A Spell in Mag Mell (Hattie Jenkins & The Infiniti Chronicles Book 5)

by Pearl Goodfellow

  “Grandma’s Book of Shadows could probably name a few suspects,” I suggested, hoping that would calm him down. Silly me.

  “You mean you could have peed off somebody ELSE besides those troublesome Mag Mellian’s?!” My timid cat’s eyes bulged at the idea.

  “Okay, not that I don’t love speculating on freaky random occurrences as much as the next girl,” Millie said, leaning across the counter as if to make a comfy bed of it. “But if I don’t get some of your patented ‘awake’ medicine soon, Hattie, I’m going to be useless for the rest of the day.”

  “More useless than usual?” Gloom opined from the top shelf of dried flowers. She had nestled in between the Chamomile and Valerian Root. Must remember to add those particular herbs to Midnight’s next concoction.

  “Gloom!” I snapped.

  “Hey, you keep interrupting my sleep, I keep throwing out insults. Fair exchange if you ask me. Anyone notice that Midnight and Millie’s afflictions are the reverse of the other? Midnight can’t sleep in the day, and Millie can’t sleep at nighttime. Maybe our panic-pants brother is actually on the right track.” A shiver shot down my spine as I guided my friend and helper to the kitchen out back.

  “So, Midnight’s still having trouble with day sleeping?” Millie asked as we walked. The stove was boiling some (hopefully regular) hot water in Grandma’s old tea kettle.

  “It took a double dose of Gran’s knockout tea this morning to get him snoozy,” I admitted. “It won’t put him under — he’s too far gone for that — but, hopefully, it’ll make him doze for an hour or two.” I pulled the whistling pot from the range. “Now, sleepyhead, let me see if I can work the same kind of magic for you.” After pouring her tea, I added six drops of rosemary and four of grapefruit essential oil to the diffuser. My favorite Hocus Focus blend.

  My assistant gave me a tight hug. “Bast, Hattie, you’re not making it easy for me to keep up the story that you’re the boss from hell,” she teased playfully. I nudged her with my shoulder. “I’m making this tea for you so you can …” I paused. “…Get back to work!” I glared at my gaping-mouthed friend as I shouted the last words. I feigned the best demonic look I could muster. We burst into a fit of laughter. As shatteringly tired as Millie was, I was relieved to see she still had her sense of humor.

  “Okay, let’s see what we can do here, huh? You’ll be The Angel’s first order of the day.” I turned from Millie to blend what was hopefully a wakeful agent for my afflicted friend.

  Millie definitely seemed more alert, no more than an hour later. She still wasn’t a hundred percent, but my helper assured me it was enough to stay functional for the day’s business. To keep her from having any relapses, I had her work on the day’s delivery schedule. There were some logistics involved in delivery-scheduling, so I hoped it would keep her mind active. Five minutes at the front counter and she’d likely have been using it for a bed. Without even thinking how it’s schedule looked.

  I took my position up front and, lost in my thoughts, I found myself gazing into the shadowy corner of the apothecary thinking about Fraidy’s warning. A pair of yellow eyes came into view from the midst of the blackness there. Those golden orbs were shortly followed by the form of a pitch-black kitty whose strut was unmistakable.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Shade said with his trademark good humor. “‘Sup, boss lady? How’s the morning treating my fam so far?”

  A low growl came from next to the chamomile jar.

  “Love you too, Sis!” He chirped.

  Millie smiled at our newest arrival as she came from the back to hand me the list of deliveries. “So, how are things going with Ms. Poof, Romeo?”

  “Ahh, they’re okay,” Shade admitted as he hopped onto the counter. “I think I’m halfway to convincing her that I was serious when I said that I wanted to be exclusive with her.”

  Fraidy poked his head around the corner of the tea shelf. “Isn’t anybody going to tell him?”

  Shade’s smile slipped a little as he peered over the edge of his perch at his brother. “Okay, you know, and I know my bro’s the type of cat who’d run away from a mouse. But this little panic attack sounds like it needs to be heard. Lay it on me.”

  I was about to give him the rundown when the shop bell suddenly chimed. Our first official customer of the day had just walked through the door. Shade jumped down to my side of the counter and melted back into the shadows. We’d have to resume this topic later.

