Southern Magic Thanksgiving

by Amy Boyles

  I slapped my neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Look, it’s been a weird couple of days.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  It sounded like there was a deeper subtext. Like, tell me all your pain. Vomit on me like I’m a toilet.

  “Um. Like I said, a woman was murdered. It was rumored she’d been selling love potions. I’ve got the tag number of a vehicle and a sample of a pie. I need to know what’s in it. Everyone’s acting weird.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “And that’s different from how they all normally act, why?”

  I rolled my eyes. “It just is. Look, can you help?”

  He took another step forward. Heat wafted off his body. I glanced at his shoulders and noticed lines of muscle I’d never seen before. Why would I have? I’d never paid attention.

  His eyes smiled at me. I shivered. “There’s nothing more I’d like than to help you, Pepper Dunn.”

  I leaned back and lost my balance. Without missing a beat, Rufus hooked an arm around my waist and yanked me forward. My palms pressed his chest. I was touching him. I was touching my archnemesis. The heat radiating from him felt like a thousand light bulbs beneath my fingers.

  I yanked back, giving myself at least three feet of space between our bodies.

  “I need the pie.”

  Right. The pie. I grimaced. “Give me a minute.”

  There had seriously been no other place to stick it than my pants. Betty had been sniffing around me like a dog in heat for the stupid bit of pecans and chocolate. There hadn’t been another option.

  I showed him my back while I yanked the Saran wrapped confection from its spot. I fanned it, trying to get my body heat off. I did not feel comfortable handing Rufus Mayes something that had basically kissed my crotch.

  After a couple of seconds I turned around. “Here it is.”

  “I’m not going to ask where you hid it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Because I already know.”

  I nearly growled at him. “Do you want it or not?”

  He flattened his palm to his chest. “Because I’m a gentleman, I’ll ask you to unwrap it and place it on the ground.”

  “You’re going to do it here?” The shock in my voice was obvious.

  “Of course. I’m going to give you whatever answers I can. Now.”

  I peeled back the clear covering to reveal the smooshed and deformed pie. It looked like roadkill. Luckily it smelled a thousand times better.

  Rufus knelt over it. He tipped his head one way and then the other. Moonlight splashed against his jaw, showcasing the straight line. When his gaze met mine, I felt like I’d been busted.

  “You have to tell me one thing first.”

  “What?” My throat was so dry.

  “What happened to Axel?”

  “Anything else.”

  He rose. “No deal then.”

  “A friend wouldn’t make me tell you something I didn’t want to.”

  He smiled, amused. “Maybe I can help.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “You doubt too much.”

  My stomach quaked. A million butterflies flapped their wings into a tornado. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes. Maybe I would feel better after I said it.

  “He left because he almost killed me the night he got loose. The night when it was endless Halloween.”

  Rufus nodded. He stared at the ground. It was impossible to read his expression. And I wanted to. I really, really wanted to.

  How flipping annoying.

  “He doesn’t want to hurt you,” Rufus finally said. “You mean too much to him. It’s the curse of the werewolf. Almost impossible to maintain a real relationship with someone.”

  “I guess.”

  “I’m sorry.” When his gaze locked on mine, the expression on his face told me it was true.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  He nodded.

  “Do you think he’ll come back?”

  What was I saying? Why was I asking Rufus to analyze my relationship with Axel.

  “Do you want him to?” he said carefully.

  “Yes.” Without a doubt. My heart ached for Axel. His absence made me realize exactly how shattered I was over his leaving. I’d bottled so much of my feelings that the truth burst through the dam I’d created around my cracked heart.

  He raised a hand over the pie. “Let’s see what we have in here.” Rufus concentrated. A stream of magic flowed into the pie. “You can help.”

  “How?”

  Rufus’s brow was pinched so tight he almost looked handsome. Handsome? I must’ve been coming down with a horrible virus.

  “Hold my hand and you’ll find out.”

