by Erin Johnson
Just before she turned to lead the way, she flashed Hank a pursed-lip, wide-eyed look. I glanced at him in time to see him nod, ever so slightly.
Oh no! Maybe Iggy had been right. Amelia had a man on the inside, and it was Hank. She’d know ways around the magic field and could have snuck in the poison herself, or shown Hank how to. And they both had access to Glenn’s dough while it sat proving in the pantry, and access to the palace grounds to have killed Nan.
My heart raced in my chest. Under one arm, I carried a few of the linden branches I’d gathered last night. I gripped Maple’s hand tight with the other one, so that she turned, panicked, toward me.
I mouthed, “It’s Hank and Amelia.” Then jerked my head at each of them.
Maple’s mouth fell open. “What do we do?” she mouthed.
“Police,” I mouthed back.
Hank, who walked slightly in front of me glanced back and raised a brow, a puzzled expression on his face at our silent but animated conversation. Maple and I grinned like madwomen. As soon as his back was turned, we mouthed silent screams at each other.
It wouldn’t do any good to expose them now. We had to hope the police had already figured it out and stood ready to make the arrests. As we entered the tent, the familiar tickle of magic played across my skin. The magic field still worked. We fanned out to our stations. Eight officers stood posted at regular intervals, surrounding us.
Inspector Bon strode forward and stopped in front of Amelia. He came up to her shoulder. “Lovely of you all to join us. I’ll take it from here.”
Amelia gave him a curt nod and retreated to the perimeter to stand beside Rhonda and Francis. I gave Nate, lounging in his medic’s corner, a little wave. He nodded back, a smaller version of his roguish grin playing across his face. I threw a fresh log in the oven for Iggy and while I crouched beside him, whispered, “I think they’re making an arrest today.”
Iggy didn’t answer for several long moments. Then he said quietly, “These are linden.”
I peeked into the oven and gave him a tight smile. “Just offering an olive branch.”
He frowned. “I just told you they’re linden.”
“Figure of speech, human thing.” I grinned. “I just meant, it’s an offering of friendship.”
Iggy pulled the log into his mouth with tiny flame arms. “Oh, it’s delicious.” His eyes rolled back. “But how did you—”
“I snuck past the guards and went into the royal forest like you said Nan did, and while I was in there I saw—”
A man cleared his throat behind me, and I whirled.
Inspector Bon stood over me. “Am I interrupting something?”
I shook my head and stood slowly, to find that everyone watched me. My cheeks flushed hot. Bon slowly strode among our stations, weaving between Sam, Hank, Maple, Pritney, and me.
“Quite a case, this. Quite a case,” he said, hands clasped behind his back. “A man is murdered, with a limited number of suspects. An intriguing mode of murder, this poison. How did the killer bring it into the tent, a banned substance?”
Bon paused in front of Maple’s station and gave her a long, hard look. “Yes, quite a conundrum, and then last night we received a new piece of information, something that made it all too clear.”
Bon fixed me with his dark, piercing gaze, and I swallowed, shifting nervously on my feet. “Yes, it’s quite clear now, how the killer brought the poison into the tent. So obvious, yet so strange—brilliant, really. So before I blow this case wide, if anyone has anything they’d like to confess, I guarantee you the law will look more kindly on a confession than an indictment.”
Bon gazed furiously around the tent. “Speak now, culprit! And you shall know the clemency and leniency of the law. But hold your tongue, and you’ll find yourself plagued.”
Should I speak? Should I tell Bon what I’d seen Hank do, what I suspected?
Bon held up a pair of golden handcuffs that pulsed with light at regular intervals. “Guess I’ll just have to make the arrest then. Once I do though, I warn you, there’s no going back, and you’ll find the full force of the law beating down upon you.”
Bon stalked toward me. I opened my mouth to accuse Hank and Amelia, and Sam yelled, “Wait!”
He took off his glasses and what little of a chin he had disappeared into his neck as he looked at his feet. Bon paused midway to me, and turned.