  I was a little surprised at who had just entered The Angel. It was more than just the elegant three-piece suit that combined Mainland fashion with Coven Isles sensibilities that he was wearing. Or the various gemstones that had been embedded within the fabric of those clothes. Nor was it the silver ring on his right hand that glinted in the early morning light. It was the way he carried himself; like he was about to part the Crystal Sea. His arms, in an outward position, palms facing slightly upward gave the impression of both invitation and a propensity for giving. His easy, erect posture, which gave the illusion of more height, helped with the effect. Norris Copperhead looked almost beatific.

  Thankfully, he wasn’t devastatingly handsome. Oh, he was attractive enough, despite the thinning hairline with its prominent widow’s peak. And, it’s true, his smile was instantly infectious. But remembering my own ill-fated interactions with the ever-altruistic (not!) Governor Gideon Shields, I felt naturally guarded. The way I detected ‘schtick,’ I tell ya, was magic in itself.

  “Ms. Hattie Jenkins?” He asked, raising a well-groomed brow.

  “Yes?” I asked, feeling equal parts nervous and curious.

  His smile broadened as he stuck out his hand. “It is such a pleasure to finally meet you. Norris Copperhead. Vice-Chairman of the Coven Isles Alchemical Society.” Norris pumped my hand enthusiastically.

  My mouth was open even as I returned the handshake. The silver ring I had noticed earlier was imprinted with a wolf’s head, encircled by the classic ‘ouroboros snake.’ I wondered if that sigil came from his family crest, or if he was wearing the insignia of the Alchemical Society. He had the whole look of ‘private boy’s club,’ somehow.

  “I…I’m not sure what to say here,” I stumbled, a little bemused.

  “Well, I’m thinking something along the lines of ‘what can we do for you today?’ Might be a good start,” Millie said with an impish poke of my ribs. Her eyelids had ballooned again, and I could see her eyes were mere slits. She was going to need more Sencha-Matcha, actually, make that Yerba Mate, and soon.

  “Excuse my semi-rude assistant, Mr. Copperhead,” I said. “She’s not been herself these past few days.” I glanced at Millie and then back to the alchemist. “Insomnia,” I stated simply.

  “Oh, no offense taken,” Copperhead said as he extended his hand towards my friend. “Norris Copperhead at your service, Miss…?”

  “Midge,” Millie said with a smile of her own as she shook. “Millie Midge.”

  I knew that smile on her face. Oh, no, she wasn’t seriously thinking about this guy like that, was she?

  “Now that we all know each other,” I said as the handshake broke up. “I’ve got to admit that I am curious how a little apothecary such as ours can help you. Being attached to the Society would give you a lot more options than—“

  “I’m going to have to respectfully disagree,” Copperhead said, holding up his hand. “When our own Golden Chair, Aurel Nugget, sings the praises of the young lady who saved him from an experiment gone tragically wrong, I tend to believe that to be an unparalleled recommendation.”

  I squirmed a little at the praise. Sure, I’d found a cure to the Strands of Araby scourge that was capable enough to bring Aurel’s mind back from the brink of drug-fueled madness. But that had been given to everyone affected, not just the select few. Still, if that kind of good deed was enough to convince a customer like the Vice-Chair of CIAS to do business with us, I might as well make the most of it.

  “I have a rather large order that I need preparing by th
e day after tomorrow,” Copperhead handed me a list.

  My eyes practically popped out of their sockets. The mixtures listed were innocuous enough: Green Lion, Devouring Sun, Moon Tears and the ever-popular alchemist special: World Egg. From what Grandma Chimera’s few alchemical books had to say, these potions were essential building blocks in modern alchemy. But the quantities!

  “You need twelve gallons of each?” I asked.

  “You CAN make these substances, correct?” Copperhead inquired, his tone already tinged with slight disappointment at the possibility of not having his needs met.

  “Of course we can!” Millie said a little too eagerly.

  I gave her shin a slight knock to let her know I was handling this. “Yes, I have the ingredients I need to make everything on this list. But, just not in the sort of quantities I’d need to fill the whole order.”

