by Tegan Maher
“She’s in the backseat,” I said.
“She is?” Auntie Barbara asked. “Can you see her?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“That’s because only the few, the proud, the lucky get to take in all this beauty,” Mama said.
“Get over yourself. No one stays beautiful forever,” Auntie Barbara said with a wink. “Do you mind if I get in the car?”
I glanced at the stack of papers. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Drive away, Mariana. It’s not time for her yet,” Mama said.
Auntie Barbara already made herself comfortable next to me. “So, where would you like me to start?”
I let out a little yelp. “How did you get in here?”
She shrugged. “How do you think? I’m dead. I can do anything I want.” She glanced in the backseat. “Isn’t that right, Diana?”
My mother didn’t respond.
“Oh, what’s wrong? You had to have known this day would come,” Auntie Barbara said. “Look, I got all gussied up for you.”
Goosebumps popped up all over my body. “Mama?”
“She won’t answer you,” Auntie Barbara said. “Now now.” She laughed. “You see, your mother has selective amnesia. She claims she doesn’t, but we know that’s not true. She forgets she’s not the only one with abilities. Actually, she forgets who helped her learn to use her abilities.” She pointed to herself. “I did, and this is the thanks I get?”
I scanned the perimeter, hoping against all hope I’d see my mother somewhere, but that didn’t happen. “What do you want?”
She grabbed the car keys and pulled them out of the ignition. “I want what rightfully belongs to me.”
I swallowed hard.
“Don’t be scared.” She played with my hair. “I won’t hurt you. We’re family.”
“No, we’re not.” I locked eyes with her. “Tell me what you want.”
She peeked over the seat. “Nice ride.”
“Talk!” I was pretty brave for someone with no fighting skills and no clue what I was up against.
“I want your mother,” she said. “It’s that simple. Give her to me.”
I furrowed my brows. “I don’t know what that means.”
She slapped her hand on the dashboard.
“How do you do that?” I asked. My mother hadn’t managed enough energy to touch or move things yet.
She shrugged again. “Magic, I suppose.” She laughed. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t believe you. She’s your mother.”
Part of me hoped my mother wouldn’t return. Who knows what this woman would do to her? Another part of me really wanted my mother to do an intervention, because my fake aunt was bonkers.
“Why am I here?” I asked. “If your issue is with my mother, why can’t you deal with it in the afterlife?”
She chuckled. “What do you think I’m doing?”
I shrugged. “No clue.”
She stuck her tongue out at the man who’d parked next to us as he returned to his car. “It all started a few days before you were born,” she started. “Your mother got herself in a little bit of a mess and asked for my help.”
“What kind of trouble?” I asked.
She looked around the car. “Should I tell her, or do you want to tell her, Diana?”
“Tell me what?”
“About the contest,” Auntie Barbara said.
“What contest?” I asked.
She checked the backseat again. “She’s really not here?”
I shook my head. “She hasn’t said a word.”
“The Christmas Cookie Bake-off,” Mama said.
I scratched my head. “All of this is over a baking competition? That’s why I’m here? Simon tried to kill you over cookies?” I couldn’t believe it. Why would the agency send me to solve a cookie caper?
“Oh, it’s not just any cookie recipe. It’s the ultimate cookie recipe,” Auntie Barbara said.
My mother was a great cook and baker. I’d eaten plenty of her cookies before, but not once did she ever say anything about a competition.
“Should I tell her?” Auntie Barbara didn’t wait for a response. “Here’s the deal, kid. Your mother stole my recipe out from under my nose.”
“I did no such thing!” Mama yelled. “You stole that recipe from my mother. I just took it back.”
Auntie Barbara chuckled. “Then I cursed you, so we’re even.”
I lifted a brow. “Cursed?”
“Yes. Ask her,” Auntie Barbara said. “I told her she’d never get away from him. Not as long as I was around.” She coiffed her hair. “Looks like I’m still around.”
“Get away from who?” I asked.
“Simon,” Mama groaned.
I gasped. “He’s following you? In the afterlife?” I’d never heard a word about him.
“No, he’s following you,” she said.
I nearly bit my tongue.
Auntie Barbara laughed. “That’s not true. Simon was your mother’s friend.”
“No, he wasn’t. He was just an innocent bystander who happened to like cookies,” Mama said.
“And happened to break the tie that made you the winner, so tag, he’s yours,” Auntie Barbara said. She noticed the look on my face. “Confused, are you, girlie?” She tugged a strand of my hair. “I’ll explain. I told your mother that every time she makes my recipe, Simon would show up, and look, he did.”
“But she wasn’t making the cookies,” I said. “I’m sure you probably know this, but she’s dead. The last I checked; the dead don’t do a lot of cooking.”
Auntie Barbara glanced over her shoulder into the backseat. “Yeah, well, she thought about it.”
“No, I didn’t,” Mama said.
I tapped my knuckles on the side of my head. “I know why you think that.” I couldn’t believe it. “I pulled out cookie sheets right before Simon showed up.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I wasn’t going to make my mom’s cookies. I was going to make my own recipe.”
