A Mixture of Mischief

by Anna Meriano

  One drop into the yellow icing bag, and then she squished the bag around in her hand, shutting her eyes tight and willing her magic to mix in. She drew zigzag stripes of yellow across the tops of two scones, sniffing to make sure her magic was working. She plopped the two scones onto a plate, frowning as she tried to think of anything else she could add. Bay leaves were in the plain ingredient cabinet, and she ripped up a few and sprinkled them on top of the scones, not knowing if that was enough to activate their magic but making a quiet wish as she ran toward the office.

  Mamá and Mrs. O’Rourke were still shouting when Leo knocked on the door, as loud as she dared.

  “What is it?” Mamá’s voice was dangerously calm.

  Leo gulped. “Mamá, my scones are ready. Will you try one?”

  There was a long pause, and then the office door opened. Mrs. O’Rourke’s mouth was set in a stubborn scowl, and Mamá’s cheeks were pink with anger.

  “Leo,” she said. “Whatever you’re doing, now isn’t a good time.”

  Leo held the plate up. “Please, just try one?”

  “They smell amazing,” Mrs. O’Rourke said. Her stomach gurgled loudly. “And they look picture-perfect. You made these?”

  “Better put those away, Leo,” Mamá said, “or they’ll be the newest item on the Honeybees menu.”

  “Please try one,” Leo said. “I just want to know what you think of them, honestly.” Her eyes begged Mamá to trust her.

  “Leo . . .”

  “Well, I’ll try one.” Mrs. O’Rourke gave Leo a bright, fake smile. “I’m starving.”

  Mamá broke off a bite-sized piece of the second scone. Both women popped pieces into their mouths, quiet as they chewed.

  “This is a great recipe, Leo,” Mamá said. “Sometimes I’m amazed by how fast you pick things up. You left them in the oven just a smidge too long, but I love that flavor in the ici—”

  Without warning, Belinda O’Rourke burst into loud sobs.

  Mamá raised her eyebrows in alarm, and Marisol and Isabel came running.

  “What did you do?” Marisol whispered, grabbing the plate with the half-eaten scones away from Leo.

  “I’m sorry,” Mrs. O’Rourke said. “I’m so sorry. The scones are delicious, sweetie. I’m just not . . . I can’t . . .” She fell into Daddy’s desk chair, shoulders shaking.

  Mamá left the office, then returned with a paper cup of coffee. Mrs. O’Rourke took it, her breath making a sucking noise through her tears.

  “I’m sorry, Elena,” she said. “I promise, I didn’t come here to have it out with you. And I’m not trying to defend . . . Obviously I was wrong back when we were in high school. There was no reason to run against you for class president.”

  “I didn’t care about the election,” Mamá said. “I was hurt. You were my friend.”

  “Honesty spell,” Leo whispered back to Marisol.

  “I wanted everything you had just because you had it,” Mrs. O’Rourke said. “You had the perfect family and the perfect grades and you were so confident about the life you had planned for yourself.”

  “You were the one who went out to conquer the world,” Mamá argued.

  “Because I was running away,” Mrs. O’Rourke said. “I couldn’t even come back to Rose Hill until my father passed away. I was afraid. Can you believe he still had that kind of effect on me?”

  Leo clapped her hand over her mouth. Mrs. O’Rourke had said that her coming back had to do with “him,” but it wasn’t about Abuelo Logroño at all.

  “I promise, I didn’t plan to come back and, you know, steal away your business and your menu. Would you believe me if I said that I honestly forgot about your bakery, at least at first? The idea to sell baked goods just . . . came to me, and before I knew it, I had a space and a website and a whole menu planned, and I swear it must have been subconscious because I never realized . . . I would never have been brazen enough to just copy what you’ve done. Not anymore, at least.”

  Mamá laughed. It was totally unbelievable, except when you knew that a brujo who specialized in illusions was part of the story. Leo knew, like Mamá did, that Mrs. O’Rourke’s story was true.

  But it didn’t change anything.

  “So, did you come here for confession?” Mamá asked. “That’s nice, Belinda, but . . . the damage is done. And I have a bakery to run. I guess we both do.”

