Cupcakes, Trinkets, and Other Deadly Magic

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  I nodded and steeled myself to step by her. She leaned in just a little, to smell me as I passed. I turned the door handle in my hand.

  “No key. Nice,” she said. “I’ll be back. I need food. Don’t go anywhere without me.”

  Then she was gone. Just to prove to myself she hadn’t vanished into thin air, I leaned back to peer around the dumpster. She was at the mouth of the alley. Fast, but not impossibly so … if you measured everything in magical scale, as I was apparently having to do now. I was beginning to wonder at my own willful ignorance. Why had I never bothered to learn all the things now bouncing around in my head? The information of Compendium had always been readily available. I knew Gran sheltered me in a way, but I’d always thought it was because of my mother’s long periods of absence. And because I was mostly a magical dud except for the dowsing ability.

  ∞

  I didn’t bother showering as I was late enough already. I did text Sienna as soon as I’d gotten my hair tied up and my apron on. My sister wouldn’t be at all happy with a six in the morning text if it woke her, but, seeing as how I was being stalked by werewolves and vampires, I needed some familial circling of the wagons. If Gran was out of town, and I didn’t want to call my mother — who would think it was all fun and games anyway — then Sienna was third best. Not that I suspected her binding magic worked well enough to even slow down a werewolf or a vamp, I just preferred to have her near.

  I didn’t get an immediate response from the text, but I didn’t expect one.

  I checked the stock list, cursed when I noted we were pretty much out of everything from yesterday, and then set up to bake the minimum amounts necessary. While I waited for the eggs and butter to reach room temperature, or at least warm a bit, I melted chocolate and measured flour and buttermilk. I decided that today’s customers could do without one of my more complicated cupcakes, Sin in a Cup — a spice cake topped with mocha butter icing. But then, found some leftover batter in the fridge and decided to give them a go with that.

  I quickly fell into the peaceful rhythm of baking, my hands moving and mixing while my mind and eyes were on the next ingredient. I was a particular fan of icing, sometimes piling it high enough to double the height of the cupcake. My grandmother often dropped in when I was baking — as I still did five out of seven days a week. She said watching me bake was like watching an adept witch work a spell. Flattery will get you treats from me every time.

  By the time Todd arrived to prep for opening, I had three-quarters of the list completed and the other quarter in the oven. I was efficient under time pressure. Todd’s curly dark hair was flattened on one side and his neck sported at least three shaving cuts. He looked as if he’d had as little sleep as I had — that’s college life for you — as he immediately started brewing coffee. Normally I’d caution him from making it too early, but by the shadows underneath his blurry eyes, I figured he’d go through the first pot before opening. I’d been debating investing in one of those single-cup brew machines, maybe a gently-used Clover brewing system, but didn’t think I could float it until next month. I sourced the beans from a local roaster.

  Seeing as I had extra egg whites sitting at room temperature, I decided to bake my gluten-free chewy chocolate cookies. They were easy to make, though it had taken me weeks to identify and source just the right chocolate — a 75 percent single origin from Tanzania. I had to charge five dollars a cookie just to break even, so they weren’t a regular menu item.

  The trinkets by the front door tinkled — Todd had left the pass through to the kitchen open — and I looked up to realize it was already eleven o’clock. By the sounds of Todd’s greetings, there was a line up at the door. I should have been out front myself, but I suddenly felt utterly weary. Thoughts of red eyes and sharp teeth — not that I’d laid my eyes on any actual sharp teeth yet — filtered into the peaceful place I’d cocooned myself in for the last five hours. I felt a curl of fear settle back into my belly.

  I glanced at my phone even though I knew Sienna hadn’t returned my text yet — she probably wouldn’t until after two in the afternoon or later. Then I smoothed my hair to shake off the fear and weariness, and stepped into the bakery to help Todd with the opening rush.

  ∞

  Tima, the perky high school student who only worked Sunday afternoons, showed up for her shift fifteen minutes early. Which, according to her grumbling, was the only way she could score a ride from her big brother. She lived all of ten minutes away and had forgotten her lip gloss. She had to borrow one of mine, but who was I to complain?

