Charms and Chocolate Chips: A Magical Bakery Mystery (15 page)

Mama didn’t argue when I asked for my keys, and in minutes we were buzzing toward the carriage house. Seat belt clenched in one hand and the other gripping the inside of the door, she stammered out, “I t-talked to the bartender when you were speaking with the dentist.”

“Will you relax? I’m not even going over the limit.” I eyeballed the speedometer. “At least not much.”

She ignored me. “He said Dr. Thorsen had been in the Old Familiar since ten o’clock.”

I slowed for a turn. “Ten in the morning? Oh, dear. That’s not good at all. That poor man is utterly devastated by Autumn’s murder.”

“Tragic,” she said, loosening her death grip on the oh-my-God handle an iota.

“I’d like to help him,” I said. “Maybe you could show me a healing spell?”

“We’ll see,” she answered as I pulled into my driveway.

Margie came running out of the house, Baby Bart bouncing on her hip. She’d been watching for my car, of course. I boiled out of the driver’s seat. Sure enough, a mournful canine cry pierced the air.

“Mungo!” I called, and ran for the door. He fell silent as soon as he heard my voice.

“I can’t imagine what’s wrong with the little guy,” Margie panted as she climbed the porch step. My mother came up right behind her, concern furrowing her brow. I slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open.

Mungo ran out and, dancing on his hind legs, planted his front paws firmly on my knee. Earnest brown eyes bored into mine. I picked him up and ran my hands over him. “Does something hurt?” I asked.

He frantically sniffed my face and neck, huffing into my ear as he surveyed me for damage. My familiar was as worried about me as I was about him. Maybe more.

I looked at Mama. One side of her mouth turned up. “So this is the famous Mungo.”

Squeezing him tighter, I said, “More like infamous. Thank you so much for calling, Margie. For trying to get to him. I don’t know what happened, but he seems fine now.” His pink tongue darted out and lapped at my chin.

“Maybe something sad happened on one of those soaps he likes to watch,” Margie joked.

The baleful look he directed her way was completely lost on her.

“Margie Coopersmith, this is my mother, Mary Jane Lightfoot.”

Margie held out her hand. “Well, I’ll be darned. So nice to meet you! Katie didn’t mention that you were planning a visit.”

My mother smiled and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, too. It was a . . . spontaneous decision to come see my daughter.”

“Make sure she shows you all around Savannah. We’re pretty proud of the place.” She was already moving back toward her house. “I have to run. Better see what the JJs have managed to get into the two minutes I was gone.”

We waved good-bye, and still clutching my dog as if he were going to disappear into thin air, I went inside. When I looked back, Mama was bent over by the rosemary star topiary by the front steps. She saw me waiting and straightened to join me without commenting. Lucy had planted it the day I’d moved south for protection, good luck, and assurance I would always remain in power in my own home—all this before I’d ever even heard the term hedgewitch.

I snuggled my nose into my familiar’s neck. “I’m so sorry. Of course you knew something was wrong. It was an SUV . . . Oh, never mind, my little wolf. Just know I’m fine, just fine.”

My mother laughed. “You were always particular to dogs.”

“Were Sookie and Barnaby your familiars?” I asked. They were the Labrador retrievers we’d had when I was a child.

“Not mine. I’ve never had a familiar.” My mother sounded sad, and I wondered if Cookie minded being the only one of the spellbook club without a familiar now that Bianca had Puck. “Sookie was your father’s, though. And Barnaby—well, I always suspected he was yours.”

“Really?” I liked the idea. Mungo apparently did not—his nostrils flared. “Barnaby has been gone for over a decade,” I said. “There’s no reason to be jealous.” I glanced down and saw the frantic scratch marks on the bottom of the wood door. Poor little guy. I turned him around to face my mother. “Listen, I have someone I want you to meet.”

Mama leaned forward and took his furry face in her hands. “It’s very nice to finally make your acquaintance. I’m Katie’s mom.”

His nose quivered, and then his mouth opened in a big doggy grin.

Yip!

“You little flirt.” I set him down on the wooden floorboards.

Mama put her hands on her hips and surveyed the small space. Her eyes traveled over the sparse furnishings.

