by Bailey Cates
A paperback was on the arm of the sofa, one I’d been waiting to read once things settled down a bit, but it was still unopened. Soon I would crack the story, but for the moment I just wanted to sit and appreciate how it felt to be whole again. I looked down with affection at my familiar, stilling my urge to sweep him up into my arms. Mungo was conked out beside me, eyes squeezed shut and the tiniest doggy smile curling his black lips as he dreamed. Feeling a little sleepy myself, I found my eyelids drifting closed in contentment.
Suddenly, the scent of frying chicken filled the room, and my eyes popped open again. Surprised that anyone would be cooking so late, I found my mouth watering as if I hadn’t eaten for days even though I still felt full after the pulled pork and peppery slaw Declan had rustled up for our supper. I took a sip of tea to quell the reaction, and the scent faded as quickly as it had come.
My leg twitched. Now instead of desperately wanting a chicken drumstick, I felt an almost irresistible urge to run.
Maybe I should. It would help me sleep.
I was about to abandon my relaxing evening for my trail runners, when I saw Mungo’s little legs churning as he slept. I smiled and wondered what he was chasing. His legs stopped moving then, and at the same time I no longer felt like going for a run.
For no reason whatsoever, the image of a chattering squirrel filled my mental movie screen.
Weird!
Shaking it off, I reached for my tea and drained it to the bottom. Mungo’s eyes popped open when I stood up.
“Come on, buddy. I’m obviously more tired than I thought.”
I shut the slider, checked the front door lock, turned off the light, and Mungo and I padded into the bedroom. Soon I was snuggled in next to Declan. As I began to doze, I knew I’d be up even earlier in the morning as a result.
I can start my book then . . .
. . . Smoke!
In an instant, I was out of bed and moving toward the kitchen. Nothing looked amiss. I quickly prowled the whole apartment, then returned to the bedroom.
“Declan,” I hissed. “Wake up.”
He jerked. “Wha . . . ?” Sitting up, he reached out and grabbed my arm. “What’s wrong?”
“I smell smoke.”
He threw off the covers and swung his feet to the floor. “Where?”
“Don’t know. I looked around the apartment but didn’t find anything wrong. Do you think there could be something on fire in one of the other apartments?”
Barefoot, he went out and opened the sliding glass door. Out on the balcony, he inhaled deeply a few times, then turned back to where I was standing in the doorway. “I don’t smell anything.”
Joining him, I sniffed the air, too. “That’s strange. I don’t smell it now.”
Sighing, he went back inside.
I followed and closed the door behind me. “Sorry, hon. I really did think I smelled smoke.”
He reached for me and wrapped his arms around me. “No worries. You can always wake me if you think something is wrong. Tonight, I’m actually grateful you did.”
Pulling back, I met his eyes in the dim light coming in through the glass door. “Why’s that?”
“Bad dream.”
I waited.
“Sometimes I dream about the warehouse fire that Arnie Dawes died in. The smoke was terrible, choking.”
“More than a dream, then. A nightmare.”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
I kissed him. “Let’s go back to bed.”
Hand in hand we did just that. Ten minutes later, Declan was snoring gently. I, on the other hand, was wide, wide awake.
And thinking.
I sniffed the air. No smoke. No chicken.
Mungo had been running in his sleep. At the same time, I’d felt the urge to run.
Declan had been dreaming of a smoky fire, and I’d actually smelled smoke.
Fried chicken is Mungo’s favorite food after bacon. Could he have been dreaming of it?
Nah.
But I couldn’t stop what I was thinking. Could it be? I mean, I’d often witnessed how teasing squirrels drove Mungo bananas when we visited the park.
How he ran after them.
No, that’s impossible.
But what if? What if when Connell had retrieved my magic for me, he’d given back more than my normal gift? I mean, my gift was already more than normal, at least according to the spellbook club.
What if?
Beside me, Declan muttered something in his sleep, and my ears perked up. Was that an Irish accent? I turned my head to look at him in the blue light of his alarm clock.
Faintly, oh-so faintly, I heard a voice. Not out loud, but in my mind, not even really heard, but the hints of words, the suggestion of meaning.
“Yes . . . I took the anti-magic far away, and now I’m lost. I don’t know where I am, and I can’t get back to Declan except like this. How can you hear me, lass?”
I don’t know, I thought.
But if I really could, if this was really happening, maybe there was a way that I could get Connell back.
For Declan, and for Connell himself.
The voice faded away, but two words continued to haunt me.
“I’m lost.”
Recipes
Magical Chocolate Peppermint Cookies
½ cup softened butter
¾ cup sugar
1 egg
½ teaspoon peppermint extract
1¼ cups all-purpose flour
¼ teaspoon salt
½ cup cocoa powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon baking powder
⅓ cup semisweet chocolate chips or cocoa nibs
⅓ cup crushed peppermint candies
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
Cream the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy. Add the egg and peppermint extract and beat another minute, scraping down the sides of the bowl. In another bowl, sift together the flour, salt, cocoa powder, baking soda, and baking powder. Add the flour mixture ½ cup at a time to wet ingredients, mixing thoroughly between each addition. Fold in chocolate chips, then place dough in freezer for ten minutes to chill.