  I raced up to the apartment, executed a wickedly quick change of clothing, and was heading a block down the street with my yoga mat underneath one arm, five minutes before class. I made it to the studio without vampire intervention. I’d kept an eye out for him all morning. Either the vampire was engaged elsewhere or the Compendium had been correct about their dislike of the early morning.

  The green-haired werewolf joined me in the change room, tossing flip-flops into the cubby next to mine. I wondered if she’d stolen the new-looking mat she was carrying, though it was practically the color of her hair, which might have required some forethought, so maybe not. She was wearing short, tight Lycra shorts and a tank top. The diameter of her waist matched that of my upper thigh. I wasn’t the only one who noticed — the change room was co-ed.

  Beyond noticing that she didn’t make any noise while walking alongside me, I attempted to ignore her, as I crossed to the far side of the large classroom. I rolled my mat out over the one the yoga studio provided, then wandered over to the equipment area to grab a belt and a foam block. The wolf didn’t follow, choosing instead to fold her toned, trim frame into a perfect lotus position on the mat next to mine.

  I settled down onto my foam block as the teacher entered the classroom. About thirty or so people filled out the class. The green-haired wolf had eyed them all as they filtered in. Unsurprisingly, no one had chosen to sit next to either of us.

  I closed my eyes and tried to pull my hyper-awareness of everything in the room deep into myself. I was going to stretch, and move, and refresh my body. The werewolf wasn’t going to rip my throat open in the middle of a hatha class. A power class might have been touch and go, though …

  The door, which the teacher had closed as she’d joined the class, opened as someone entered. I heard nothing except some odd murmurs that sounded like involuntary appreciation as whoever this was crossed the classroom and settled in beside me.

  I didn’t open my eyes until I felt his magic hit me. It was softer, tamer than last night, but unmistakable. Hudson.

  I twisted my head toward him in disbelief. He flashed me a grin, and as the teacher called us to our feet to begin the first sequence, I caught sight of the reason for all the appreciative murmurs. Hudson, who’d chosen to wear thankfully loose jersey shorts and no shirt to class, was the most perfect male specimen I’d ever seen outside of a magazine. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, well muscled … you name it, he had it.

  We moved forward into a front bend at the teacher’s cue, which forced me to tear my eyes from Hudson’s impressive chest. Out of the corner of my eye, as I hung my head upside down, I watched him spread his long fingers palm down on the mat by his feet. He reached easily ten inches across — with each hand — and I desperately tried to block the image of those hands across twenty inches of my body. I tore my eyes away a second time — I shouldn’t have been cranking my head at that angle anyway — and carefully studied my prettily pedicured toenails. The polish, Chocolate Moose by OPI, matched that on my fingernails, though they were French manicured.

  The teacher cued us to move through and into our downward dog position and “just breathe.” I tried … really … but doing yoga was already a challenging practice of patience for me. Being stuck between two werewolves was seriously distracting.

  They moved smoothly, effortlessly from pose to pose. They didn’t slowly move deeper into any one position; they simp
ly articulated the most advanced version of each position perfectly at first try. As I ‘walked’ to the front of my mat to restart the sequence, they leaped. Their footfalls made no sound. Forward bends for me turned into handstands for them. They executed their side planks on one leg; I had a hard time lifting off my knee.

  My shoulders and wrists screamed at me, as they always did by this point. Why did I do this to myself? It was a question I asked every class, but the werewolves’ presence made this session intensely worse.

  And then, gradually, as I tried to not notice the tiny beads of sweat accumulating in the small of Hudson’s back, I relaxed further into the poses. My muscles loosened and my mind eased. By the time we rolled down into our final resting pose, the corpse pose — the wolves on either side in perfect unison with me — I was happy I’d taken the class, and not even remotely worried about the werewolves stalking me. I was quite sure wolves didn’t do yoga with someone they were planning to maim.

  Ten minutes later, I rolled to my side to find Hudson unabashedly watching me. The teacher’s hands fluttered to her chest to bid us, “Namaste.” She seemed more revved up by Hudson than she was by having taught the class. I wondered if he’d been staring at me like that for some time.

