Seashells, Spells & Caramels: A Cozy Witch Mystery

by Erin Johnson

  Okay, now where to find some firewood? I glanced around the tent and saw Sam feeding some logs into his oven. I dashed over to him.

  “Sam. Hi.”

  He jumped. “Oh, Imogen,” he said in his low, lisping voice. “You sstartled me.” He blinked at me with his milky blue eyes.

  “Sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Just wondering where you got the firewood?”

  “Ah.” He pointed behind the tent. “There’sss a pile jussst out there.”

  “Thanks, Sam.”

  I staggered with an armful of wood to my station. Life would certainly be much easier if I could master some simple magic. Come hither, logs. That sort of thing. I dumped the pile on the ground and fed a log into the oven. Iggy uncoiled himself and climbed onto it, crackling a little louder.

  I grinned in spite of myself. He looked so content, like a kitten curling up on its favorite chair. “That better?”

  The flame’s eyes shot open. “Tolerable.”

  I’d take it. “Let me know when you’re ready for more.”

  “Ah, right, because you don’t know how to cast an auto-feed spell.”

  I bit back a retort and straightened, working on my batter. Most everyone else was already pouring their bakes into pans or laying their crusts into pie tins. I was way behind.

  I wiped a trickle of sweat from my forehead. Between the beating sun and all the cooking fires, I was sweltering. With both hands, I poured the batter from the heavy glass bowl into the Bundt pan, then carefully lowered myself down in front of the fire. A blast of heat reached my face.

  “Iggy, my man. You ready for some cake?”

  My attempt at buddiness fell flat. “I’m ready for nothing.”

  “Well, that’s a shame, because cake’s coming in. Let’s not overbake it.”

  “As you command, master.”

  “Okay, thanks, buddy.” I stood, balled a towel up, and pressed it to my mouth to stifle my scream of frustration. Of course, Rhonda and Francis chose that moment to appear at my side.

  “How’s it going, Imogen?”

  “Uh, everything’s going great.” I brushed my bangs aside.

  Rhonda nodded. “That was a celebratory scream into a towel?”

  My voice raised an octave. “Oh. Yeah. I do that all the time when I’m happy.”

  “Right. Right. And what are you making for us today?”

  “Poppy seed cake.” I gave the judges a bright smile.

  Francis took a long, lingering sniff from my shoulder to the top of my head. His tongue flicked out like a snake’s. “Hmm. I love this one’s smell of stress and doubt.” The vampire groaned. “Love it.”

  “Good luck, Imogen.” Rhonda and Francis moved on to speak with Zeke.

  What next? Right, the edible flowers.

  I dashed to the garden behind the tent. Raised beds dotted the space, with trellises and little stakes denoting each plant’s name. I pooled my apron in front of me and used it like a basket to hold the rose petals and violets that I gathered, shielding them from the sea breeze that whipped my hair. I deposited the flowers at my station and crouched in front of the fire.

  “How’s the cake coming along?”

  “How should I know?”

  “I’ve heard fires can know as much, if not more, than the bakers themselves.” The more you know.

  “In your case, I should think a rock would know more.”

  I smiled brightly at him. I will murder you. At least my cake didn’t look burned. I straightened and stirred together some sugar, milk, and almond extract with more force than necessary. A yelp startled me. I looked back.

  “Ow. I’ve twisted my wrist.” Pouting, Pritney made her way back to Nate. She swayed her hips side to side. Most injured people I knew didn’t strut.

  She presented her wrist to the medic. He ran one hand up and down her arm. Hmm. I wouldn’t mind getting hurt if it meant Nate running his strong hands all over me.

  Ah. There it was.

  She was probably faking it to get him to do exactly that. After a few moments, Nate sent her back to her station. He must have felt my eyes on him, because he looked up suddenly.

  I froze, embarrassed to be caught staring. But then a sly grin spread across his tanned face. He glanced at Pritney, then back at me and rolled his eyes. I flashed a smile back and turned, my cheeks flushing hot. I bit my lip and stared down at my glaze. Focus, Imogen. On your baking, not the hot medic.

  Rhonda skipped back over to me. “I’ve just had a vision about you.”

  Please God, don’t let it be about my bowel movements.

