Deadly Sweet

by Lola Dodge

  Then how powerful was Agatha?

  A big SUV idled in the pick-up lane outside the terminal, and that was definitely witchcraft. My eyes wanted to slip away from the car and magic feathered my skin. Whatever enchantment she was running had the security guards strolling straight past, too.

  Lonnie tossed the suitcase into the trunk, and I climbed into the passenger side. Soon we were away from the airport, flying down the highway through Albuquerque. I sat on my hands, but my toes tapped the floorboards.

  “Agatha tells me this is your first visit to the vortex?”

  “Definitely.” I’d never even left New York.

  “You’ll start to feel it as we get closer. Can you reach the cooler in the back?” Lonnie jerked her head toward the back seat.

  A mini cooler sat on the floor. I had to unbuckle to grab it, but I pulled it into my lap. “Did you need something?” Maybe she’d packed waters?

  Lonnie laughed. “Open it and see.”

  I cracked the lid and gaped at the hodgepodge. There was one bottle of water—brown water—along with bunches of herbs, a tube of crackers, jars and jars of pills, a block of chocolate, plastic bags, wet wipes, gauze, earplugs, and a glass of tiny red toads and grass with holes cut in the lid.

  I must’ve interrupted Lonnie’s scavenger hunt. Otherwise, why?

  “You should see your face.” She laughed again. “You’ll start to feel the vortex soon. Everyone reacts differently, but you’ll know what you need if you need it. And with the altitude, you’ll want to take an anti-inflammatory anyway.”

  “But…” The toads. Why the toads?

  I would’ve asked, but I was sure I didn’t want to know. Lonnie floored the gas so hard my knees locked. Instead of trying to watch the scenery zoom past, I turned my head. I had a thousand questions.

  I opened my mouth. Then choked. Coughing, I tried to suck in more air, but it felt like my chest was being cranked through a pasta roller.

  “There’s a vial of lungwort. Five drops or so should fix you.”

  Spots dancing in front of my eyes, I clawed through the cooler. My head clouded. I needed air. The lungwort vial poked out from underneath the gauze and crackers. I grabbed it and squeezed the entire dropper onto my tongue.

  Then choked again.

  “Easy. It’s bitter.”

  Now she tells me? I gagged, trying to work up some spit. The preparation tasted like kale stems and crushed pennies, but the more I coughed, the more leaked down the back of my throat.

  My vision started tunnel-darkening. I clawed at my throat.

  I was going to pass out. Maybe that had always been the plan. Agatha wanted to harvest my organs. I never should’ve hoped for more.

  Would I be better off tucking and rolling from the car? Before I could grab the door handle, my throat unclogged.

  I sucked in a few breaths. Finally, the dark spots faded from my vision. I opened my mouth to ask what was going on, but I sounded like a gasping balloon. At least I had air, but what was this?

  “The vortex, dear.” Lonnie gave me a fond look that would’ve gone over a lot better before my airway shut down. “Difficulty breathing is a common side effect. Thank your stars it’s not the nausea. With Agatha’s last apprentice—Well, better not to speak of it.”

  Last apprentice? Where was she now? Still at Agatha’s or off starting her own bakery? I made a note to ask whenever my throat opened up wider than a cocktail straw.

  And how long would it take to acclimate? Lonnie flicked the radio to a country station, answering the question I couldn’t ask. Apparently, I wouldn’t be saying much the rest of the ride.

  The more we drove, the more the questions slipped from my mind. Something vibrated at the edge of my hearing and a weird sensation fluttered against my skin. Then it cut deeper, sinking into my bones. Breath came in little pants, sucked through my straw-narrow throat. I took another hit of lungwort, but the bitterness didn’t register.

  The vortex took every slice of my attention. Its power stole my breath. Literally.

  And I knew it was the vortex. This couldn’t be anything else.

  It felt like plowing toward the sun after spending my whole life alone in an ice field. But it was too much. A warming lamp would’ve been fine. Some magical central heating, even. The power wrapped me up and called to me, daring me to cast. My fingertips sparked.