“I-I must confessss. I didn’t think me being me would be ssssuch a problem.” He shook his head, his deep voice warbling. “Oh, I jussst wanted the chanccce to bake. I never meant to hurt anyone. What a sssillly ssssnake I am.”
“Sam, what are you saying?” Rhonda moved toward him, one hand extended.
“Sssstay back.” Rhonda stopped advancing, and Sam let out a big, gulping sob. “Ssssilly, sssilly ssssnake.” He lifted his head, blinking his milky eyes. “I did it. I brought the poisssson into the tent.”
“Stay there, you’re under arrest!” Bon spun on his heel and as he and his officers closed in, Sam began to tremble, and in the blink of an eye, he disappeared.
“Where is he?” Bon shouted, red in the face. He jabbed a finger at his officers. “Close the flaps, trap him in here.”
His officers obeyed, but Rhonda frowned. “If he’s still in here. Maybe he just popped off somewhere.”
Bon barked orders as his men dashed here and there, combing the tent for Sam. I pressed myself up against my station to avoid being trampled.
Suddenly, Amelia let out a bloodcurdling scream and clawed at Francis, somehow climbing up his tall body and throwing herself onto the nearest tabletop. She kept screaming too, as she jabbed a slender finger at the grass, babbling through her sobs. “It’s there—there… oh great goddess, it could be anywhere—AHHHH!” She scrambled back from the edge.
What had she seen? My heart slammed in my chest. Then one of Bon’s officers shouted, and another screeched, and then another and another. I threw myself onto my tabletop and craned my neck to see the danger. A snake slithered, fast as lighting, between the stations. It looked about the same size as the one I’d seen last night… right after Sam disappeared.
“Sam?” I gasped.
Bon saw the snake, blubbered incoherently, and scrambled onto Hank’s station. Hank stood beside him and stared Bon down.
From his safe perch, Bon screamed, “Well, catch it! Catch him—ur—catch the snake!” Sam, in snake form, slid under the side of the tent, right past two guards who scrambled and pranced like their feet had caught fire.
“After him! He’s outside!” Bon screamed as he stood on the countertop. But his men, on Bon’s orders, had already sealed up the tent flaps and now had to waste time casting a spell to unseal it.
Once undone, all eight officers dashed off to find Sam. I watched them for a time. Judging by the lack of screams, no one came across him. Eventually, Bon slid off the tabletop with as much dignity as he could muster and strutted about, nose in the air. “Well then, job well done. Looks like Sam’s the killer, and it will only be a matter of time before we apprehend him.”
Hank slammed a hand down on his table, which made Bon jump. “Job well done? And what do you mean by, ‘looks like he’s the killer’? What about this conclusive new evidence you found last night, huh?” He threw an arm my way. “Because it looked to me like you were on the verge of arresting Imogen.”
“Don’t remind him,” I whispered.
Hank cast me a quick glance, then stared back at Bon. Bon cleared his throat and drew himself up as tall as he could. “Police tactics, young man. There was no evidence, we merely were putting the heat on in hopes the culprit would confess. And we did a bang-up job, if I do say so myself. Sam confessed.”
“He confessed to bringing in the poison, but how could he have?” Amelia, now on the ground again, brushed off her skirt.
“It appears Sam was a shifter. We all just saw him transform into a snake. He could have done so in the tent and collected some of his own venom, then changed back.”
“B
ut the magic field also keeps shifters out,” Amelia cried, throwing an arm wide.
“Actually….” Francis floated forward, feet dangling just above the ground. He raised one skinny white finger. “You cast a spell that would reveal the second form of a shifter.”
“Exactly.” Amelia planted her hands on her hips. “It should have turned him into a snake.”
“Unless snake is his original form, and human is his second.”
Amelia and the others gaped at Francis.
“B-but, that’s unheard of,” Amelia spluttered.
Francis sniffed. “Unheard of, but not impossible. If the magical community would stop fearing shifters for a minute, and actually learn about them, we might know of quite a few more like him.”
“But that would mean Sam grew up a snake, living in the forest or wherever, and at some point discovered he could shift into a human, learned to speak, and—and how to bake and— It’s preposterous.” Amelia shook her head.