  I gulped. “Is this some trick? If I touch you, you’re going to steal me from here, aren’t you? You’ll chain me to a warped dungeon full of beakers filled with disgusting black liquid that smells rank.”

  “You do think a lot of yourself, don’t you?” But he said it with a wry smile.

  “Only reacting to what you’ve taught me.”

  “Here. I’ll teach you to use your powers more. Touch my hand. Right on top. I won’t reach for you. I won’t press you. This is only for your benefit.”

  I teetered. “How much pressure do I have to use?”

  A glimmer of something brightened in his eyes. “As little as you like. If you only want to touch me with the pad of your very delicate pinky, you may.”

  “I’m not delicate.”

  “You’re not? Could’ve fooled me.” He spread his fingers. “I’m about to start. If you’re game, play. If you’re not, stand back. The power will be, shall we say, a bit intense.”

  Not one to be called a coward, I smacked my palm onto his hand. Delicate pinky, my foot. He’d get as much skin as my fearful mind could bear.

  The smirk that lined his face told me my challenge amused him. “And here we go. The spell I’m using is one to draw out the crux of the magic in the pie.” He watched the pecan goo as if he were afraid it would jump up and run away.

  That was always a possibility. Thanksgiving dinner proved that.

  He nodded to me. “With your head witch abilities this would be an easy spell for you.”

  “If I knew what I was doing.”

  “That’s why I’m teaching you. You’ll never reach your full potential—oh wait, that’s too scary of a thought for you. You’ll never reach any potential unless you stretch yourself.”

  I bit back the urge to tell Rufus he didn’t know what he was talking about. But the truth was that he did know. He knew my fears and understood the dark anxiety that plagued me about my ability.

  Jerk.

  “Watch and learn.”

  Magic poured from his hand. His skin burned bright. The light seeped into me. I thought my hand would catch fire, but there wasn’t any heat. It was pure light.

  It was glorious.

  The pie peeled apart, unfolding to a mess of syrup. The last remnants of the chocolate bat melted, mingling with the crust and filling. It broke apart and glued together, eventually forming another shape. One that was completely different.

  “A heart,” I whispered.

  Did this mean the pie had been spelled to be a love potion? That didn’t make any sense. No one was falling in love; they were simply donating their life’s treasures to one another.

  The light in Rufus faded. I blinked away the bright dots mangling my vision.

  “What was that?”

  He rose. Rufus stretched to full height. I’d never known how tall he was before. Never noticed the line of his shoulders or how soft his T-shirt looked on him.

  Of course, Rufus normally wore whips and chains, so seeing him in a normal material nearly made my head pop off my neck.

  He took my hand. A tiny gasp wheezed from my lips. His flesh still contained the memory of the spell. It tattooed itself into my brain. The raw power hummed in my bones.

  He studied me. “What do you think it was? That spell.”


  I quirked a brow. “I thought you’d tell me.”

  “You thought wrong. You’re smart enough to figure it out.”

  I paused and let my mind settle. The dust flitted away. “It was a truth spell.”

  “Go on.” He smiled.

  I peered into the forest. “You wanted the truth.” My gaze flickered to him. “That’s where the light came from.”

  The corner of his lip coiled into what some other woman might think was a delicious smile. “The light of truth. It’s very cliché, don’t you think?”

  “It’s not like you and I are superheroes.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  He dropped my hand and pointed to the pile of pie. “I wanted the truth, so that’s what I focused on. There is some magic a wizard can do where the honesty of the spell takes the lead and gives you knowledge. This is one of those spells.”

  I stepped back. “Are you saying the purity of your heart is what makes the magic work?”

  He smirked. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Me saying I’m pure.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Would he quit the playful banter and get on with it?

  “The spell worked. The shape.”

  “The heart?” I glanced around him.

  “The heart is a basic magical shape—so are circles, triangles, stars—things that are normal to you and I. But the heart is special. It means something specific.”

  “The pie has a magic spell on it.”