  “Of course,” Copperhead said, his tone becoming pleasant and curt at the same time. “I imagine that it is rare that you are called upon to whip up concoctions in such bulk.” The alchemist seemed as if he had concluded his business here and was about to turn on his heel.

  “Just the same, I’m fairly confident that I can get this done in the timeframe you mentioned. I’ll just have to work harder at it, that’s all.” No way I was gonna turn down this kind of money. And I was anything BUT confident about how I’d make this happen. That’s a detail that a paying customer didn’t need to know, though.

  Copperhead drummed his fingers on the counter thoughtfully. “As I know — from personal experience, as it happens — what a grueling task I’ve set before you, I have a small proposal.”

  I gave him a ‘go ahead’ nod.

  “I am willing to pay you twice the normal price you would charge for such an order to compensate for any lost business that may be incurred during this project.” Cha-ching! My mind raced to the gorgeous baby-blue cashmere sweater I’d seen in ‘Prettykins’ window. I’d already made up my mind of where to hide it so as Fraidy couldn’t find it and use it for his bedroom.

  Agh! It was a tempting proposal. The thought of pulling down that kind of double- money was a smile-worthy idea. But Grandma Chimera’s whispered wisdom came to me then: “Be profitable but never greedy.” My shoulders slouched and I gave a small resigned nod.

  “While I’m flattered that you’d be willing to pay so much,” I said carefully. “I’m afraid that I’m going to have to decline your offer and just charge you the normal price. You can pay me once I’ve completed the order.”

  Copperhead drew his head back, his mouth a perfect ‘O’ of genuine surprise. Then, with a tight smile, he finally said, “Your principles are admirable. I can now see what Aurel saw in you. Sicut superius, et inferius.”

  “As above, so below,” I translated.

  Copperhead bowed his head in respect.

  “Would you think any less of me if I asked a question about all this?” I asked, giving the list a critical eye.

  Millie’s turn to kick me in the shin. Copperhead didn’t seem offended, though.

  “You’re wondering why an accomplished alchemist like myself couldn’t just brew what he needs within the confines of his laboratory,” he said, correctly reading between the lines. Or, my lines, rather. “Under other circumstances, believe me when I say that I would gladly do so. However, a rather touchy experiment has gone somewhat awry at the moment, and it is taking all my resources just to restart the trials. I simply have no time to gather all the ingredients needed.”

  “And starting from the beginning again isn’t an option,” Millie chimed in.

  “Regrettably, no…in fact, the only way this experiment can keep from causing a great deal of harm is if I have these mixtures in my possession no later than the deadline.”

  He placed his left hand over mine in a friendly manner. “Aurel has given me the impression that you are community-minded enough to want to help me, and the … ah, the community as a whole, with this matter.”

  I smiled and said, “Mr. Nugget was speaking the truth. So, day after tomorrow. What time are you looking at?”

  “Morning. The earlier, the better,” Copperhead said, relief settling over his face. “I am genuinely sorry for any inconvenience this may cause. But, under the circumstances…”

  I assured him it was alright and the subject of price came around. I quoted him my standard fee plus fifteen percent — for the fact that I’d have to zoom around and find the materials — and asked that he have payment ready by the time he came by for pickup. After a promise that this wouldn’t be a problem, he bid us good day and walked out of the shop. Parting the imaginary sea as he went.

  “Are you confident that you’re not biting off more than you can chew, Hattie?” Onyx asked from his perch on the upper shelf behind me.

  “Would I have said ‘yes’ if I wasn’t sure?” I asked, hoping that, for just once, I could bluff the kitty who thought of himself as my live-in therapist. His level gaze told me that I’d once again failed on that count.

  “Gotta go with the smart fuzzy up there,” Millie admitted, pointing to Onyx. “Under normal circumstances, this would be a tough bill to fill. And with me in the shape I’m in…”

  She slumped a little lower on the counter. The exchange with the Angel’s newest customer had apparently taken a lot out of her. I look around at the Infiniti. “Can I trust you all to watch the shop while I help poor Millie here?”

  “Depends,” Jet said, blurring his way up to the top of the counter. “Can I run the Catnip department?”

