Full Moons, Dunes & Macaroons_A Cozy Witch Mystery

by Erin Johnson

  She passed one of the gloves back to Shaday. "See, I tried smaller holes, but more of them, to hold the enchanted oil. That, plus the spells, allows you to hold the fire for longer without getting burned. You wouldn't have lasted more than a minute without the gloves."

  Shaday grinned up at Elke. "You're a genius, you brilliant inventor, you."

  Elke blushed and lifted her chin. "I am, aren't I."

  Shaday turned her head and huffed. "I just kept picturing pummeling Ario's face the whole time." She punched the air.

  Elke's mouth quirked to the side. "I don't blame you. You'd take him down, too."

  "I know I would." Shaday frowned. "I'm firstborn and I could defeat Ario or any of his tribe in a fight, which is all they seem to care about in a leader—who can punch the hardest." She rolled her eyes. "I should be queen." She spoke quieter. "I should be able to marry who I like."

  Elke nodded and stroked Shaday's head. "Agreed."

  "This city is crumbling. We need to rebuild, encourage innovation." Her hands fluttered as she talked, her head still in Elke's lap. "But my father's old and tired and he lets Ario and the other tribe leaders bully him into enforcing their backwards laws."

  Elke nodded. "Stupid tribes."

  Shaday sighed. "No. They just represent the people. If my father went against the tribes, we'd have no one to lead. They’d all defect and form their own government." She set her jaw.

  "Hey." Elke leaned down and brought her elf-like face down to hover above Shaday's. "Things are changing. Calloon's got some underground movements going, your people want change."

  Shaday sniffed. "By the time they come above ground I'll be an old lady."

  Elke crinkled her large, pointed nose that curved up at the end. "Aw. You'll be so cute with all your wrinkles."

  Shaday folded her arms across her chest. "I'll look exactly like my mother."

  A door at the top of some stairs behind them flew open and a plump older woman in a dark red headscarf burst in. She sighed loudly. "I should have known I'd find you here. A princess hiding in a storage closet?" She shook her head and clicked her tongue. "You need to leave before your mother catches you and has you skinned. Or worse, has me skinned."

  Shaday skittered to a sitting position and she and Elke turned to face the woman.

  "Sorry, Muma." Shaday's brows rose. "Is my mother looking for me?"

  Elke stood, then helped Shaday to her feet.

  "No." Muma's face softened and she smoothed her apron, her eyes downcast. "No, but I was. I—I'm afraid the police need to have a word with you."

  "Oh no—Muma, what is it?" Shaday moved toward the stairs, her brows drawn together.

  The servant shook her head. "Not you, my princess. I am afraid it's Elke they need to speak with."

  Elke slid past Shaday and climbed several steps, standing just below the servant. "Why?"

  Muma shook her head. "This would be better coming from someone else."

  Elke tugged her blonde brows together. "No, please tell me." She blinked her big blue eyes and I had the very uncomfortable sensation that again, I was intruding and should leave. I backed up, reaching behind me for the rug, but not before Muma spoke again.

  "It's your father, dear. He was found dead in his tent, just now. The police suspect murder. I am so sorry to tell you this." She wrung her apron between her hands.

  Elke slumped and Shaday caught her against her chest. "Thank you, Muma. I'll stay with Elke for now." She took a deep breath. "We'll find the officers in a few moments."

  The servant nodded. "They're waiting in the parlor." She turned, cast one last worried glance over her shoulder, and then shut the door behind her.

  I pressed a hand to my mouth and my stomach twisted. How awful; poor Elke.

  Quiet sobs broke the near silence and I hesitated, afraid my exit would make noise and add worry to her grief.

  "I am so sorry, so sorry." Shaday spoke into Elke's hair.

  The blonde girl lifted her red face and shook her head. "You know how I felt about him." She sniffed. "I'm—I'm more upset with myself than anything, I think."

  Shaday frowned. "Why?"

  "Because—because my first feeling was relief." She sobbed again. "I'm a horrible daughter."

  "No. He was a difficult man and you are a wonderful everything." Shaday hugged Elke tighter as she buried her face in the princess's shoulder. I held my breath and edged out of the room, slipping out from behind the heavy rug.