Using a tablespoon, form dough into small balls and arrange 1½ inches apart on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Flatten the tops with the tines of a fork.
Bake for 10–12 minutes until the edges begin to dry. The tops will still look soft. Sprinkle the crushed peppermint candies on immediately but allow cookies to cool on baking sheet for 3–4 minutes before removing to a rack to cool further.
When completely cooled, store in an airtight container for up to five days or freeze for several weeks.
Yield: 1 dozen cookies
Honeybee Spice Cookies
½ cup softened butter
¾ cup dark brown sugar
¼ cup molasses
1 egg
1 cup all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon each: powdered ginger, ground cloves, allspice, cinnamon, and grated nutmeg
Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.
Cream together butter and brown sugar until smooth. Add molasses and egg and mix until thoroughly combined. In another bowl, mix together the flour, salt, baking soda, and spices. Add to the first mixture all at once and blend thoroughly.
Drop cookies by the teaspoonful on a parchment-lined baking sheet, leaving about an inch between each cookie. Bake for 7–10 minutes or until crisp and lightly browned.
Yield: about 30 small cookies
If you love Bailey Cates’s New York Times bestselling Magical Bakery Mysteries, read on for an excerpt from the first book in Bailey Cattrell’s Enchanted Garden Mystery series,
Daisi
es for Innocence
Available now wherever books are sold.
The sweet, slightly astringent aroma of Lavandula stoechas teased my nose. I couldn’t help closing my eyes for a moment to appreciate its layered fragrance drifting on the light morning breeze. Spanish lavender, or “topped” lavender—according to my gamma, it had been one of my mother’s favorites. It was a flower that had instilled calm and soothed the skin for time eternal, a humble herb still used to ease headache and heartache alike. I remembered Gamma murmuring to me in her garden when I was five years old:
Breathe deeply, Elliana. Notice how you can actually taste the scent when you inhale it? Pliny the Elder brewed this into his spiced wine, and Romans used it to flavor their ancient sauces. In the language of flowers, it signifies the acknowledgment of love.
Not that I’d be using it in that capacity anytime soon.
But Gamma had been gone for over twenty years, and my mother had died when I was only four. Shaking my head, I returned my attention to the tiny mosaic pathway next to where I knelt. Carefully, I added a piece of foggy sea glass to the design. The path was three feet long and four inches wide, and led from beneath a tumble of forget-me-nots to a violet-colored fairy door set into the base of the east fence. Some people referred to them as “gnome doors,” but whatever you called them, the decorative miniature garden phenomena were gaining popularity with adults and children alike. The soft green and blue of the water-polished, glass-nugget path seemed to morph directly from the clusters of azure flowers, curving around a lichen-covered rock to the ten-inch round door. I wondered how long it would take one of my customers to notice this new addition to the verdant garden behind my perfume and aromatherapy shop, Scents & Nonsense.
The rattle of the latch on the gate to my left interrupted my thoughts. Surprised, I looked up and saw Dash trotting toward me on his short corgi legs. His lips pulled back in a grin as he reached my side, and I smoothed the thick ruff of fur around his foxy face. Astrid Moneypenny—my best friend in Poppyville, or anywhere else, for that matter—strode behind him at a more sedate pace. Her latest foster dog, Tally, a Newfoundland mix with a graying muzzle, lumbered beside her.
“Hey, Ellie! There was a customer waiting on the boardwalk out front,” Astrid said. “I let her in to look around. Tally, sit.”
I bolted to my feet, the fairy path forgotten. “Oh, no. I totally lost track of time. Is it already ten o’clock?”
The skin around Astrid’s willow-green eyes crinkled in a smile. They were a startling contrast to her auburn hair and freckled nose. “Relax. I’ll watch the shop while you get cleaned up.” She jammed her hand into the pocket of her hemp dress and pulled out a cookie wrapped in a napkin. “Snickerdoodles today.”
I took it and inhaled the buttery cinnamon goodness. “You’re the best.”
Astrid grinned. “I have a couple of hours before my next gig. Tally can hang out here with Dash.” She was a part-time technician at the veterinary clinic and a self-proclaimed petrepreneur—dog walker and pet sitter specializing in animals with medical needs. “But isn’t Josie supposed to be working today?”
“She should be here soon,” I said. “She called last night and left a message that she might be late. Something about a morning hike to take pictures of the wildflowers.” I began gathering pruners and trowel, kneeling pad and weed digger into a handled basket. “They say things are blooming like crazy in the foothills right now.”
Astrid turned to go, then stopped. Her eyes caught mine. “Ellie . . .”
“What?”
She shook her head. “It’s just that you look so happy working out here.”