  “But that’s why I’m here.” Mrs. O’Rourke hiccuped pitifully. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m asking for help.”

  “I don’t know what I can do to help you—” Mamá began.

  “I can’t bake!”

  Mamá looked at Leo, who looked at Marisol, who looked at the plate of scones. Maybe the spell had been too strong. Leo had only wanted to help Mamá and Mrs. O’Rourke to communicate with each other. But she worried she’d inadvertently created some kind of truth serum.

  “It’s all going wrong,” Mrs. O’Rourke said after another bout of tears. “Everyone I try to hire for my kitchen falls through. Three people yesterday said they couldn’t find the building. It’s not a large town! And the day before that, my back-of-house manager quit because she said the shelves were unsafe; plates and bowls kept falling on her head. And my ovens! They must have been installed poorly, because I can never get more than one on at a time, and even then everything comes out raw or burned. I’m not a trained professional, but I know I should be able to bake a tray of sugar cookies without disaster!”

  “I’m . . . sorry to hear all that,” Mamá said. Isabel was tugging Leo’s sleeve, eyebrows high on her forehead, and Marisol had a satisfied smirk.

  “You know my grandma Kelly?” Mrs. O’Rourke said. “She was a superstitious old bat, but I’m starting to think she knew what she was talking about. I’ve cursed my business, acting the way I did. And now I want to set things right. The fair folk reward a good deed, right? That’s how Grandma Kelly always told it.”

  Isabel tugged Leo’s sleeve even harder, and Leo understood why. The fair folk—that was another name for magical creatures. . . .

  The duendes. They hadn’t just wished for a way to fix the harm caused by Abuelo Logroño—they had actually gone off to fix it themselves!

  “Anyway,” Mrs. O’Rourke said, “I need to do something—it’s clear that I’m not going to be a success on the back of my baking. I’d rather stick with the tea and honey. That’s what I always wanted to do with the café anyway.”

  “It’s a good idea!” Mamá said. “As much as people like to stand around our counter with coffee and gossip, I’m sure they’d love it even more if there was a place to sit and relax.”

  That did sound nice, now that Mamá put it that way. Leo frowned. If Honeybees wasn’t trying to compete with Amor y Azucar, it might even be a place she’d want to go.

  “I’m so glad to hear that,” Mrs. O’Rourke said. “So will you help me?”

  “I’m still not sure what you want,” Mamá said.

  “I’m sorry.” Mrs. O’Rourke waved her hands in the air. “I’m all over the place this morning. I haven’t been sleeping well lately—my dog, Bumble, is up all night, barking at nothing. . . .”

  Barking at duendes, Leo guessed.

  “No, Elena, this is a business proposal,” Mrs. O’Rourke continued. “I’m thinking we could both benefit from a partnership.”

  Mamá stared at Mrs. O’Rourke. “Luis,” she called, “can you come in here for a minute?”

  “I want to set up a contract with you. I want Amor y Azúcar to provide all the baked goods at Honeybees,” Mrs. O’Rourke said. “Some of your classics, maybe a few Honeybees-exclusive pastries? It could be a good way to maintain your traditional brand here while also branching out. And I think I can offer a very fair deal. I’ll show you my business plan. . . .” She pulled out her shiny phone and tapped the screen.

  Daddy arrived and shooed everyone back to work. Leo iced the rest of her scones (using the nonmagical pink, green, and purple icing) and nibbled nervously
on one while the adults talked quietly in the office. Finally the door opened, and Mrs. O’Rourke emerged smiling, followed closely by Mamá and Daddy.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Mamá said. “Why don’t you go get some sleep?”

  “I’ll try,” Mrs. O’Rourke said. “If that dog ever stops barking.”

  “I have a feeling she’ll settle down,” Mamá said. “It was probably the stress of moving. I’ll see you around, Belinda.”

  “Bye, Elena.” Mrs. O’Rourke yawned hugely. “It really is a lovely place you have here.”

  “I know,” Mamá said. “I’m very lucky.”

  She walked Mrs. O’Rourke to the front door and waved her out.

  “Well?” Marisol asked as soon as the door closed. “Are we going to be partners with Honeybees? Did you turn her down just so you could watch her business crash and burn? What happened?”