  5

  Big Brother

  After I'd wandered the riad for another half an hour, I finally ran into a servant and asked for directions. With his help, I found my way out of the palace and out into the sunshine. The riad faced the main square of the city, with its market booths and shops, so once I'd found my way out of the palace, getting to the wares was relatively easy. I patted my pocket to make sure I still had Maple's list, then made my way across the bustling square.

  I moved to a side street and strolled down a twisting corridor lined with tall wooden doors that were reinforced with black iron braces. A slatted roof cast alternating bars of sunlight and shade across the heads of my fellow shoppers, crammed in tight around me. We moved forward as a pack.

  Merchants called out prices and beckoned me to view their wares, which ranged from woven hats to colorful scarves to dangling star-shaped lamps that glinted with multicolored jewels. Posters with peeling edges plastered every open wall space. One touted a reward for information on the armor stolen from the Royal Artifacts Museum. Someone had graffitied the image of a yellow lion over it.

  I jumped as I shuffled past another—a wanted poster for Horace, the words in another language, but the image unmistakably his. Others had moving images of men turning into bears with X's through them. I couldn't read the words but I frowned. The message was clearly anti-shifter. I was beginning to see what Shaday had meant by backward laws.

  I stopped in front of a food stand. Fruits and spices lay piled in baskets atop the table in a way that reminded me of the colorful tiles that seemed to decorate every floor, wall, and ceiling in Calloon. I bought a bag of spiced pistachios. I moved on and tried samples of flaky pastries with crunchy nut fillings and slices of tart fruits. I purchased a silk bag and piled it full of items from Maple's list—a jar of chickpea flour, a bag of dates, walnuts, and saffron. I was sure Wool already had all of these items, but it was just like Maple to not want to impose and use up his supply. My enchanted quill crossed items off until only a flask of argan oil remained. I leaned against a wall smothered in posters and let the mass of other shoppers pass by me. Women strode by with their dark hair wrapped in colorful scarves, while their children skipped beside them and tugged at their hands. Two men working neighboring stands pulled stools up and sat down together to share a drink of something from frosted glasses. I swallowed, and my parched throat burned. Maybe I'd try a glass of the famed mint tea if I spotted a little cafe. I bit my lip, wondering where one might find argan oil, and debated if I should ask for directions. I sighed. This would be a lot more fun with Maple, or Iggy, or Hank.

  As I missed my friends, I absentmindedly watched the crowd passing by. I startled when I locked eyes with another—a man who stood in the center of the corridor staring at me. The shoppers flowed around him like an island in a river. Chills crept up the back of my neck. I didn't recognize him, and yet something about his expression—the half-closed eyes, the confident smirk—seemed familiar. With his brimmed hat, button-up shirt, and leather messenger bag brimming with rolls of papers, he reminded me of Indiana Jones. Perhaps he was an archaeologist? But as I stared, his face changed, just for a flash and I saw my brother, Horace.

  Mixed emotions raced through me and my breath quickened. Strangers passed between us and cut me off from him. I stepped back into the crowd, shouldering my way toward him. I'd been trying for months to think of a way to contact him and now he showed up here, in the Fire Kingdom? A man grumbled at me in another language as he slammed into my side, but I ignored h
im and rose up on my toes, trying to see over the scarved heads of the crowd. I couldn't lose him, not now. The crowd thinned and I reached the place where he'd stood, but he'd already gone. My heart sunk heavy in my chest and I looked left, then right, panicked. Where had he gone? Had I imagined it again, like at the feast last night? Or had he really been there?

  The crowd parted for a just a few moments, long enough for me to spot my brother, wearing the stranger's face as a disguise again. He'd slipped down an arched alleyway, darker and quieter than the main thoroughfare. He gave a slight jerk of his head, motioning for me to follow, then turned and strode away. Adrenaline flooded through me and set my whole body tingling. Finally. I was finally going to meet my brother and get some answers. I pushed through the crowd and didn't care when I stumbled, or when a woman with three children shook her fist at me. I mumbled my apologies, but never took my eyes off Horace.