  “There’re plenty of female customers, right?” Shade inquired, stepping out of the shadows once more. “So, sure! Count me in.”

  “Your face has just healed from Ms. Poof’s last bout of jealousy.” Eclipse observed from the bottom step of the stairs.

  “Hey, it’s just human chicks, ‘Clipsy. Surely a guy can look at human girls, right?”

  I shook my head. Leave it to the Infiniti (or Lemniscate, as Onyx liked to call his clatch. Eight immortal cats that had been passed down through my family for generations,) to turn a simple question into an extended discussion of each of their passions. I took Millie by the shoulder and led her to the back, keeping my ears pricked for the tinkle of the shop’s doorbell.

  My assistant gave me a stern look as I poured more water into the kettle. “I’m still waiting on the answer to that question Onyx asked you, girlfriend.

  “Who’s the boss again, young lady?” I replied with a smirky face. “I just want this to go right. An order of this size and importance is … well, important.” Millie yawned.

  “So do I. That’s why I’m heading over to Celestial Cakes after I give you your medicine. See if Artemus Caves is about.”

  “And you’re sure Gabby won’t mind you stealing her man?”

  I gave her a playful shove of the shoulder. “Not everybody’s head’s in the same gutter you wallow in, Millie.”

  “I wish yours was when it came to a particular Para Inspector.”

  I stuck my tongue out at her, which made her giggle again. I was hoping that this batch of Yerba Mate would help her stay awake long enough for me to get my much-needed backup, in the shape of Artemus Caves.

  Chapter Two

  Any hope that my visit to the bakery would be a quick ‘in-and-out’ died when I saw Celestial Cakes’ sign. Once upon a time, it’d been a bakery run by old Mrs. Hubbell, whose heirs promptly abandoned it the moment she died to go spend their inheritance on the Mainland. A few months ago, my dear ex-golem friend, Gabrielle Goldsmith, had reopened it with some help from her “father” and yours truly. The combination of unique and tasty recipes — allegedly derived from Milton Powerdry’s: Art of Baking — and the way the café was so charmingly set up had turned Gabrielle into a runaway success.

  Still, like any driven woman trying to make her way through this world, she always liked to take precautions. One of them was embedded in her bakery sign. To the Unawakened eye, there was nothing unique about it, just a tasteful
assortment of pastries surrounding the shop name: Celestial Cakes. But for someone who has Fae Sight like me, I could see the hidden letters glowing there: ‘met,’ the Yiddish word for ‘death.’ Okay, so things may not have been as dire as that term implied, but it being visible at all to my ‘other way’ of seeing the world told me that there was trouble inside the cake shop.

  It didn’t take long for me to figure out where the trouble was coming from. Everybody in the café area, servers and customers alike, were staring at it. A red-faced, shrieking woman, no more than 4 foot 8 inches tall was face to face — or rather face to midriff — with an ever-calm Gabrielle. The small lady’s words were unintelligible bar the odd profanity, but you could tell she was spitting mad purely from all the spittle that was flying from her tight lips. All I could see was her back. But the cut and quality of her clothes told me that this short and angry woman was definitely from the upper classes, while her dyed blonde hair indicated a vanity that really needed to die before she got too old.

  As usual, Gabrielle’s face was unreadable in that frustratingly neutral way she wore so well. Forty years of servitude to the abrasive Nebula Dreddock had exposed her to far worse than what this banshee before her could throw. Gabrielle’s cobalt eyes steadily fixed on the little woman’s head. She was waiting for the shrieking to stop, likely so she could have her very patient and logical say in the matter.

  But not everybody had the patience of the ex-golem. A studious looking young man stood up from the far end of the bar. His round face was a mask of fury, right down to the scowl that pulled his mouth into the shape of an upside down half-moon. This marked the first time I’d ever seen Artemus Caves get angry. It was an arresting sight to see a usually mild-mannered man look so livid.

  Artemus marched over to the yelling woman and, without touching her, he stepped between her and the counter where his beloved, Gabrielle, stood. A hulking wall of man flesh was now planted where the aggrieved woman’s victim should have been.

  “This conversation is over,” Caves said in a basso profundo voice. He sounded like a TV judge handing down a rough sentence.