Spells and Scones

by Bailey Cates

  He’s going with her.

  MUNGO! I mentally shouted.

  Yip!

  He stood in the doorway, looking at me with quizzical worry.

  “Katie, are you coming out?” Angie called from the yard.

  Shaking, I rubbed the back of my hand across my eyes and straightened. “Mungo?” I croaked at my familiar.

  He ran over and jumped up on the chair, scrabbling up the backrest until he was in my arms and frantically licking my face.

  “Hey, you two. Come on. I want you to meet someone.”

  Trembling and sick to my stomach, I went out to the porch.

  Angie was sitting in the grass near the front walk where she’d parked her car. The door was hanging open, and she was leaning over something.

  Something very, very wiggly.

  Angie looked up with a huge smile. “If I needed any more evidence that I’m supposed to follow my true nature, this is it. She found me this morning.”

  A tiny caramel-colored puppy tumbled out of her lap and gamboled toward us. I let Mungo down, and he raced to the newcomer. They rolled in the grass, and the baby dog barked, tiny and high and sharp. I sank to my knees next to Angie, tears welling despite the smile on my face.

  “She’s a cocker spaniel. My neighbor found her and was going to take her to the pound. But as soon as I saw her, I knew. Katie? What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “Her name is Olivia.”

  “Hi, Olivia,” I said softly.

  She ran over and jumped in my lap, wiggling and wobbling and wagging. A giggle erupted from my chest.

  “She’s adorable,” I said. “Welcome, Olivia.”

  Olivia blinked up at me, mouth hanging open in a doggy smile.

  The sound of a car engine made us all look up. I recognized the Audi and stood. Mungo ran to stand beside me.

  Angie saw our faces and bundled Olivia back into the car. “Who’s that?”

  “The furata guy,” I said.

  “Ooh.”

  Steve boiled out of the car and walked toward me, hands outstretched. “Katie, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’re right. I’m a jerk. I never should have tried the charm.”

  “Charm! That thing is a serious spell. Did you really think you could make me love you?”

  “No, no. It was only a charm. Like the one you wear . . .” He trailed off, staring at my bare neck. Recovering himself, he said. “At least that’s what the medicine woman I got it from told me.”

  “She told you wrong.” Angie’s voice was flat. “It’s far more powerful than a simple charm. It’s a forcing spell.”

  Steve stopped. “Who are you?”

  “A friend,” Angie and I said at the same time.

  “Which is more than I can say for you,” I said.

  He buried his face in his hands. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I’ve completely ruined it between us,” he moaned.

  Moaned.

  I’d never heard Steve Dawes moan in my life.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, stop being so dramatic,” I said. “You’re a Dragoh at heart.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You are.” I barely stopped myself from stamping my foot. “You always have been, no matter how much you tried to deny it at first. It’s in your blood, like my gift is in mine, and Angie’s is in hers.”

  He dropped his hands and looked at my new friend.

  My eyes cut toward her to see if I’d overstepped my bounds. She didn’t seem upset. In fact, her eyes were glued to Steve.

  And she didn’t look very upset with him, either.

  “I don’t know, Katie,” he said slowly. “Maybe you’re right.” He took a few steps toward us. “What was your name again?”

  “Never you mind what her—”

  “Angie,” she said, stepping toward him.

  I exchanged a look with Mungo. Seriously?

  “Angie Kissel.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard about you from my friends in the police department. Congratulations on your freedom.”

  She ducked her head coyly.

  “Our Katie here does good work, doesn’t she?”

  Angie nodded. “Without her help I’d probably be going to jail.”

  Steve met my eyes again. “I really am sorry. I don’t know that you’re right about me, but I’ll think about it. At least Father is speaking to me again. Pretty sure my mother had something to do with that.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Happy Thanksgiving to you both.”

  With one last, long look at Angie, he got back into his car and left.

  She turned to me. “That’s the guy who gave you the furata?” The look on her face reminded me of Iris’ reaction to Steve.

