be friends, but I had no interest in being best buddies. As for the tension between Steve and Declan, that was, unfortunately, their problem.
Marching out front, I found Steve in the Honeybee library eating mocha shortbread, drinking his usual cappuccino, and idly flipping through one of the old copies of Life Magazine Bianca had brought in. He was casually dressed in a forest green long-sleeved T-shirt and hiking pants.
He put down the magazine as I plopped down on the sofa next to him. Kim Novak was on the cover, a Siamese cat sexily draped around her shoulders. The picture made me think of Bianca and Puck.
“Not sure how, but you manage to pull off that color,” he said.
I looked down at my apron. It was electric chartreuse, and I’d chosen it to match the high-tops I’d changed back into when we got back from Fagen Swamp.
Shrugging, I said, “All right—spill. Who the heck is Logan Seward?”
A smile quirked up one side of his mouth. “You do get straight to the point.”
“And?”
“What exactly do you mean?”
“You know darn well what I mean. I was there when he told Evanston Rickers he has to leave the swamp in two months. Your lawyerly ‘colleague’ isn’t exactly subtle.” I pulled at the silver chain around my neck, drawing out the protective ring Steve had given me months before. “Logan is a member of the Dragoh Society, isn’t he?”
Steve inclined his head. “He told me he ran into you this morning.”
“He recognized me. You’d already told him who I am.”
“After you came to the office yesterday afternoon. He asked me about you after he saw you leaving. Found you quite attractive and wanted to know more about you. So I told him a little, leaving out that you’re a witch. He’ll probably find out from one of the other druids sometime, though. And I told him you have a boyfriend.” The last word sounded a little tight, as if he’d had to squeeze it out. Still, his face remained impassive.
Wait a minute. “Why did he need to know I have a boyfriend?” I wasn’t fishing, just clarifying.
“He mentioned something about buying you a drink.”
Logan Seward wanted to ask me out? I wrinkled my nose. “He’s a little old for me, don’t you think?”
Steve raised one shoulder and let it drop. “May-September romances aren’t exactly unheard of.”
It was true. But with the vibe I got from Seward, there was no chance that was going to happen. “Where’s he from?”
“Kentucky. Elizabethtown.”
I sat back on the sofa as I put it together. “He’s the cousin. Nel’s cousin who the Dragohs were planning to recruit to flesh out your numbers.”
“Did recruit, actually.”
“And the Dawes Corporation hired him,” I said.
“Sort of. He’s not an employee per se, but we do have him on retainer.�
��
“How’s that working out?”
Steve hesitated. “It’s early days yet.”
“Meaning?”
“This real estate transaction is the first real legal work he’s done for us.”
“So he’s new to Savannah, recruited out of the blue to join an ancient group of druids, and dumped right into the offices of Dawes Corp. At the very least he needs to show that he can cut the mustard to be in your club,” I said.
He held his hand and made a waffling gesture. “Sort of. It would be nice to know what we’re dealing with.”
“How far would he go to prove himself to the other Dragohs?” I wondered out loud.
“Oh, Katie. You can’t really think—”
I held my hand up. “I’ve had exactly two encounters with Mr. Seward, and neither was particularly pleasant. I don’t know what to think. Do you happen to know what he was doing Saturday afternoon?”
Steve looked troubled, then shook his head. “No idea.”
“He sure didn’t waste any time kicking Evanston Rickers out after Autumn was killed.”
“The guy who lives in the swamp? Tell me about him.” He made a face. “I think he intimidates Logan.”
“What kind of a druid is intimidated by a college professor?” I asked.
The bell over the door dinged, and I half stood to see whether Ben and Lucy needed help with the newcomers. Two couples milled in front of the menu board, trying to make up their minds.
I sat back down and continued. “The short story is Evanston Rickers is a zoologist on sabbatical from the University of Oregon to study critters in Fagen Swamp. He spotted a small number of maroon bats. Wren says twice, but he said he saw them three times. Either way, as a zoologist he’s qualified to make the identification. He’s fervent about saving the swamp habitat—not to mention an extinct animal species.”
“Not very happy about being evicted.”
I held up my palms. “Who would be? Especially after he’d been told he’d be able to continue his work.”
Steve studied me. “What else?”
Of course he could tell there was something else. I debated what to tell him. What the heck—at least there was a chance he would understand.
“There’s a tree in the swamp,” I began. “A big cypress. Big.” I paused. “Powerful.”
“Powerful how?”
“I don’t really know,” I said. “There was this crazy charge to the atmosphere. And it called to me—not in words, but . . . you know?”
His thumb stroked his chin. “Logan never mentioned it.”
“Bianca didn’t feel the call, either, but her attention was . . . elsewhere. Cookie felt something, but not as strongly as I did. She certainly noticed the effect it had on me.”
“Fascinating. Reminds me of when you smelled burning hair and no one else did.”
I shuddered, remembering. “Mungo smelled it, though. I wonder if he’d be affected by the tree.”
Steve said, “I might have to make a trip out to Fagen Swamp myself.”
“You’ve never even been there?”
He shook his head.
“Steve! At the very least you need to see the place your father’s company is trying to destroy.”
He pressed his lips together. “You’re right.”
I looked at my watch. “Cookies are about ready to come out of the oven. Did you come all the way over here just because I called?”
“I wanted to find out about Dr. Rickers, and I knew you’d be curious about Logan. It seemed a good subject to talk about in person.”
