Magic and Macaroons

by Bailey Cates

  “Oh, but that fire. Darlin’ girl, it’s all over town how you survived that horrible blaze. How on earth can you be so blasé about it?”

  “The woman who owned the house that burned down is in much worse shape than I am,” I said quietly. “She’s still in Candler Hospital.”

  “Oh, dear. That’s right—the fire completely destroyed Eulora Scanlon’s house, didn’t it? I’m so very sorry. I don’t know her well, but I’m aware that she is quite well respected in the community. She was hurt in the fire, then?”

  I shook my head. “Not directly, but I’m sure the smoke did her no good.” Nor did fighting an antifire demon, or whatever the heck that was. “She had a heart attack.”

  Her voice dropped to a faux whisper as she leaned closer. “Oh, no! Does the poor dear need help with her medical bills?”

  I blinked. “I honestly don’t know.”

  She straightened. “Well, you just leave that to me. I don’t know if you’re aware, but I am a fund-raising dervish.”

  I had to laugh. “Mrs. Standish, trust me—your reputation precedes you. Anything you can do to help will be much appreciated, by me and by her family, I’m sure.”

  Her eyes twinkled behind heavy eyeliner. “I might need more of those Brazilian cheesy biscuits your aunt Lucy made for the animal-shelter cocktail party. They were a huge success.”

  “You just let us know,” I said. “We’ll whip up as many as you want—of those or anything else you decide on.”

  “I can always count on the Honeybee! But for now, why don’t you load up a half-dozen mixed pastries for me?”

  “Of course. What would you like?”

  She twiddled her fingers in the air. “Surprise me.”

  I selected two of the vanilla éclairs I knew she and Mr. Dean loved, a small brioche “pizza” drizzled with caramel and chocolate sauce, two savory scones—blue cheese and one of the cheddar sage scones Lucy had shown Iris how to make—and a peach pecan muffin, because I knew Mrs. Standish favored that flavor combination. Then I tossed in another small box with a half dozen of the oatmeal lace cookies for free.

  She left, trailing the scent of expensive perfume in her wake, and I went back to the kitchen to arrange rows of pineapple macaroons next to the chocolate espresso macarons. As I refilled the glass jars of biscotti and bused the reading area, my thoughts kept returning to Cookie. After taking a fresh cup of tea to Martin, who was now typing so busily on his novel that he hardly noticed, I went back in the office and tried her cell again.

  Again, there was no answer.

  I didn’t leave a message this time, and instead looked up the number of Cookie’s employer. Listening for an influx of customers out in the bakery, I dialed. The phone was answered on the first ring.

  “Quartermaine Realty. Amber speaking. How may I help you?” She sounded perky and friendly.

  “May I please speak with Cookie Rios?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry. Ms. Rios is not in at the moment. Would you like her voice mail?”

  “No, thanks. Can you tell me when she’s expected in the office?”

  “Let’s see here.” I heard the clicking of a keyboard. “It looks like she’s out showing a warehouse to a potential client.”

  Warehouse. Such a simple word, yet my internal alarm bells began to jingle jangle.

  “Could you give me the address of the property?” I asked.

  “Oh, are you interested, as well?”

  “It depends,” I flat-out lied. “On the location.”

  “Hang on a sec,” she said. More typing. There were murmurs in the background. They grew louder, and I began to make out words.

  “Did you see that snake? Keeps it in her purse, for God’s sake.” The voice was young and scandalized.

  “Excuse me,” I said in a trembling voice. “Amber?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Did I hear someone say something about a snake?” I asked.

  “Oh!” A hand covered the mouthpiece of the phone, muffling the urgent tone. Amber came back on the line. “Just a misunderstanding, ma’am. As for the warehouse property you were asking about, it’s out on Old Louisville Road.” She read off the street number. “Used to be a lumber warehouse, I understand. It’s over seventeen hundred square feet. Does that sound like something you might be interested in?”