  “Mmm-hmm,” I said wryly.

  As she and little Olivia left, I had to admit Angie might be a good choice for Steve. And he for her?

  Well, the jury was still out on that.

  * * *

  Honeybee met us at the curb in front of Ben and Lucy’s town house. She rarely ventured outside, but on special occasions she took it upon herself to guide guests inside. Mungo and I greeted her and followed her elegant orange-and-white-striped tail up to the front door. I inhaled the scents of turkey, onion, garlic, sage, and cinnamon, and sure enough, my stomach growled.

  Lucy had replaced the carved jack-o’-lanterns of Halloween with gourds and squash arranged on a series of hay bales around the front door. Herbs and flowers crowded into the small yard on either side of the front walk. Cornstalks leaned on either side of the door, and a Thanksgiving wreath of pinecones and dried leaves decorated the red door that led inside.

  The door opened into a verdant oasis where Angie would have felt right at home. Houseplants stretched out of pots on the tables and floor and swung down from the high, bright ceiling. Ivy crawled up the bricks that surrounded the fireplace. Skylights and tall windows streamed November sunshine into the light, airy space.

  The white sofas and chairs had been moved out of the center of the living room, and a long, many-leaved table filled most of the space. The white tablecloth and two-story white walls contrasted beautifully with the dark cherry-wood floors and boldly patterned rugs.

  Mungo ran off with Honeybee to join the other familiars, who were gathered in the cheery, glassed-in breakfast nook. Clever them, staying out of the way of the busy humans, I thought as I joined the melee of furious activity that dominated the kitchen. The scarred wooden worktable where Lucy packaged the herbs from her garden and prepared food for canning was covered by dishes ready for the table. I added the biscuits I’d decided to bring instead of sourdough rolls, an urn of homemade strawberry jam, and three pies from the Honeybee.

  Ben came over to help me unload the box in which I’d transported my loot. I looked sideways at him.

  “Thanks for what you did last night,” he murmured. “The pepper spray thing.”

  “Sure,” I said. Another time I might have brought up his comment about protecting me, but it was Thanksgiving.

  “I got a call from Bing Hawkins yesterday afternoon,” he said.

  “Uh . . .”

  “I’ve decided on a trial run of one ad, three times a day for a week. We’ll see if it brings more people in.”

  Barely keeping myself from laughing, I said, “He did bring up a lot of good reasons for advertising on the radio.”

  “I’ll say,” he muttered.

  “Honey, can you reach that gravy boat on the top shelf?” Lucy asked her husband, and he went to help her.

  Cookie and Oscar shared a glass of wine in the corner, and Gregory and Jaida leaned over the stove with their heads together. As I watched, he leaned down and whispered something in her ear. Ben passed by Lucy with the gravy boat, trailing his fingertips along the small of her back, and she turned to him and smiled. Bianca an
d little Colette sat at the table, mother helping daughter arrange pickled watermelon rind on a plate. Mimsey and her husband, James, stood on the periphery, his arm around her shoulders.

  A movement in the other room drew my attention. It was Declan, coming down from the rooftop with the smoked turkey in a huge roasting pan. He entered the kitchen, and everyone cheered. We all moved aside to allow him to put the main attraction on the butcher-block counter.

  “All right. Move aside. Carving is my domain,” Ben announced.

  Declan came over to where I stood in the doorway, a tentative smile on his face. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” I put my hand on the back of his neck and pulled him to me.

  His eyes widened, then closed as we kissed.

  “Get a room!” squawked Mimsey’s parrot, gliding through the living room.

  “Heckle,” the older witch gasped, then laughed.

  I giggled as well, and I felt Declan’s shoulders relax. Ben beamed his approval.

  “Did you get some sleep?” I asked as we started moving dishes from the kitchen to the big table.

  “Enough.” He set a bowl of quivering cranberry sauce next to the steaming mashed potatoes. Small talk to keep things light.