  “Nothing’s finalized yet,” Mamá said. “We’re considering the offer. But it looks like . . . it looks like this could be great for us.”

  “Like, buy-Marisol-a-car great?” Marisol asked.

  “Does this mean the new house is back in the cards?” Alma asked.

  “Because we don’t want separate rooms,” Belén said, “but we are not opposed to an art studio.”

  “The duendes really saved us,” Isabel said. “We’ll have to think of a way to thank them.”

  “Yeah, if only we could save their family from an evil brujo or something,” Marisol deadpanned. “Oh, wait.”

  “If we do take this contract, how big an order will we need to fill every day?” Isabel asked Mamá. “Will you be able to keep up when I leave? Should we hire and train someone new?”

  “I’m sure we can handle it,” Marisol said. “I mean, I can pick up the slack and start, you know, taking on more responsibilities or whatever.” She rolled her eyes as the whole family stared at her. “What? I don’t have any plans to leave Rose Hill to learn weird magic like some people. So I should probably get used to taking care of things around here, because now it looks like I’ll have plenty of job security.”

  “That’s right, you will!” Daddy cheered. The whole family laughed and joked and discussed how they might best transport fresh baked goods across town every day.

  In the midst of all the chaos, Leo found JP leaning against a wall.

  “I’m a little confused,” he whispered. “I don’t really get all the business stuff. But if this means the bakery is safe and y’all can buy your new house, then that sounds pretty good to me!”

  Leo nodded. “You should come visit once we move in,” she said. “We can teach you more baking.”

  “Thanks—I’ll ask my mom!”

  “One more thing,” Leo said. “Sorry for doing this again, but do you mind if I . . .”

  JP reached into his pocket with a sigh. “Hey,” he called to the rest of the family, “once this new deal with Honeybees becomes official, does anyone think they might finally get Leo her own cell phone?”

  CHAPTER 22

  BEYOND

  Aunt Rita arrived just in time for Easter mass, and then Uncle Alberto and Aunt Magda and the rest of the cousins met them all at the Logroños’ house with delicious-smelling foil-wrapped trays and bowls. Mamá organized the egg hunt. Leo ate ham and pork loin and nopal and mashed potatoes and as much chocolate as she could stomach. The party wound down with Isabel explaining her new college plans to Tía Paloma, Mamá and Daddy explaining their business news to the aunts and uncles and hearing all about Aunt Rita’s conference, Marisol picking confetti out of her hair, and JP debating Alma and Belén about which dragon they’d most like to bond with. Leo took advantage of the lull to slip into the empty kitchen.

  She had prepared the syrup ahead of time, and she swiped a heel of old bread from the counter. Her creation baked quickly and was finished before Mamá came in to refill her glass of horchata. When the coast was clear and the ramekin was cool, Leo tucked the tiny card she had made into the tiny dish of capirotada and slipped it into the corner between the refrigerator and the pantry. It was a thank-you note, plus an invitation for the duendes to move into whatever house the Logroños bought in the future. Leo liked having them around and didn’t want to accidentally leave them behind in the move.

  She didn’t see any duendes, but when she checked the corner that night, the ramekin sat empty and clean on the counter, just like all the dishes that had piled up in the sink during the party.

  The grand opening of Honeybees in May was the talk of Rose Hill. By the time JP came to visit at the end of July, Leo was already in love with the ginger cinnamon spice herbal tea, which tasted almost like magic smelled. She had also perfected Amor y Azúcar’s new honeybee scones. Leo had been tweaking the recipe, with Mamá’s help, for months, and they both agreed there was nothing left to improve. Made with Mrs. O’Rourke’s highest-quality local honey and sold exclusively at the new location, the scones drew customers like insects to flowers.

  Of course, there was a little something extra that kept people coming back.

  “I want Honeybees to be a place where everyone can feel comfortable,” Mrs. O’Rourke had said in an opening-day interview. “A place for creativity and good conversation. A place to release your worries, and live your truth.”

  And it was. With the help of their popular scones, people were finding the courage to be honest with each other over honeyed teacups. The café soon became famous around town as the place to go when you needed to have a long chat. Leo couldn’t have been prouder.

