Patty was busy behind the pie counter, rolling out dough and checking the portable, wood-fired oven she brought with her booth every year. Her hands were covered in flour and her face was knitted in concentration, but she took a moment to smile and wave as I approached.
“Good morning, Miss Pearson!” I called. “Can I interest you in a smoothie?”
“Aren’t you sweet?” Patty cried, wiping her forehead with an apron corner and shuffling over to inspect my smoothie tray. She picked up one of the Mango-Getters and took a sip.
“Fantastic!” she gushed. “This is exactly what I need right now. Thank you, sweetie.”
“You’re very welcome,” I told her. “Good luck with everything!”
“I am gonna need it!” she said, laughing.
With just the one smoothie left, I looked up and down the street, wondering where to go next.
“You should visit Madame Mysteria.”
I jumped, nearly spilling the last smoothie. I spun around and saw a tall woman in a long, purple dress watching me.
“I did not intend to frighten you, child,” she smiled. Her eyes and brows had been made prominent by a thick, black eyeliner and several large gold earrings sparkled in each of her ears.
“No worries,” I said breathlessly, putting a hand over my racing heart. “What did you say?”
“I said,” she stepped forward, extending a hand that glittered with jeweled rings, “you should visit Madame Mysteria. She can help you discover many things...things unknown, things hoped for, and some things which have yet to be...”
Her bejeweled hand stopped short of the smoothie tray and she gave me a questioning look.
“Go ahead,” I pushed the tray forward, “That one’s all yours.”
“You are kind,” the woman purred. She took a sip. “Very refreshing. For this, you may visit Madame Mysteria free of charge.”
“Are...you Madame Mysteria?” I asked.
Still sipping, she nodded and pointed down the road. I followed her finger to the tent I’d seen the gloved man assembling earlier. There was now a gilded, eye-shaped sign hanging in front of it.
MADAME MYSTERIA
Discover Your Fortune
“Thank you for the offer, Madame.” I said. “Perhaps later. Happy Harvest!”
Fortune-tellers, palm readers, and call-in psychics are very unpopular figures in the witch community. While the Goodsprings coven has no official policy about allowing magic-fakers within town limits, none of us are fond of the idea. If we had known there was going to be a fortune-teller in town this year, we would have probably made a complaint to the festival committee. For now, I planned to encourage the others to overlook it in the interest of dealing with more pressing matters...like finding our new water-witch.
“I will be seeing you soon.” Madame Mysteria said.
She turned and wandered off down the sidewalk, the train of her dress picking up leaves and straw as she went.
I sighed, tucked my empty tray under one arm, and headed off in the opposite direction, toward the Good Eats Grill. It was time to see what Tessa was up to.
Chapter 4
“I’m up to my eyeballs in crises here, Sam!” Tessa growled from behind the counter of the Good Eats Grill.
Her restaurant was packed, wall-to-wall, with unfamiliar faces and every square inch of the grill was taken up with dishes at varying stages of completion.
“I can see that,” I said, watching a pot of french onion soup start to boil over behind her. “Your soup’s escaping.”
Tessa cursed and spun around, snatching the pot off the heat.
“It’s been like this all morning!” she said, flipping a half-dozen sandwiches from the grill onto plates and sliding them down the counter. “And Allie’s run off to goodness-knows-where.”
I knew where, but I wasn’t about to snitch.
“You need to hire a cook,” I said for what was probably the hundredth time. “David’s got a friend from his motorcycle club who used to work at this French place in Savannah...”
I trailed off, realizing Tessa had abandoned our conversation in favor of preventing a grease fire. I watched her dart around the kitchen—prepping, cooking, and serving with almost superhuman speed and efficiency. Here and there I caught whiffs of fire-magic and noticed that the cooking oils she was using that day were those that I had infused myself with herbs from my garden...culinary potions mimic the Maillard reaction.
“I’ve still got ten batches of harvest loaves to bake,” Tessa said, returning to the grill to flip sandwiches and brush portobello slices with balsamic glaze.
“I can help with that,” I offered. “I’m free tonight after eight. We’ll make an evening of it.”
“What’s happening before eight?” Tessa raised an eyebrow.
“I’m grabbing a cup of coffee with Ada. We’re going over the game plan for patching the roof.”
Ada Gallagher, one of the twin homicide detectives who had recently moved to Goodsprings, was helping me with some home repairs. My house is an old Victorian that was falling apart around me and Ada’s help was both desperately needed and much appreciated. In exchange for her labor and know-how, I provided her and her twin brother, Ethan, with special smoothies that I had created just for them. These smoothies are vitamin and iron-rich and have been unofficially dubbed “Detectives’ Delights” due to the Gallaghers’ fondness for them.
“You two have been hanging out a lot lately, huh?” Tessa peered up at me as she poured mushroom bourguignon over a bed of mashed potatoes.
“It’s not against the law.” I said. “I don’t know what your beef with Ethan is, but—”
“I don’t have beef!” Tessa protested, placing a sprig of parsley and sliding the completed plate down the counter. A red-haired woman caught it and raised a hand.
“Can I get some salt?” she called.
“You haven’t even tried it yet!” Tessa retorted. The woman scowled and put her hand down.