  “What you think is hot is cold, and what you believe is cold is hot.”

  I cocked my head to the side. “What does that mean?”

  “You’re welcome,” she sang, and off she skipped. She froze in front of Zeke. “Consider your judges.” She pointed her fingers from her eyes to his and back to her own again. “Consider them well.” He froze, muffin tin in hand. Then she grinned and skipped off again.

  Zeke looked my way, a question in his eyes. I shrugged. You’d think visions would be more useful. I worked for another twenty minutes on the glaze and flowers, waiting as long as I could. Then I kneeled in front of the oven.

  “All right, Iggy, bake time’s up.” Mitts on, I pulled out the cake.

  It wobbled far too much for my liking. I inserted a toothpick into the center. If it came out clean, it’d be done. Instead, it came out covered in wet cake. Not good. I tried in a few other spots. Wet, again and again.

  My hands trembled, and I blinked back tears. I’m out. I am absolutely out. How could I make it through this round with a raw cake? I slid it back into the oven.

  “Hotter, Iggy, please!”

  The flame just smirked. With trembling hands, I paced back and forth in front of my station. The other bakers put the finishing touches on their creations as I ate into my decorating time. With just minutes left, I pulled the cake from the lukewarm oven.

  I flipped and lifted away the pan. The cake stuck and tore in places. I drizzled on the glaze. With no time to let the cake cool, the glaze pooled on the plate instead of hardening into white rivulets.

  I hastily wiped away the tears running down my burning cheeks and got to the business of arranging the flowers. I’d come this far, and I intended to see it through.

  “Sixty seconds, bakers!” Amelia announced.

  A jolt of adrenaline coursed through me. With shaking hands, I plucked up the remaining edible flowers and arranged them all over the top and around the base of the cake.

  Amelia called out, “Time’s up! Please send your bakes to the front table and step up behind them.”

  With trembling hands I lifted my cake and carried it to the long, wooden table that suddenly appeared between the tent and the bleachers. Everyone else’s bakes floated magically into place. Maple slid up beside me, blond tendrils sticking to her damp forehead. I found her hand and gave it a little squeeze.

  “Bakers, well done. You’ve completed your first task.” Amelia turned to the crowd. “Let’s give them a round of applause! Judges?”

  Amelia stepped aside to let Rhonda and Francis take center stage. They started at my far right with Lillian and her chicken pot pie. As the judges spooned into the crisp golden crust, the crowd hushed, only the caw of the seagulls overhead and the flapping of the tent in the wind breaking the silence.

  “Hmm,” Rhonda moaned. “Delicious. Crust is nice and crispy. Perfection.”

  They loved Sam’s millionaire’s shortbread, Pritney’s red velvet cupcakes, and the heat in Wool’s spicy Qatayefs. I gave Maple’s shaking hand another squeeze as the judges moved in front of her. They sliced into her loaf of lemon yogurt blueberry bread.

  “I love the brilliant blue of the berries inside.” Rhonda took a bite, then held her fork up to Francis, who ate off it.

  “Tangy, but sweet.” He chewed on it for a moment. “I quite like it.”

  Rhonda nodded and took another bite. “Me too.”
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br />   They moved on to me. I held my breath. They sliced into my cake and poked at the inside with a fork.

  Rhonda frowned. “Hmm, undercooked.” Francis nodded at her. They each took a bite. My heart seemed to stop beating while they chewed on it. Their faces gave nothing away.

  Finally, Francis spoke. “Flavor’s good though.”

  Rhonda nodded. “I must say, I prefer the almond to the traditional lemon glaze. And very pretty with the flowers on top.” She popped a violet petal into her mouth. “But it needed longer in the oven.”

  I nodded and swallowed against the tightness in my throat. It hadn’t been the complete smackdown I’d been expecting. Zeke came next.

  Zeke smiled brightly as he handed Rhonda a muffin. “Pineapple bran muffins. I want to prove that baking can be healthy.”

  Rhonda looked dubiously at the muffin, then handed it to Francis. “You go first.”

  He took a bite, then handed it back to her. They both chewed for a long, long time. Rhonda scrunched up her nose. “Well, I’m not tasting any pineapple. You?”

  Francis shook his head.

