02 Pies and Potions - Mystic Cafe

by Rose Pressey

  Pies and Potions

  by Rose Pressey

  Copyright © 2012 by Rose Pressey

  Smashwords Edition

  More books by Rose Pressey:

  No Shoes, No Shirt, No Spells (Mystic Café Series, Book 1)

  How to Date a Werewolf (Rylie Cruz Series, Book 1)

  How to Date a Vampire (Rylie Cruz Series, Book 2)

  How to Date a Demon (Rylie Cruz Series, Book 3)

  Me and My Ghoulfriends (Larue Donavan Series, Book 1)

  Ghouls Night Out (Larue Donavan Series, Book 2)

  Flip That Haunted House (Haunted Renovation Series, Book 1)

  Rock ‘n’ Roll is Undead (Veronica Mason Series, Book 1)

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form, (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, incidents, places, and brands are the product of the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Dedication

  This is to you and you know who you are.

  Acknowledgements

  Once again, to my son, who brings me joy every single day. To my mother, who introduced me to the love of books. To my husband, who puts up with my crazy obsession of writing. A huge thank you to my editor, Eleanor. A special thanks to Cassandra Joy Johnson. And a huge thank you to the winner of the Mystic Café character contest, Marissa Dunn! I hope you like your character, Marissa.

  Chapter One

  Grandma Imelda plopped the now familiar spell book onto the kitchen counter. She flipped open the large cover and effortlessly leafed through the pages, moving toward the back of the book. The scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and nutmeg swirled upward from between the leather covers, tickling my nostrils with the flip of each page.

  Across the front of the book, the words Mystic Magic stared back at me, reminding me of who we were and the spells we performed every day. Every time I touched the book, I felt compelled to trace the gold embossed letters with my index finger. They called out to me. The paper was thick, cream-colored, with romantic black font scrolled across reminiscent of older times. Each one had its own unique symbol placed in the center at the top.

  Grandma Imelda stopped on page six hundred and fifty-six, then pointed at it with her red-tipped fingernail. The title of the chapter was one that I didn’t recognize, and I’d been through that book a million times over the past couple months since taking over Mystic Café. My grandmother had left the café to me several months ago. And now I was the proud owner of a gigantic book of spells.

  I peered down at the spot where she pointed. With a raised eyebrow, I asked, “Potions?”

  “You got it. Potions.” She nodded, the mass of white hair whirled high on top of her head not budging.

  “That chapter wasn’t there before.” I gestured toward the book. “I looked at a chapter toward the back earlier today and this one wasn’t there. There has been no mention of potions up until now.”

  She wiped her hands on the red-and-white-polka-dotted apron tied around her pleasantly plump waist. “Well, I’m not surprised you didn’t see it.” She paused while she lifted a large white bowl from the shelf. “It was just added a few minutes ago,” she continued without as much as a blink of the eye.

  “What do you mean it was just added?” I choked out.

  “You know how the book works, so you shouldn’t be so surprised.”

  Grandma Imelda left my side and moved over to the rows of spices that lined the kitchen wall. The little bottles were full of magical spices that I used for the spells. Each bottle had the words Mystic Magic etched on the front in the same extravagant lettering as on the spell book. Cinnamon, vanilla, allspice, ginger, and rosemary were a few of the magic ingredients I used, which not only added the magic, but made the food taste good, too. These spices were better than eye of newt and toad legs. There had been some spices that I’d never heard of, like mace—which sounded as if it should be sprayed on the face of a deranged attacker—and galangal. That one sounded like it needed a special ointment to cure it.

  Now the spices bottles were accompanied by two similar bottles of liquid that sat in the middle of the shelf. Grandma Imelda grabbed one of the bottles and moved back over to my side.

  “And those weren’t there a couple minutes ago. Those bottles aren’t full of spices.” My voice had raised a level with excitement.

  “Well, how do you think you’ll do the potions without the ingredients?” she asked from over her shoulder.

  “I have no idea…” As usual, I was clueless.

  “Don’t you just love the colors? And I like the bottles too.”

  “Yeah, they’re lovely,” I said dryly.

  “I told you, dear, they add to the book when updates are necessary. It’s magic. You don’t know when they’re going to do it… they just do it.”

  “I remember that, but this is an entirely new thing that I’ve been totally unaware of up until now. I wish y’all would stop being so secretive.” I slipped a blue-and-white-polka-dotted apron over my head and tied the strings around my waist. The new Mystic Café aprons were a splurge purchase. We may not all have matching uniforms, but our aprons were coordinated. “Let’s just get all this magic business out in the open. It’s potions, for heaven’s sake. I’ve never worked with liquid.”

  This was making me nervous. I had never agreed to potions. Liquid was a completely different tricky subject. Adding magical spices to food was one thing, but an actual liquid potion? What the heck was I supposed to do with that?

  “May I ask why all of a sudden they’ve added a potions section? Why not start that from the beginning?”

  Grandma Imelda continued to scurry around the room, collecting ingredients into her short arms.