  I reached the arched entryway to the winding alley, dotted with doors and crates and skittering mice. The temperature dropped as I entered, due to the solid roof that shaded the space. The echoes of my brother's footsteps on the paved ground mingled with mine, as I jogged forward, Horace always staying just barely visible around the next bend. Maple's concerns floated back to me. If he wanted to hurt me, he'd gotten me alone down a dark alley. No one knew where I was and I'd gone far enough from the marketplace that I was out of sight, and probably out of hearing if I screamed… if anyone even heard me over the clamor of the crowd and the yelling merchants. Goose bumps prickled my arms despite the heat of the desert day. Feeling less confident, I rounded a bend in time to catch sight of the heel of Horace's boot behind an open wooden door. It slammed shut behind him.

  I stopped and considered my options. Option A, I could enter this back alley door to meet with my brother, who was known for being an international terrorist. Not sounding all that smart. Or option B, I could turn back and rejoin my friends in the safety of the riad. I sighed. Over the last few months, I'd tried talking with Hank and Maple about my curiosity about Horace. The more I thought about it, the more I felt there must be some kind of mistake. He couldn't be as bad as the rumors said he was if he'd been as kind and brave as Junie claimed he was as a child. Maybe he was some kind of Robin Hood, trying to expose a government cover-up to help out the little guy and had a bad rap because of negative propaganda. When I brought that up, Hank always came back to Horace trying to hurt me during the Summer Sea Carnival. I'd argued that he just wanted to talk, but Hank said, "You don't have to kidnap people to talk to them." I looked at the door and sighed. I knew what Hank and my friends would tell me to do. But if I listened to them and ran away, I'd never know what Horace wanted to tell me.

  I bit my lip so hard it ached and looked left, toward the marketplace, then right toward the door Horace had disappeared through. I took a shaky breath, held it for the count of four, then let it out slowly, like Wool had taught Wiley and me. I nodded to myself, my mind made up. Red pill it was. I moved right, gripped the twisted iron handle of the unmarked door, and yanked it open. Time to see how deep the rabbit hole went.

  6

  Cantina

  I stepped into a dark space and blinked in an attempt to adjust my eyes. I stepped forward, my hands out in front of me. My stomach lurched as my foot passed through empty air and slid down several steps before I landed hard on my backside.

  "Ow."

  I had to stop doing that. As my eyes adjusted, I realized I'd slipped down a narrow staircase covered in black tiles. I pushed myself to my feet, my hip aching even worse now after my earlier fall through the hanging rug in the riad. I braced a hand against a wall to steady myself, but immediately pulled it away from the sticky surface and curled my lip in disgust. Gross. A warbly woman's voice singing with lackluster emotion floated up to me and I slowly descended the remaining few steps into a cantina. I was only about average height, by no means tall, and yet my head nearly reached the low ceiling braced with beams and exposed pipes. Without windows, the only light came from a few dusty lanterns that hung over the long bar and above a few tables, casting dim pools of light in the haze.

  A man stood behind the bar and stacked dirty glasses. He looked up at me and narrowed his eyes. Friendly place. But, being sunken and dark, it was at least cooler than outside. I rubbed my bare arms and wished for a sweater… and not just for the cold. Disheveled men sat huddled around the tables and at the bar, hovering just outside the pools of light in clouds of hookah smoke, as though they had their own weather systems. Dark eyes flicked my way and stayed for too long. I gulped and stepped deeper into the cantina, scanning for Horace. I spotted the singer, a droopy woman propped in the corner with an entire bottle of wine clutched in her hands. She looked like part of the decor, like one of the many broken, dusty items piled onto the shelves behind the bar, or the graffiti scrawled across every inch of wall.

  "Pretty girl for a place like this."

  I jumped at the raspy voice and turned to find a tall, oily man leering over me.

  I swallowed. "Horace?" My voice came out smaller than I liked.

  He leaned closer, his breath reeking of alcohol and sweet tobacco. "That your boyfriend?"

  I'd take that as a no. I stepped away and scanned the cantina, looking for Horace, but the man edged closer. He held out a bottle of beer. "Have a drink."

