Queso de los Muertos (Eastwind Witches Book 4)

by Nova Nelson

  “Fifth Wind witch,” I corrected.

  “—and I bet if you got a sickle—”

  “Nope.” I said. My funds were still recovering from the custom-made wand Ezra Ares had delivered to me a month ago (and that I had yet to learn to use). “Not the sickle type of girl.”

  “Tell Ted I will help him build his fireproof birdhouses if he does that death magic again.”

  “Not a chance, Grim. For one, you don’t have opposable thumbs, so I doubt your woodworking ability. But also, you know where he lives. You have my blessing to head into the Deadwoods on a day trip to visit Ted anytime you want.”

  “You know I can’t go back there for a while. What if Acher Lake is still low? Those hellhounds will have my hide. The only reason I’m not dead already is that nothing, and I mean nothing, could convince a hellhound to leave the safety of the Deadwoods.”

  “Safety” and “Deadwoods” were not two words I would pair, but okay.

  “What about if that hellhound dies, is reborn as a grim then turns into a Fifth Wind witch’s familiar?”

  “Okay, so maybe in that case. But probably nothing else.”

  Officer Manchester cleared his throat. “So, long as it’s nice and quiet in here, Ms. Ashcroft, I think I might stay awhile longer and enjoy another slice of pie.”

  “Sure thing, Stu.” I turned to Ted. “You need a refill on your coffee?”

  He lowered into the booth again. “Yes, that would be great. And again, sorry about, um, you know, running everyone off.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It actually gives me more time to work on my recipe for tomorrow.”

  I grabbed the coffee pot and topped up Manchester’s cup before moving to Ted’s.

  “This is your first Lunasa Festival in Eastwind, right?” the grim reaper asked.

  “In Eastwind or anywhere else.”

  “Oh, Nora,” Ted said, his dry voice cracking with excitement. “You’re going to have a great time. Everyone is there.”

  “Are you going?” I said, turning to Stu.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  I served him up another piece of pie and told them to holler at me if they needed anything or, heck, just help themselves to it. They knew where everything was and both were good for the money.

  Then I grabbed my apron off the counter, tied it back on, and headed to the kitchen to work on my top secret recipe for the Lunasa cook-off.

  2

  There is nothing quite like hot, creamy queso. When done right, the corn chips become entirely unnecessary, and eating it with a spoon is preferable, even if it’s not socially acceptable.

  The possible repercussions of introducing Eastwind to queso was something I’d considered fully. To be honest, I’d probably considered it more than a sane person would. But my love for good chips and queso burdened me with a responsibility of being the best liaison I could so that the town’s first impression of the appetizer was what it ought to be, and viva la queso revolución!

  If you’re not from Texas, you might not understand the fuss I’m making. But if you are, you know the sensation of immediate relaxation that overtakes your body when you scoop that first bite of gooey white queso into your mouth on a perfectly salted corn tortilla chip.

  Honestly, I feel a little dirty just talking about it.

  The time was ripe to bring the light of melted cheese to the magical realm of Eastwind. And from everything I’d heard, if I wanted to make a real splash, the unveiling should take place at the Lunasa Festival’s annual cook-off.

  I had no doubt I would win by a landslide, and then there would be crowds lining up around the block (not the safest thing in the Outskirts, but what can you do?) to get into Medium Rare the following day to get their first taste of the award-winning appetizer.

  As I hunched over the large cauldron in the kitchen of Medium Rare, stirring the melted cheese, carefully adding in the sprinkle of chili powder, the fresh-made pico de gallo, monitoring the heat to make sure the cheese didn’t burn, I heard someone enter through the back door. I already knew who it was. Tanner had left an hour earlier to pick up more bacon from the butcher, and I’d figured that as soon as he’d returned, he’d be trying to get a taste of the goods.

  But then I heard the back door open and shut again, and five minutes later, he came back inside and did just what I’d expected him to do in the first place, making a beeline for me.