  It took us a while to transfer all the food. Ben brought in the huge turkey on a platter as we took our chairs at the table. He sat down at his place at the head of the table and looked around at us. Taking Lucy’s hand in his left, he held out his right to Declan. I fumbled in my lap for a moment as we all followed suit and joined hands.

  “Lucy, do you want to start?” my uncle asked.

  She gave a quick nod. “I’m thankful for you—every single one of you.”

  Ben quirked an eyebrow. “You always say that.”

  A gentle smile blossomed on her face. “It’s always true.”

  My uncle said, “Well, I’m grateful for you, my dear. Everyone else here, too, but especially you. Declan?”

  My boyfriend looked at me. “You guys are so sappy,” he teased. “I’m grateful I got off work before all the fires start up from people not using their turkey fryers right.”

  “You are such a romantic,” I said.

  “Oh, I guess I’m thankful for you, too.” He kissed my temple.

  I took a deep breath. This was it. There was no turning back.

  Slowly, I turned our clasped hands on the table so that mine was on top. The platinum filigree and sapphire on my finger winked, and I heard Lucy’s quick intake of breath. I looked into the expanse of his blue eyes.

  “I’m thankful that I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  He blinked. Looked down at the ring I’d slipped on when we sat down. And grinned.

  “About time!” Heckle squawked.

  Recipes

  Katie’s Greek Scones

  Makes 8 large scones

  2¼ cups all-purpose flour

  1 tablespoon baking powder

  ½ teaspoon salt

  1 teaspoon dried rosemary

  6 tablespoons butter, cut into 1-inch pieces and chilled in the freezer for 15 minutes

  ⅓ cup sun-dried tomatoes packed in oil, rinsed and roughly chopped

  ¼ cup Kalamata olives, roughly chopped

  ⅔ cup Feta cheese, crumbled

  1 egg

  ½ cup milk

  Preheat oven to 400 F.

  Set aside ¼ cup flour in a separate bowl. In a medium bowl combine 2 cups flour, baking powder, salt, and rosemary. Cut the chilled butter into the flour mixture by rubbing with your fingers or by using a pastry blender until the consistency is that of rough cornmeal.

  Add the sun-dried tomatoes, the Kalamata olives, and Feta cheese to the ¼ cup flour and toss to coat. Shake it to remove excess flour and add to pastry mixture, tossing with your hands to evenly distribute.

  Whisk together the egg and milk. Add to the flour mixture, stirring lightly with a fork until the ingredients are moistened and just hold together.

  Transfer to a lightly floured surface and knead twenty times. Add more flour to the surface if needed. Pat into an 8-inch circle that is slightly higher in the center than on the edges. Using a very sharp knife, cut eight equal wedges. Place scones on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper, an inch or so apart from one another. Bake for 12–14 minutes, until golden brown.

  Iris’ Pumpkin Spice Softies

  Makes 48–60 cookies, depending on size

  2 cups butter, softened

  2 cups granulated sugar

  2 teaspoons baking powder

  2 teaspoons baking soda

  1 teaspoon salt

  2 teaspoons allspice

  1 teaspoon ginger

  1 teaspoon cinnamon

  2 eggs

  2 teaspoons vanilla extract

  15-ounce can of pumpkin

  4 cups flour

  FROSTING

  4 ounces (one stick) butter, softened

  8 ounces cream cheese, softened

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  2 cups confectioners’ sugar, sifted

  Preheat oven to 350 F.

  Beat the butter in a large bowl with an electric mixer until fluffy—about 30–40 seconds on high speed. Add the granulated sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt, allspice, ginger, and cinnamon. Beat until thoroughly combined. Add the eggs and vanilla, and beat on medium until combined. Mix in the pumpkin. Slowly add the flour, beating it in on low until the mixture is smooth and even.

  Using two spoons, drop dough onto a parchment-lined cookie sheet about two inches apart. Bake for 10–12 minutes until the tops are firm. Cool cookies on a wire rack.