Simon appeared in the backseat. “But you said it was your mother’s recipe.”
I shrugged. “I lied. I only said that because she was there. She likes to micromanage, so I told one little fib to get her off my back.”
“But that’s not right,” Simon protested. “I have to spend eternity like this because of those silly cookies. It’s been so long.”
“So long since what?” I asked.
He placed his head in his hands. “Since anyone has made them. I knew I’d regret letting you live.”
“Me?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, your mother. The last time she made those cookies was on Christmas Eve morning, 1970, two weeks after the bake-off. Two weeks after I kicked the bucket.”
He was so young. “I’m sorry about your death. If you don’t mind sharing, how did you die?”
He looked at Auntie Barbara with venom in his eyes. “She poisoned me with…” His words trailed off as he became overcome with emotion.
“A cookie?” I asked.
Auntie Barbara clapped her hands. “Bingo! That’s what he got for choosing the thief over me. He knew I was the better baker. He only let her win because he thought she was cute. Well, she’s not so cute now, is she?”
I glared at her. “That’s my mother you’re talking about.”
She smiled. “Yeah, I know.”
I took a second to wrap my brain around this crazy conundrum. “So, if she bakes these cookies, you show up to do what?”
“To kill her,” Simon said.
I pounded my fist on the steering wheel. “No. That can’t be the answer. There has to be a better solution.”
All eyes fell on Auntie Barbara.
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t look at me. I’m not the cheater.”
“No, but you can stop this,” I said. She didn’t flinch. “He can’t kill a ghost.”
Auntie Barbara’s eyes went wide.
“She’s already dead. Why punish him for liking cookies?” I asked.
She sighed. “Because it’s fun.”
“Wrong answer,” Mama and I said at the same time.
It took several agonizing seconds, but Auntie Barbara finally came to her senses. “I guess I have held on a little too long.”
“You think?” Mama said.
I held my breath in case Auntie Barbara decided to continue her cookie vendetta.
Thankfully, she didn’t respond to my mother. “You’re right. Maybe it’s time to let Simon go.”
Simon jumped up and down, clapping his hands. “So, I’m free? I can go.” He stopped and looked around. “But where do I go?”
Mama cleared her throat to get my attention.
“I can help you with that,” I said. “I can help you cross over. Do you have family on the other side?”
His eyes welled with tears. “My granddad and my dog, Boomer.”
“Good.”
“You’ll help me?” he asked.
I glanced at Auntie Barbara. “Will you keep your word? Will you let him go?”
She covered her face and mumbled a few words.
“Yes?” I urged.
“Fine. Call it a Christmas miracle,” she said.
I breathed a sigh of relief, then remembered my mother. “What about your vendetta against my mother? Is it over?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want it to be.”
“I’m dead,” Mama said. “And for the record, so are you. Don’t you have people to see on the other side? Don’t you want to spend time with family and friends?”
She looked at me. “Can you help me cross?”
I nodded. “Will you reverse the curse?”
Snow started to fall.
“Consider it done.”
I wanted to celebrate, but feared I’d blow this whole operation.
“Give me your hand,” Auntie Barbara said. “On the count of one, two…” She stopped. “Wait. Do you have the recipe?”
I didn’t want to admit it, but I’d lost the recipe years ago. Before the kids were born. “Why?”
“Because it was my Auntie Barbara’s recipe. She’d be so tickled to know someone is keeping her legacy alive.”
“Your Auntie Barbara?”
She nodded. “Yes, I was named after her.”
“Your name is Auntie Barbara?”
She nodded.
“Now, I’ve heard everything,” I said.
“But have you heard how to get us out of here?” Mama said. “If this whole twisted tinsel time game is over, I’d like to get back and watch my grandbabies open their gifts.”
“Me too,” I said. “But what about the officers and the threat you made against my husband?”
Simon bowed his head. “The officers are fine. I created a distraction for them. They’ll be back. I don’t have anything against your husband. I’m not a deviant. I know better than to threaten a mayor. I just wanted to know how he was.”
“Do you know him?” I asked, knowing that was impossible.
He and Auntie Barbara exchanged glances.
“Not exactly,” he said.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
He looked away.
“Tell me,” I demanded.
He and Auntie Barbara locked eyes again.
“Why don’t we save that for another time?” she suggested.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” I said.
“That’s the point,” Auntie Barbara said. “Some things are better left unsaid. They’re more mysterious that way. By the way, you might want to tell him to avoid the sweets for a while. You never know how much damage they can do until it’s too late.”
“I’m sure I’ll find out, though, won’t I?” I groaned. Something told me there was more to this story.
Want to read more? Click here to find other books by Ava Mallory. https://writeravamallory.wixsite.com/avamallory
About the Author
AVA MALLORY has been a grade school teacher, a psychiatric technician, a dementia unit nurse manager, a hospice nurse, and now a USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author.