  At the sound of his footsteps, I asked, “Did you forget something?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I glanced over my shoulder at him. Good Gaia, he was a sight for sore eyes. “You came in, then you left then you came back. Did you forget something?”

  He shook his head, pouting out his bottom lip. “Nope. Just got here, came straight for the queso. Why?”

  I waved him off. “I just thought— Never mind.” I returned my attention to the queso, and when an arm reached over my shoulder toward the cauldron, I swatted it away.

  “Seriously, Tanner. You’ll get a taste at the festival. But if you stick your finger in it now, all you’ll get is a first-degree burn.”

  He pulled his arm away and ran his hands down my sides as he pressed close behind me. “But it smells so good. You’ve been teasing me with it all week.”

  I tapped the spoon clean and set it aside before turning to face him. For a moment, my breath caught. We’d been officially together for about two months, but still I kind of couldn’t believe my eyes every time I looked at him and thought, this guy is into me.

  Normally, when I had that thought at Medium Rare, the next thought was, and he’s also my boss. But quick on the heels of that was, and I’m his boss. And his business partner.

  Yeah, it’s convoluted. But personal justifications for doing whatever we darn well please usually are.

  In short, I worked as a waitress at Medium Rare and Tanner was my manager. But we also both co-owned the place.

  It didn’t hurt that Eastwind’s social expectations were more loosely-goosey when it came to who dated whom—part of being a small town and having limited options, I supposed.

  Or at least in theory the options were limited.

  Yet, I’d been in town only half a year, and things had already become complicated in the dating department.

  No. Scratch that. They weren’t complicated. They were quite simple.

  I was with Tanner.

  Donovan Stringfellow was complicated, but I wasn’t with him, nor would I ever be. I’d closed the door on that the moment I’d kissed Tanner in the middle of Medium Rare, blood soaking my shirt, my hair in tangles from having fought off an evil spirit in the Deadwoods … and from Donovan’s fingers tangling through it while he kissed me.

  Nope. Not dwelling on that. It was a mistake. An error made with judgment blurred by the connection ritual he and I had just performed.

  Tanner took advantage of his status as my boyfriend and lowered his head, pressing his lips to mine. I tried to focus on it so I didn’t feel like a complete jerk. Then I gently pushed him away. “The queso is going to burn if you get me distracted, and then there goes our whole plan for realm domination.”

  “Mmm …” he said, his eyelids heavy with lust. “King and Queen of the Diners. I do like the sound of that.” He stretched, groaning as he did, and then leaned against the counter next to the cauldron, staring at me. “Before I forget, any reason why Anton is nowhere to be found and it’s just after noon but the only two people in the dining room are Stu and Ted?”

  “Yep. There’s a reason.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “Nah, not really.”

  He grunted. “Okay, let me try this again. Would you please elaborate?”

  I shrugged and scraped the edges where the cheese was starting to stick. “Seamus came in and was being Seamus, and Ted got tired of it and banged his sickle against the floor and sent everyone running in fear with some death spell.”

  “Oh,” said Tanner. “Huh. Okay.” After a moment
of silent nodding, he added, “Well, Seamus is definitely banned from this place.”

  “Works for me.”

  I tapped the spoon on the side of the cauldron and turned to face him. He rubbed his chin and squinted at nothing as he said, “I don’t know how he wasn’t banned before now.”

  “Yeah, me neither. Don’t worry about it. No harm done. And, actually, it gives us a little alone time.” I snuck a flirty glance at him and turned off the heat under the cauldron.

  A gorgeous half-grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “We’ll have plenty of alone time tomorrow. After the festival, that is.”

  “When was the last time you actually closed Medium Rare for an entire day?” I asked.

  He considered it, narrowing his eyes and staring up at the ceiling as he ran a hand over his head from back to front. “I guess when we found Bruce’s body.”

  Oh right. That. “That was the day we met,” I said.

  “Don’t go getting all sentimental on me, Nora Ashcroft.”