  My heart was tripping over itself, unsure of whether to pound through my sternum or stop beating altogether. “I’ll let you know,” I said, my voice half-strangled. “Could you tell me the name of the client she’s showing it to?” I scrambled for a good reason for her to tell me. “I have a partner, you see, and I was wondering if it might be, er, him.”

  A pause. “Maybe. Is his name Sam? Sam Hatfield?”

  Goddess help me, I hung up on sweet, helpful Amber.

  Samantha. New to town and recently met, as Connell had warned. With a perfect story for Steve about moving from Hilton Head, perfectly meeting him at his club, the perfect conversationalist, the perfect manicure, the perfect accent. Too perfect altogether.

  The book she was reading in the Honeybee—How to Get What You Want . . . Every Time.

  The big ole ring on her finger after only a few weeks. And, not least of all, the sardonic former crime reporter I’d grown to know and, yes, love in my own way, suddenly head over heels with someone who giggled and called him honeybuns.

  The visit to a mambo who specialized in love potions.

  Samantha. And a snake. In the warehouse where Franklin Taite died from a venomous bite. With Cookie.

  “Lucy!” I shouted.

  She came running. “Good Lord, Katie, what’s wrong with you? Shouting like that when there are customers . . .” She rounded the office doorframe and stopped cold when she saw my face.

  “Something’s happened,” she said.

  “I think Cookie may be in terrible danger.” I rose quickly. Mungo had scrambled into my bag already, and I looped the handles over my shoulder. “Are Bianca and Jaida still here?”

  She nodded. “And Mimsey’s at her shop.”

  “We’ll pick her up on the way,” I said.

  Chapter 23

  In whispered tones, I hastily explained to Uncle Ben what was going on—at least as much as I knew. He wasn’t happy about it, but agreed to stay at the Honeybee with Iris. When she started to ask questions, he shushed her.

  “I’ll tell you in a bit,” he said to her, as he looked to me with a question on his face.

  “Yes,” I said. “If you’re going to work at the Honeybee, Iris, you should probably know the kinds of things we get up to around here on occasion. Will you call Peter Quinn, too?” I asked Ben. “Let him know where we are and why. And mention the words human sacrifice if he balks.”

  Iris paled beneath her black, spiked hair.

  “Sure thing, hon. How about Declan?” Ben asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t want a bunch of sirens and fire trucks and the like, and, knowing him, he’ll do whatever he can to save the day. At this point, we can’t even be sure there’s anything wrong.”

  Sure, Katie.

  Jaida and Bianca joined Lucy and me out on the sidewalk. Lucy said, “Ben dropped me off before getting groceries this morning. So we only have his little pickup.”

  “No way we can all fit in that, unless we pile into the back,” Jaida said, smoothing her summer dress.

  “Bianca, you have your Jag?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I can pick up Mimsey.”

  I hesitated. “Are you okay with whatever might happen at the warehouse? It might involve voodoo in a big way.”

  Her nod was decisive. “Don’t worry. This is Cookie we’re talking about. Get going. Mimsey and I will be there soon.” She took off at a jog toward her sports car, and Jaida, Lucy, and I piled into the Bug with Mungo.

  As I drove,
I told them more details about Cookie breaking the hex on the gris gris the night before, and ended with, “She felt sure she was successful, but now I wonder if she didn’t also open herself up to discovery by whoever has the talisman.” I didn’t mention Declan opening himself to Connell in an attempt to reach through the veil to Franklin, but it seemed that Cookie’s spell breaking could easily have had the same effect.

  I turned onto Old Louisville Road and pushed down on the accelerator.

  “The warehouse is coming up on the right,” Lucy said, peering at the GPS on her smartphone.

  I slowed, searching for the address. It was pretty obvious, though, when the warehouse came into view around a curve in the road. It was a behemoth of a building, squat and long and set back from the road by a large parking area covered with pockmarked asphalt. Six oversized, garage-style doors marched down the front of the olive green building, waiting for months now for the big trucks to back up and take away loads of lumber from inside. Steering into the entrance to the lot, I guided the little car around the potholes, toward the people door set into the front corner.