Francis lightly patted her shoulder. “Think of what courage it must have taken him to enter this competition, knowing his kind was banned, feared, and despised.”
Amelia shook her head. “He killed a man, and you want me to have sympathy for him? No.” She folded her arms.
Francis lifted his slim shoulders in the slightest of shrugs.
Hank broke the long silence that followed. “So what now?”
Bon cleared his throat. “My officers and I will continue to search for Sam until he’s caught, and then justice will be done.”
“And what of the competition?” Amelia strode forward.
Bon cleared his throat and stepped back. “Yes, well I should think you can continue, not today, but tomorrow should be all right. We’ll want the rest of the day to secure the location. I feel confident that we’ll apprehend him quite quickly.”
Hank sniffed, arms folded. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t share your confidence.”
Bon scowled but let it go. He called back a couple of his officers to stay in the tent, and then headed out to join the snake hunt. I tried to regain my equilibrium. I’d been a breath away from accusing Hank and Amelia of murdering two people. Had I just been completely wrong? But what of Hank’s changing face and sneaking out at night?
And did that mean Sam had killed Nan, also? I had seen him on the royal grounds last night, and I knew that Nan went into the woods each night to gather branches for Iggy. Maybe he’d waited and scared her, or bitten her with just enough venom to cause a heart attack? Why? Maybe he’d applied for a position in the bakery, as Maple had, and also been rejected by Nan. I couldn’t picture gentle, soft-spoken Sam hurting a fly. But he’d confessed after all, and had the means, motive, and opportunity to kill both Nan and Glenn.
I crouched down to check on Iggy.
“Looks like they caught Glenn’s killer. Probably Nan’s, too.”
Iggy nodded and blinked. “Yeah. Strange. I thought it’d make me feel better.”
I pressed my lips together. “But it doesn’t?”
Iggy looked up at me. “No. Thing was, after we talked yesterday, I already felt better. I’m glad they caught him, and I want justice for Nan. But I also want to carry on her legacy, everything she taught me about baking.”
I pulled my lips to the side. “I’d like to help if I can, too.”
Iggy nodded. “See you tomorrow. Just another linden branch, though, before you go, if you please.”
23
Feeling the Heat
The next day I could hardly eat breakfast, my stomach felt so tight with nerves. Our once large circle felt tiny now, just Maple, me, Hank, and Pritney.
Heading to the tent and seeing Rhonda and Francis felt reassuring. Though when Nate grinned and waved from his corner I couldn’t quite call it calming. More like he’d stirred up some butterflies in my stomach to add to the stress cramps.
“Semifinals!” Amelia grinned, arms lifted. “I won’t say we haven’t had our trials and tribulations, but we’ve made it and you should all be very proud of yourselves.”
“Here, here!” Rhonda clapped above her head.
I couldn’t believe I’d actually made it this far. Granted, a few of my competitors had been chased off by violent utensils, been murdered, and slithered away as snakes. But I wasn’t going to let that undermine my sense of accomplishment.
“For today’s challenge, we want cupcakes displayed marvelously. You’ve got three hours… and bake!”
I looked over my shoulder and grinned at Maple. She gave me a nod. I chatted with Iggy, made sure he had more of his favorite linden branches, then got to baking. I chose to make chocolate cupcakes, ’cause hey, chocolate’s always a good thing.
As I cast about for inspiration, a thought occurred to me. I’d talked with Bern, the inventor from the Air Kingdom, about his home one night. He’d described hot air balloons and dirigibles of every size, shape, and color. People lived aboard the balloons, connected by rope bridges.
As I stirred the batter, I planned it out in my head, occasionally dictating notes to my magical quill.
I’d top some cupcakes with a swirling mountain of blue frosting, then decorate that with fondant clouds. I’d make others to look like the balloons themselves, with the cupcake as the basket and would use some magical help from Maple to spell cookies shaped like the balloons to hover above. Then I’d use spun sugar to create the rope bridges between, creating what I imagined the Air Kingdom to look like.
I just hoped my idea of the Air Kingdom was closer to reality than my idea of a unicorn. I needed to remember to ask Maple about that. “Ask Maple about unicorns,” I said to my quill.