  My eyes slid to the bottle, then up at the hairy man with the red-rimmed eyes. That drink was definitely spelled, not that I would have tried any of it anyway. "No thanks." I gulped. "I'm meeting someone."

  I moved away from him, but he darted in front of me and blocked my path. "Don't be rude." His upper lip curled back and his hand slid to the large knife at his belt. Great. My stomach turned with unease and with the cloying smell of sweet hookah smoke trapped in this windowless dungeon.

  "Ahh!" The man screamed as the bottle in his hand shattered and foaming beer poured to the floor. I jumped back and stared at the puddle as the golden liquid turned pink. My breath quickened as I tried to understand what was happening. The man screamed again and clutched at his hand, which curled in a tight fist around the broken shards of the bottle, blood falling to the ground to mix with the spilled beer. A few patrons looked up and the bartender grumbled to himself, but no one moved to help.

  "You were very rude to my sister."

  My breath caught. I turned to my right and found Horace beside me, wearing his disguise. His eyes were hard as he stared at the cringing man. "Apologize."

  The man hissed something at Horace in a language I didn't understand and then convulsed in pain as his hand tightened around the shards with a sickening crunch.

  "What did you say?" Horace's voice came out low, but deadly.

  The man panted and winced. "I—I'm sorry."

  "Say it to her." Horace tipped his head at me.

  The man whined, but turned to me. "I'm sorry." His hand flew open and I gasped. Shards of glass stayed embedded in his blood-smeared palm.

  "Leave."

  Trembling, the man scuttled past us without a moment's hesitation and flew up the steps. Light flooded the black stairs before fading as the door slammed shut.

  Horace sighed and turned to me. "I'm afraid we've gotten off to a difficult start. I hope that didn't alarm you too much." His deep-set eyes searched my face. "I expect you're quite afraid of me." He let his disguise drop and revealed his true face.

  I let out a shaky breath. It was true, it had been a frightening display of power. And yet I felt grateful that Horace had intervened. Grateful, in fact, for all Horace had done for me, including saving me when I was a baby and he was just a little boy himself. I hated that he'd think me afraid of him.

  I eased closer to him, gaging his reaction. I really didn't think he intended to hurt me… but I could be wrong. And yet, I'd gone my whole life thinking I was all alone and here I had my brother standing before me. I didn't know if I'd get this chance again. I took a deep breath, held it, and threw my arms around him.

  "Thank you. Thank
you for always protecting me."

  He stiffened, but I held on tight and after a moment pulled back.

  "Not a big hugger, huh?" I grinned and he stared at me with the same laconic expression as in his wanted posters. I searched his face for any resemblance to me and wondered if he looked more like our mother or our father? I didn't remember either one. He gave me a slow blink, his lids hanging low over his pale blue eyes. He looked bored. Maybe I was boring. A muscle jumped in his sharp jaw. I had full cheeks, so no similarity there. Even his upturned nose was different, as mine curved slightly down at the end. I sighed.

  He lifted a brow, though the rest of his expression remained unmovable. "Not what you expected?"

  My lips quirked to the side and I shook my head. "It's not that. I just—I wish I saw more of myself in you." I shrugged and pulled my lips into a half-hearted smile. "It's silly, I know. I just, well, I don't remember our parents and it'd be nice to see some resemblance." I forced a chuckle. "I wish I'd inherited those cheekbones."

  His full lips quirked to the side and I beamed. I should not be so happy at making him almost smile… but I was.

  He jerked his head behind him. "C'mon. I have a table for us. This is a conversation to be had in private."

  I followed, happy to get out of sight of the other patrons, who'd watched the incident with the bottle all too closely. He gestured to a booth in an alcove by itself. I slid into the torn green leather seat. He followed, sitting across from me, and placed his bag of scrolls beside him. He'd really gone all out for that archaeologist disguise.

  "It won't be long before someone recognizes me from the posters and alerts the authorities." He gave a lazy shrug. "There's quite a bounty on my head."

  I gulped and looked around. "Shouldn't we go then?" I frowned. "Why did you drop the disguise?"

  He blinked, slowly. "I wanted to see your reaction, see if I could trust you." He laced his hands together. "You panicked last time we spoke."