Champagne, Misfits, and Other Shady Magic (Dowser 7)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  Vancouver was my haven, after all. So why shouldn’t it be that for others as well?

  Kett had left the building by the time I got back to the kitchen. He had pulled the muffin tins before going, as promised. Unfortunately, he hadn’t also frosted the rest of the cupcakes, and I was now seriously behind schedule. Being able to move quickly, or even to run full out for miles, was in no way helpful when it came to baking. Or trinket making, for that matter. Both activities were slow and considered work. Slapped-on icing might taste exactly the same, but it wouldn’t be the least bit appealing to my customers.

  Plus, Bryn would seriously lose it if I tried to stuff the display cases with shoddy cupcakes.

  Running my conversations with Kett, then Angelica, through my head in an annoyingly endless loop, I dropped butter into my standing mixer, adding a heaping half-cup of cocoa powder. Then I mixed the two ingredients slightly too vigorously.

  Kandy would be delighted that the vampire had arrived in town with a secret, though I wasn’t so much a fan of gossip and hidden agendas. Still, the werewolf wouldn’t let Kett dodge her questions for very long. Ironically, Kandy was as circumspect about anything personal as the vampire was, but she wouldn’t put up with being out of the loop.

  I added powdered sugar to the mixer. And as I did, I stuffed my concern over whatever Kett was worried about telling me, along with the weird meeting with the sorcerer, deep down underneath the small mountain of cupcakes that still needed to be baked and frosted.

  After adding Exultation in a Cup — smooth dark-chocolate buttercream on an insanely tasty chocolate-peanut butter cake — to my ready-for-the-bakery rack, I paired the rest of the delectable buttercream with the last of my fluffy, super-light white cake bases, resulting in a bonus dozen Wonder in a Cup. I might have also licked the spatula. After I’d finished scraping the bowl, of course.

  Halfway through baking the chocolate cake base I used for Lust in a Cup, Love in a Cup, and Hug in a Cup, keys scraping in the alley door lock heralded one of the only three people who needed to use mundane means by which to enter the bakery kitchen. Specifically, because they lacked the magic needed to be keyed to the door lock spell. The blood wards posed no issues to them for exactly the same reason.

  I glanced over my shoulder as Todd practically stumbled through the door. Dark, silver-rimmed sunglasses shielded his eyes. But based on the way he held his head, they did nothing to mute his hangover. He lost hold of his backpack one step over the threshold, then shuffled past me toward the storefront without a word.

  He had cut his brown hair so short that it no longer curled. His brown Cake in a Cup T-shirt appeared pristinely pressed. But the rest of him wasn’t remotely ready to be out of bed.

  “I was expecting Bryn.” I picked up a Buzz in a Cup, placing it on the far corner of the stainless steel workstation a moment before Todd walked by.

  He didn’t even pause, scooping up the mocha-fudge cupcake as he passed and cramming it into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, then cleared his throat. Rather disgustingly, actually.

  “She texted last night.”

  Delightful. “She’s still in Whistler?”

  Todd nodded, then winced as if he regretted that movement.

  “Ah, crap.” I surveyed my exceedingly full workstation, then the only-half-full rack of ready-for-sale cupcakes. “I’m behind.”

  Todd pushed through the swing doors that led into the storefront. “I’ll help. Just let me wash down the aspirin with a quad.”

  I snorted doubtfully, fairly certain that Todd’s frosting skills were even sloppier than mine. But I wasn’t in any position to turn down another set of hands.

  I heard the steamer of the espresso machine, knowing that no matter how hungover he was, Todd would always meticulously clean and prime the pricey piece of equipment — which he’d insisted was worth every penny. He considered coffee his domain at Cake in a Cup, going so far as to have sneered condescendingly when I’d asked him to train Tima, my other part-timer, to make it.

  Todd was a graphic artist, specializing in online comics. A couple of his newer titles were doing well enough that I kept expecting him to give notice. He hadn’t yet.

  I finished swirling thickly whipped buttercream onto the tray of moist banana-cake bases for Comfort in a Cup. After the chocolate cake had cooled, I would use the rest of the buttercream for a dozen Hug in a Cup.

