Bewitched, Bothered, and Biscotti: A Magical Bakery Mystery (27 page)

Ben answered the door. “Thought you’d be here earlier. We were starting to get worried.”

“Sorry. I would have called, but I was on the phone with Andersen Lane.” I put Mungo
down on the floor, and he ran to say hello to Honeybee, who was waiting in the doorway
of the sunroom.

“Andersen Lane should go back to whatever rock he was under before he crawled out
to bother you and the book club.” My uncle’s tone was acerbic.

I kissed him on the cheek. Ben was protective, and no matter how head over heels in
love he was with my aunt or how readily he accepted her magical practices, he didn’t
have personal experience with magic. To him it was more of an eccentric hobby than
actually working with the forces of nature.

Lucy stood by the stove, stirring a pot of butternut squash soup fragrant with the
scent of smoky bacon. She greeted me by waving me into the room. “Would you mind scooping
out the bread bowls?”

“Sure.” I donned one of her aprons, sliced the top off a small sourdough boule from
the Honeybee, and set about removing the soft interior crumb. I inhaled the smells
of fresh bread and smoked pork that rode above the usual pungency of Lucy’s herbal
kitchen. Like me, she had a pot of basil on the counter, as well as one of parsley
for easy snipping—and a little extra protection around the house.

Protection. What if my attacker came for me here?

I put the thought out of my mind. I had Mungo, and my aunt was no slouch when it came
to spell casting. I refused to live every minute in fear.

Lucy ladled the soup into the bread bowls and garnished each with a generous sprinkle
of freshly chopped chives. Leaving the formal dining room dark, we settled around
the ancient wooden table in the kitchen. On the floor, Mungo licked delicately at
the edges of his soup as it cooled. Honeybee the cat watched with an expression of
amused disgust from across the room.

Winking at Honeybee, I popped a couple of antihistamines to battle my allergies and
dug in. “This is delicious. What else is in it? Chicken stock? Cream?”

“Lucy tells me you had an attack last night,” Ben interrupted.

My spoon paused halfway to my mouth. “Something like that.”

“But you didn’t go see a doctor.” He sounded pretty upset.

I put my spoon down. “Why would I?”

He leaned forward. “Katie, you need to get a CAT scan as soon as possible.” He looked
at Lucy. “I can’t believe you didn’t suggest that.”

“A CAT scan? What for?”

The skin tightened across Ben’s face. “Honey, you smelled something funny, right?
That can be a sign of something…serious.”

“Ben,” Lucy said.

“Serious,” I said in a flat voice.

He took a deep breath. “I’ve heard it can be a sign of a brain tumor.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” I turned to my aunt. She looked away.

“I know you think it had something to do with some kind of magic, but it would make
me feel a lot better if you went to a specialist,” he said.

Stunned, I looked down at my soup. Brain tumor? But that was…Could he be right? What
if what had happened last night was all in my head?

No. It
had
been in my head. But so had Mungo. And Nonna. The spell bottle had broken. And then
I remembered the fused amulet. Steve had seen it. It had really happened.

Oddly enough, that made me feel better. “Okay,” I said easily.

Lucy’s shoulders seemed to relax a bit. As long as everybody got along she was happy.

Ben smiled his approval. “Good. Now finish up, because someone’s coming over for dessert.”

The doorbell rang.

“Come in!” Ben called.

I raised my eyebrows at Lucy, and she shrugged as if in apology. Before I had a chance
to wonder what was going on, Declan walked into the kitchen.

He saw me and paused. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“That’s because I didn’t tell you,” Ben said.

I gaped at my uncle. For a guy who seemed to sail happily through life since he’d
retired as fire chief, he sure could stick his nose into things when he got the notion
to.

“I understand you and Katie had a disagreement this morning. Some kind of misunderstanding.
And we both know the best way to get over a misunderstanding is to come to an understanding.
Talk it out. So I want you two to eat your ice cream sundaes and then go talk.”

“But—,” I said.

“No,” Declan said.

“Yes,” Ben said. “Go on. You’ll figure it out.”

Declan wouldn’t meet my eyes. If it hadn’t been for his close relationship with my
uncle, I was sure he would have walked right out. “I’m not hungry,” he said. “I’ll
meet you in the roof garden.” I heard the sound of his receding footsteps on the floor
and then the stairs.

