Bake or Die
A Paranormal Cozy Mystery
January Daphne
Bake or Die
A Paranormal Cozy Mystery
A Craven Sisters Cozy Mystery Book 1
By
January Daphne
Copyright © 2021 January Daphne
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, copied, shared, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author. The only exception is brief quotations to be used in book reviews. All places and locations are used fictitiously. The names of characters and places are figments of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to real people or real places are purely a coincidence and unintended.
About the Author
Hi, I'm January Daphne, and I write about ghosts, witches, vampires and things that go bump in the night!
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Also by January Daphne
1
I let myself into my studio apartment, pulled off my earbuds, and scrambled to plug my phone in to charge.
Come on, come on. Hurry up and charge.
Of course, my decade-old smartphone would choose to die on me right as a call came through.
And not just any call.
The call—the one from the Denali sheriff’s department that would split my life right down the middle. I had my life before the call—the one where I did whatever I wanted and didn’t have to worry about keeping anyone but myself safe. But from now on, in addition to taking care of myself, I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. Literally. That was what it meant to be a Craven witch.
It was as good a time as any, though. I never liked spending too much time in one place, and I’d burned through most of the supernatural leads I’d gotten in Atlanta.
I peeled off my sweat-soaked tank top and sat down on the hardwood floor, hugging my knees to my chest, shivering from the dampness of my sports bra. I hated going jogging, but I did it anyway. It was the only thing that kept my fears from swallowing me up.
Plus, being fit came in handy those times when I’d found myself running for my life—something that happened more often that I cared to admit.
Pro tip: never try to outrun a vampire.
I checked my phone again, pressing hard on the power button.
Still not enough juice to turn on.
I surveyed my apartment—a couple of tripods in the corner, a box of flashlights with ultraviolet bulbs, and a few infrared thermometers that were perfect for finding the cold spots in old buildings. It wasn’t a typical apartment for a twenty-eight year old woman, but it had been a good place for me to rest my head between monster hunting gigs.
There was no point in me pretending to lead a normal life. That was more my sister’s thing. I was a Craven, and at some point, a witch had to start doing what they were born to do.
My heart broke for my sister. The last I’d seen on social media, Samantha Craven had a big diamond ring on her finger with the caption: “I said yes!”
Sucks to be her, I thought.
Finally, my cracked phone screen lit up. I snatched it off the floor, cradling it in my hands while it booted back up.
I gave myself just one more minute of sweet, delicious freedom.
Then I tapped the screen, clicking on the voicemail icon.
I hit the speakerphone button and let the message play as I rested the back of my head against the wall.
A tinny male voice trickled out from the phone. “This message is for Wilhelmina Craven. This is Sheriff McGregor calling from the Denali Police Department. I think we got cut off before. I’ve got some bad news about your mother, Rebecca Craven. Please call me back at the station as soon as you can.”
I rolled my eyes. Why couldn’t he have just told me the news in the message? My mom was dead—probably murdered. I’d suspected as much for a couple days now. Why else would I have felt that random white-hot rush of the Craven family magic?
Instead of calling the sheriff back, I dialed my sister.
I once again hit the speakerphone button and counted the rings.
One.
Two.
I raked my fingers through my pixie cut, worry puddling in the pit of my stomach. Sam wasn’t going to take this well. She was only two years younger than me, but she was the baby of the family.
“Willa?” My sister’s voice filled my tiny apartment.
I swallowed, making sure my voice wouldn’t crack and give away any emotion. One of us had to keep it together.
The numbers on the phone screen ticked up, marking the length of the call. Three seconds. Now four. Five.
“Hello? Willa?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” I said. “Did the sheriff’s office call you?”
“Yes,” Sam said. “They said they couldn’t get ahold of you. I was so scared that you weren’t going to…” Her voice trailed off, and I could tell by the unnatural pitch that she was crying.
I knew what she was going to say. Sam was worried I wouldn’t come through for her—that I’d make her do this on her own.
I cleared my throat. “Relax. I’ll be up there as soon as I can.”
“OK,” Sam said in a shaky voice.
A long silence.
Then she spoke again. “It’s just I haven’t heard from you in years. I don’t even know your address. I sent you a gift card for your birthday and it got sent back to me.”
“You think I’d bail on you for something like this?” I asked.
“Honestly, I wasn’t even sure you were alive,” Sam said.
“You would have felt it if I’d died,” I pointed out. “You must have felt it when mom died.”