  Todd, still sporting his sunglasses, appeared in the storefront doorway, leaning into it and cupping a mug as if it held the nectar of life. And maybe for him, it did. I enjoyed coffee flavoring on occasion, but not the drink on its own.

  “Problems with the renovation?” I asked.

  He looked at me as though I’d just spoken utter nonsense.

  “In Whistler?” I prompted. “For Bryn?”

  Bryn had finally persuaded me to open a second bakery in the well-heeled ski resort about an hour-and-a-half’s drive from Vancouver. I’d agreed only because she had asked to be co-owner, literally shoving the business plan she’d created in my face. Her half had already been fully financed.

  Of course, a tiny pouch of the gold just lying around in the treasure keeper’s chamber would have paid for everything outright, including multiple years of operating expenses. But I wasn’t interested in asking guardians for favors, or in owing them anything. Pulou especially.

  “Tile delivery,” Todd said.

  “On a Saturday?”

  He shrugged, taking a generous sip of his espresso. “It’s Whistler.”

  Unfortunately, ‘It’s Whistler’ had become a common expression around Cake in a Cup recently. No matter that we had the finances, finding a location for a new bakery had been a serious challenge. In the end, Bryn had gotten Gran involved — and the two of them had actually leveraged the purchase of an entire building in the village by agreeing to sell the previous owner two of Gran’s ski-in-and-ski-out rental properties. I was almost surprised that my grandmother would have done anything as painful as selling, except I knew Bryn could be very persuasive when she wanted to be. So much so that someone might think she wielded a degree of compulsion, though she didn’t carry a hint of magic.

  As the deal had come together, I also realized that Gran didn’t mind having a more public presence in Whistler herself, because some of Bryn’s investors turned out to be members of the local First Nations band. Specifically, the members that could also take on the forms of animals they had magically bonded with. Yep, the skinwalkers were interested in cupcakes, and in the jobs that came with opening a bakery.

  So while tradespeople had been hard to come by and a renovation that would have taken three months in Vancouver looked as though it was going to stretch beyond the six-month mark, apparently Bryn already had employees lined up. Plus she was renting one of the six apartments that came with the building.

  “It’ll be great, Jade,” Todd said earnestly, misreading my reflective mood as concern about the new bakery.

  “Oh, I know. Bryn has everything under control.”

  “Yeah, she’s good like that.” He downed the last of his espresso, placed his cup in the industrial dishwasher, and then sauntered over to retrieve his backpack with a bit more pep.

  I eyed the dishwasher, which I hadn’t tested yet that morning, even though I often washed mixing bowls as I used them so as to not create an impossibly large pile. The brownie, Blossom, was actively jealous of the machine. Sometimes I thought it was only professional pride that kept her from sabotaging it.

  Todd hung his backpack up in the office, then started filling the front display cases with the cupcakes I’d already finished.

  I glanced up at the clock, which indicated it was 9:16 a.m. It was going to be close.

  And I was going to have to seriously look into getting a part-time baker to replace Bryn sooner rather than later. Having her run from Whistler to Vancouver for weekend shifts had made sense early on. But apparently, the closer the renovation was to being finished, the more impossible that schedule
was going to become.

  In the end, Todd got us set up and open without my help, and I managed to get a dozen of each type of cupcake baked and iced in time to help him deal with the opening rush. Then, letting him deal with the fifth pumpkin-spice cupcake request of the morning, I slipped back into the kitchen to fill the gaps already appearing in the display case.

  Every bowl, tray, and dish had been cleaned and returned to its permanent location — including the few that had been in the dishwasher. The scent of lemon verbena lingered on almost every surface. I shook my head, laughing to myself. Blossom liked to lie in wait. Thankfully, none of my nonmagical employees had so far noticed my uncanny ability to clean the kitchen even as I was in the bakery serving customers. Apparently, the treasure keeper and the far seer didn’t make enough of a mess to keep the brownie occupied. Either that or she just liked the sweeter messes I made.

  I felt the wards shift as Gran entered the storefront, tasting intensely of her lilac witch magic. She must have already been casting that morning. Perhaps Burgundy had requested the reversal spell for the cemetery early.