“So much for ice cream sundaes,” Lucy said. Ben frowned.

I was so tired I wanted to drop. The antihistamines made me even sleepier. But I wanted
to make up with Declan, and this might be the only chance he gave me. He was my friend.
I had to try.

“You two go on ahead,” I said. “I’m going to grab some coffee.”

 * * *

Though the sun had been down for a couple of hours, the sky still glowed a lighter
blue in the west. The moon hadn’t risen yet, and the stars glimmered brightly against
the cloudless cobalt above. Two candles flickered on the wrought-iron table, barely
illuminating Declan on the far side. He still wore the
FIRST IN, FIRST OUT
T-shirt he’d had on that morning. His muscular arms were folded across his chest.

“I brought you a beer,” I said.

He took it in silence. I sat down across from him and took a sip of coffee.

The edge of the moon peeked over the horizon. Around us, Lucy’s moon garden began
to come to life. When the rest of the rooftop was dark, white petunias dripped from
pots, moonflowers glowed like white saucers on their vine twining up a trellis, and
tiny white jasmine flowers and night-blooming nicotiana lent their sweet aromas to
the humid evening air. The sound of car tires on the pavement below drifted up to
us.

It felt very peaceful. Except, of course, that in the last three days I’d found two
bodies, someone had tried to kill me, and now a man I adored was so mad at me that
he couldn’t even meet my eyes.

I wished I knew how to start.

“That coffee will keep you up tonight,” he said.

“Fat chance. Not after the twenty-four hours I’ve had.”

He gave me a look. Even in the dim light I could see the disapproval.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He was quiet for a minute. I lit another candle on the table.

“What, exactly, are you sorry for?”

I thought for a moment. “Well, I’m sorry that you’re mad at me. I’m sorry you worried
about me being sick and now you think I lied. I’m sorry you came to my house to help
me and instead ran into Steve Dawes. I’m sorry you think I’ve been playing games with
you when I haven’t, and I’m sorry Ben tricked you into coming here tonight.” My words
were coming faster now, and louder.

He held up a hand, “Whoa.”

I rubbed my tired eyes.

He took a deep breath. “Okay, okay.” He sipped his beer, watching me over the candle
flames. “So why did Steve Dawes spend the night?”

Oh, boy. My guilt must have shown on my face, because he shifted in his chair and
said, “Don’t lie. That’s all I ask.”

Suddenly I was overcome with weariness. I didn’t have any fight left. “You really
want to know? You really want to know
me
?”

His eyes shone blue in the flickering yellow light. “That’s what I’ve always wanted.
Since the day I met you.”

Never mind that when I’d met Declan, Detective Quinn had been questioning Uncle Ben
as a murder suspect.

“But you’ve always sidestepped, always changed the subject. What are you so afraid
of?” He took
another sip and licked his lips. “What is it about Dawes that draws you to him?”

I couldn’t look at him. He’d told me intimate details about his life, yet I’d skimmed
along on the surface details of mine. It felt safe. Good. He felt normal, when the
rest of my life might not be. I liked Declan McCarthy more than I could say.

I liked him well enough to tell him the truth.

“Declan, I’m a witch.”

He looked at me, his face a mask. I’d bet he was great at poker. “And?” he said.

“
And?
Isn’t that enough?”

He shrugged. “So, you’re a witch. Like one of those Wiccans? Or just a run-of-the-mill
pagan?”

“Somewhere in between. I’m a hedgewitch. It runs in the family.”

His laugh was deep and rich and ran over me like caramel. “Hedgewitch. I don’t know
what that is, but I like the term.”

“It’s a green witch. Some people call us natural witches. We use nature, the four
elements, plants—things like that—in our magic.”

“Wow.” Declan shook his head and took a swig of beer. “Magic. I always knew there
was something a little different about Lucy. She’s kind of, I don’t know. Airy. Guess
it makes sense. And you actually, like, cast spells and things?”

I nodded once, watching for the skepticism, the eye rolling. But Declan’s grin seemed
perfectly honest. Curious, even, if mildly amused. Was he taking me seriously?

“And you’ve been trying to keep this part of your
life from me because you thought I’d disapprove? Or think it was silly?”