  “They’re bland and dry.” Rhonda cocked a brow. “I told you to consider your judges. I like desserts to taste good. If I want nutritious, I’ll eat broccoli.”

  I gave Zeke a sympathetic look. He shrugged and gave me a tight-lipped smile. Which was worse, raw cake or dry muffins? After the judges had moved down the entirety of the line, they announced they’d need to deliberate. I reached out for Maple’s hand to my right and Zeke’s to my left to await the decision. After a few moments, Rhonda and Francis stood before us with Amelia beside them.

  “We have thoroughly enjoyed meeting each of you, and it is with regret that we announce today’s loser,” Rhonda said.

  I would have preferred “winning-challenged participant.”

  “I regret that….” Rhonda paused for dramatic effect.

  I braced for the next words, sure that they would be, “Imogen will be leaving us.”

  “Zeke is out of the competition.”

  The crowd awwed and murmured. Rhonda came up to Zeke and gave him a hug. “You’re a lovely guy. I just didn’t get much flavor from your hippie muffins.” She winked at me. “Got that term from the human world.”

  I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or horribly guilty. “Zeke. It should have been me. I didn’t even cook my cake. Kind of an essential part of baking, is actually, you know, baking things.”

  He chuckled. “It’s totally fair. I knew going healthy would be a gamble.” He wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug. “You get ’em tomorrow, all right?”

  That night, we gathered quietly on the lawn for dinner. Hank turned in as soon as he’d finished eating, saying, “You all ought to go to get some rest if you’re serious about this. It’s only going to get harder.”

  Wool called through a cupped hand, “Thanks for the advice, grandpa.”

  I chuckled along with everyone else, and Hank waved us off, stalking upstairs.

  Maple yawned and headed to bed. “I’m just happy to be here right now. If I were at home, Dad’d be making me practice all night.” She yawned and patted my shoulder before shuffling to her room.

  I supposed I should sleep too. Instead, I wandered again to the library, determined to learn as much as I could to ready myself for tomorrow. I fell asleep in the armchair in front of the big fire with a book on my lap.

  15

  Burned

  I stood at my station facing rows upon rows of spectators, the royalty at the top. Still no Prince Harry the hottie today.

  I’d remembered to put extra logs in the oven last night, so Iggy still burned brightly, warming my legs. It also meant he’d have the energy for even zippier insults. Oh goody. I took a deep breath. Stay positive.

  I found that difficult to do with the sky gray and cloudy today, my arms covered in goose bumps from the chill. I wished for a jacket. Heck, I wished for a change of clothes. I wore my unicorn tee and jeans for the third day in a row, which had not escaped Pritney’s notice.

  At breakfast on the lawn she’d lifted a brow and sneered, “You must really love deformed horses.”

  “You’re a deformed horse,” I’d muttered back. Not my finest retort.

  Amelia stood before me with Rhonda and Francis at her sides. “Before you are all of the ingredients and tools you’ll need to make today’s surprise bake. No recipes may be used today, so please stash your books away.”

  I stuffed my loose recipes into their folder, then slid them onto a shelf under the counter. I replaced my hands on the countertop, and fiddled with the shimmering cloth that lay over a bunch of bumps and mounds. Everyone else had one on their table, too, except for Zeke’s empty station to my left. I missed his cheerful, laid-back demeanor. I needed a little chill right now.

  Amelia continued. “Most of the world’s chocolate comes from just three different types of cocoa beans. But most of us have never tried the extremely rare fourth type, the Rico Bean. It’s found only deep in the Amazon, and lucky you, competitors, you’ll have the opportunity to work with its rich, creamy, completely nonbitter flavor today, to make—”

  She took a deep breath for dramatic effect. The spectators in the bleachers leaned forward to catch her words.

  “—tuiles! In two different shapes—can be curls, twirls, straws, bowls, and cones. Up to you. You’ll have two hours to complete the challenge, starting now!”

  The giant hourglass turned over, leaking sand in a steady trickle. The crowd burst into applause as the gauzy shimmering fabric dissolved, revealing the ingredients below.