  As we tumbled out of the Bug, Jaida asked, “Where’s Cookie’s car?”

  Her words gave me a sense of hope. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this was just a property listed by Quartermaine Realty, Sam was looking at it for her dot-com father, and Cookie had shown it and was now back at her office . . .

  Lucy tried the metal door. “It’s locked.”

  Eulora’s bracelet of protection warmed against my wrist.

  Bianca zoomed into the parking lot, weaving the red Jaguar around the potholes much as I had—only four times faster. She braked to a halt in front of us, and a pale and shaking Mimsey exited from the passenger’s side. Swaying slightly, she righted the purple bow on her pageboy, took a deep breath, and reached back into the car. Heckle emerged, gripping her arm hard and looking a bit wobbly himself. The fact that he didn’t immediately deliver a rude greeting was enough to tell me he wasn’t used to Bianca’s driving, either.

  “Heckle was with me at Vase Value, and wanted to come along,” Mimsey said.

  “No explanation necessary,” I said as Mungo popped his head out of my bag

  Bianca’s Puck flowed out of her light jacket to drape around her neck, peering at us all from the black Zorro mask that covered his otherwise pure-white face.

  “Are you sure Cookie is here?” Bianca’s gaze flicked over the abandoned warehouse.

  “Let’s check the back,” I said.

  We trouped around the corner and along the side of the building. A few windows placed high in the long, metal-clad wall would allow a bit of light inside, but afforded us no view to the interior. We reached the corner, and I paused.

  “There.” I pointed. “Cookie’s driving Oscar’s car.”

  “There’s another vehicle.” Lucy had rounded the corner in front of me, standing exposed in the smaller parking lot behind the warehouse.

  I stepped forward, an admonishment to be careful on my lips, when I saw where she pointed.

  On the far end of the lot was Steve Dawes’ Land Rover.

  “Is that . . . ?” she asked as the others joined us.

  I nodded. “I’d know that Rover anywhere.” For a brief moment, hope flared. “Maybe he’s here to help.” Steve had certainly aided the spellbook club in the past, both with his druid clan and on his own.

  For me. He’s still keeping tabs on me, after all, and knows I might need . . . Then my mind’s eye called up the blond hair flowing out of the window of the Rover, honeyed locks fastened with a long pink ribbon.

  Samantha.

  “Katie?” Mimsey asked.

  I shook myself. “That’s Steve’s car, all right. But I don’t think he’s driving it.”

  The other witches exchanged a look.

  “Cookie came out here to show the property to Samantha Hatfield. She’s driven his car before.”

  “Steve’s new girlfriend?” Mimsey asked.

  “His new fiancée,” I corrected.

  Jaida’s eyebrows shot up, as Bianca drew her breath in through her teeth. Lucy looked worried—and slightly embarrassed—but Mimsey’s expression held quiet triumph. She’d never really cared for Sam.

  “Come on, ladies,” I said. “We have to find a way in. Oh, and be careful. That woman is not what she seems.”

  We fanned out, scanning the exterior of the building. Windows on this side were set much lower. Of the five panes, two were broken out.

  No wonder Quinn figured animals could get inside. So could people.

  Another metal door was set into the corner opposite the one in the front. We moved closer to the building, and I scurried down to the door. It probably wouldn’t be unlocked, but it would be silly not to check. I was already trying to figure out how to break the rest of the glass in one of the windows without making a bunch of noise as I reached for the doorknob.

  As I’d expected, it didn’t turn. The door, however, glided silently open. Puzzled, I looked down and saw a small rock in the jam, preventing it from closing far enough for the latch to catch.

  An accident? Or Cookie hoping we’d find her in time?

  I motioned to the others, who hurried toward me, each woman stooping a bit in order to not be seen from the windows. Holding my finger to my lips, I pointed at the partially open door. Jaida saw the rock and shot me a look. I nodded, then shrugged.

  Ever so slowly, I pushed open the door.