  “This is nothing new, sweetie. Witches have been doing it for hundreds of years.”

  I lifted the bag of flour from her full arms and placed it on the counter. “Yes, witches have, but not inexperienced magic wannabes.”

  Sure, I’d heard about potions, but I hadn’t thought they were real. I had thought all magic was make believe until recently. All of it was hocus pocus, toil and trouble, and all that witchy stuff. However, that was neither here nor there now.

  The National Organization of Magic was in charge of all things magic. The overseers of magic as Grandma Imelda called them. They made sure everyone followed the rules and did things for the good instead of bad. Everyone had a representative from the Organization and mine just happened to be a gorgeous hunk of man. But that was a conversation for another time. Anyway, nasty magic wasn’t tolerated. I’d only discovered these details recently when my grandmother retired and left me her little southern café. Mystic Café in Mystic Hollow, Kentucky. Most people didn’t know how special our town was.

  The whole town was full of magic. It emanated through the streets, in the shops and restaurants, along the sidewalks, and in the park. Magic was everywhere. I wasn’t the only one who practiced magic around town. We had a magical bookstore, barbershop, antiques shop, gift shop, and more. Last month we even got a magical beauty salon. I hadn’t been yet, but I was holding out hope that they could work wonders on my hair.

  After the initial shock from learning I had inherited my grandmother’s ability, I’d become excited to learn the craft. But apparently it was going to be a
long time before I knew the ins and out of the Organization.

  I’d learned the hard way that giving a person the wrong spell had serious repercussions. There were general spells that helped everyone and then there were the specific spells for the individual. Those were tougher, of course. I had this new ability to pick up on a person’s energy and discover which spell they needed at any given time. An electric-like jolt hit me every time I tapped into a person’s aura.

  In spite of the spell mishap that had started my career, I had grown somewhat comfortable over the last several months. But at this moment, a burning desire to dash from the kitchen as fast as my legs would carry me swept over me. Running away wouldn’t work though. Grandma Imelda would hunt me down and drag my butt back. She knew this was where I wanted to be, and deep down I knew it, too.

  A couple months ago, I’d been in my tiny Brooklyn apartment, reeling over a nasty breakup with my ex-fiancé and cursing my job from hell when Grandma Imelda beckoned me back to Mystic Hollow. It was as if she’d sensed my misery, and now I knew she had. The next thing I knew, Grandma Imelda was retiring to sunny Florida.

  Grandma Imelda hadn’t just left me in charge of the café… no, that would have been bad enough. I was the new owner. The place was all my responsibility now. I had seriously questioned her sanity with the decision to leave me in charge… I still did. But when Grandma got an idea in her head, there was no stopping here. She didn’t quit until she’d accomplished her goal. And she had been determined to relax on the beach and visit Mickey Mouse.

  “Again, do you want to tell me why the Organization is just now sharing the potions with me?”

  “Simple. You weren’t ready for the potions part yet. That takes a more advanced level of magic.” She gathered another small bowl, spoons, and then began measuring out the flour.

  “Of course it does, and I’m perfectly ready for that advanced level after only two months,” I said sarcastically.

  “Don’t sass your grandmother.” She waved the wooden spoon at me. “Now grab one of those bottles, and let me show you what to do with it.”

  “Do I have to?” I swallowed hard. Why did I feel like a child being forced to eat her broccoli?

  She placed her hand on her hip, and said, “Yes. Now scoot.”

  I shuffled over to the wall of spices and reluctantly took one of the clear little bottles down. The liquid inside was a bright green color. It kind of looked like minty mouth rinse. I held it out in front of my chest as if it was radioactive.

  “Very good. Now bring it over here.” Her many bracelets jingled as she motioned for me to join her in front of the book. “Wait until you see what the potion does when added to the spices.”

  “How is the potion different than the spices?” I asked.

  “The good thing about the potions is that you don’t have to mix them. How easy is that?”

  I quirked a brow.

  “They come ready made. It’s much easier than the spices.”

  Easy for her to say.

  “But let me warn you, you have to get them exactly right. They’re already measured for you though. The potions can be a lot more potent. It is easy to give too much. That’s why only someone with experience can be trusted with the task.”

  “I’m sorry, but I still don’t see how I have the experience needed. The Organization needs to reevaluate their magical practitioner criteria.”

  “Well, you certainly don’t have a lot of faith in yourself. I thought I had taught you better than that.” She wiggled her index finger at me.

  I thought I had taught me better too, but my feelings were my feelings, and there was nothing I could do to change them.

  “I know this is still new to you, but the Organization has confidence in you. If they didn’t, then they wouldn’t have added the pages.” She clicked her tongue.

  I was still trying to come to terms with how the pages just changed or appeared without anyone touching the actual book. When the spices I used for my spell casting ran low, they would reappear too. It was kind of convenient, but a little disturbing to watch the bottle fill back up before your eyes.

  “So, I guess you plan on me doing something with these potions today?” I asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, I sure do.” She poured ingredients for the cake into the big bowl.