  “Ah yes, that glorious day when I died, crossed over into a new realm, discovered that werewolves were a thing by finding a murdered one, was accused of murdering said werewolf, was told I was actually a witch, and was visited by the ghost of the murdered werewolf. There’s a day I wish I could relive over and over again.”

  His half-grin spread into a full crescent. He loved when I gave him sass. “As I said, don’t go getting all sentimental.”

  He pushed off from the counter and returned a moment later with two eggs and a frying pan. Perfect. I could go for a snack.

  “Over-medium?” he asked before lighting the stove.

  “You know it.”

  “The High Council will love it, Nora. I guarantee we’re going to win.”

  The judges of the Lunasa cook-off were none other than Eastwind’s High Council, the people who ran the town, or at least wanted everyone to believe they ran the town. I’d been here for months and only met two of the seven in person. Was I a little stressed out about the queso being perfect because I wanted my first impression to be good?

  Nooo … not at all.

  But seriously, Count Sebastian Malavic, a vampire who acted like he owned the world and everyone in it, with his air of superiority and frustratingly sexy Eastern European accent, was the town treasurer and held a seat on the Council. So yeah, it would feel pretty incredible to make him admit that my entry was the best.

  I tended to avoid competitions, because I’m not that competitive, but I was all-in on this one and would be happy with nothing less than a unanimous vote that my chips and queso were the best thing to come to Eastwind since long before the witches ever arrived.

  So, okay, fine. I was a little competitive. Perhaps I’d even been described as “cutthroat” before. But Tanner didn’t need to know that.

  “If you really want to win, you might need to schmooze,” he said from beside me, as if reading my thoughts.

  “No problem. I’m great at schmoozing.”

  He turned toward me, arching an eyebrow my way. “Really? You don’t strike me as the type. You’re more of the ‘I’ll do it my way and you either like it or you don’t’ type.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. And you’re right. I didn’t say I like schmoozing, I just said I’m great at it. How do you think I made my money in an industry full of people with lots of money who think that makes them better than everyone? Schmooze, schmooze, schmooze. And maybe a little alcohol.”

  “Ah, the old schmooze and booze. You won’t need to worry about that last bit at Lunasa. If this year is anything like the years before, the Council will already have the boozing taken care of. This is one of the few days a year where they get to let their hair down and be seen as actual people rather than the high and mighty of Eastwind. They act like they want to be up there on the pedestal, and maybe they do most of the time, but everyone wants to let loose sometimes. Just be careful of Liberty Freeman when he gets a few glasses of mead in him.”

  I’d never met Liberty, the genie who sat on the Council, but I’d heard stories. They were all good. “What happens when he drinks?”

  Tanner shook the frying pan to keep the eggs from sticking. “He hugs a little too hard. It’s best to take a deep breath right before he grabs you. Then you let it out slowly until the hug is over. If you go in with empty lungs, you’ll be gasping for air and your life will be flashing before your eyes by the time he lets go.”

  “Oh wow. Even hugging is deadly in this town. Thanks for yet another survival tip I didn’t know I needed.”

  I waited until Tanner turned his back to me to grab two plates for the eggs before I snuck a taste of the queso. It was perfect. “What was that spell again?”

  Tanner plated the eggs for us. “Which one?”

  “The one you showed me the other day that allows the food to be reheated to the right temperature instantly.”

  “Oh. It’s kind of complicated. You want me to show you so you can do it, or—”

  I waved him off. “Just do it yourself. I can learn it some other time.”

  “You mean you can get Oliver to teach you?” he asked casually, but I knew that tone.

  No matter how many times I explained that Oliver Bridgewater was my tutor and nothing more, Tanner’s hints of jealousy remained every time the arrangement was mentioned.

  “No,” I said, “I mean you can teach me later. Oliver doesn’t teach me practical stuff yet. It’s all spell books and discussion.”