  I was expecting her to check in with me, but Gran took a seat out front instead. Then the aforementioned junior witch with her green-watermelon magic arrived moments later. Now that I’d recognized the taste of Burgundy’s magic, I was less likely to miss it, even though Gran’s magic alone was enough to overwhelm it.

  I finished baking a second round of my bestselling Cozy in a Cup, Serenity in a Cup, and Bliss in a Cup right before the taste of red berries and bitter dark chocolate announced Kandy’s arrival at the back door. Without a word, the sweaty, green-haired werewolf darted past me and into the bakery, then returned with a Tart in a Cup. I doubted that Todd had even noticed the stealthy thievery.

  “Just because there’s blackberries in the cake doesn’t make it breakfast,” I said, referencing the cupcake she’d already eaten half of.

  “They’re in the frosting too,” Kandy said, hunkering down on the stool Kett had vacated on the other side of my workstation. “That counts as two servings of fruit. Plus, you’re one to talk.”

  I laughed. “You’ve been jogging?”

  Kandy huffed. “Checking the anchor points for Pearl.”

  “Every one?”

  “Yup.”

  Meaning Kandy had just come from jogging around the entire perimeter of Vancouver. I spent a moment trying to calculate how many miles the werewolf had covered … and then abandoned the attempt just as quickly. “That’s a lot of ground.”

  Kandy shrugged, accepting the Cozy in a Cup I slid toward her.

  “Banana,” I said. “Potassium. Plus dark chocolate. Both good for you.”

  She grunted in acknowledgement, barely getting the paper wrapper off the cupcake before destroying the banana-chocolate-chip cake topped with chocolate buttercream.

  My tummy rumbled. But before I could indulge in a cupcake for breakfast myself, my mother strode through the back door as if on a mission.

  Clad in a curve-hugging royal-blue wrap dress that fell to her calves, Scarlett was carrying herself stiffly, but the tightness in her shoulders softened as her gaze settled on me. Though who else she might have been expecting to find in the kitchen, I didn’t know. She smiled, reaching for me, then squeezing my elbow. My gloved hands were covered in various frostings. “Jade.”

  “Morning, Mom.”

  Scarlett’s strawberry-scented magic, perfectly matching the cascade of her strawberry-blond hair in volume and intensity, brushed against me. I instinctively stole a lick of residual she left behind, secreting it in my necklace.

  Yeah, I blamed my dragon half. Except I hoarded magic, not gold.

  Scarlett laughed as though I’d just done something delightful. If I’d been tense, I would have relaxed. That was my mother’s power — or at least that was how I reacted to the charm and charisma she wielded so effortlessly.

  “Good morning, Kandy,” Scarlett said. “How did the grid check out?”

  “Smells okay,” Kandy said, swallowing the remnants of what I was pretty sure was a third cupcake, based on the chocolate crumbs. “Each point slightly different. For each witch, I guess.”

  “And Jade’s anchor?”

  My mother’s question sounded entirely casual. But even as she said it, I could tell that it was front-loaded with some sort of importance — though pertaining to what, I had no idea.

  “Strong,” Kandy said.

  “Off-balancing the rest?”

  Kandy shrugged. “That’s not for me to say, is it?”

  Okay, something was going on that I wasn’t privy to.

  Scarlett frowned at the green-haired werewolf. Kandy avoided her displeased gaze by reaching toward the tray of unfrosted fudge cakes, which were waiting to be topped with peanut butter icing and thusly transformed into Bliss in a Cup.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  Scarlett’s shoulders stiffened again. “We’ll wait for your grandmother to discuss it.” She eyed Kandy. “I’d rather not go unheard. For the second time.”

  Ah, delightful. And here I’d thought everyone was just dropping by for a friendly visit. But battle lines had obviously been drawn sometime in the night. Possibly after the incident in the graveyard.

  “Gran is in the bakery,” I said.

  “It’s a conversation best had out of earshot,” Scarlett said.

  “Okay. Great.” I picked up two trays of frosted cupcakes. “I’ll finish these up and have Todd make you a cappuccino. Then I’ll get Gran.”

  “Thank you, darling.”

  Kandy flashed a toothy grin at me. “I’ll take a pumpkin-spice latte. Triple shot.”

  I curled my lip, playfully affronted. “I’m sure Starbucks would be happy to take your order. You’ll find one right across the street.”