Sam laughed bitterly. “At first, I assumed it was heartburn. It’s been so long since I thought about magic, but then it didn’t go away.”
“We both knew it would happen sometime,” I said. “I figure we’ve got a few days before we need to be up there to keep the oven fire going. Are you driving or flying?”
“Driving? Are you crazy? Alaska’s a sixty-hour drive from Los Angeles,” she said.
I got up and began to pace. The conversation was going better than I’d expected. We’d glossed over all the touchy-feely sister stuff and gotten right to the logistics. “What day can you be up there?”
“I’ll need a couple days to, um, wrap up everything here.” Samantha’s voice wavered. “I’ve got to get out of my lease. That’s going to be expensive. Then I’ve got to give notice at my job.”
I cut in. “Don’t b
other buying out of your lease or giving notice. Who cares about that stuff now?”
“I care, Willa,” she said, an edge in her voice. “I’m not just going to disappear. I actually have things I’m leaving behind—friends, a career, a life.”
“Who’s fault is that?” I plopped down on my bed, not even caring that my sweaty back was getting all over my pillowcases and sheets. “I don’t know why you bothered putting down roots. That’s on you.”
Another long pause. “I thought I had more time,” Sam said.
“We didn’t.” I rolled onto my side and traced the pattern of my bedsheets with my finger. “Maybe that guy you’re engaged to can move up to Denali with you. There’ll be extra room at Mom’s cabin.”
“How did you know about him?”
“I’ve kept tabs on you.”
She sighed. “You could have called.”
I cleared my throat. “So you’re bringing him or…?”
“No,” she said quickly. “He works in the entertainment industry. What’s he supposed to do in Denali? Lead wilderness hikes? Book vacation packages?” She paused. “I haven’t told him anything about our family. He has no idea about magic.”
I could hear the emotion in her voice again, so I took back control of the conversation. “Can you be on a plane in the next three days?”
“I guess I kind of have to, don’t I?” she said, her tone slipping into sarcasm. “You know, unless I want to bring on the apocalypse.”
“That’s the spirit,” I said, relieved to hear her sounding a little more like herself. “I’ll pack up my car and leave tonight. My lease is up in a month anyway. I’ll just eat the security deposit.”
“You’re driving? Where are you living right now?”
“Atlanta.” I pulled my phone off the charger. “I’ll pull sixteen hour days. I’ll probably get to Denali right after you.”
“It’s April. You know there’s going to be snow on the ground in Canada.”
I’d just bought a 1997 sports car—my one splurge. It was a completely ridiculous car to have in Denali, but I wasn’t about to sell it. You can take my freedom, but you can never take my vintage Miata!
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “Everything is going to be fine. We can do this, Sam. We might even like it.”
“Do you even know how to bake?” Sam asked.
“How hard can it be?” I said. “I’m sure mom’s got some sourdough loaves saved up for something like this. We can hire someone to do the bake shop stuff. You and I can handle the oven and the daily offering.”
“I can’t believe Mom’s dead,” Sam said quietly. “I haven’t even registered that piece of information.”
“She’s dead, but not gone,” I said. “We’ll get our powers back once we get back to the bake shop. Eventually, we’ll be strong enough to summon her in a seance.”
“She’s the last person I want to see right now,” Sam said. “Why do we have to be witches? Why do we have to be responsible for that stupid oven?”
I heard the desperation in her voice, and it was like a punch in the gut. I wished like crazy there was something I could do to get her out of this. Babying her would only make this worse.
“Sammie, you make sure you get all your whining out in the next four days, you hear me?” I said. “This is our life now. You and I are going to keep that fire going and learn to bake sourdough.”
“And what if we can’t?” Sam asked.
“Then it’s the end of the world.”
2
I hoisted my tote bag over my shoulder, teetering in my over-the-knee stiletto boots that I’d paired with my skinny jeans. Back in Los Angeles, I wore them because they made my legs look miles long.
Here, as I stood behind the sliding glass doors of the Anchorage airport, I wore them because they were the warmest shoes I owned.
I took a deep breath and rolled my suitcase out onto the sidewalk. The flight from LAX to Seattle was crowded, but the trip from Seattle to Anchorage had plenty of open seats.
No one in their right mind would want to visit Alaska in April.
Or ever, in my opinion.
The last leg of my journey would be a four hour bus ride from Anchorage to Denali.