  He cocked his head back and grinned. “Ah, it means more than that. If it were that simple, the spell would’ve been uncovered and realized for what it was ages ago. No, this is complex magic.”

  I frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s a spell hidden within a spell. That’s what the heart means. The first layer of the spell ensures the target doesn’t realize that they’re under control by magic.”

  My heart pounded. “And the second layer?”

  Rufus’s eyes darkened. Was he angry? Ticked? Jealous that he hadn’t worked the spell first? Probably that was it.

  “The second part,” he said sharply, “creates something very nasty in whoever comes under the influence.”

  “What?”

  He pinched his lips shut for a moment. Rufus exhaled. “The second part of the spell creates an addict.”

  “You mean the person would be addicted to the pie?” Impossible. Ridiculous. But still…all signs pointed to yes.

  Rufus leaned over until we were eye level. He squeezed my shoulder, sending a jolt of electricity to my toes. “The sad person who eats this dessert and doesn’t get any more of it will go into violent withdrawals.”

  “How violent?”

  Rufus’s jaw clenched. “So violent they could die.”

  TWELVE

  I flew back to the house in record time. I landed on the grass hard, nearly tipping over. Yet somehow I managed to plant my heels and stop my forward descent.

  Call it good old-fashioned Southern gal temper that did it. I was so full of spit, fire and sass I could’ve karate chopped a tree down.

  I barreled inside, stowed my skillet by the fire and assessed the situation.

  “Hey,” I said to Cordelia and Betty.

  They both sat lazed in the living room. Betty was reading The Witch’s Almanac, a publication that probably told her the best time to sprout zits on our butts—you know when they would last the longest, hurt the most, that sort of thing.

  Of course, she’d only do it if she was angry at us. Or about to die from withdrawals.

  Cordelia dragged her gaze from her phone to me. My cousin was all glassy-eyed like she was one step away from a high fever.

  Betty had the same look on her face.

  Great. I had work to do.

  They both gave me a lazy “hey.” I bolted up the stairs and crashed into my room.

  The animals stared at me as if I had three heads. Yep, because two obviously wasn’t enough.

  I whirled around until I spotted Collinsworth sitting on a chair with a cup of tea in his paws.

  “Rabbit,” I seethed. “Tell me everything.”

  “I’ve told you all I know.”

  Stupid fake British accent.

  I cemented my hands on the arms of the chair, pinning him. “No. You haven’t.”

  Mattie stretched and yawned in her lazy cat way. “What’re you talkin’ ’bout, sugar bear?”

  I glowered. “The pie that Betty dug up from the trash is spelled to create addicts. People who have to continue eating it. It’s obviously dosed with some sort of giving potion as well since everyone’s handing their stuff away.”

  I bent down so far I was nearly touching the rabbit’s twitching nose. “At first I thought the giving spell was the worst part of it, but now I realize it’s not. The worst part is that we’re going to have a few hundred people suffering from withdrawals so bad they could die. What’s the cure, rabbit?”

  “I-I-I don’t know.”

  “I don’t believe you.” I pointed at my door. “There are two people downstairs who won’t be getting any more pie because Lori Lou is gone and the bakery is shut down. Unless Becky Ray decides to reopen, but she’s not doing that.”

  I poked his chest. “She doesn’t like you, remember? You had to sneak around at night to get your favorite handkerchief of Lori Lou’s. You wouldn’t have done that if you trusted Becky.”

  I stared at him. The rabbit quivered and shook. The teacup rattled on its saucer. “Rabbit. I need your help.”

  He didn’t budge. From my back pocket made entirely of air, I yanked the only card I had left. “If you don’t help me, I’ll be going to Becky Ray for help.”

  I turned and headed toward the door.

  “No! Wait!”

  I smiled victoriously.

  I clapped my hands and turned, throwing him a stare made of dragon fire. “What?” I snapped.

  “I’ll help,” he squeaked.

  “How?”

  He took a sip of tea before settling the cup and saucer on a table. “I may know of a way to counter the spell.”