She has embarrassed herself in front of handsome celebrities, won vocal contests, survived a major earthquake, and nearly drowned when she mistakenly thought a YMCA lifeguard asked her to dive into the deep end on her first day of swim lessons. She and her "brood" share their home with a massive collection of books and a never-ending supply of wacky ideas.
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Magick Mistletoe
A Dark Root Cozy Mystery
April Aasheim
Magick Mistletoe
The holiday season has come to Dark Root, and one of the Maddock sisters is in for a big surprise. But the festivities are turned upside down when cash turns up missing from stores all over town--and an old friend meets a cruel fate. Now, Maggie Maddock must solve the riddle of the magick mistletoe before midnight on Christmas Eve, or the holidays may be ruined, for good.
Chapter One
Dark Root, Oregon
Merry’s Mentionables – Now on Main
December, 23. 1:53 PM
Whoever said, “We have nothing to fear, but fear itself,” has never encountered my sister, Eve, in a full-blown rage. I regarded her with clinical interest as she stormed through the aisles of Merry’s Mentionables, our older sister’s collectible shop. Eve rarely lost her cool--but when she did, it was spectacular. With each pass, she spewed curse words that would make a pirate blush. Her poinsettia-red face was a colorful contrast to the silvery-white snowflakes dancing in the window behind her.
The snow wasn’t sticking to the sidewalk, as it was along the rest of Main Street, instead turning to sludge as it made contact. Leaden gray clouds gathered over the shop, as if summoned. Eve was a master of glamour magick, as well as potions and charms, but I’d never seen her change the weather before. Although, within the magick-rich boundaries of Dark Root, anything was possible.
Our older sister, Merry, gritted her teeth, quietly watching Eve blast obscenities and gesture wildly around the store. With one waving arm, she nearly toppled a pyramid of vintage cow creamers, then narrowly avoided dumping a rack of 1950’s Life magazines. It was Merry’s concern for her shop, rather than Eve’s growing outrage, that persuaded me to intervene.
“While the swear jar appreciates your donations,” I said, nodding to the Mason jar beside the register, “you need to chill out. We’re witches, Eve, not mind readers. What the hell happened?” Programmed by my five-year-old son, I stuffed a dollar into the curse jar.
Eve stopped in front of the window, crossing her arms. After a brief pause, her normal ivory complexion returned, framed by a veil of sleek black hair cascading to her waist. Standing against the backdrop of falling snowflakes, Eve looked more celestial than human. That is, until she spoke again.
“Hell Maggie, I don’t know! I had five-hundred dollars this morning when I left to open the shop, and now I have zip!” Eve removed a red wallet from her designer purse, opening it wide to show the emptiness inside. “I only had a few customers today, so one of them ripped me off. I don’t know how or when or why, but I swear, when I find out who took my money, I’ll make them a potion they won’t recover from.”
“Are you sure you didn’t misplace it?” I asked.
Eve’s glower nearly turned me to stone. “Don’t be absurd, Maggie. I never lose anything. I can’t believe I came in early for those ingrates. I’m done helping people! I have my own holiday shopping to do.”
“Let’s figure this out,” Merry said, popping a peppermint into her mouth as she leaned against the counter. “Who were your clients today?”
“You know I can’t tell you that. The
potion maker-client relationship is a sacred one.”
“I’m sure there are exceptions for thieves,” Merry said, poking through the candy bowl in search of another mint.
“It’s also oath-bound through magick,” I added. “Eve couldn’t tell us if she wanted to.”
“Can you at least tell us what potions you crafted?” Merry pressed.
“Let’s just say everyone has the same problems—money and love. Looks like someone solved the first problem without a potion.” Eve grabbed her coat and yanked open the door, blasting us with a gust of cold air. “But I won’t be a victim! I’m going to my magick mirror to scry this thief out!”
“Aren’t you going back to finish your shift?” I asked, craning my neck along the window to view Miss Sasha’s Magick Shoppe at the end of Main Street. While I officially owned the shop, Eve helped out and often received private clients seeking out her specialty brews and Tarot readings.
“Sorry, Maggie. I need to find the crook who took my money.” She stepped into the snow flurry, not bothering to zip up her coat.
“Can you also find my fitness tracker?” I called after. “Last known location was the pie shop.”
Eve turned to roll her eyes at me, nearly bumping into the town Santa--a forlorn gentleman with more hum than ho in his belly this afternoon. He scurried aside, letting her pass without apology.
“Is it wrong that I actually feel sorry for the thief?” Merry asked, as I put on my own coat.
“It’s either someone very desperate or very dumb,” I agreed. “On that cheerful note, I guess I’m going back to work. Can you give me a ride home later? Shane’s taking the kids Christmas shopping for me. I told him that all I wanted was a full night’s sleep and a bath without little fingers poking under the door. Unfortunately, there’s not a single witch in Dark Root with that kind of magick.”
“I’ll pick you up at six,” Merry confirmed.
Outside, the snowflakes were white and fluffy again, and the clouds were moving on. Despite Eve’s ill fortune, there was a charge of optimism in the air, with the holiday spirit blanketing the entire town.