“Whatever you want to call it,” I continued, “you clearly have a problem with him...you stood him up!”
“So what,” Tessa said lightly. “We had only been out once before. I doubt he’s torn up over it.”
“He is, though!” I said, leaning over the counter. “Ada says he thought your first date went really well. Now he’s wondering what he did wrong.”
“Are you here to find that out for him?” Tessa asked, avoiding my gaze.
“No, Tessa,” I sighed. “I’m here to find out how you are. We all thought you really liked—”
“—I’m busy.” Tessa cut me off. “If you want to talk, you should come by after the lunch rush.”
“Fine,” I said, pushing back from the counter. “See you later, Tess.”
Chapter 5
“Your mom’s in a mood.” I told Allie Smith. Her and her friend Genevieve were hard at work building a parade float from the privacy of the Happy Blendings patio.
“She’s been like that for a few days,” Allie said. “Is she mad at me for leaving the grill?”
“Yep,” I said. “But don’t sweat it. School’s out for the week and you should be enjoying yourself. And you can tell your mom I said that!”
“Thanks, Aunt Sam.”
“Can I get you girls some juice? This looks like thirsty work.”
The float, which they were assembling for their scout troop, was tall enough that it rose above the patio walls. It was adorned with shimmering streamers, cornstalks, bushels of golden wheat, and a goofy-looking scarecrow with a large, painted turnip for a head. Allie and Genevieve, when they approached me over the weekend about using the Happy Blendings patio as a work space, had told me that the theme was “The Spirit of the Harvest”.
“Juice sounds awesome! Thanks so much, Miss Greene,” Genevieve chirped.
“Yes please!” Allie nodded. “And...any chance you have a few melons lying around?”
“Melons? I reckon I might have some watermelons in the back...”
&nbs
p; “Watermelons are perfect!” Allie said eagerly.
“The bigger, the better!” Genevieve added.
“Alright then,” I laughed. “Can I ask why you need these melons?”
“They’re for the float,” Allie said. “We’re going to carve jack-o-lanterns.”
“Last I heard, that’s what pumpkins are for.”
Genevieve and Allie frowned.
“You haven’t heard?” Genevieve said. “There aren’t any pumpkins this year.”
“The pumpkin patch sold out weeks ago.” Allie added. “That’s why they don’t have a booth on Main Street this year.”
“Sold out?” I echoed. “They usually have thousands of pumpkins! How could they possibly be sold out already?”
Genevieve shrugged. “No idea, but my dad’s been really cranky about it. No Pumpkin Pale this year.”
Genevieve's dad, Carey Welles, owns the Goodsprings Brewery. Every year, the brewery makes a few barrels of Pumpkin Pale, just for Harvest Festival. They never list it on the menu, so it has always been a bit of a local secret. It’s been a town tradition for as long as I can remember.
“No Pumpkin Pale?” Phineas Lichen’s hoarse shout made the three of us jump. He entered the patio area from Happy Blendings proper, his pet rooster Chuckles in tow.
“Good morning, Mister Lichen.” I greeted him.
“Morning, Miss Greene,” he grunted, tipping his wide-brimmed hat. “Now what was y’all sayin’ about my favorite tipple not tappin’ this year?”
“Sorry, Mister Lichen,” Genevieve said quietly. “My dad said the whole patch was cleared out when he went to go buy pumpkins.”
Phineas Lichen looked scandalized.
“There’s no Harvest Festival without Pumpkin Pale!” he proclaimed, dropping into a seat at one of the patio tables. Chuckles strutted and clucked indignantly from underneath the table.
“What do you think of our float so far, Mister Lichen?” Allie asked, gesturing to the float. Phineas squinted at it.
“Very good,” he nodded approvingly. “That scarecrow looks a bit sun-scorched though...could use a hat...”
He began rummaging through the large handbag that he usually used to tote Chuckles around town. He pulled a crumpled top hat, a civil war-era cap, and three quarters of a paper crown.
“I’ll be back with some juice for y’all.” I told the three of them.
Inside Happy Blendings, David was explaining the menu to a party of tourists.
“These are just suggested recipes,” he said, gesturing at the chalkboard. “You can build your own smoothie or modify the menu.”
“So,” said one of them, a freckled woman, “what if I want a Kiwi to the City, but without the kiwi? I’m allergic.”
“Yes!” David exclaimed. “We can absolutely do that. Is that what you want?”
“No...” the woman sighed, “I need some more time to think.”
One of her companions, a tall man with glasses, raised his hand.
“Yes?” David asked wearily.
“Do I have to order off the menu or can I just tell you what I want?”
David looked like he was torn between bursting into tears and throwing the whole group out onto the street.
“Take a break,” I patted him on the back. “Why don’t you grab a few glasses of juice for our friends on the patio and have them show you what they’ve been working on?”
“Thanks, Sam.” David said, pulling off his Happy Blendings apron. “Good luck.”
I turned to the group.
“Alright,” I said, clapping my hands. “I’m going to mix up some secret, off-menu drinks for y’all. Here’s the deal...you only have to pay for them if you like them. Sound good?”