“You really did start over here, didn’t you?”

I’d sold or given away pretty much everything I owned before I left Akron to start the Honeybee with Lucy and Ben. The only things I’d brought with me had been clothes, a few books, and my favorite cookware.

“I did,” I said. “Though Lucy and Ben surprised me with the bed.” I led her into the bedroom where the scrolled ironwork headboard of their gift was silhouetted against the Williamsburg blue wall.

“It’s all lovely,” she said. Back in the living room, her gaze rose to the loft above, stopping on the secretary desk. The front lid was closed as usual, since I opened it only when I wanted access to the contents. “I remember that piece—and what Lucy used it for.” Her eyes flicked to me. “Your altar?”

“Yes.”

A ghost of a smile crossed her face.

It didn’t take long to point out the bathroom and kitchen. Then I led her through the French doors to the small covered patio. She paused, but I took her hand and pulled her out to the backyard, past the new fire pit to the curving gardens I’d designed with love and created with sweat. Mungo ran ahead of us, turning to wait by the blooming Daphne bush. Its sweet scent filled the air.

“In the summer this area is planted with vegetables, with a few herbs thrown in. Right now only hardy greens, alliums, and brassicas are doing well in the cold.” I pointed to the cold frame. “I’ll be putting starts in there soon, though. And over here is the real herb garden—medicinal plants as well as culinary.”

“And magical,” she said.

“And magical,” I agreed.

“You have natural water on your property?” She pointed to the stream that ran for a few feet across the back corner of the vegetable garden.

“How lucky is that? I never knew how handy it would be for casting.”

She pressed her lips together, saw me watching, and forced a smile. Turning, she began walking toward the gazebo. “This looks new.”

“I had it built. The carpenter wanted to paint it, but I wanted to be able to see and touch—and smell—the bare cedar.”

Stepping up to the interior, she ran a finger over the smooth wood of the broom handle leaning against the wall. Then she looked down and raised her eyebrows. I’d painted a purple star in the center of the floor. It was about ten inches in diameter and outlined in white—not an obvious pentagram, but useful nonetheless.

“This is your sacred circle,” she said as Mungo ran inside and lay down smack-dab in the middle of the star.

“My favorite place to cast, outside with the elements but not, you know,
in
them. And no one notices me in here.” At least so far. “Though I haven’t been dancing around out here naked, either. I think that might garner some attention, circle or no circle.”

“Hmm. Witches have largely given that up since the advent of wooly sweaters. Still, on a hot summer’s night . . .”

I felt myself beginning to blush and turned away. Mungo bounded out of the gazebo and rolled in the grass. I laughed. “Silly bear.”

Suddenly he stood to attention, looked at the house, and streaked across to the French doors.

Yip Yip Yip Yip Yip!

What on earth? Alarmed, I ran across the yard and opened the door. He dashed inside, heading straight for the door.

“Is someone here?” I went to the shutter on the window and opened it all the way. There was no one on the front porch, no car at the curb. “What is the matter with you?”

“Katie,”
my mother said in a strangled voice.

I whirled to see her pointing to the floor in front of the door. “What . . . ?” And then I saw the paper.

The dark red paper folded into a bat.

While Mama and I had been in the backyard, someone had walked right up to my house and slipped it under my door. So much for that rosemary topiary.

I yanked the door open and ran out to the front yard, looking wildly around as if I’d missed someone standing there when I looked out the window. Out on the public sidewalk, I checked left and right, but there was no traffic, and I didn’t see any vehicles that seemed unfamiliar. Mungo ran out into the street, and I called him back.

The hinges next door creaked as Margie came out to her porch, Bart clinging to her leg. The JJs ran down the front steps and out to the mailbox. Reaching above their heads, they managed to open the front. Hopping up and down, they tried to reach the mail inside, but the carrier must have shoved it to the back. My mother, who had followed me as far as the driveway, hurried over to help them before I had the chance.

Waving, Margie called, “Thanks!”

Striding past my mother and up the Coopersmiths’ front path, I grabbed the railing and stood on the lowest step. Mungo stopped by my heel and sat down.

My neighbor looked surprised. “You’re white as a sheet, darlin’.”

“Did you see anyone come to my door?”

