Full Moons, Dunes & Macaroons: A Cozy Witch Mystery (Spells & Caramels Book 5)

by Erin Johnson

Another man scoffed and folded his thick arms across his thicker stomach. The firelight from the lanterns glittered off the many-pointed star medal at his collar and the various ribbons and medals on his shoulder. "Ov courze not. A lazy guart vas ashleep on za job and got heez buddiez to back heem up and say eet vas za fabled lion, returnt to bestow za armor on za next vorthy hero." He shook his head. "Anyvone who beliefs such rubbish ees oon fool. Oon regular zeef shtole eet, zat ees all."

  The young woman next to the older man in the black military uniform pressed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose.

  The turbaned man with the long beard narrowed his eyes. "I am not a fool and it is the truth. I am curator of the museum, and I saw the lion carry the armor out with my own eyes. Even if you doubt my sincerity, how do you explain the other witnesses, then? Or how anyone got past the protective spells?" He slammed a hand on the table and the cutlery rattled. Guess I wasn't the only hangry one.

  The older military man leaned forward and waggled his thick grey mustache. "Seemple. Eet vas oon shlimy schifter."

  A murmur went up and I bit my lip as I leaned back, trying to catch Sam's eye. Sam, my shifter friend, sat a few people over from me on my left. Annie, beside him, put an arm around his shoulders and gave him a little shake. Thank goodness for Annie, our den mother in the bakery. Sam faced daily discrimination because people who could turn to animals just seemed a little too similar to the monsters, like Tar that had at one time ravaged the kingdoms. Real monsters, not just legends.

  However, poor Sam, and other shifters like him, didn't deserve to be hated or feared…especially Sam. He was kind and gentle and had shocked everyone when he revealed he'd spent most of his life as a snake and only just recently learned to look and act human. It still showed, but I grinned at his neatly combed hair, plastered to his head, and his tucked-in shirt. He was getting the hang of this being human thing.

  The woman with the veil shook her head. "No, sir. It was not a shifter. There were specific spells at the museum to keep them out, anticipating just such a thing. No one can figure out how it happened."

  The older man with the medals shook his head, his cheeks glowing bright red. "Vell, eet ees not zuch a mystery to myselv. Zere are alvays veaknesses in security and in shpells."

  The man in the turban lifted a brow. "You seem confident in this matter."

  "I schoult be. I am ze varden of Carclaustra Prison."

  Murmurs and gasps sounded down the table, but the young blonde woman beside him stared down at her hands. She looked like she had a headache. I frowned. Carclaustra was where Pritney and Nate were being held for attempting to kill Hank, Shaday, and their families at the Summer Solstice Festival last year. It was the toughest maximum security prison in the kingdoms.

  "My goodness," said the man in the turban. He nodded. "You are the famous Bernhardt Beckham, I take it?"

  At my left, Yann grumbled, "Eenfamous ees more like eet."

  I frowned. Yann, the big teddy bear of a man who worked in the bakery with me, hardly ever uttered a negative word. This Bernhardt must have quite the reputation.

  "Then I bow to your expertise in this matter." The man in the turban ducked his head. "How come you to know our royalty? Or perhaps you are connected on the Water side?" He gestured a long hand towards the high table where Hank and Shaday and their families sat.

  Bernhardt clapped a hand on the back of the young woman beside him, which sent her lurching forward. "My daughter, Elke, ees za bosom buddy of za preencess Shaday."

  The blonde young woman, Elke, gave a small nod.

  "And off course, I vonce trained za Fire Keengdom military een za technique my security officer and I developt."

  Beside Elke, a pale man in a black uniform like Bernhardt's bowed his head. "Urs Volker. Pleased as to make your acquaintance."

  "Vee are shtayink een our own encampment here, een za desert," Bernhardt continued. His gray mustache twitched with every word. "Elke trusts herself een za palace, but not I." He held up his wine glass to a young woman, who moved her way down the table with wine bottles magically hovering beside her. She stiffened, then poured more red into his glass.