I can do this, I thought. That was the mantra I’d adopted ever since my assistant had knocked on my door and told me that there was “a Connor McGregor on the phone from the Denali sheriff’s office.” I almost fainted right there at my desk.
At least the bus was one of those nice ones with the cushy seats and TVs. Maybe they’d have something light and comforting on like Gilmore Girls reruns. I needed to get lost in a Rory, Jess, and Logan love triangle to take my mind off the dumpster fire that was my life.
I can do this, I reminded myself.
I had all my devices charged up—not like anyone would be trying to contact me.
I’d burned all of those bridges the moment I took the elevator up two stories and dropped my resignation letter on my boss’s desk—the letter that stated my last day would be that very day.
I shook my head, wishing I could just hit delete on that horrible memory. I’d never quit anything without at least a month’s notice.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that perplexed look on my boss’s face as she tugged off her cheaters and slid them into her shiny white-blonde bob. “Samantha, where is this coming from? Are you not happy here? If you’ve gotten a better offer, I can assure you I’ll match it. You were born to do this job.”
Little did she know that I was actually born to do a very different job. My new job didn’t involve fancy lunches with dreamy actors and artsy directors. Nope, the job I was born for involved a Tupperware of century-old sourdough yeast and an oven that led to hell.
But, of course, I couldn’t tell my boss that.
Instead, I said, “A family emergency came up.”
Genuine concern had crossed over her face. “Oh, dear. Do you need a leave of absence? I can arrange that.”
And I’d had to stand there shaking my head. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll be moving to Alaska permanently.”
My boss, Tara, and I had become friends over the last few years. She’d hired me right out of college, and I had worked tirelessly ever since. I loved my job—the sparkly cocktail parties, the celebrity clients that I pretended not to be totally star-struck over, and the name I’d made for myself among industry professionals. People respected me. People high up in Hollywood knew my name and called my firm when an actor got busted with drugs or needed a plan for going public with a relationship.
Now, I was going to spend the rest of my life figuring out what the heck they put in red velvet cupcakes to make them so red, wearing the same pink apron I’d donned as a teenager, and, of course, saving the stupid world.
I can do this, I mentally chanted.
The hardest part had been dealing with Ian. It took me repeating myself three times before my fiancé had finally comprehended that we were breaking up for good. He didn’t understand why I needed to move to Alaska to deal with a family emergency.
Well, Ian, you see, there’s this oven…
Once again, I couldn’t tell him. As it was, I had a hard time believing all of this was real myself. I’d spent the last twelve years pretending that my time in Alaska as a child had actually been some strange, trippy Tim Burton movie I’d seen once and somehow internalized.
I knew I’d have to move up here at some point, but I was only twenty-six. I should’ve had more time.
What was I supposed to say when the man I loved got down on one knee? Ian, I love you, but I can’t ever marry you because I’ll eventually have to assume my duties as a Craven witch?
I’d said yes, and that had made this even worse.
But I can do this.
I approached the bus and pulled my ticket from my tote bag.
The bus driver had on a pale blue polo shirt and a baseball cap with the words “Alaska Connections” embroidered across the front. She looked to be in her mid-f
orties, but her bright green eyes looked younger. Bus driver jobs were highly coveted in the Alaska travel industry. They paid well, and the drivers got to see the most beautiful scenery everyday.
She smiled at me, checking my ticket as she shoved my luggage into the storage compartment under the bus. “You get a discount if you add on the return trip to your ticket.”
“No thanks,” I said. “One way is all I need.”
I found a seat by the window and dropped my tote bag on the seat beside me. Hopefully the bus wouldn’t be too packed and I’d have the row to myself.
I wiped the fog off the window with the cuff of my sweater, settling in for the last leg of my journey.
I dialed Willa. Last I’d heard, she’d just crossed over into Canada. I had to hand it to her. She was making good time.
She picked up on the first ring.
“Hey—I’m driving through Alberta now and I’ll spend the night in Whitehorse,” Willa said. “That puts me in Denali by tomorrow night. What do you want?”
I’d learned a long time ago to never take Willa’s bad attitude personally. It was her defense mechanism. “I was just checking in.”
A long pause. “So—what? You’re just calling to chat?” Willa asked.
I picked some fuzz off the seat back fabric in front of me and watched it float to the floor. “Checking in with people is a very normal thing to do. Maybe not for you, given your anti-social off-the-grid lifestyle, but how about you humor me?” I said.
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