“Focusing, I see,” Iggy drawled from the oven below the counter.
I stuck my tongue out at him, but grinned. I should have been nervous. I had been all morning, and the whole night before I’d barely slept. But once at my station, stirring and mixing and baking… I felt right at home again.
You’ve got this, I told myself. You’ve got this.
Amelia had informed us they hadn’t located Sam, but the police still felt confident it was merely a matter of time.
“Better be, with the summer solstice in two days,” Amelia had muttered to herself.
But at least without spectators, police or civilian, and without the mystery of Glenn’s murder to solve, I could relax and focus on baking. I finished whipping up the batter and poured it into my cupcake tin, using some liners Maple magicked up for me that looked like the sky and others that looked like the basket of a balloon. I relaxed a little when Maple’s idea of a balloon basket and mine coincided. That was a good sign.
With the cupcakes in the oven and my timer set, I dashed to the pantry to get marshmallows to make my own fondant.
“Marshmallows, marshmallows….” I patted around the shelves, peeking behind jars and tins.
“Marshmallows?”
I turned, then froze. I stood chest to chest with Hank. Well, maybe chest to ribs. I looked up and he looked down, our faces suddenly quite close. I looked down again, then to the side. Why was finding someplace to look suddenly so difficult?
“Uh, you’re looking for these?” He shook a glass jar of the puffy white cylinders.
“Right, yeah.” He handed them to me. “Thanks.”
We stood in silence for a few moments in the cramped, dimly lit pantry. I glanced up at him, ready to announce that I must get back to baking, when I giggled. One of the dried herbs hanging from the ceiling had gotten tangled in his hair, and a sprig of rosemary now sprouted from the crown of his head.
“What?” Hank blinked at me.
I tried to bite down on a grin. “You’ve got a little antenna—on your—”
“A what?” He turned left and right.
“Here, I’ll….” I reached up, and he ducked. I plucked the rosemary from his dark hair and held it up to him. He smelled of vanilla bean and sugar, and a white streak of flour dusted one cheekbone.
His dark eyes focused intensely on my face.
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I should be scared. I’d seen this man change, seen him sneak into the royal grounds. But I only knew that because I also snuck onto the royal grounds. We breathed into the same space, our faces just inches apart. I knew I should be pulling away, getting out of the pantry, but something rooted me to the spot. I reached up, slowly, and brushed away the flour from his cheek with my thumb.
“You’re just a mess,” I heard myself mumble.
He caught my hand in his before I could drop it. I closed my eyes and leaned in.
A cough from behind Hank made me jump. I stepped back, smashing my back into a shelf. The jars rattled and clinked into each other. Ow. A light flared brighter, and I winced, then tried to blink my eyes open. Squinting, I made out Nate’s tanned face and Hank’s scowling one. Well, they both scowled, actually, at each other.
“Medic.” Hank rounded on him.
“Just checking everything was all right in here. No one needs any, uh, medical assistance?” Nate nodded at me. “Imogen.” He held a wand aloft like a flashlight.
The tiny pantry could barely fit these two tall, broad-shouldered men. “Nope. All good.” My cheeks burned as I edged past them, brushing against Hank’s back and Nate’s muscled arm. “As they say, three’s a crowd, so… back to baking.”
I jabbed my thumb at my station and spun, speed walking away and not daring to look back. Maple gave me a quizzical look as I passed, but I just shook my head and mouthed, “Later.”
I kept so busy with my bake that I hardly had any time to think about what had happened with Hank. So how come I kept thinking about it? I’d nearly kissed the man I’d almost accused of murder just yesterday. What was wrong with me? I mean, it’d been a while since my last… but was I really that desperate?
I couldn’t deny the chemistry between us though. I’d wanted to kiss him. I felt the pull, even now. I fanned myself. Had it gotten hotter in the tent?
I kept trying to put it out of my head as I swirled on frosting, cut out fondant clouds, piped balloon sugar cookies and dripped golden caramel to form spun sugar. But the sweet scent only reminded me of Hank and how much I suddenly wanted to—