  As I stepped back to roll up my mat, Hudson leaned across to whisper in my ear. “And I thought you were beautiful last night, all done up and underneath the lights. I see I was too quick to judge. I’ll take your cheeks naturally pink and your body relaxed after a yoga class any day, all day.”

  I laughed, softly, as I straightened to tuck my rolled mat against my hip. I’d placed my blade, still concealed in its invisible sheath, at the top edge of my mat but I felt no need for it now. Who knew that wolves liked to flirt so? The Compendium had indicated they were separatists by nature, preferring the company of their own kind and rarely cooperating with others, especially witches. But then, some books don’t age well, and the witches’ bias was pretty clear even to someone as ill read as I was.

  “So what do we do after yoga class?” Hudson asked, the energy practically sparking off his skin. I figured wolves would probably find more use in a kick boxing class — or three — than a hatha yoga class.

  “I go back to work.” I turned and headed out the classroom, though not quickly or dismissively even though I totally should have. I swayed my hips, rolling heel-toe on my feet — just a little, proud of my straight back and curves.

  Hudson padded after me all the way to the change room. Perhaps a little like a wolf moves through a forest, but I didn’t feel like prey.

  “Kandy,” Hudson murmured to the green-haired wolf as I crossed by her to grab my runners.

  “Kandy?” I asked in disbelief, belatedly thinking I probably shouldn’t make fun of wolves. She just flashed her teeth at me in that non-smile and nodded her head in Hudson’s direction.

  As Hudson pulled on his shirt, I — along with every other person in the change room — tried to hide my disappointment. By his smile, I was unsuccessful. Like Kandy, he wore flip-flops, but they looked odd on his manly feet somehow. He checked his phone, then seemed to dismiss Kandy with a nod. The green haired woman left and I followed her out.

  I paused as I hit the street and looked up the block toward the bakery. It looked busy from this angle. Kandy cut through the crowded sidewalk in that direction, never knocking shoulders with anyone, though she was moving swiftly. I also didn’t see the vampire anywhere.

  I hesitated. I checked my phone … no text reply from Sienna yet. I sent another message, though her silence wasn’t yet unusual. I needed to go back to the bakery. I needed to nap, actually, but I wouldn’t. I would chat with the customers and give broken cupcakes and cookies to the kids …

  “So … coffee,” Hudson said, his voice indicating how close he was behind me. He’d followed me out of the yoga studio but hadn’t turned after Kandy. The crowd parted around him — around us, actually — without protest, when normally these sidewalks would eat casual pedestrians alive on a Sunday. Vancouver wasn’t a massive city by a long shot, with only two million people give or take. But West Fourth Avenue — at least these few blocks — was a weekend hub. Shopping for just about anything, as well as a Starbucks or two, sushi, Greek, greasy breakfast to high-end bistros filled these five blocks east to west.

  “I don’t drink coffee,” I answered by rote, because I didn’t actually drink it and never liked to pretend.

  “Juice smoothie, then. I think the place on the corner does them.” Yes, Whole Foods made six-dollar smoothies. An extra dollar got you a shot of bee pollen, or agave, or whatever.

  I raised my eyes to Hudson’s hazel ones and tried to not notice the perfect way they crinkled around the edges. I was pretty sure he hadn’t stopped staring at me since the end of class; I could feel the weight of his gaze. “Witches don’t run with wolves,” I said, though I was slightly pained to do so.

  He dropped his grin, suddenly serious and sexier for it. “I’m big on firsts.”

  I raised my chin. “What about lasts?”

  “Those too.” He whispered quietly enough that the words were nearly lost in the din of the street. I just had to smile at his utter sincerity.

  “One juice,” I said, “but only because I don’t want to go back to work.”

  “I would never have you do anything you didn’t want to do. One first juice, then. But not our last.”

  “One juice does not imply commitment to more.”

