Potions and Pastries

by Bailey Cates

  “Oh, gosh. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to—”

  “Nuala! It’s time to go. Sorry, honey, but I told your mom I’d have you home early.”

  The girl seemed surprised but didn’t question her aunt. She shrugged into her coat, and Ginnie hustled her out the door.

  “Oh, no!” Lucy said. “They forgot their eggs.”

  “What happened?” Colette asked.

  Bianca hugged her daughter to her side. “They just had to go. You had fun, didn’t you?”

  The girl frowned. “Sure. I like Nuala, even if she’s already in fifth grade. Or would be if she went to school.”

  “What do you mean?” her mother asked.

  “She’s homeschooled.”

  “Ah. She’s still in the fifth grade, then,” Bianca said. “Come on. Let’s go gather up this evening’s masterful creations.”

  Before we dumped all the dyes down the drain and cleaned up the party, I had to try marbling a couple of eggs. With everyone crowded around to watch, I mixed twenty drops of food coloring—green for Jonathan’s benefit—into a cup of cool water along with two teaspoons of white vinegar. Then I melted a tablespoon of butter in the microwave and stirred it into the vinegar solution. I dunked an egg once, twice, three times, then submerged it completely for four minutes.

  When I removed it, the oil had created a lovely effect very similar to the veining in marble. Once it was dry, I’d wipe off any oil that was left on the surface of the egg.

  Bianca and Colette had to try a few. While they played with the technique, I started to clean things up.

  Looking around, I asked, “Where’s Lucy?”

  The back door opened, and I saw she’d parked her big blue convertible in the alley. She had a basket in each hand. “Surprise!”

  I took one and looked inside. She’d planted grass in the bottom, and now it provided the perfect bed for decorated eggs.

  “I didn’t know we’d have extra people,” she said. “I was going to give mine to Nuala.”

  “Nuala can have mine,” I said. “I’ll drop it by her house tomorrow.”

  A knocking on the front door drew our attention. Seeing it was Randy, I hurried to let him in.

  “How’s the party going?” he asked. This evening, he wore jeans and a sport coat over a collared shirt. He smiled broadly, but I sensed a little nervousness.

  Colette waved at him from the kitchen. “Come see what we did.”

  “Okeydoke,” he said, and went back to admire the racks of eggs ready to go into Lucy’s baskets.

  Bianca sidled over. “She likes him already.” She sounded worried. “I try to be so careful, so she doesn’t get hurt.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s better that Colette likes him, don’t you think? She’s not going to get attached that fast.”

  “No. You’re right. I’ll try to remember to take it one step at a time.”

  “You ready?” Randy asked, returning. “The gallery opens at seven. We can walk if you’d like.”

  “Lucky for you I wore comfortable shoes for this little shindig,” she teased.

  “Or I can drive,” he said quickly. “My car is out front.”

  “What kind of car?” she asked.

  A defensive look crossed his face. “It’s a—” Then he caught on and stopped himself. “It’s a perfectly serviceable Durango that will get you from point A to point B.”

  Bianca smiled. “Sounds perfect. Colette, you have fun with Lucy. I’ll pick you up in a few hours.”

  “Okay, Mom.” She was busy arranging eggs in her basket.

  Jonathan loaded his green-lined basket with his multitoned green eggs while Margie helped Julia with her more traditional array of colors. Soon they were on their way, and Lucy and Colette left for home and Caribbean food. I gathered Mungo into my tote bag, put Nuala’s eggs into the last basket, and tucked it in the fridge, then locked up.

  Chapter 15

  The second night of Declan’s forty-eight-hour shift at the firehouse was always harder for me than the first. That was one of the reasons why I’d lobbied to have the egg-coloring party this evening. But now it was just Mungo and me at home. Luckily, it was also a full moon, and the perfect time to make more of the antiallergy potion Bianca had worked out with me. I missed that man of mine, but it was sometimes difficult to find the privacy for spell work when he was around the carriage house.