  "No," Bernhardt continued. "I have locked up too many feelthy lowlifes from zis kingdom to risk shtayink inside za valls of Calloon. Za vorst of za vorst have come from here." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Murdering schifters, dangerous terrorists—"

  I frowned. The servant who refilled his glass had grown still and her eyes larger and larger. As Bernhardt rattled off his list, her eyes flashed, she gritted her teeth, and she twitched her hand, ever so slightly. The magically hovering bottle shifted to the side, just a hair, but enough to miss the glass. Red wine spilled all over the tablecloth and soaked Bernhardt's uniform. He jumped back, as did those around him. Wool rose to assist, but the servant waved him off.

  "My apologies." She dipped her head, though her eyes still blazed with some deep emotion—anger, maybe?

  Bernhardt rose and threw his stained cloth napkin to the ground. "Vell. Za service ees not vat it ees een za Air Kingdom." He huffed.

  His daughter, Elke, held her hands over the tablecloth and dried the puddle of red wine. "It's all right," she said to the young woman who'd spilled. "It was just an accident."

  I frowned. It hadn't looked like an accident to me. Maybe she hadn't appreciated Bernhardt's insulting comments toward her people?

  The servant bowed and moved away.

  "Hmpf. Vell, at least my tent ees nearby. I shall change, and then return." He bowed and stomped off through the sand toward the many tents that formed a camp in the desert valley between the city and the volcano.

  As that end of the table gradually resumed their conversation, I turned back to Wool. He raised a dark brow and lowered his voice. "It was an eagle."

  Maple giggled, which seemed to startle her, because she pressed a hand over her mouth and stifled it. A loud sigh came from Wiley on her other side, and Wool frowned at him. I thought quick to come up with some topic that would be a distraction from the love triangle next to me. Maple had been stressing for weeks, months really. Not only were we to make the cake for Hank and Shaday's wedding, our biggest event to date, but starting tomorrow we'd be working alongside the Fire Kingdom bakers, including Maple's crush, Wool. Only problem was, she and Wiley had a thing going too, and yet she still found the room to worry for me and my feelings about the wedding. The girl was about to have a meltdown.

  "Uh… so, I think I understand the legend. But what was that about my snarky little fire being a Damavash flame?"

  Wool's face softened. "The Fire Kingdom produces the best fires, it's well known, and the best of the best come from the Damavash Volcano."

  "Hmph." Iggy gave a proud sniff.

  "We work with them and train them to be dance fires, hearth fires, battle fires, and cooking and baking fires, like Iggy.

  "Wow." I cocked my head to the side. "So, you're from the Fire Kingdom."

  "Yeah, where'd you think I was from?" Iggy opened his eyes wide.

  "Uh…." To be honest I hadn't considered it before. My heart sunk a little. I guess that made me a pretty bad friend. "I just assumed the Water Kingdom."

  "Well you assumed wrong." Iggy folded his arms.

  "Attention!"

  I looked up. Behind Wool, Amelia stood, her dark, slender arms lifted with her white gauzy dress blowing lazily around her in the breeze. "We will continue the toasts momentarily, after dinner is served."

  A collective sigh rose up among the guests.

  "Thank the sea goddess," I muttered. I was getting good at using Water Kingdom sayings. I nudged Maple and she chuckled, then nodded that yes, she'd noticed.

  A magical line of floating dishes snaked its way into the tent. From under the golden covers the scents of juicy lamb, savory spices, and perfumed rice wafted out. I had to gulp to keep from drooling all over the table. And just as the dishes stopped in front of us and the lids began to lift on their own, a tall, beefy young man stro
de to the center of the tables and stood before the royalty. The lids on the food dishes clattered shut again and I bit my lip to keep from screaming.

  He squared his shoulders and stood with his legs wide. "I have something to say."

  2

  Ario Grande

  The tall, beefy man planted himself in front of the royal table like he owned it and glared at Shaday's father, King Benam. His mane of long black hair flowed over his broad shoulders.

  I spoke in Maple's ear. "Middle Eastern Fabio?"

  She shrugged back, an apologetic smile on her face. Right. Human thing. The muscles on top of muscles thing wasn't my type, but many women would probably call him handsome. I gasped as I thought of something. "Maple, do you think this could be Shaday's secret lover?"

  She cocked her head to the side. "Maybe."