  The rigidness of Tanner’s shoulders eased. “Ah, yeah, he’s a pretty boring witch.” Pulling up the back of his shirt, he grabbed his wand from his waistband and waved it at the queso. It was a spell he’d done a million times, having worked in a restaurant for so many years, and he made it look effortless—eyes open, no muttering of incantations like I would have to do. Oliver had explained this to me as something that happened with magic. It was like muscle memory, but with a wand. And once a witch mastered a spell well enough, he or she didn’t even need a wand to perform it. I’d seen Ruby, my landlady and fellow Fifth Wind witch, cast spells without a wand before, but until Oliver explained it, I didn’t realize how powerful that meant she was. Made me think twice about leaving dirty dishes in the sink, that’s for sure.

  “Someday,” I said, once the spell was complete and I placed the cover on the cauldron, “I won’t be a mostly useless witch.”

  “What are you talking about?” he said, his eyes growing wide. “You’re the most useful witch I know.” He stepped closer, his voice lowering. “Or at least I can think of plenty of uses for you.”

  He was flirting, but I was feeling too competitive and, additionally, too useless. Not a great combo for getting in the mood.

  Immediately picking up on my reluctance to play that game, he backed off. “You’re just new to it, Nora. You gotta give yourself a little time.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  He handed me the plate with my egg over-medium, and I grabbed a nearby fork and stabbed into it, letting the yoke run.

  “Maybe it’s about time you meet Evangeline,” he said. “She’s way newer than you and probably less advanced at magic. I bet she wouldn’t mind meeting another novice.”

  There was some truth to that.

  Evangeline Moody had entered Eastwind a few weeks before. Or at least that’s when I’d first heard about her. She’d wrested the title of Newest Eastwinder from me, and I wasn’t sorry to see it go. Apparently, she was from my world, too, so you’d think I’d want to hunt her down and press her for all the latest news.

  But, as it turned out, I didn’t care. Not only did I not care about my old world, I wanted to forget about it entirely. It hadn’t served me well, and I hadn’t been my best self in it. Eastwind was my shot to reinvent, and that’s what I’d done and continued to do. All my old world had gotten me was the loss of my parents, a heap of stress, lots of money I had no one to spend it on, and untimely death.

  Can you blame me for wanting to pretend it didn’t ex
ist?

  I was being selfish, of course. Maybe her life had been better before she ended up here who-knew-how. Maybe she missed our world and would have liked to meet someone who could talk about it. I hadn’t even bothered to find that out, as I’d been avoiding Fluke Mountain, where she was staying in one of the cabins owned by Darius Pine, for weeks.

  Now I was out of excuses, because the Lunasa Festival was held on Fluke Mountain.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I bet she wouldn’t mind meeting another novice. I’ll be sure to introduce myself tomorrow. But first, I intend to beat the pants off of Franco’s Pizza in the cook-off.” I snuck a quick kiss from him before finishing my egg.

  Then I heard the crunching.

  At first, I couldn’t make sense of what sounded like someone trampling through dried leaves in the shelves behind me. Then it clicked all at once.

  “For fang’s sake! Grim!” I ran over to the source of the sound and found exactly what I thought I would: my big, fluffy canine familiar with his head buried in a bag of the corn chips I’d spent days making by hand.

  Even though we could communicate telepathically, and he understood my speech as well, I reverted back to what I’d always done when I caught an animal where it shouldn’t be. I shouted, “Hey!” and clapped my hands as loudly as I could.

  It worked.

  He yanked his head out of the bag and scuttled back a few steps, large, startled eyes locking onto me as his ears pressed flat against his head.

  “Bad dog!”

  “That’s what I’ve been telling you!” he said, low-key licking the salt from his jowls.

  Then he glanced back at the bag.

  “Oh no you don’t,” I warned him.

  “Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who didn’t feed me today.”

  “I totally fed you! You got two fried eggs as soon as we got here. In fact, I fed you before I fed myself.”

  “Eggs don’t count.”

  “Who even knows how much Anton gave you from the griddle. You’re spoiled. That’s what it is. It’s bacon and steak or nothing.”