  First, I dug out some leftover orzo salad, already regretting that I hadn’t followed my instinct to pick up some Caribbean takeout like Ben had. However, a witch needed to stay light on her feet for moon workings, and a big order of brown gravy chicken would have made me sluggish and dull. So Mungo and I split the salad, and then I gave him a baby carrot to chew on. I promised myself a big, fat brownie when I’d finished making the potion.

  Stomach no longer growling, I changed out of my workaday skirt and T-shirt, donning sleek leggings and a navy blue tunic covered with depictions of stars and the moon in various phases. It was symbolic, of course, but, more important, comfortable and warm enough to ward off the evening air of April.

  After gathering my tools and herbs, I turned off the lights inside the carriage house and took Mungo out to the backyard. He romped in the grass, chasing the fireflies that flocked around him, and I continued on to the small gazebo. I’d had it built soon after moving in, and it had become my sacred space for garden spells and herbal magic.

  I set the jug of water, the big glass jar, cider vinegar, a jar of local honey, a cedar frond I’d cut from the tree across the street in the dark of night the week before, and two bay leaves on the small round table in the middle of the gazebo. A few mismatched chairs from the thrift store were scattered around the outside. After all, Declan and I sat out here in warm weather, sacred space or not. Still, the table stood over a ten-inch, five-pointed star outlined in white and colored purple in the middle. It was a barely disguised pentagram, around which I cast my salt circles. The besom broom in the corner served to sweep out the salt when I was done.

  Tonight, there would be no salt circle. Tonight, I needed to be in the open.

  Leaving the ingredients for the potion, I checked on my gardens in the light of the moon. Declan had helped me cut away the sod and amend the soil for all of them. There was a vegetable patch, an area devoted to herbs, and a bed of plants used for magic beyond the inherent energies of herbs and spices. Among other flora, it boasted the witch hazel from which I made my wand, the young rowan tree that protected an ancient talisman, and dittany for healing spells. It also had a small patch of red clover, which I needed for tonight’s work.

  The house aside, how could I leave these carefully tended plants, this area that had become so personal to me?

  I can start again. I can create more gardens. Declan helped with these, and he will help in the new house. I adore that man, and our relationship is more important than this place.

  With renewed resolve, I harvested enough clover for the potion and returned to the gazebo. I twisted the lid off the empty half-gallon jar. On the side, I’d roughly drawn vertical wavy lines to represent air and the outline of a cat’s face. It wasn’t art by any means, but it did help set the intention behind the incantation. Carefully, I crafted that intention—clear air passages and an immunity to cat hair and dander—and held it in the back of my mind as I placed the bay leaves, the fresh red clover, a snippet of cedar, a dollop of honey, and a splash of cider vinegar in the bottom of the jar. The combination would have been effective for a tea to treat congestion, but with Bianca’s added suggestions the herbs, honey, and vinegar had enough power to tame my rampant allergy to cats.

  Most people make sun tea. I was making moon tea.

  The water in the jug was from the stream that cut across the corner of the yard. I’d liked the idea of a piece of my very own stream when I’d first looked at the property, completely unaware that having
access to live spring water would become important to my witchy activities. However, since I’d be drinking it, I’d boiled the water to purify it. Now I poured the cooled water over the other ingredients, put on the lid, and carried the jar out into the yard.

  Sinking down on the grass, I checked my watch. The moon had risen far enough to cast a bright, silvery light where I sat. Mungo trotted over and flopped down by my side. I gave him a pat, then turned my attention back to the potion. Opening my consciousness to the lunar energy flowing down on me, I whispered,

  Lunar potion, magic true,

  Fill with healing

  This herbal brew

  To breathe the air

  Without a care,

  Enjoy feline charm

  With zero harm.

  So mote it be.

  I made a note of the time and made myself comfortable. After exactly thirteen minutes, I lifted the jar and swirled it deosil, or clockwise, thirteen times. Arms aching, I settled it into the middle of the yard, where it would receive moonlight for the majority of the night.

  Then I rose and went over to the stream. The moving water glittered, and I imagined it freshening under the face of the full moon.