  “Why was there a spell to begin with? What the heck, rabbit? I’ve been nothing but nice to your sorry cottontail, and all I get in return are lies on top of more lies.”

  “It’s not a lie. Only omissions.”

  “Yeah, that makes a difference.” I huffed and slumped onto the bed. I dropped my face into my hands and tamped down the tidal wave of emotion threatening to clamber up my throat and choke me to death.

  It was beginning to be too much. Touching Rufus, missing Axel, stupid pecan pie, Carmen in jail, the cooked turkey running around as if it were alive.

  It was enough to make me crack. I felt the split. It started in my head, just above my right eyebrow. I could feel my sense of control loosening, being strangled by the craziness that had overtaken Magnolia Cove.

  The worst thought popped into my head. It would’ve been bearable if Axel had been here.

  Well, time to toughen up, sweet cakes, ’cause Axel was a no-show. He hadn’t even called on the holiday. You know who did call?

  Rufus. The man I hate.

  A breath staggered from me. A tiny paw touched my knee. I raked my fingers down my face and then up and through my hair before tilting to look.

  Collinsworth blinked at me. “We must get into the bakery.”

  I clenched my fists. “No more lies.”

  He paused.

  “No more,” I nearly shouted.

  “No more,” he repeated quietly.

  “Any question I ask, you tell the truth.”

  He nodded.

  I glared so hard I wanted him to break. But to the rabbit’s benefit, he stared vacantly back. I shouldered my purse and filled my chest with air until it was puffed up.

  “Come on, Mattie. It’s time to save Thanksgiving.”

  She yawned. “And I was hoping we’d be saving Christmas.”

  I scoffed. “Don’t count that out yet.
”

  I considered dragging Amelia with us but knew she’d eaten some of Lori Lou’s goods. So had Carmen. Amelia wasn’t acting strange like my grandmother and Cordelia, bless their hearts, but the idea of bringing her made me uneasy.

  When we reached the back door of the Sweet Witch, I grabbed the saw that was still hidden behind some crates and broke the lock that had been replaced. Probably by Becky Ray.

  When we got inside, Collinsworth hopped immediately to the kitchen.

  “Talk.” I dropped my purse on a counter and started flipping lights. “Tell me why Lori Lou spelled the pies.”

  He pointed to a large mixing bowl. I took it from the shelf and laid it on the counter.

  “The giving spell was a mistake,” he explained. “Lori Lou was testing out a new recipe and it ended up in the pies.”

  “All the pies?”

  “No. Only some of them.” He pawed open a tub. “Here’s the flour.”

  I slid it over to the bowl. “Why would she do that? Test a recipe?”

  “Well, um…” He stopped.

  Mattie landed on the counter a few feet away. “Rabbit, you better start talkin’ or I’m gonna be thinkin’ of you as my next tasty treat.”

  Way to threaten, Mattie. For some reason I felt horrible threatening to cook the rabbit—sort of an animal rights thing, I guess. But when the cat talked about turning him into bunny fricassee, somehow the whole situation felt a lot better.

  Sort of bittersweet, I guess you could say.

  While Collinsworth told me about Lori Lou, he directed me on how much of each ingredient to add to the bowl.

  “It was all my fault.” Collinsworth broke into fake British-accented tears. “I’m the one who suggested it. See, when I first met Lori Lou, I was a lowly show rabbit. A magician’s pet, waiting for my next go at being pulled from a hat. The magician and Lori dated. That’s how I discovered she could bake. There was something special about Lori’s confections. Eventually we realized our love for each other. She took me away from the magician, and we began our life together.”

  “This sounds seriously screwed up.” It popped from my mouth before I could sensor it.

  “It was platonic, the love of companionship. The magician had connections in the world. Dark connections. Lori Lou dabbled with spells. She made the best love potions I’d ever known. They never lasted long, but that’s when I first got the idea. Make a few extra bucks and help people.”