  “Drink the water now.” Lonnie’s tinny voice echoed down a long tunnel. “Anise?”

  On some vague, disconnected level, I knew we’d pulled over. Magical flames were licking at my fingertips and sparks crackled against my jeans. The only real thing was the call of the vortex.

  Something pressed my bottom lip.

  “Drink. You’re losing control.”

  Was I?

  It didn’t seem like it. I felt…

  Free? Powerful?

  Yes and no. More than that. I felt…

  Home.

  Water filled my mouth.

  “Drink.”

  I tasted chamomile and lavender and other things I couldn’t name, but all of them were infused with magic. Calm wrapped me up in fluffy blankets. The sparks crackled to nothing.

  “There you go.” Lonnie kept tipping the bottle. I swallowed but still heard magic’s call. Thanks to the potion, I just didn’t have to answer.

  Lonnie pressed the bottle into my hands. “Can you hold it yourself?”

  I probably nodded.

  “Good. Only a few more minutes to Taos. Relax now.”

  With the herbs and magic swirling through my system, I didn’t have a choice. I managed to set the bottle in the cupholder before my eyelids fell. But one last question echoed through my dreams.

  If the portal pulled at me this much in the boonies, what it would it be like at the source?

  “We’re in town. Feeling better, dear?”

  Lonnie’s voice woke me as quickly as I’d passed out. New Mexico sunlight burned my eyes and my mouth tasted like I’d licked one of the cooler toads. The vibration of the vortex’s energy still jangled, but as a low constant pressure instead of a spike of power that made me act like an idiot. I kept glancing over my right shoulder. It was out there—somewhere past the strip malls and desert shrubs.

  The vortex.

  Just a taste, and I already understood why Mom needed to stay away.

  “Anise?”

  “Sorry.” I rubbed my ears, trying to block out the interference. “Will I get used to this?”

  “For the most part. It hits everyone its own way,” Lonnie said.

  Oh well. I was willing to pay the small price of magical tinnitus as long as my dream came true. The closer we got to the shop, the more it seemed like it actually might.

  The town was bustling but dusty. I craned around in my seat, trying to take it all in at once. Cute little tourist shops. A thousand and one Mexican restaurants. And lots of white people wearing dreadlocks for some ungodly reason. I’d been expecting wall-to-wall witches, and I couldn’t tell who had what powers from the moving car, but most of the pedestrians looked non-magical.

  A lot of hippies, but not actual magic ones.

  Lonnie flicked her turn signal. “We’re just turning onto Witch Way.”

  “It’s called that?” The street sign at the intersection answered my question. It was Warwick Street, not Witch Way.

  Not that the name mattered. I rolled down the window and leaned out to gape.

  No strip malls here. Each building was a stand-alone business, and each one looked like it had been transported in from a different fairytale. A Victorian mansion with turrets stood next to a technicolor cottage. Then a boxy, modern office building and a house with such thick gardens I couldn’t tell what all the trees were hiding.

  Camera-waving tourists crowded the extra-wide sidewalks where vendors had tables selling pointed black witch hats and what had to be fake charms. Packs of visitors lined up for selfies in front of the businesses’ signs.

  And the signs. Dusty Malone, Magi
cal Locksmith. The Wu Sisters Funeral Home & Necromancy Parlor. The Potion Pit—with an honest-to-gods drive-through window.

  We were halfway down the main drag when I realized all the signs had the same symbol—two S’s stylized around a pentagram. I recognized the symbol, but I wasn’t sure what it meant in this context. “The Syndicate marks. Does it mean whoever owns the business is a member?”

  “Not necessarily. Some of these businesses are owned by Syndicate circle members—like Peggy Wu, Sylvia Cano.” She nodded toward the buildings those women must own. “Otherwise, think of it as a certification instead of a membership. Your car breaks down, you go to a certified mechanic. You want charmed loafers, you buy from a certified witch. The Syndicate keeps us from running scams or selling things we shouldn’t. The police don’t bother us and we take care of our own. Here we are.”

  We pulled in front of a huge manor and my other questions evaporated.