  Purify deeply, I invoked the moon as I traced a star in the air over the water and imagined any negative energy being drawn from the water up to the nothingness of space. It was something I did almost every full moon, just in case impurities, physical or psychic, had made their way into the water I valued so much.

  Dropping my hands, I turned toward the house.

  Where am I ever going to find a place with live water?

  I pushed the thought from my mind and went inside. I had a date with a peanut butter swirl brownie.

  • • •

  The next morning I rose early and went for another run. I breathed easily as my feet pounded the pavement in an intoxicating rhythm that wiped away all thought. The air smelled green and floral. Dew sparkled beneath the light of the setting moon, and I saw the same raccoon family from the day before lounging along a different fence line.

  After I showered and dressed in a purple skirt, a lavender T-shirt, and canvas sneakers, Mungo and I indulged in French toast with maple syrup and crispy bacon. Then I retrieved the potion, thanked the goddess energy of the moon, and poured a healthy swig into my travel mug. The rest I put into the refrigerator.

  Lucy called me at six to let me know she was going to be late. I’d already made some headway into the day’s baking, and was able to get most of the fresh goodies into the display case by the time Ben came in just before seven.

  “Is everything all right with Lucy?” I asked as I finished arranging a tier of cherry chocolate cake slices. “She’s not sick, is she?”

  “Nah,” he said. “She just had to wait for Bianca to pick up Colette this morning.”

  I paused and looked at him. His lips turned up, and his eyebrows went up and down.

  “Bianca didn’t come get her last night?” I asked.

  “Nope. She called about nine and asked if Colette would mind staying the night.”

  “Huh,” I said.

  “That’s what I thought,” Ben said, and went to unlock the front door.

  While my uncle handled the first customers, I set to work on the next baking project. When I’d arrived that morning, the first thing I’d done was remove two blocks of brown butter from the fridge. Iris had prepped them the day before, slowly heating the butter in a heavy pan until it turned golden and then gradually darkened to mahogany. The result was far different from regular melted butter, or even clarified butter. Brown butter was rich and savory, with a deep, nutty flavor. As I’d told Mrs. Standish, it was the secret ingredient in our increasingly popular chocolate chip cookies.

  The brown butter had come to room temperature, so it was easy to mix up the batter with plenty of seventy percent cacao chocolate chips and toasted, sliced almonds, then drop the mounds of dough on baking sheets. Soon the distinct scent of brown butter, chocolate, and nuts joined the fragrance of fresh-baked sourdough bread, spicy muffins, and citrusy lemon bars. When they were done, I slid each one onto a rack to cool and added the final touch—a single grind of smoked Himalayan salt on top of each delectable cookie.

  I was putting the salt grinder back in the cupboard when Lucy breezed in through the alley door, carrying Honeybee in a carrier.

  “Sorry I’m a little late,” she said, grabbing a blue-and-green-striped chef’s apron from the hook on her way back to drop her purse and jacket in the office.

  “We managed. I’ll take Honeybee out to the reading area.”

  The captive feline gave my hand a head butt when I released her onto her window perch. I saw the question in her eyes, checked to see if anyone was near enough to hear, and said, “I’m fine today. You’d better get started on your day’s lounging.” She was purring when I walked away.

  Lucy took the carrier. “You made more of Bianca’s allergy potion last night?”

  “Yep.” I inhaled deeply. “Seems to be working great.”

  Arms behind her to tie the apron strings into a bow, she smiled. “Ben told you why I’m late, I suppose.”

  “He did. Bianca and Randy must have really hit it off,” I said.

  My aunt’s eyes twinkled. “She didn’t have time to tell me much when I saw her this morning.”

  My shoulders slumped. “Oh.”

  “But she promised to drop by later, so we can get the details at the same time.”

  I brightened.

  Lucy laughed as she went out to see if Ben needed any help at the coffee counter.

  Jaida came in around nine and set up her laptop at her usual corner table. I put a cardamom orange muffin on a plate and took it over to her. “Mocha?” I asked.