  “Which sounds better?” she asked JP, Caroline, and Brent over a Honeybees table. “Open Secret Scones? Honesty Scones? Friend Scones? Game of Scones?”

  Brent stopped, his half-eaten scone inches from his mouth. “Wait, do these things have a truth serum in them? Am I going to blurt out everything I’m thinking?” He clapped his hand over his mouth and glanced at JP.

  “No, it’s not like that,” Leo assured him. “I worked really hard to get the spell just right. It’s more like . . . when things are hard, people tend to bottle things up, keep things to themselves. My whole family does it, especially me. This spell doesn’t make you blurt out important things. It helps you feel a little bit braver and calmer, so you realize that you don’t need to sneak around for no reason. It makes you feel safe to share. To ask for help. To be a friend.”

  “If it helps you share what you’re thinking, then you should really call them Open Book Scones,” Caroline said. “I think the lost alliteration is worth it for the increased accuracy.”

  “You still have a week to decide,” Brent said. “I bet we can come up with something better. We’ll brainstorm all day. That can be your birthday present! Since I probably won’t remember to get you anything anyway.” He clapped his hand to his mouth and pretended to stare suspiciously at his scone. “Wow, that was rude. I wonder what could have made me say that.”

  “Can you invent a Scone of Silence next?” JP asked, throwing a sugar packet playfully at Brent. “I think everyone would really appreciate that.”

  “Are you ready?” Mamá asked. She touched the corner of her eye, as if some dust had gotten in it.

  “Are you sure about all the spellings?” Tía Paloma asked. “Nothing’s worse than trying to squeeze an extra N into ‘belladonna,’ only to realize that that’s the English spelling and you’re writing in Spanish and now you have to cross the whole thing out, ruining an otherwise perfect page! I, um, know from experience.”

  “I’m ready,” Leo said, holding a dark pink gel pen above the blank page of the recipe book.

  “Then go already,” Marisol said, but she smiled and patted Leo’s head.

  Alma, Belén, and Isabel completed the circle, surrounding Leo in the bakery office as she put pen to paper to add her own original spell to the recipe book.

  OPEN HEART SCONES

  CAT (OR DUENDE) GOT YOUR TONGUE?

  THESE HONEY TREATS WILL HELP YOU COMMUNICATE MORE HONESTLY,

  ESPECIALLY WITH THE PEO
PLE YOU LOVE.

  “It’s perfect,” Isabel sighed. “Now let me write the Spanish.”

  “Let her finish the recipe first.” Marisol elbowed her sister. “Jeez.”

  When the ink was dry on both pages and languages, Mamá closed the book.

  “I’m very proud of you, Leonora Elena.”

  “Me too,” Alma said, clapping Leo’s shoulder.

  “They grow up so fast,” Belén added, wiping a fake tear.

  “Now there’s just one thing left to do,” said Tía Paloma.

  “There is?” Leo had put her mark in the recipe book, solidifying her place in the family line, giving her knowledge to generations of brujas who would come after her. Her heart was singing and her head felt like it was full of yeast and rising high. What more was left to do?

  The office light went out suddenly, and Leo checked the air for magic, but instead she smelled smoke and saw a dim orange glow on the desk. She spun around to see Daddy in the doorway, holding a white frosted tres leches cake with thin candles that Leo recognized as Caroline’s handiwork.

  Caroline’s face glowed in their light, between Brent and Tricia. Mai and Becky stood on the other side of the cake.

  The office was way too crowded, but everyone squeezed in to sing “Las Mañanitas” and “Happy Birthday” anyway. Then they moved to the kitchen so that the cake could be cut and everyone had room to eat.

  “Did you wish for something good?” Daddy asked Leo, after giving her head a one-fingered push to send her face-first into her slice of cake.

  Leo wiped sugar off her cheek and nodded. She hadn’t wished for a present or miracle this year. She already had everything she needed.

  She just wished for a future filled with more moments like this.

  LEO’S PIÑATA COOKIES

  Use your favorite large animal-shaped cookie cutter! This recipe makes about 6–8 cookies . . . full of surprises!