  My stomach turned with nerves—was he about to profess his love and make a scene? Maybe they'd call the wedding off. I frowned as I caught myself and shook my head. No. I couldn't even think like that. No point getting my hopes up. Not that I had any hopes. I had reached the acceptance phase of grief, and had no hopes, I reminded myself. Right.

  Amelia approached him. "Sir, we would be happy to hear your toast, but we'd hate for our esteemed guests to be distracted by their hunger and miss out on anything you have to say, so perhaps…." She gestured to his seat.

  Way to go being diplomatic, Amelia. I licked my lips as I eyed the platters of food hovering just out of reach.

  He glared at her, his thick black eyebrows hanging low over his small dark eyes. "Do you know who I am?"

  Amelia opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off.

  "I am Ario Tuk, Prince of the Reydeen, fiercest of the Fire Kingdom tribes." He pounded a fist to his chest, a thick pelt of hair revealed by the plunging neckline on his robes.

  "I'm still going to call him Fabio in my head," I muttered.

  "No one knows what you're talking about." Iggy rolled his eyes.

  Amelia cast a glance at Shaday, whose expression stayed as placid as ever, but her dark eyes blazed. Amelia stepped closer to Ario and attempted to usher him back to his seat with her arms outstretched. "Well, Ario, we're honored to have you join us, but if you'll just wait a moment for dinner to be served—"

  Ario pushed past her toward the royal table, shoulder checking her on the way. Amelia stumbled back.

  "Hey!" Wiley pushed back from the table, but Maple put a hand on his arm and shook her head.

  "We're not at home," she hissed.

  Wiley huffed and slowly lowered, his eyes blazing at Ario, who hadn't even noticed.

  I balled my hands into fists. My palms burned where my nails dug into them. "I say let Wiley pummel him."

  Maple raised her brows at me and leaned close to whisper in my ear. "Look at his arms! They're as big around as Wiley's waist. You tell me who'd do the pummeling." She glared at Ario. "Though he deserves to be taught a thing or two about manners."

  She was right, of course. The man was massive… and rude.

  Ario swept into a shallow bow, though he kept his smirking face lifted to the king's. He straightened and sniffed. "King Benam, on behalf of the Reydeen Tribe, we wish to express our thanks for your invitation to your daughter's wedding. Though, of course, we had hoped we might be sitting there beside you, with one of our own as the groom in place of this pale foreigner." He sneered in Hank's direction.

  Surprised murmurs echoed from the guests.

  I gritted my teeth. "That's my pale foreigner you're talking about."

  Behind Hank, Francis hissed and bared his teeth like a cat.

  "Mmm." I glanced down the row at Rhonda. She fanned herself. "I love it when he does that."

  Shaday lifted her chin. "Ario. You presented your suit, and I declined it. Several times. Show some good grace and return to your seat."

  Oh shoot, Shaday. Her father, a thin man with a long white beard, cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.

  Ario's full lips curled and he addressed the king. "One of your women is speaking out of turn. All the more evidence that you should have married her to someone like me, who would have kept her in check with a strong hand." He glared at Shaday. "If you'd chosen me you could have been a queen."

  My jaw dropped. What a jerk.

  Hank cleared his throat and stood. "I won't deny that I am both in need of a tan and am in many ways woefully ignorant of your culture. That’s something I hope Shaday's influence will help to remedy. However, I am not so ignorant as to think that a woman speaking on her own behalf is out of turn. What is out of turn, is interrupting someone else's engagement feast by forcefully shoving oneself between hundreds of guests and their delicious-smelling food."

  "Here here," Annie muttered.

  Ario glared at Hank, and though Hank kept his smile pleasant, his eyes burned.

  Shaday called a guard over to her, whispered something to him behind her hand, and he left. In moments, several other guards appeared at Ario's sides. He shrugged them away, but was escorted back to his seat.

  Amelia huffed, smoothed her dress, and then stood again in the center of the square. "Finally, dinner is served."

  Guests clapped their appreciation as silver and gold lids floated off platters and dishes. I groaned in happiness as I lifted a flat oval of naan smothered in garlic and butter. I ripped Maple half and put it on her plate, then reached for some rice.