  “Maybe two,” she grumbled, then caught herself. “Sorry. I adore this place, but trying to get everything done here is difficult. Some of it is very private, and I don’t feel comfortable working on client files where someone could possibly walk by and see. So last night I stayed up until after midnight finishing up some stuff, and of course, Anubis decided he needed a nice long walk at six this morning.”

  She waved her hand in the air. “So don’t mind me. I’m just tired and cranky.” Sitting down, she took a big bite of muffin. Her eyes widened as she chewed and swallowed. “This helps, though. What spice is that?”

  “Cardamom.” I patted her shoulder. “I’ll be right back with a double mocha.”

  She gave me a grateful smile.

  When I returned with the tall, steaming mug, she said, “Cookie called me last night.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Oh?”

  “She said she’d already told you. Or rather, that Lucy guessed she was expecting. Didn’t want to wait until the next spellbook club meeting to tell everyone.”

  “Mrs. Standish was here when we found out,” I said.

  “Oh . . .” Jaida nodded her understanding. “So Cookie is calling everyone in order to outpace the gossip train. Good for her. I’m just so happy for her and Oscar. Who would have thought she’d be married and having kids before you?”

  I gave her a look.

  She ducked her head. “Sorry. Did I hit a sore point?”

  “Not really,” I said with a chuckle. “I’m content with moving slowly. Declan, on the other hand—”

  “Not so much,” Jaida said.

  “He hasn’t actually complained.” Yet.

  The bell jingled over the door, and Bianca came in.

  “Speaking of the gossip train,” I said. “Don’t get too involved in your work yet.” I gestured for our friend to join us.

  Bianca practically wafted over to us, the gauzy material of her seafoam-colored dress floating behind her as if there were a wind machine hidden in the recesses of the bakery. I pulled out a chair and waved to Lucy behind the register. She n
odded and poured out a two tumblers of hibiscus sweet tea, brought them over, and sat down.

  Pushing an icy glass toward Bianca, my aunt asked, “So, how was your date?”

  The puzzled expression cleared from Jaida’s face. “Right! It was last night. Randy.” The way she said his name emphasized the double entendre.

  Bianca didn’t notice. Her smile was dreamy. “It was wonderful.”

  We exchanged looks. “It must have been if you spent the night with him after the first date,” I said.

  She blinked, then laughed. “Oh, no. I didn’t spend the night. Oh! Is that what Colette thinks?” She looked at Lucy. “I told you on the phone last night that we were having a nice conversation, and I didn’t want to cut it short.”

  “You did, dear.” Lucy patted her hand. “And Colette doesn’t think a thing about it—only that she got to sleep in our guest room. Katie’s just fishing.”

  “Well, maybe a little,” I admitted.

  Bianca shook her head. “That’s okay. After all, you’re the one who got us together.”

  “Nuh-uh,” I said. “Randy got you together. I didn’t have anything to do with it.” And I wasn’t going to take any blame if things went awry.

  “Well, if I didn’t know you, and you didn’t know Declan—” she started.

  Jaida broke in. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. However it happened, you guys went on a date. Now, dish. How was the gallery opening?”

  “Divine,” Bianca breathed. “Honestly, I never expected it, but Randy knows a lot about art. Actually, he knows about a lot of things. Art, wine, books.”

  Randy? That goofball Declan hung around with? I was going to have to reassess my assumptions about him.

  Bianca continued. “I ended up buying a piece from an up-and-coming visual artist who works in watercolors on rice paper. Simply stunning.”

  I refrained from asking what that had cost, and instead prompted her with, “And then you guys had coffee?”

  “Actually, we grabbed a bite at a tapas bar, then walked along the river and back. Finally, ended up taking the ferry over to the Westin for a nightcap.” She saw my expression. “And then we came back, and he took me home around midnight.” Turning to my aunt, she said, “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble keeping Colette overnight. I called from the Westin once I realized we’d never make it back before her bedtime—and on a school night.”