She craned her neck around to look at the front of the carriage house. “No.”

“Anyone on the street in the last ten minutes?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t looking.”

The one time Margie wasn’t keeping tabs on everyone. What good was a nosy neighbor if you couldn’t count on her to be nosy?

Bless her heart.

I swore to myself at the same time I pasted a smile on my face. “Just wondering. I thought I heard a knock at the door when we were in the backyard.”

Relief erased the worry from her forehead. “Whew! I thought something must be awful wrong.” She eyed Mungo. “You ever find out what the deal was with this one?”

“I think he just didn’t want to be left alone today.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Oh, brother. You’re a spoiled one, aren’t you?”

Yip!

“He is,” I agreed, itching to get back and take another look at the bat. “Sorry he made such a ruckus.”

Margie waved away my apology.

Mama came up then, Jonathan skipping on one side and Julia on the other, their sticky hands firmly enveloped in hers. Jonathan broke loose and ran to give his mother the mail.

She flipped through it one-handed. “As usual—bills and bull.” She grinned at my mother. “Thanks for rescuing them. They do love to bring it to me.”

My mother smiled. “Those two are delightful. Just delightful.” She leaned over and ruffled their blond hair. “Wish I could tuck you in my pocket and take you home.”

I watched with a combination of fascination and surprise.

Standing upright, she said, “Come on, Katie. Let’s go have that tea before Lucy and Ben get here.”

“Uh. Okay. Bye, Margie.”

“See you,” she said, and went back inside.

“Seeee yoooouuu,” the JJs called in unison as we walked away.

Stepping carefully around the origami bat, I closed the door and grabbed my cell phone out of my tote bag. Mungo advanced on the piece of paper lying there so innocently. I mean, it was a piece of
paper
. But one sniff and he went bananas, barking and growling.

“Shhh.” I knelt beside him. “You’re not going to scare the thing.” But I was curious about what had set him off. Holding my hand above the bat, I waited for the feeling of sweet rot that Autumn’s bat had emanated.

There was nothing.

“Do you smell something on it?”

Yip!

Quinn’s phone rang three times, then went to voice mail. I left him a message about the unpleasant calling card I’d just received and went into the kitchen to find the kettle heating on the stove and my mother surveying the contents of my herb cupboard. She selected three jars and set them on the counter: chamomile for calm, basil for courage and protection, and lemon verbena for even more protection.

My mother might not practice formally anymore, but she was most definitely a hedgewitch at heart. The thought made my own heart warm. So did the fact that she was trying to protect me. I’d learned by now, however, that sometimes the standard magical protections didn’t always work when up against dark magic. When up against evil.

While the tea brewed, I locked the back door and checked all the windows. Maybe the SUV had been aiming for Wren rather than me as Quinn had suggested, but now someone had threatened me, too.

Or was it a threat? What did those stupid bats mean?

“I wish Detective Quinn would call back,” I said, returning to the kitchen. “I hate leaving that thing on the floor, but I don’t want to touch it.”

“He will.” Mama poured our tea and carried it to the kitchen table. I put some peanut-butter swirl brownies on a plate, and we sat down. I was still hungry.

“How serious are you and Declan?” she asked, peering at me through the steam rising from her cup.

I shrugged. “Serious enough. Definitely exclusive. He’s trying to get me to go to Boston to meet his mother and sisters.” Part of me was thrilled that she was asking, and without the curled lip she had always used to ask about my former fiancé, Andrew. Another part of me remembered that curled lip and knew it could return.

“Does he know?” she asked.

“That I’m a witch? I didn’t tell him at first, but he’s known Lucy and Ben for a long time.” And his best friend, Steve’s brother, had been a druid. “So he wasn’t exactly surprised when I sprang the news.”

“And he’s obviously okay with it.”

“Yeah. I don’t think he really, you know, gets it, but that’s okay. I mean, how could he, not being of a magical persuasion himself?”

“You’re right, of course,” she said. “Look at Ben and Lucy. He just lets her be who she is. That’s a lot.”

I hadn’t really thought about it in those terms, but the thought made me happy.

“But it doesn’t sound like you two are serious enough that I can start thinking about grandchildren,” she said. “At least not yet.”