by Tegan Maher
The tale of the zombie snowmen would soon become a Fairy Falls legend, I didn’t doubt. I’d already heard seven different versions of the story among the guests alone.
As the furore died down, someone knocked on the door, a quiet tapping. I walked out of the flat, leaving Alissa’s relatives to their bickering, and found Sky sitting in the hall, looking up at me with bright eyes. “What’s up?”
“Miaow,” said Sky. He jabbed a paw in the direction of the front door.
“Something outside?” Please say it isn’t another snowman. Or Veronica in her cracker costume. Or…
I inched the door open. It was snowing. Real snow, just a few flakes. Not a deluge, not enough to cover the grass in white, but more like icing sugar.
But then again, perhaps we were better off without anyone creating any more magical snowmen. As long as there was a necromancer around, anyway.
I smiled and gave Sky a stroke. “Merry Christmas.”
For more of Blair’s magical adventures, you can start her series from the beginning with Witch in Progress. Find out more at http://smarturl.it/BlairWilkesMysteries
About the Author
Elle Adams lives in the middle of England, where she spends most of her time reading an ever-growing mountain of books, planning her next adventure, or writing. Elle's books are humorous mysteries with a paranormal twist, packed with magical mayhem.
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Snowflakes, Cakes & Deadly Stakes
Erin Johnson
Snowflakes, Cakes & Deadly Stakes
A snowed-in castle. A murderer on the loose. Can a baking witch save this Christmas from going down the chimney?
Imogen Banks can’t wait to celebrate her first Christmas as a newlywed to her beloved Prince Hank. But when his estranged Aunt invites the royal family and all Hank’s unruly nieces and nephews to their run-down castle in the woods, Christmas goes from deck the halls, to where’s the rum balls? As tensions among the family and manor staff grow hotter, a blizzard blows in, trapping Imogen and the holiday guests inside.
When Santa drops dead on Christmas morning, Imogen is forced to find the killer before someone she loves is next. Can she apprehend the cold-blooded murderer before they slay again?
Snowflakes, Cakes and Deadly Stakes, is an enchanting short story that can be enjoyed stand-alone, or as a continuation of the Spells & Caramels series. If you like funny witch heroines, holiday baking mishaps, and danger around every corner, then you’ll love Erin Johnson’s perfectly whimsical mystery.
Read Snowflakes, Cakes and Deadly Stakes to discover who’s been naughty or nice!
Christmas Eve
Christmas Eve
I sighed, and my breath fogged up the leaded window. “It’s really coming down out there.” A flurry of white made the sprawling hills and forests beyond barely visible, the deep blue of dusk already settling over the land. The creepy, creepy land.
Hank, who stood behind me, rubbed my shoulders and upper arms, attempting to warm me up. I tilted my head back and grinned up at my husband. I didn’t think I’d ever get tired of calling him that—even in my own head.
“Oh jes.”
I looked behind me. Hank’s Aunt Bogdana lay sprawled on a velvet chaise and flipped through a Cosmo from 1989. She didn’t bother lifting her heavily lined eyes. “Vee likely vill be snowed een by sunrise.”
My stomach sank, and Iggy and I exchanged horrified, wide-eyed looks. My magical baking flame burned orange in his lantern, which rested on the stone sill beside me.
I gulped, my throat suddenly parched. “Snowed in?”
Hank’s Uncle Herbert, who sat with his wife’s feet propped on his lap, looked up from his leather-bound book. He sniffed and pushed his glasses up his nose, then leaned forward to glance out the window.
“Yes, I daresay no one’s getting in or out for the next few days.”
Bogdana nodded, a long black braid trailing over her shoulder, and flipped the page. “At least.”
Iggy’s mouth disappeared, and he shot me a flat look. “Just snuff me out and put me out of my misery.”
Hank chuckled. “Oh, come on, you two.” He gave my shoulders a gentle shake and dipped down to speak in my ear. “You said you wanted a white Christmas.”