  The sign proclaimed Agatha’s Bakeshop in proud, antique letters, and even this early in the morning, cars jammed the parking lot. Lonnie drove us past the customer lot to the wrought-iron gate that blocked the narrow drive winding toward the back of the building, where three stories of house towered over the first-floor shop.

  Lonnie slowed to a stop, waiting for the gates to auto open. “I was planning on taking you straight up to Agatha, but would you rather have a peek at the store?”

  “Could I?” My voice still scraped, but even I could hear the eagerness in it. People kept leaving the shop with towers of black bakery boxes and I ached to see what was inside. I could already smell the golden, glazey smell of frying donuts.

  “I’ll take care of your bags, dear. Come on through the kitchen when you’re done.”

  I dashed out of the car with the impulse control of a two-year-old, only slowing down when my lungs fought, reminding me I wasn’t breathing at full volume. Or maybe it was the altitude? A woman stepped out of the shop with a donut box and used her shoulder to hold the door for me.

  I forgot to thank her. The bell tinged behind me. Wards tingled against my shoulder blades, but who even cared?

  The main display case pulled me toward it before I could think about looking at anything else. It had three shelves packed with show-stoppers. A soft purple layer cake with chocolate drip icing hit me like a bread knife to the temple. It sparkled with power, the enchantment so strong I knew one bite would bring me all the good luck I’d ever wanted until today. And luck spells were beastly. One that powerful?

  Agatha was a genius.

  I walked turtle-paced around the shop, absorbing every detail from rows of glittering petit fours to the glass jars full of shimmering rainbow hard candies. There were piles of baklava dripping honey and happiness. Massive meringues puffed up with prosperity spells.

  I couldn’t breathe again. This time because I was too excited. When I managed to suck in little blobs of air they tasted like toffee, mocha, caramel, and fresh strawberry. Every sweet looked like a piece of art, decorated with black gum paste flowers or precision-placed sprinkles. Even the decorative black cake stands—a little gothic, but not too gothic—were perfection.

  Agatha’s was my dream bakery breathed to life.

  “Can I help you find something?” A girl peered at me over the counter. I’d pressed my face to the glass in front of a row of domed half macaroons that glowed with enchantments—I wanted to know which ones.

  She wore a frilly black apron and her dark hair was pinned back with black silk flowers that matched the ones on the cakes in the case. Her face pinched. “You’ve been looking around for an hour…”

  An hour? Was that all?

  I already felt like I belonged. As soon as I thought the thought it settled in like a kitten massaging my heart. I actually belonged here. I conjured a smile that I hope didn’t come off too crazed. “Just checking things out. I’m Anise. Agatha’s apprentice.”

  “Ohhh. New apprentice, huh?”

  “Starting on Monday. I’m moving in today.” I’d already said the words before I froze. I shouldn’t have volunteered info. But I felt so comfortable…

  “Cool. I’m Samira. Everyone calls me Sam.” She reached over the case, left palm up, right palm down.

  A greeting? I’d zoned out too deep to bother about the customers, but the shop was so packed with people that one of the girls had posted herself at the door to control how many bodies could come in from the line.

  My instincts would’ve had me diving behind the counter to hide, but Samira kept smiling like it was no big deal doing a witch’s greeting in public. Then I almost slapped myself.

  We weren’t in public. It was a magic bakeshop. The customers knew exactly what they were getting into by coming here, and no one who hated witches would be stupid enough to stray within a hundred miles of a magical power center.

  For the first time I could remember, there was no need to hide my true self.

  Left palm up, right palm down, I slid my hands above and under hers, not quite touching, but close enough to feel her energy. Sparks crackled between our hands. Mine were pinky-red today. Hers glittered the cheeriest yellow, I had to smile. “Nice to meet you.”

  I was feeling my way into her energy—really positive and happy—when a tourist snapped a pic of the exchange. Samira jumped away to tear around the counter. “No pictures in the shop. You’ll have to delete that, sir.”

  A breath gusted out of me. I tended to worry about the witch haters, but people swung the other way and turned into witch groupies, too. I didn’t want my picture posted on one of their crazy blogs. Or my face associated with magic. Someday, I’d have to leave Taos and go back to reality.