Taken aback, I said, “That was nice of you.”
“I can be, you know. Nice, I mean. And I thought you might be interested in another nugget of information I learned this morning.” He drained the dregs of his cappuccino and stood. “Skip Thorsen—Autumn Boles’ ex? He notified Father that he’s no longer interested in buying into the golf course.”
Frowning, I asked, “Why not, especially if he has the money now?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the insurance company won’t pay. Or perhaps they won’t pay soon enough. He could even have found something else to invest in.”
“Huh. Okay, thanks for letting me know.”
“I’ll let you get back to work,” Steve said. I walked with him to the door, dodging the group of tourists as they left. Ben’s eyes followed us.
Before Steve left, I asked, “Does Thorsen have a real job?”
“He’s a dentist.” He raised his hand to Ben in farewell and went out as another customer entered the bakery.
A steady trickle of people came in after that. We worked our way through the sudden flurry. After a good forty minutes, things settled down a bit. Most of the customers had left after making their purchases, presumably returning to their desks for a few more hours of work. The sofas in the library were full of chatting clientele, however, and a few bistro tables were still full, too.
I began restocking the display case. We’d had a run on the lemon-raspberry tea cake, which pleased me. Out of the four sandwich cookies, the peanut butter and chocolate fillings seemed to be winning out over the others. Maybe we’d end up sticking with two varieties in the end.
Ben sidled over as I worked. “Declan came in with some of the crew while you were gone. He was disappointed that you weren’t here.”
“Darn it. I’ll give him a call in a little bit.”
“Surprised, too.”
“Bianca, Cookie, and I went out to see Fagen Swamp this morning. Didn’t Lucy tell you?”
“Of course. But you didn’t tell Declan.”
My brow wrinkled. “No, I didn’t. And I doubt that he tells me everything that he does. Unlike you and Lucy, we aren’t married.” Even if we were, I couldn’t imagine having to report in on every activity, nor would I expect him to.
Ben continued, unfazed. “Steve Dawes sure seems determined to stay in your life.” Disapproval laced his tone.
I shrugged. “I guess so.”
He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “He’s not good for you.”
Bending to place the last slice of tea cake in the back of the row, I weighed how to respond. My uncle had mentored Declan in the fire department for years and viewed him as almost an adopted son.
Standing upright, I turned to him. “Steve is trying to help me find out more about Fagen Swamp and the golf course deal his father is involved in. That’s all.” At least I thought that was all. “Declan is good for me. That’s what’s important.”
Relief settled across Ben’s features as the bell over the door signaled another customer. I smiled at him, glancing over to where Lucy had been tidying the espresso prep area.
She wasn’t paying a whit of attention to our conversation, though. Transfixed, she stared wide-eyed toward the door.
I whirled to see what had snagged her attention, and I caught my breath, stunned. Standing just inside the Honeybee, the newcomer took in the room, soaking in every detail. She wore a tweed suit and pointy-toed beige pumps that matched her handbag. Freckles scattered across her ski-jump nose, and her hair was the same red-blond it had always been, though now it came out of a bottle. Her lower lip was firmly clenched between her teeth.
“Mary Jane!” Ben said, walking toward her with both hands extended in welcome. “You’ve finally come for a visit.”
Chapter 14
Lucy came out of her trance and rushed toward her sister. They embraced for a long moment right in the middle of the bakery. Customers watched for a few seconds but soon lost interest. This was obviously a family thing.
When Lucy turned away, I saw her eyes were wet. I approached my mother more slowly but hugged her just as hard.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “We only spoke last night, and you never mentioned coming to Savannah.”
Mama
smiled ruefully. “It was a bit of a surprise to me, too.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Let’s just say I was instructed to get my tail down here. So I did.”
Lucy and I exchanged glances. “Instructed?” she asked.
Mama pressed her lips together. “By Mother.”
My fingers flew to my throat. “Nonna?”
Ben frowned in confusion. Mama raised her eyebrows and gave me a knowing look. Suddenly aware of all the people in the bakery, I took her arm and said in a low voice, “Let’s go back where we can talk.”
Lucy was right behind us, leaving Ben to fend for himself. His baffled gaze followed us through the kitchen and into the Honeybee office. Closing the door behind us, Lucy moved to perch on the edge of Mungo’s club chair and gestured at the swivel desk chair. Imagining how my mother would react to having a dog in the bakery, I was glad he’d stayed home.
She sat down, smoothing her skirt over her knees and crossing her ankles. “You might have mentioned your nonna’s visits.”
I gaped at her. “Are you kidding me? You wouldn’t talk about the simplest of spells, about anything having to do with magic for the last year. How could I tell you about Nonna . . . ? Hey, wait a minute. How did you find out?” I looked at Lucy. “Did you tell her?”
She shook her head and looked at the floor. “Mary Jane might not have spoken to you about anything magical, but she didn’t speak to me at all.”
My mother reddened. “I’m sorry about that, Luce.”
Lucy was quiet. She’d been deeply hurt and angered by her sister’s actions. Mama had cut Lucy off a long time ago when she’d turned her back on the Craft in an attempt to keep me safe.
“Did Nonna tell you?” I asked.
She shook her head. “When Mother came—while I was in the bathtub, of all places, she didn’t bother with news updates. You light a few candles, have a glass of wine, listen to a little Rachmaninoff, and the next thing you know your dead mother is filling the room with her flowery perfume and telling you to stop acting like an ass.”