I blew my bangs out of my eyes and shot him a side-eyed look. “I didn’t realize a white Christmas meant we’d be trapped in here.” I held up a finger. “And I wanted a white Bruma, to be exact.”
People in the magical kingdoms usually celebrated Bruma, their own winter holiday, but Hank’s Aunt Bogdana was something of an oddball in that she was obsessed with human culture. Which explained the flock of pink plastic flamingos half buried in the snow on the front lawn. She insisted on celebrating Christmas (or her interpretation of it) and had taken an intense interest in me as soon as she learned I’d grown up in the human lands.
I’d answered a near constant barrage of questions about everything from how can openers worked to having to reenact scenes from a variety of popular human television shows so she could learn about pop culture. I made up most of Happy Days, but I was pretty sure she’d never know the difference.
Hank had opened his mouth, his eyes soft, no doubt ready with some soothing words, when a shriek sounded that made us all jump. We spun to face the giant library behind us. About half a dozen of Hank’s little nieces and nephews tore across the faded Persian rugs, while a few of the nannies and a couple of Hank’s sisters-in-law chased after them.
“Give it back!” a girl in braids screamed. Was that little Mimi or Marni? I sighed, my shoulders heavy with weariness. I could never keep them straight.
“Oh my.” Uncle Herbert blinked behind his spectacles as the boy in front careened into a side table and knocked an ornate, dusty vase to the floor. It shattered against the stones and set three different babies off crying. I could feel the migraine starting.
It’s not that I didn’t enjoy children—it was just that Hank’s nieces and nephews were, for the most part, not so much children as a pack of wild heathens. It’d only been two days since we’d arrived at Hennigar Castle for the holidays, but it felt like a lifetime.
Though the gothic manor was built on a grand, sweeping scale, with flying buttresses, lofty towers, and a maze of floors and passageways, it still felt like we were all living on top of each other.
Hank’s mother, the former queen, Edith, had been persuaded to drag all her sons and their wives and children (which included Hank and me) out to her estranged brother’s estate here, in Bulgaria.
It made the castle crowded, especially when you included Bogdana’s guests from her side of the family, as well as the staff. We’d debated coming, hard, but Hank’s eldest brother Cas and his wife, Emmaline, (the only sister-in-law I liked) had convinced us.
I looked out again at the quickly falling snow, and my heart sank. I wished we were back at our bakery in Kusuri with Maple, Wiley, Sam, and the other bakers.
But they’d all decided to visit with their families in the Kingdoms, or, like in Sam and Yann’s case, to stay on the island with their significant others. And who knew where Horace was! Ever elusive, he was probably traipsing the globe with his cat burglar girlfriend. I sighed. We’d just have to wait out the holidays to all be back together again.
Hank dipped his face and kissed my cheek. “Thank you, Imogen. I couldn’t do this without you.”
I melted a little, and it wasn’t because of the roaring, crackling fire that burned in the walk-in fireplace behind us.
Iggy huffed and folded his little flame arms. “And what am I? Driftwood?” He sniffed as Hank and I turned toward him. “I could be home, nice and toasty in my oven, thank you very much.”
I raised a brow. “I seem to remember a certain flame claiming he was above being only a baking flame and wanted travel and excitement.”
He flashed his eyes at me. “Yeah, travel and excitement. Not cre
epy castles and screaming children!”
From the next room came the sound of shattering glass, followed by more crying. My flame had a point. And now, with the snow falling thick and fast, we had no way out. Still, I lowered my voice and raised my brows at Iggy.
“Shh.” I jerked my head toward Bogdana. This was her family’s estate. “She might hear you.”
Iggy scoffed. “She’d probably consider ‘creepy’ a compliment.”
Hank chuckled, then hid it by bringing his fist to his mouth and pretending to cough. I shook my head at him, though I couldn’t hold back a grin.
I glanced over at his aunt. I mean… it was true. She had a real goth aesthetic, from the long black hair, to the long black dresses and ornate brooches, to her black fingernails. She fit right in with the dark, imposing stone castle.