I took in the leafy greenery, the scarlet roses climbing the north fence, tiered beds that overflowed with herbs and scented blooms, and the miniature gardens and doors tucked into surprising nooks and alcoves. A downy woodpecker rapped against the trunk of the oak at the rear of the lot, and two hummingbirds whizzed by on their way to drink from the handblown glass feeder near the back patio of Scents & Nonsense. An asymmetrical boulder hunkered in the middle of the yard, the words ENCHANTED GARDEN etched into it by a local stone carver. He’d also carved words into river rocks I’d placed in snug crannies throughout the half-acre space. The one next to where Dash had flopped down read BELIEVE. Mismatched rocking chairs on the patio, along with the porch swing hanging from the pergola, offered opportunities for customers to sit back, relax, sip a cup of tea or coffee, and nibble on the cookies Astrid baked up each morning.
“I am happy,” I said quietly. More than that. Grateful. A sense of contentment settled deep into my bones, and my smile broadened.
“I’m glad things have worked out so well for you.” Her smile held affection that warmed me in spite of the cool morning.
“It hasn’t been easy, but it’s true that time smooths a lot of rough edges.” I rolled my eyes. “Of course, it’s taken me nearly a year.”
A year of letting my heart heal from the bruises of infidelity, of divorce, of everyone in town knowing my—and my ex’s—business. In fact, perfect cliché that it was, everyone except me seemed to know Harris had been having an affair with Wanda Simmons, the owner of one of Poppyville’s ubiquitous souvenir shops. Once I was out of the picture, though, he’d turned the full spectrum of his demanding personality on her. She’d bolted within weeks, going so far as to move back to her hometown in Texas. I still couldn’t decide whether that was funny or sad.
I’d held my ground, however. Poppyville, California, nestled near the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, was my hometown, and I wasn’t about to leave. The town’s history reached back to the gold rush, and tourists flocked to its Old West style; its easy access to outdoor activities like hiking, biking, and fly fishing; and to the small hot spring a few miles to the south.
After the divorce, I’d purchased a storefront with the money Harris paid to buy me out of our restaurant, the Roux Grill. The property was perfect for what I wanted: a retail store to cater to townspeople and tourists alike and a business that would allow me to pursue my passion for all things scentual. Add in the unexpected—and largely free—living space included in the deal, and I couldn’t turn it down.
Sense & Nonsense was in a much sought after location at the end of Corona Street’s parade of bric-a-brac dens. The kite shop was next door to the north, but to the south, Raven Creek Park marked the edge of town with a rambling green space punctuated with playground equipment, picnic tables, and a fitness trail. The facade of my store had an inviting, cottagelike feel, with painted shutters above bright window boxes and a rooster weathervane twirling on the peaked roof. The acre lot extended in a rectangle behind the business to the front door of my small-scale home, which snugged up against the back property line.
With a lot of work and plenty of advice from local nurserywoman Thea Nelson, I’d transformed what had started as a barren, empty lot between the two structures into an elaborate garden open to my customers, friends, and the occasional catered event. As I’d added more and more whimsical details, word of the Enchanted Garden had spread. I loved sharing it with others, and it was good for business, too.
“Well, it’s nice to have you back, sweetie. Now we just have to find a man for you.” Astrid reached down to stroke Tally’s neck. The big dog gazed up at her with adoration, while I struggled to keep a look of horror off my face.
“Man?” I heard myself squeak. That was the last thing on my mind. Well, almost. I cleared my throat. “What about your love life?” I managed in a more normal tone.
She snorted. “I have plenty of men, Ellie. Don’t you worry about me.”
It was true. Astrid attracted men like milkweed attracted monarch butterflies. At thirty-seven, she’d never been married, and seemed determined to keep it that way.
“Astrid,” I began, but she’d already turned on her heel so fast that her copper-colored locks whirled like tassels on a lampshade. H
er hips swung ever so slightly beneath the skirt of her dress, the hem of which skimmed her bicycle-strong calves as she returned to the back door of Scents & Nonsense to look after things. Tally followed her and settled down on the patio flagstones as my friend went inside. I saw Nabokov, the Russian blue shorthair who made it his business to guard the store day and night, watching the big dog through the window with undisguised feline disdain.
Basket in hand, I hurried down the winding stone pathway to my living quarters. “God, I hope she doesn’t get it into her head to set me up with someone,” I muttered around a bite of still-warm snickerdoodle.
Dash, trotting by my left heel, glanced up at me with skeptical brown eyes. He’d been one of Astrid’s foster dogs about six months earlier. She’d told me he was probably purebred, but there was no way of knowing, as he’d been found at a highway rest stop and brought, a bit dehydrated but otherwise fine, to the vet’s office where she worked. Of course, Astrid agreed to take care of him until a home could be found—which was about ten seconds after she brought him into Scents & Nonsense. I’d fallen hard for him, and he’d been my near constant companion ever since.
“Okay. It’s possible, just possible, that it would be nice to finally go on an actual date,” I said to him now. Leery of my bad judgment in the past, I’d sworn off the opposite sex since my marriage ended. But now that Scents & Nonsense wasn’t demanding all my energy and time, I had to admit that a sense of loneliness had begun to seep into my evenings.
“But you know what they say about the men in Poppyville, Dash. The odds here are good, but the goods are pretty odd.”