  The faint scent of sulfur struck me as I peered into the dimly lit space. Though my eyes hadn’t fully adjusted yet, I couldn’t detect any light or movement. However, the light from the open door might be visible from anywhere in the warehouse. Quickly, I stepped in and to the side. The others followed, and Mimsey closed the door behind her.

  We stood blinking for a few seconds, hidden in a short hallway leading from the back door to the cavernous, empty storage space in the middle of the building. Four offices opened off either side of the corridor in front of us, all but the closest with doors closed. The near one, I could see, was empty save for a cheap desk and dented file cabinet.

  The sulfur smell grew stronger, burning my eyes and reminding me of the fire at Mother Eulora’s. A shuffling sound carried from closer to the front of the building, and I tiptoed down the hallway to lean around the corner. A light flickered about two hundred feet away, a live flame—no, several—at the base of a tall post.

  A low moan came from the same direction.

  I looked over to see Lucy visibly shaking beside me. Jaida and Mimsey had heard, as well, and shared equally grim expressions. Bianca was wide-eyed with fright. Then her jaw set, she caught my eye, and she gave me a firm nod.

  Together we moved out of the hallway and toward the candles.

  As we grew nearer, my mind struggled to identify what I was seeing. The post in the middle of the warehouse was part of the structure, and reached up to support the roof. There were others, but this one was surrounded by at least fifty votives. Something was scattered around and even under the candles. As I got closer I saw it was . . . food?

  My, my, yes. The smell of the dishes tucked at the bottom of the post was enough to almost clear the sulfur from the air. There was a plate of fried chicken, a tureen of soup—crab?—fresh tomatoes, and chunks of cheese. Over there, a jar of pickled okra leaned against a pile of fresh peaches, and a bowl of peppery coleslaw nestled in the middle of a platter of hush puppies. There was more, lots more, of whatever kind of offering this was.

  Then I saw the bare feet standing on the concrete on the other side of the support beam.

  “Oh, Cookie!” Lucy cried, rushing toward our friend.

  “Back off!” The voice reverberated through the dank air, seeming to come from every direction at once.

  I reached for my aunt, but she eluded my grasp and barreled toward Cookie. I ran behind her, the foo
tsteps of our coven mates pounding behind me.

  Lucy came up short, shrieking. Her arms flailed and her legs churned backward, almost knocking me over. I caught her, hearing the gasps of the others around me. When I saw why, my stomach did a slow flip beneath my unbeating heart.

  Twenty feet away, Cookie stood with her back against the metal beam. She wore a black satin robe that fell to her knees. Her hands were tied to the post above her, and she blinked blearily at us, as if she couldn’t see properly.

  And at her feet swarmed the reason Lucy had shrieked like a little girl.

  Snakes.

  Lots and lots of them, slithering and flowing like a single entity.

  My heart came online again, beating furiously as if to make up for lost time, but breathing was difficult. I couldn’t tear my attention away from the roiling mass of red and yellow and black stripes.

  The same color as the molted skin on Mother Eulora’s altar. Coral snakes. One was poisonous enough, but this many? Terror arrowed through my solar plexus at the thought.

  A lock of fuchsia-streaked hair flipped down over one of Cookie’s eyes as her head lolled forward. The movement caught my attention, and I tore my gaze away from the horrid reptilian tangle and saw it at last.

  The gris gris.

  The amulet hung from a hook in the metal above our friend’s head. It looked exactly like the talisman in the photo Mother Eulora had given me, except for one thing: The snowy white fringes tied into the lower corners were now inky black. As I stared, they seemed to rise, though there was no breeze to stir them. The silken strands moved toward us like alien antennae, sending a shiver down my back so violent that I shook all over.

  Samantha Hatfield stepped out from the shadows to the right of Cookie. We must have walked right past her hiding place. Steve would have recognized his all-American fiancée despite her casual capris being stained with goddess knew what, and instead of pink she wore a simple blue, button-down shirt. But her gaze was calculating, and her thin-lipped smile the stuff of nightmares.

  “I was hoping you’d come, Katie. I didn’t expect you’d bring all these other people, though. What ever happened to lone-wolf heroes?”