While Bogdana had brought the old money creepy manor to the marriage, Hank’s uncle Herbert had brought the new money cash flow—though you wouldn’t know it by the state of the place. Enormous cobwebs hung from the vaulted ceilings, dust covered the tapestries and heavy wood furniture in a thick layer, and several of the castle’s arched windows were broken and boarded up.
The door to the dining room swung open, and the mouthwatering smell of roasted beef wafted through. The cook stood in the doorway, wringing her hands on her apron, her round face stony. “Deener ees served.”
Dinner
Dinner
I sat near one end of the impossibly long dining table with Hank on my right and Emmaline, my sister-in-law and the current queen of the Water Kingdom, on my left. I leaned over and lowered my voice. “You used to be my favorite.”
She blinked up at me, her dark eyes round. She parted her lips to speak, but waited until Duscha, the stout cook, had ladled each of us a bowlful of steaming sweet potato soup, and then moved further down the line out of earshot.
Emmaline tucked a strand of lavender hair behind her ear and spoke in her soft, breathy voice. “Used to be? What’d I do? I’m sorry.”
I grinned at her. “You convinced us to come here.”
Her cheeks flushed pink. “It’s not exactly the, er, picturesque castle Edith painted it to be.” She grimaced. “Forgive me?”
I grinned wider. “Only because you’re suffering along with me.”
She hid her smile behind a cloth napkin.
Iggy burned on the table in front of me in his lantern. He gnawed on a piece of black pine. “This tastes funny.”
I flashed my eyes at him. Be polite.
He scowled back and huffed, sending up a little puff of smoke. I followed it up with my eyes to the vaulted ceiling stories above.
Filmy cobwebs blew in a draft, barely visible in the dimness. Only Iggy and several enormous candelabras scattered down the table cast any light, the black stone and heavy tapestries on the wall soaking it up and casting the rest of the room in shadows.
Not the merriest Christmas Eve I’d ever had.
My only consolation was that most of the screaming children had been placed at the far end of the table. Across the wide wooden table piled with silver dishes and steaming plates of roasted vegetables and beef sat an older couple with the same dark hair and pale features of Hank’s Aunt Bogdana.
The woman, a dark mole above her lip, turned to the man beside her. Bogdana had briefly introduced us to her brother when we’d first arrived, and I hadn’t seen him since.
He wore his jacket collar up to his ears and hunkered down over his plate. He shoveled food into his mouth as though he hadn’t eaten in days. Beside me, Emmaline crinkled her nose at him, then lowered the spoonful of soup she’d been about to sip back to her bowl.
“Vlad, it’s been too long.” The woman with the mole forced a thin-lipped smile. “When did you arrive?”
“Last week.” He barely spared the woman a glance as bits of ham flew from his full mouth.
I blinked in surprise and leaned forward. “I’d been under the impression you lived here.”
His dark eyes flicked to my face and he shook his head. He straightened, leaned back in his chair, and then roughly wiped his mouth on the velvet sleeve of his jacket. “Nah. I’m a man of the world.” He curled his lip, a five o’clock shadow darkening his jaw. “No castle could hold me.”
Uncle Herbert, who sat at the head of the table beside his wife, snorted. “That, and your father kicked you out.”
Bogdana tipped her head side to side. “Ees true. Our father disinherited dear Vlad for hees profligate lifestyle.” She lifted her palms, a resigned look on her face. “He ees fery reckless and stupid vith da money.”
Vlad grinned and nodded, seeming to take this as a compliment. Hank and I exchanged looks.
Hank cleared his throat. “Do you—uh—visit often?”
I admired his attempts to make polite conversation and smooth over the awkwardness. I’d given up trying at this point.
Vlad crossed his arms and scoffed.
Bogdana laced her hands together, her black fingernails gleaming in the candlelight. “Oh, no. Vlad only comes back to us each year for Christmas.”
“Bruma,” Vlad grumbled.
“More like to beg for money,” Uncle Herbert said around a mouthful of beef.