I went to work, blending drinks and dodging the volley of questions that followed my announcement.
I have what I call a “smoothie sense”. I feel inspired, sometimes, with recipes that meet individual needs. If someone is sick or feeling down, I know exactly what to mix up to make it better. It’s part of my abilities as an earth-witch, though from what my grandmother told me it manifests differently in every witch. My great-grandmother, for example, used it to create custom medicinal teas that worked miraculously well.
Working with all of our blenders at once, I whipped up four smoothie sense-inspired drinks. I carried them to the counter and pointed each one out to the group.
“Pineapple, banana, coconut milk, mango, and tumeric.” I handed a vividly yellow smoothie to the freckled woman.
“Strawberries, almond milk, basil, honey, and a pinch of pink salt.” I passed a creamy, pink drink to its inspiration, a young woman sporting a stylishly messy bun.
“Peaches, vanilla, oat milk, maple syrup, oats, and cinnamon,” I gave it to the man with glasses. “Just like a peach pie.”
I turned to the last tourist, a sleepy-looking man with a bushy beard.
“And for you, sir,” I presented a bright green drink garnished with a pinch of cacao powder and a sprig of fresh mint. “Matcha powder, almond milk, and bananas. That should wake you up.”
The group shared some skeptical looks and sipped on their smoothies.
“Oh my.” The glasses man said, his eyes lighting up. The rest of his party exhibited similar reactions.
“Good to hear!” I smiled around at the group, “Those will all be half price, on account of y’all being so patient.”
I was ringing them up at the register when the front door flew open, letting in a gust of ice-cold wind. I looked up to see Naomi Gale striding toward the counter, her long braids swinging in the wind. The shop was filled with the sharp, stormy smell of ozone...the scent of air-magic.
Mrs. Gale strode past the counter and stopped just short of the kitchen door.
“We need to talk.”
Chapter 6
“Something’s wrong with Mara,” Naomi said the second I closed the storeroom door behind me.
The Happy Blendings storeroom is a small room just off the prep kitchen. I’ve set up a tiny office space in the corner that really only gets used when David wants to do some online shopping or Naomi’s daughter Mara needs a quiet space to work on her newspaper column.
“What do you mean?”
I had seen Mara just a couple of days ago and she seemed fine. A little distracted, maybe, but that wasn’t unusual for her.
“Her magic has been malfunctioning.” Naomi said, scowling. “She’s been trying to hide it from me, so I wouldn’t worry...but she couldn’t hide the swarm of blood-locusts that got conjured in my kitchen last night.”
“Ugh.” I shuddered.
Naomi nodded. “She was attempting a simple telepathy spell to tell me that dinner was ready. I got the message, but when I came downstairs I found her and Richard swatting at a thousand of those things with brooms.”
“That sounds bad. That sounds like...”
“...Like a black magic infection.” Naomi finished. “Yes, I thought the same.”
“She must have picked it up during all that business with the Windermeres,” I said, thinking back to our recent encounters with Lily Windermere, the water-witch who had murdered her aunt and dabbled in black magic.
“One would think,” Naomi agreed. “But Mara keeps denying that she was ever exposed to black magic. She tells me she’s fine. That’s why I’m here...I need you to give me the real story.”
“She must have picked it up from Lily before everything went to hell in a hand basket,” I said. “Since she wasn’t there when we found the safe.”
Tessa and I had discovered a safe in Windermere manor that was secured with a magical lock and reeked of black magic. It was currently safe behind the door of the Goodsprings Police Station’s evidence locker, covered with a blanket that I had enchanted to keep the twisted magic from seeping out.
“I don’t think so,” Naomi shook her head. “An infection requires direct contact with black magic. Mara would have known if her “friend” Lily used it around her.”
“
That’s true. Then the only thing I can think of is the anti-magic barrier she ran into.”
“The what?” Naomi said sharply.
Whoops.
“Um...the anti-magic barrier...around Windermere Manor.”
Naomi’s eyes narrowed. I sighed.
“When we were flying to Windermere manor, Mara collided with an anti-magic ward that Lily set up. It forced her out of wild form and she fell into the lake.”
Naomi closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“That girl,” she said quietly, “is going to be the death of me.”
“Did she not tell you any of that?”
“She talked around it. I’m sure she thought she was doing me a kindness, sparing me the details.”
I put a hand on Naomi’s shoulder. She shook her head.
“I had a hunch,” she said, “that it was something like that. I went to Windermere Manor to take a look around yesterday...and you know what? It was raining.”
“It rained yesterday?”
“Not here. Just at the Manor. There is a little dark rain cloud hovering just above the chimneys, pouring down all over the property.”
I had heard dozens of rumors about Windermere Manor in the past weeks. If local gossip was to be believed, the house was not only haunted by the vengeful ghost of Amelia Windermere but was also the current hideout of a dangerous fugitive and had become a hotspot for the spirits of Civil War soldiers, who you could apparently see walking through the grounds under a full moon at midnight. When I overheard a group of kids whispering about the perpetual rainstorm over the manor last week, I’d written it off as another crazy rumor. Now that Naomi confirmed it, however...
A Pumpkin Potion Explosion Page 2