  I took a deep breath. Okay, tuiles, I could do this. I’d made the potato-chip-shaped biscuits once before for a cousin’s tea-themed baby shower in St. Louis. They’d turned out cute that time—patterned like a target with concentric rings of brown chocolate and golden batter.

  I eyed my ingredients. A small bar of chocolate labeled “Rico Chocolate.” I bit my lip. Hopefully they’d given us a little extra so I could try a nibble. Next to it sat a carafe of thick white cream, a basket of eggs wrapped in a red checkered towel, jars of sugar, flour, and Rico cocoa powder, a vial of vanilla extract, and two sticks of softened butter.

  I rubbed my palms together and sucked on my lips. My least favorite part, dealing with Iggy, needed to come first. I dropped down in front of the oven.

  “Iggy. Good morning. Today we’re making tuiles.”

  “I heard.”

  “Chipper as ever, I see.” An ache in my neck throbbed. “Could you please preheat the oven to—” I caught myself. He said he didn’t know temperatures. “A standard baking heat perfect for tuiles, same as you’d usually do for cookies, for example.”

  “Oh, very specific.” Iggy chewed lazily at a glowing log. “These things taste like dirt.”

  “It is a stick.” I swallowed and rubbed my neck. “I just got it from the woodpile out back.”

  “Hmph. How dignified. How would you like it if your food came from a ‘pile out back’?”

  “How’d you like it if—” I exhaled heavily through my nose, stopping myself. “Iggy. Please.”

  “As you command.”

  I straightened and rubbed my clammy palms across my apron. I unwrapped the chocolate bar and broke it into small pieces. I popped a shard into my mouth and savored the creamy, rich flavor. I groaned. Best chocolate ever. Maybe I could spare another piece. Sucking on another bite, I realized I needed to heat up a saucepan.

  I looked around and found everyone else already had their flames going on their tabletops, as well as in their ovens. Oh great. I had to ask Iggy for even more favors. I crouched back down.

  “Iggy, I need you to, um—split yourself up and have part of you up on top with me to heat a saucepan, all right?”

  “As if I have a choice.”

  I held out a fresh log and Iggy’s flames licked onto it. I carefully brought it up to the counter, wincing when a gust of wind sent the tent sides flapping and nearly bl
ew Iggy’s flames out. He glared at me, but I ignored him and set him on the table.

  “Okay, low to medium heat please.” I poured in about half the carafe of cream and heated it until it just simmered, then pulled it off the flames and added the chocolate pieces, stirring continually until it all melted and the mixture stirred smooth and glossy.

  I poured it into a bowl to cool, turning my tiny hourglass and murmuring, “Fifteen minutes.” I then moved on to the tuile batter. At home I would have used an electric handheld mixer, but now I whipped the mixture by hand. Everyone else’s spoons magically stirred themselves while they worked on other projects.

  “Some magic sure would be nice right about now, hm?”

  I glared at Iggy. “You are no longer needed outside the oven.” Huffing, I shoved him back below, still stirring with my other hand.

  When the batter turned into a thicker paste, I whisked in six egg whites. I tossed the shells to Iggy. Maybe he’d like them. I got no response, but a light smell of smoke. I arched a brow. I didn’t know eggshells smoked. I added the flour bit by bit, folding it in carefully then beating it with a wooden spoon between each addition to add air and lightness.

  I sniffed. The smoke smell grew stronger. I glanced around the tent looking for the source. Everyone else was already pouring their tuiles. Shoot! Panic tightened my chest. I needed to hurry up. I coughed, my throat burning with smoke. Why are my legs so warm? My eyes opened wide and I shoved my bowl onto the tabletop, jumping back.

  “Oh no!”

  Flames erupted from the shelves next to the oven. I yanked up a kitchen towel and beat at the flames, tears stinging my eyes.

  Rhonda rushed to my side. She whispered a few words and, as if an invisible bucket had upturned, a deluge of water doused the fire. The crowd gasped and pointed. I let out a shaky sigh and dropped to my knees, grateful to have my face hidden from the crowd.

  On the other side of my station, Amelia addressed the spectators. “Minor fire. Nothing to worry about. Rhonda the Seer, always a step ahead, has already taken care of it.”

  With my towel I beat away the smoke. Rhonda crouched next to me and Maple appeared at my other side. “You okay?”