“Well, mostly I figured you’d think I was a weirdo.”

That laugh came again, different tonight from other times I’d heard him laugh. It
was easy, full, rich with…relief.

My own relief made my shoulders slump. I’d told him. He’d not only taken it well,
he’d apparently accepted it.

I didn’t have to lie to Declan anymore.

My throat tightened and my eyes stung. Sheesh, what was with all my weepiness lately?
Of course, it had been a crazy twenty-four hours. I blinked back the tears and managed
to get out, “Oh, Declan. You don’t think I’m crazy?”

“No crazier than I did before.”

My laugh came out more like a snort.

“It explains all the time you spend with Dawes, too.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Remember, I went to school with his little brother, and we were roommates as well
as working together until…the accident. You think I don’t know a little about what
goes on in that family?”

“Uh…like what?” Did Declan already know about the Dragoh Society?

“Oh, Arnie didn’t talk about it much, and it was clear I wasn’t supposed to ask. But
I knew his family had some rather unusual beliefs.” One side of his mouth quirked
up. “I guess you and Steve have a lot more to talk about than you and me.”

“Not…more. But different. At least so far.”

He drained his beer. “And last night?”

I remembered how I’d taken the news that magic really existed. If Lucy had led with
information about a magical attack I might never have believed her.

But I didn’t want to lie. Not now. I chose my words with care. “There was some kind
of black magic directed at me,” I said. “I felt it.” Then I laughed. “Of course Ben
wants me to go to a doctor. Thinks I have a brain tumor.” All true.

Declan’s eyes widened. The candle flame echoed within his wide pupils. “I don’t like
the sound of that.”

“I called Steve afterward, and he came over. He fed me and Mungo, put us to bed, and
then slept on the couch to make sure I’d be okay.”

“But you believe it was black magic,” he said.

I put my hand over my eyes and shook my head. What had I been thinking? This guy was
a firefighter. Mr. Practical. Handy around the house. Able to work on car engines.
Not even Uncle Ben fully believed me, and he’d been madly in love with a witch for
years.

“So-o-o-o,” Declan said, drawing the word out, thinking. “Dawes wasn’t there for any
romantic reasons.”

Now I laughed. “You have a one-track mind.” But I wasn’t going to mention my near
capitulation. Things could have ended quite differently last night.

Declan pointed a finger at me. “Yes, ma’am. I sure do when it comes to you.”

I grinned at him. Things had just gotten complicated all over again, but I didn’t
care. “I take it back,” I said.

“What?”

“I’m not at all sorry that Ben tricked you into coming tonight.”

After Declan left I settled into Lucy and Ben’s guest bedroom with my laptop and the
door closed to keep Honeybee out. In general, she respected my allergies and walked
a wide berth around me, but she loved hanging out with Mungo and sometimes broke the
rules. As for my familiar, he lay draped across my shins, lazily watching me work.

I felt almost transparent with weariness and giddy with relief that I no longer had
to keep secrets from Declan. I mean, I hadn’t told him all about the Dragohs, or the
spellbook club, but those weren’t just my secrets. Hopefully, the Dragohs wouldn’t
be an issue for much longer, and in time I was sure I’d get permission to tell him
about our coven.

Well. Maybe Dragohs wouldn’t be an issue, but a future member of the society might
be.

Guilt stabbed through me. Steve had been so sweet and open lately. He’d taken care
of me and stopped me from making a fool of myself during a moment of weakness.

Steve, Declan, Steve, Declan. I wanted them both in
my life, I really did. But I wasn’t ready to settle down with either of them. Not
yet. I still needed to find out more about who—and what—Katie Lightfoot was.

Additional guilt about neglecting my duties at the bakery lately impelled me to do
a few things before calling it an early night and recharging for the next day. First,
I pulled out the list of supplies we were running low on at the bakery. The local
grocery warehouse allowed us to place orders online and then pick them up the next
day. I added the items we needed, billed it to our account, and made a mental note
to ask Ben to pick up the order the next morning. There were a few items I’d need
for the special spread we were putting together for the Halloween party—a case of
pumpkin puree for the pumpkin gingerbreads shaped like tiny squash, crispy apples
to cover in salted caramel, extra eggs, and lots of sprinkles to decorate cookies
and cupcakes.