  Hopefully no day soon.

  After Sam dealt with the illegal photos, she moved back to her post behind the counter. “Do you want to try any samples?”

  Oh, did I ever.

  I didn’t hold back and Sam didn’t stop me. Donuts, baklava, a spoonful of hand-churned ice cream, slices of Danish, pie, and the cakes—!

  The flavors and magics rolled together on my tongue. I didn’t eat enough of any one thing to be swept up in the enchantment, but the baked-in spells impressed me even more than tastes and textures.

  The power.

  The perfection.

  And I get to work here.

  I licked the last of the glaze from my fingers before heading for the kitchen door. I’d already kept Agatha waiting way too long.

  When I stepped through, a second set of wards buzzed against my eardrums. This time, I was paying enough attention to get a feel for the warding. The magic pressed harder than it had when crossing into the shop. Sharp pinpricks. It reminded me of the derma-blade tool that pushy mall kiosk guy had rolled all over my arm, except it was a full-body sensation.

  The unpleasantness only lasted a second. Good thing. It was the heaviest ward I’d ever crossed and I could only imagine how painful it would be if it hadn’t let me through.

  I made it three steps through the door before my brain fizzled for non-magical reasons.

  I couldn’t have designed a more perfect kitchen. No one could.

  An island topped with marble stood in the middle of a ring of stainless-steel work surfaces. Industrial mixers, rolling carts filled with all types of flours… My fingers itched to get into some dough.

  Two women working in white uniforms gave me a nod. They’d probably shoo me away if I made a grab for one of the donuts being loaded into the glaze machine, but the glaze sparkled. Did it have a temptation enchantment?

  One lap around wasn’t enough to see all the tools, and I hadn’t even peeked into the pantry yet, but the route landed me at a huge window seat. The only space that wasn’t functional.

  The heavy black curtains were drawn, and a guy laid across the cushions. Ankles crossed. He’d thrown his arm over his eyes, and long shaggy locks blocked most of his face, but I spotted some stubble.

  Did he belong here?

  I glanced at the women, but they kept bustling around, not
seeming to care. So, he must be allowed, but he wasn’t dressed like a kitchen worker. He wore boots instead of non-slip work shoes, and his dark pants and T-shirt had already picked up a dusting of flour. More flour clung to his hair. Not thinking, I reached to brush it away.

  Fingers crushed my wrist. I froze, shocked at the strength in his death grip.

  He hit me with a pair of furious hazel eyes that made the walls of my throat pinch together.

  I tried to pull away. He gripped harder. My wrist joints creaked.

  “Please. I didn’t mean to—”

  He dropped my hand before I could finish the apology. Ignoring me as if I’d never been, he kicked up his heels, re-covered his eyes, and went back to his nap.

  I could only gape. Who was he?

  “Anise?” Lonnie peeked through the door at the back of the kitchen. “Agatha’s waiting. Are you ready?”

  “Coming.” I spared a last glance for Sleeping Beauty, who was already out again.

  But really? He wasn’t pretending?

  The swinging door looked like it belonged to a restaurant, but it passed through into a Victorian-looking hallway with enough sconces and portraits for the queen’s castle. I rubbed at my wrist. “Who’s he?”

  “He?” Lonnie turned back to me. “There’s—Oh. You mean Wynn?”

  “The one asleep in the kitchen?”

  “Yes. Wynn. He’ll be your bodyguard from here out. Come along.” She started down the hallway, leaving me rooted behind.

  Bodyguard?

  Lonnie had to be kidding.

  She moved briskly through the house, not giving me an opening to ask more. My shoes clapped against the wooden floors until we reached the thick purple carpeting that climbed the stairs. A thicket of live black roses twined the railings. I wanted to peek around more, but two French doors spread open at the top of the stairs. Lonnie herded me straight ahead into Agatha’s office.

  Agatha sat behind a massive desk that took up most of the room. Her long gray hair had streaks of brown and red, and her dangly half-moon earrings clinked while her head bobbed to whatever music was playing through her earbuds.