  “Ah, but you’re the one who already wouldn’t agree to firsts without lasts,” he said. Ever so lightly, he touched the small of my back to direct me up the street toward Whole Foods. “And by lasts, you meant forever, didn’t you? Wolves, you will find, understand all about forevers.”

  I didn’t answer. The conversation had gotten too serious, too quickly for me. My guard was down. I was feeling soft and malleable after the terrifying evening and the yoga class. I was feeling like leaning on Hudson would be a terribly easy thing to do … right before he broke and probably ate my heart. Though I thought I remembered from my previous night’s research that werewolves generally frowned upon man-eaters.

  ∞

  I ordered a mondo berry smoothie. Hudson ordered something with four shots of espresso in it. He paid. I let him.

  We sat outside. In the sun with my hoodie zipped up, it was just warm enough to do so. Hudson didn’t seem to need anything other than his T-shirt and shorts. Not that I minded. The T-shirt was a snug fit and I enjoyed the view.

  My smoothie was too cold. Either that or my mouth was too hot. This was a possibility, as I was getting a bit peeved at all the women falling over themselves to stare at Hudson. He didn’t look anywhere but at me, of course. But then, he wasn’t an idiot.

  The courtyard furniture was built out of some sort of wire. I perched a bit uncomfortably on the chair, but the mesh didn’t seem to bother Hudson.

  “So you grew up around here?” he asked, rolling his mug of coffee in his large hands. He hadn’t gotten a paper cup. I liked that about him … recognizing that the “pro-Hudson” list was getting rather long. Not that I suspected it would ever get long enough to off-balance the one “con.” Werewolf was a rather tall and wide hurdle.

  “Born and raised.” I smiled and sipped my smoothie slowly through a straw. His gaze snagged on my lips and got caught there. He didn’t wear sunglasses. I did. “And you?” I asked politely.

  We were playing first-date-questions, even though we’d practically had sex — without actual touching — on the dance floor twelve hours ago. My dance partners, and there had been many of them, had never hunted me down the next day before. Even the one I invited to my bed hadn’t stayed longer than the weekend — but then, I’d pretty much uninvited him by Sunday afternoon.

  “Portland now, with the West Coast pack, but I was raised in the Midwest.”

  My understanding of werewolves and packs and hierarchy was a bit more complete than it had been the night before, but i
t was still murky. Magical groups, or divisions, really didn’t intermingle. I had a sense that the Compendium was filled with a lot of conjecture, which was why I’d wanted to look through the family chronicle. Of course, this would all be easier if there was some sort of digital database with keyword searches. Maybe Gran would allow me to transcribe the records, after I played on her being away surfing while I was in the hands of werewolves and vampires.

  Speaking of hands …

  “Midwest,” I murmured to cover my wandering mind, but Hudson didn’t take the bait and elaborate.

  “Has the vampire been bothering you?” he asked, and completely ruined the first-date illusion I’d been hoping to cling to just a little bit longer … secretly hoping that Hudson wouldn’t bring up murdered werewolves or vampires. That he was sitting across from me due to an overwhelming attraction rather than … well, than thinking I was elbow deep in the blood of his pack. Yeah, it took me longer than I liked to piece that together. The tiny population of the Adept in Vancouver had risen by six — that I knew of — overnight. What were the chances Hudson wasn’t connected to the vampire somehow?

  I shook my head and dropped my eyes to sip at my drink. He’d finished his, though I hadn’t actually seen him drink it. “So … you know the vampire. Do you think I’m some sort of murderer as well?” I asked, happy that the courtyard patio was crowded and loud, and that werewolves had excellent hearing.

  “No,” he laughed, but in disbelief rather than amusement.

  “Why are we having coffee, then?”

  “You don’t drink coffee.”

  I looked up at him and that noted that he seemed indecisive. So he didn’t always just project never-ending confidence.

  “Was he or she a friend of yours?” I asked quietly. If we were going to talk about this, I needed more context. The vampire hadn’t exactly been forthcoming, other than the suggestion that the murder victim had been a werewolf. In fact, now that I thought about it, maybe the vampire was actually socially inept. The Compendium was specific and detailed about their insular, xenophobic colonies.