  She chortled.

  Ironically, despite all my protests, Todd had been testing a recipe for the ubiquitous seasonal beverage. But there was no freaking way I was adding a pumpkin cupcake to my menu. Honestly, I’d never been a fan of pumpkin pie either.

  Two witches were standing hand in hand on the sidewalk beyond the French-paned front door of the bakery. Teeming with power, they were a study in complete opposites — light and dark, poised and untamed. Ice and fire. One of them could have walked through the wards without issue, but the other … well, if it wasn’t for the tenor of his magic, I would have taken him for a dark sorcerer on sight, interested in magical mayhem, not delectable cupcakes.

  I had tasted her magic when casting the grid the previous night.

  Nutmeg.

  Wisteria Fairchild. The reconstructionist.

  But I had yet to meet her forbidding companion in the long leather jacket and tinted sunglasses.

  I slid another tray of cupcakes into the display case, checked to confirm that Todd wasn’t frazzled by the short line at the cash, then smiled welcomingly at the witches.

  The ward magic shifted in response, and Wisteria tugged her reluctant, dark-haired companion forward and into the bakery. The taste of their magic intensified as they crossed the threshold.

  The reconstructionist’s nutmeg overtone almost overwhelmed the grassy base that all witches shared, which was unusual. But since I’d seen her last October, something must have occurred to intensify her magic — including the magical artifact she wore on her wrist. A platinum charm bracelet imbued by me with Kett’s power in order to give the witch some peace of mind when she had been obliged to work with the vampire. It was now resplendent with her own power … and more.

  I stepped around the glass display, accepting the hand she was already holding out to me. “Wisteria.”

  “Jade.”

  I stepped to the side so as not to block the doorway, though the morning rush had died down. “I felt you last night. In the casting. I’m pleased you dropped by.”

  “Ah,” her imposing companion said. “So that was you.”

  I glanced at him questioningly, but he didn’t clarify. His accent was odd.
Well, odd to my Canadian ear. Like a mixture of Southern-US drawl with a French undertone.

  Wisteria smoothed over the comment with introductions. “Declan Benoit, my …”

  “Fiance,” Declan said. He smirked at the reconstructionist’s hesitation.

  Wisteria laughed quietly. “Yes. Also … ah …”

  “Of the Fairchild coven.” Declan’s smirk disappeared, a little too quickly.

  “Congratulations.” Ignoring whatever was transpiring between them, I reached out to him, offering my hand. And kudos to him, he didn’t hesitate to shake it. His grip was firm but not too hard. Though it was doubtful I would have felt the difference.

  “Caramelized sugar … and fresh-baked, doughy bread straight from the oven,” I said. “What’s that? Bread pudding?”

  Wisteria laughed, quietly delighted. “And what cupcake would you recommend?”

  A true grin spread across my face. “If it was December, I’d say Vixen in a Cup. For the salted caramel icing.”

  “I don’t follow,” Declan said, dropping my hand.

  “Jade tastes magic,” Wisteria said. “And she believes that the Adepts who eat her cupcakes are … comforted by certain pairings that reflect that taste. Though I think there might be magic involved.”

  I shrugged carelessly. Whether or not the cupcakes I baked retained any magic was debatable. And since giving any sort of magic to the nonmagical was seriously frowned upon, we of the Godfrey coven made a point of not discussing it. By unspoken agreement.

  “Thank you for helping to anchor Gran’s grid,” I said.

  “We were honored to be asked.” Wisteria’s tone turned formal once again. “And to help celebrate your engagement.”

  They glanced at each other, again communicating something I was missing. Then I remembered.

  The Fairchild coven had lost three of its members fairly recently, including a highly skilled tech witch. Wisteria’s cousin, Jasmine Fairchild. She had died along with Wisteria’s aunt Rose, whose seat on the Convocation was still empty. It was an appointment that Gran not-so-secretly hoped an elder of the coven, rather than Wisteria herself, would fill. Apparently even my mother, at the tender age of forty-four, was considered a youthful rabble-rouser by the majority of the Convocation’s members. Gran’s words, not mine. So the reconstructionist, who was still in her late twenties, would probably be a shock to the strict — and honestly, antiquated — governing body.