  But as I looked up, I glanced toward the royal table. I'd really been trying not to, but like a train wreck, I couldn't look away. Shaday leaned over to Hank and whispered something. I cocked my head. What had she said? He smiled warmly at her, his blue eyes glittering. I frowned. She leaned over and pressed her lips to his cheek. My heartbeat thundered in my ears and chills crept up my neck. His hand slid across the tablecloth and covered hers.

  CRACK!

  Hank's eyes lifted to mine as the sharp noise of splintering glass split the air. His eyes widened and he pulled back his hand. I jerked back as my champagne flute split and glass fell onto my plate. My chest heaved. I'd done that. I hadn't meant to, but I'd shattered that glass out of anger and surprise and hurt. Maple turned to me with wide eyes.

  "Ooh my," Yann muttered.

  Before anyone could say anything else, I pushed back from the low table, unfolded my aching legs, and stood. I threw down my silk napkin and muttered, "I have to use the restroom," to no one in particular, then stalked off before anyone could stop me.

  My hands trembled at my sides. I didn't dare to look back at Hank to check his reaction, but I wondered if he'd come after me. I sighed, disgusted with myself. At his own wedding feast? Nope, he wasn't coming after me, because he belonged at his fiancée’s side, and I belonged—well, pretty much anywhere but at that table. I stomped away from the low tables, the bustling wait staff, and the billowing gauzy fabric that formed a loose canopy above the feast. My feet sank into the sand of the desert and I wrapped my arms around my bare arms, goose bumps prickling my skin. Musicians had begun to perform, and the high trilling notes of a flute floated across the cool breeze, growing quieter as I stomped away. I glanced back and caught sight of several fire dancers sweeping into the space between the tables. They held flames in their palms and their skirts trailed behind them. I huffed. Did everything here have to be so exotic and perfect?

  I knew Hank was marrying Shaday, so why was I so upset? I let out a shaky exhale. It had been that kiss on the cheek, the touch of the hand. Those were intimate things. Things you did with someone you liked and cared about. Even if he didn't love her, and she didn't love him, they had affection for each other. And with marriage and time together, that might deepen into something more. Something that left no room for me.

  I skirted a peaked teal tent with gold trim, and once I stood out of sight of guests and wait staff, buried my face in my hands. I'm fine, I'm fine with this, I knew it was coming, we're all adults, it's just a formality. It had almost become a mantra, I'd told myself these words so many times over the last few
months. I should have had them printed on an inspirational poster and hung it on the wall of my room in the palace.

  I forced my shallow breaths to come a little deeper, but my lungs felt tight and my heart pounded. On the airship over, Wiley had told me he'd been reading self-help books to better himself. I translated that as being “to have a chance with Maple,” but whatever his motivation, it was commendable. He'd told me about a relaxation technique that focused on noticing the sounds, smells, and sensations around you to "ground yourself." As we were hundreds of feet above the ground at the time, and my anxiety at that moment stemmed from floating through the air in a giant balloon, noticing my surroundings hadn't been the most helpful.

  I pressed a hand to my aching chest and gulped. Now might be a good time to try it though, since my feet were planted firmly in the warm desert sand.

  I closed my eyes and listened. The haunting, reedy flute music filled the night air, with the murmur of conversation and the clinks of cutlery from the feast humming below it. I listened more. Next came water, lapping water, from the small oasis dotted with palms nearby, where camels grunted and slurped water. I let out a shaky breath and relaxed a little. The desert breeze blew curled tendrils of my hair across my nape and sent the tents flapping.

  "Vee both know sees eesn't za real reason you vant to schpeak vis mee."

  My eyes flew open. I knew that voice. It belonged to Bernhardt Beckham, the warden of Carclaustra.

  "You're delusional."

  I bit my lip. I didn't recognize the woman's voice. I crept forward; the soft sand beneath my sandaled feet kept my steps quiet. I peered around the side of the tent.

  In front of another tent that glowed from within stood Bernhardt Beckham, the warden of infamous Carclaustra prison, speaking with a dark-haired woman. I crept closer, still hidden behind the fabric of the tent. Bernhardt buttoned a black jacket trimmed in silver—he must've have changed after that waitress spilled on him. He refastened the star medal at his collar.

  "Come now, Maddie—"