  For the frosting, combine softened butter and cream cheese with the vanilla extract in a mixing bowl. Beat on medium until glossy. Mix in the sifted confectioners’ sugar until uniform. Spread the frosting on cooled cookies with a knife for a rustic look, or use a pastry bag for a tidier appearance.

  Read on for an excerpt of the first book in Bailey Cates’s New York Times bestselling Magical Bakery Mystery Series!

  Brownies and Broomsticks

  is available wherever books are sold.

  This was a grand adventure, I told myself. The ideal situation at the ideal time. It was also one of the scariest things I’d ever done.

  So when I rounded the corner to find my aunt and uncle’s baby blue Thunderbird convertible snugged up to the curb in front of my new home, I was both surprised and relieved.

  Aunt Lucy knelt beside the porch steps, trowel in hand, patting the soil around a plant. She looked up and waved a gloved hand when I pulled into the driveway of the compact brick house, which had once been the carriage house of a larger home. I opened the door and stepped into the humid April heat.

  “Katie’s here—right on time!” Lucy called over her shoulder and hurried across the lawn to throw her arms around me. The aroma of patchouli drifted from her hair as I returned her hug.

  “How did you know I’d get in today?” I leaned my tush against the hood of my Volkswagen Beetle, then pushed away when the hot metal seared my skin through my denim shorts. “I wasn’t planning to leave Akron until tomorrow.”

  I’d decided to leave early so I’d have a couple of extra days to acclimate. Savannah, Georgia, was about as different from Ohio as you could get. During my brief visits I’d fallen in love with the elaborate beauty of the city, the excesses of her past—and present—and the food. Everything from high-end cuisine to traditional Low Country dishes.

  “Oh, honey, of course you’d start early,” Lucy said. “We knew you’d want to get here as soon as possible. Let’s get you inside the house and pour something cool into you. We brought supper over, too—crab cakes, barbecued beans with rice, and some nice peppery coleslaw.”

  I sighed in anticipation. Did I mention the food?

>   Her luxurious mop of gray-streaked blond hair swung over her shoulder as she turned toward the house. “How was the drive?”

  “Long.” I inhaled the warm air. “But pleasant enough. The Bug was a real trouper, pulling that little trailer all that way. I had plenty of time to think.” Especially as I drove through the miles and miles of South Carolina marshland. That was when the enormity of my decisions during the past two months had really begun to weigh on me.

  She whirled around to examine my face. “Well, you don’t look any the worse for wear, so you must have been thinking happy thoughts.”

  “Mostly,” I said, and left it at that.

  My mother’s sister exuded good cheer, always on the lookout for a silver lining and the best in others. A bit of a hippie, Lucy had slid seamlessly into the New Age movement twenty years before. Only a few lines augmented the corners of her blue eyes. Her brown hemp skirt and light cotton blouse hung gracefully on her short but very slim frame. She was a laid-back natural beauty rather than a Southern belle. Then again, Aunt Lucy had grown up in Dayton.

  “Come on in here, you two,” Uncle Ben called from the shadows of the front porch.

  A magnolia tree shaded that corner of the house, and copper-colored azaleas marched along the iron railing in a riot of blooms. A dozen iridescent dragonflies glided through air that smelled heavy and green. Lucy smiled when one of them zoomed over and landed on my wrist. I lifted my hand, admiring the shiny blue-green wings, and it launched back into the air to join its friends.

  I waved to my uncle. “Let me grab a few things.”

  Reaching into the backseat, I retrieved my sleeping bag and oversized tote. When I stepped back and pushed the door shut with my foot, I saw a little black dog gazing up at me from the pavement.

  “Well, hello,” I said. “Where did you come from?”

  He grinned a doggy grin and wagged his tail.

  “You’d better get on home now.”

  More grinning. More wagging.

  “He looks like some kind of terrier. I don’t see a collar,” I said to Lucy. “But he seems well cared for. Must live close by.”