Iggy burned brighter and peeked out of his lantern. “Now this is more like it. Family drama, tension you could cut with a knife.” He waggled his little flame brows at me. “Almost makes it worth eating this weird wood.”
Uncle Herbert set down his fork with a clang. “Which reminds me.” He shook a thick finger at Vlad. “You’re dressing up as Santa this year.”
“Ha!” Vlad barked out a harsh laugh, then cast incredulous looks up and down the table.
Beside me, Emmaline lowered her eyes to the napkin in her lap, her cheeks burning pink.
I nudged Hank. “It’s gotten too uncomfortable—we’ve lost her.”
He glanced behind me at Emmaline, then nudged me back and grinned.
“Like anyone would believe someone as good-looking as me could be that fat man.” Vlad smoothed the lapels of his maroon velvet jacket.
“Well, they’ll have to believe it.” Herbert’s pale cheeks grew red and he scowled at his brother-in-law. “My gout simply won’t allow me to do it this year. And besides, it’s time you did something to earn the money we give you. We’re not a charity.”
Bogdana put a hand on her husband’s arm. “Shh!” She tipped her head down the long table. “The children vill hear about Santa.”
From the other end of the enormous room, a little boy shrieked and a plate clattered to the floor, then shattered. Duscha bustled in from the kitchen to clean it up, wand lifted.
Uncle Herbert lifted his thick palms. “They won’t hear.” He shook his finger at Vlad. “And if you want your money, you’re playing Santa.”
Vlad rolled his eyes and leaned back in his ornately carved wood chair. “Whatever.”
I pushed some mashed potatoes around my plate in the uncomfortable silence that ensued. Well… relative silence. Several children were screaming and crying.
Hank took a deep breath, cleared his throat, then addressed the woman with the mole. “So… I don’t believe we’ve met. How do you know everyone?”
The woman shot him a simpering smile, as did the man beside her. “We’re Bogdana and Vlad’s cousins, of course.”
Bogdana clapped. “Eet’s been so long seence you joined us.”
The lady cousin grinned at Hank, though her eyes grew hard. She reminded me of one of the stone gargoyles that leered up above us—ready to pounce. “Well, when we heard we’d have royal guests this year, how could we decline?”
“Oh, good.” Iggy rolled his eyes. “They’ll probably want your autographs.”
I dropped my eyes to my plate and pushed a piece of carrot around.
“Tell me—how fares your father?” She threaded her fingers together, her hands wrapped in lacy gloves that came to her wrists.
My stomach clenched, and I snuck a glance at Hank. A muscle
twitched in his jaw but he otherwise kept his composure. It was never easy for him to talk about the strained relationship with his criminal father, but we’d gotten used to not having to do it too often in Kusuri. We hadn’t expected to be the subject of curiosity around family.
I reached under the table and found Hank’s hand, then gave it a squeeze. He opened his mouth to speak, but Iggy leaned out of his lantern and cut him off. My little flame spun to face the cousin across the table.
“How do you think he’s faring, lady? Eat your figgy pudding and keep your fins in your own pond.”
He slunk back into his lantern while the cousin’s eyes widened. Iggy winked at me, and I fought back a grin.
Baking
Baking
After the tense Christmas Eve dinner wrapped up, most of Hank’s brothers and their wives moved upstairs to put the kids to bed or retired to the library to lounge with Herbert, Bogdana, Vlad, and the cousins. Hank, Iggy, and I, however, headed into the kitchen.
I grinned up at Hank as I held his hand. “This was a Christmas Eve tradition growing up.”
He gave me a warm smile. “I can’t wait.” He raised his brows. “It’s only been a few days since we baked together but… I miss it.”
I squeezed his hand. “Me, too.”
“Ugh.” Iggy rolled his eyes. “We get it, you’re in love.”
Hank held the swinging kitchen door for me, and I paused as soon as I stepped inside. I was used to our light-filled bakery back home—but this place was more like a dungeon than a kitchen.