  Beads of sweat formed on my forehead. Seriously, what would happen if I ran out the back door? What if I stripped off my apron, tossed it down, and didn’t look back as I sprinted out the door? Yes, Grandma Imelda would definitely hog-tie me and drag me back. I might as well get this over with before I entertained another runaway thought. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, although she’d said the potion was more powerful than the spices. Great. More opportunity for me to screw up. I shook the thought aside.

  As if she read my mind, she said, “They know what they’re doing. They wouldn’t ask you to do this if they didn’t have confidence in you. Now you need to have a little bit of confidence in yourself. Okay?” she asked while nodding her head.

  I didn’t want to agree, but I did it anyway. Anything to make Grandma Imelda happy because I loved to make people happy, especially Grandma Imelda. Whenever I thought someone might be upset with me, a twisted knot formed in my stomach and a huge lump lodged in my throat—not a pleasant feeling.

  Grandma Imelda continued, “I only use the potions for special spells. And that’s what we’re getting ready for now. Every year just before the fall equinox, I perform the same spell for everyone in town. It gets the people of Mystic Hollow ready for winter. It makes them wild.” She smiled to herself as she stirred the batter. Her rosy cheeks glowed.

  My eyes widened. “What? It makes them wild? Why on earth would you want everyone around here wild? Aren’t they crazy enough already?”

  She chuckled. “When I say wild, I don’t mean crazy-crazy. What I mean is that it makes them happy in a wild way. They live life to the fullest with wild abandon.” She waved the wooden spoon through the air like a wand.

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Grandma.” I smiled, attempting to hide my anxiety.

  She grabbed the green-colored potion. “Nonsense. I’ve been doing it for years. Why do you think you wanted to be a ballerina all of a sudden when you were sixteen?”

  “What? You mean you were responsible for that debacle? I almost broke a leg going to those classes. I caused the teacher to take an early retirement.”

  “You had fun.” She pulled the top off the bottle. It made a loud pop from the force of the suction.

  I shook my head. “Um, not so much.”

  “Well, anyway, this spell is what makes Mystic Hollow one of the happiest towns in the world. We don’t need fancy things to make us happy. I mean, sure those things are nice, but this spell makes everyone strive for more from within. It makes them want to succeed at whatever they set their mind to. That’s why you tried the ballerina thing.”

  “There’s just one flaw in that though… I didn’t succeed.”

  “Well, it’s not because you couldn’t have, you just decided to do something else, that’s all.”

  “I’m sorry, Grandma, but there is no way I believe that I could have made it as a ballerina. I have two left feet and short legs. I’m ballet’s worst nightmare and it’s a good thing I quit.”

  “It’s not about if you succeeded at that one particular thing, it’s that you kept on trying. Look at you now, you’ve made a success of the café.” She waved her hand around as a huge grin split her face.

  “Were you responsible for that time I wanted to be a circus clown?”

  The whirl from the mixer cut off my words.

  When the noise stopped, Grandma Imelda shoved the bottle of potion into my hand. “Pour some into the batter.” She gestured toward the large white bowl.

  I had to admit those little bottles of potions had me intrigued. The colors were so vivid. After letting out a pent-up breath, I positioned the bottle over the bowl and with a shaky hand, tilted it downward. T
he liquid bubbled slightly, rising to the top where I thought it might seep over the edges of the bottle.

  Grandma pushed the book toward me, nudging me with a poke of her finger to begin the spell. My nerves tingled. I took in another deep breath and let it out. I’d done this before. Many times now. How hard could doing the liquid spells be? I mean, sure Grandma claimed that they were more potent, but I could handle it, right? I thought I let out an audible gulp at the thought. The bottle slipped and I tightened my grip as my palms became sweatier. Letting the bottle slip out of my hands was the last thing I needed.

  “This will make your red velvet cake even more special.” She grabbed the cake pans and placed them on the stainless steel countertop. “Look at that creamy batter.” Her eyes widened as she stared down at the bowl. “Why, it looks good enough to eat.” She chuckled.

  She always had loved my red velvet cake. I made a spectacular cream cheese icing. But nothing topped Grandma’s cooking. Her apron strings were hard to fill.

  Grandma tapped the page for emphasis. “The spell really is so simple. Don’t frown like that, dear, it’ll cause wrinkles.” She gestured toward my forehead.

  “Wrinkles are the last thing I’m worried about right now. I don’t want to ruin everyone’s lives.”

  “Nonsense. Now run over there and grab the spices listed in the spell.”

  I needed to focus on the spells and my baking. I glanced down at the book to find out which spices I needed. Making a mental list, I forced my legs to move forward. But I didn’t run. It was more of a shuffle. Maybe an amble followed by a nervous twitch.

  After collecting the needed spices, I lined the bottles up on the counter next to the potion and began the spell. The book said to add the spices after the first dose of potion, then add more potion at the end. Pulling the lid off the first spice, I paused, then finally I sprinkled it into the batter. Tiny sparks began to form, spreading a muted glow around the room. I mixed the batter, then added the second spice. A fizzing sound bubbled up from the bowl.