Deadly Sweet

by Lola Dodge

  Stef sniffed. “Should you?”

  “You’re the teacher.” I almost threw my towel at her.

  She muttered again, and this time I caught a few gems, like “Why Agatha chose,” and “nepotism.”

  Nepotism?

  More like desperation and timing. Agatha never would’ve called me if Hayley was still in town. She didn’t want me because I was blood. She needed a replacement, and apparently, I was the only one who fit whatever odd profile she needed. Otherwise, it would’ve been much easier for her to choose someone local.

  And why did Stef Oates want to be an apprentice? She was a pastry teacher, plus she already worked at the bakery and got paid. Becoming an apprentice would be a step backward.

  “Finish cleaning up.” Stef whirled away and stormed out into the shop.

  “Wait—” I called out, but the door was already slamming. She wasn’t even going to let me ask what I’d done wrong. Maybe because I hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Fuming, I packaged up the breads Stef hadn’t smushed. After scrubbing dishes until my knuckles stung, I was more irritated than furious.

  What a bust of a lesson.

  When the kitchen was spotless again, I had nothing left to fill up my day. Escaping the house would be insane and Wynn would stop me if I tried.

  I made my way upstairs to change out of my whites, carrying the baggies full of breads. If I lived anywhere else, I’d leave them out to share, but my house was a literal bakery. Anyone who wanted a snack could head to the shop.

  Light spilled out under Wynn’s door and I lifted onto tiptoes to pad past. I winced as the baggies crinkled. He’d for sure know I was trying to sneak again. Why was I even bothering?

  Because he saved my life, then ran away. I was still equal parts grateful and irritated.

  But Wynn had beaten a man with a crossbow for me, so I should probably thank him again. Maybe a gift of biscuits? Then I wouldn’t have to speak with him or see his dumb face.

  I always kept a marker in my pocket for labeling containers. I whipped it out and wrote Thank You on each bag of breads. The writing came out lumpy because bags of biscuits didn’t make a great writing surface, but the sentiment was there.

  Quietly, I set the bags in front of Wynn’s door. He’d notice eventually—unless Fondant tore the bags to shreds first—but I’d spotted the demon cat curled up asleep in Agatha’s office on my way upstairs.

  In the meantime, I had nothing to do.

  I tossed my apron on my bed and moved to my dresser. Most of my clothes were dirty and with all the early morning shifts and attempts on my life, I hadn’t had time to throw in a load of clothes. Now I had the time but not the desire.

  The one piece of clothing I hadn’t touched sat in its own empty drawer, making a puddle of purple and black ruffles. My dress uniform.

  Working in the shop wouldn’t technically put me out of the house, and I’d still be well within Agatha’s wards. I shimmied into the thing and checked it out in the bathroom mirror. The fabric was stretchy and mostly black, with purple ruffles clustered at the hem, neckline, and sleeves. When I turned in a circle, the skirt whirled but didn’t fly up too much. The neckline was lower than I usually wore but not so low it made me uncomfortable. A pair of thigh-high socks and an assortment of hair flowers had been folded into the uniform bundle, but squeezing the sock up my calf made my leg feel like an Italian sausage. Instead, I pulled on a pair of leggings under the skirt like some of the other shop girls and pinned a black flower into my ponytail. I wished I had cute shoes to wear with the outfit, but my normal non-slip kitchen shoes would work fine.

  All dressed, I headed down to Agatha’s office. She sat at her computer, surrounded by stacks of paper. I would’ve expected accounting or inventory lists. Instead, there were tons of maps in various states of unfolding and stacks of loose spell pages. Fondant slept on her own velvety armchair in the corner. The familiar’s ears twitched as my steps neared, but thankfully she didn’t wake.

  I slipped into the chair across from Agatha, peeking at the papers while I waited for her to notice me. Reading upside down, I wasn’t positive, but it looked like she was pouring over locator spells. The maps were marked with stars and big Xs.

  So, the warlock hunt wasn’t going well?

  When I rubbed the goose bumps on my arms, Agatha finally gave me her attention. “What are you wearing?”

  “My work uniform?” I self-consciously smoothed the ruffled sleeves. “I figured if I can’t leave the building…” If she didn’t let me work, I’d end up staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t even review the note binder Blair had given me. The Syndicate confiscated it from yesterday’s crime scene and who knew if it would make its way back to me?

  “Work if you want to work, but answer me a few questions before you head down.” Agatha tilted her monitor out of the way so she had a better view of me. With heavy bags under her eyes and strands of her long hair sticking out all over, she looked like she hadn’t slept last night either.

  The least I could do was answer her questions. “What do you want to ask?”

  “Have you noticed anyone suspicious hanging around you?”

  Suspicious? I went to school with a girl who wore snakes as necklaces, and something like fifty percent of the students were witches. Everyone was suspicious. “Not anyone in particular.”

  “Wynn says you haven’t been followed, but you might’ve noticed some magical signature he missed.”

  I drummed my toes against the carpet as I thought. “I didn’t feel any magic at all until the Hand was drained.” I’d been safe behind the Wus’ wards before then, and didn’t remember seeing anyone shifty the past few days.

  “You must’ve contacted the warlock at some point. She would’ve been nearby, guiding her Hand.”

  “I’d know if I met a warlock.” I was new to the vortex and all, but I’d been a witch my whole life.

  “Would you?” Agatha rested her chin on her knuckles, leaning forward in her chair. “What are the signs?”

  “Insanity? An army of Hands?” And I expected they’d be crackling with that creepy energy.

  “Nora.” She shook her head.

  “What about Mom?” I sat up straighter.

  “Sounds like she was trying to scare you straight, not teach you the facts.”

  “That’s not—” I stopped mid-defense. Mom probably had fudged. She’d wanted me afraid of the vortexes and the odds of bumping into a warlock anywhere else had been so slim, she could’ve bent the truth without putting me in danger. Even though I’d studied warlocks on my own, with only a few lore books to pull from, I couldn’t call myself a warlock expert. For what felt like the millionth time with Agatha, I swallowed down a big glob of pride. “How do you recognize a warlock?

  “The signs are much subtler than you’d think. That’s the hitch. Depending when this warlock turned, they might still be in transition. That’s a lot damned harder to spot.”

  I let out a breath but didn’t feel any lighter. “Is there anything physical?” My few books hadn’t mentioned it, but apparently my books had sucked.

  “Dilated pupils are the only obvious tell. The eye’s almost all black in a full-blown warlock.” Agatha leaned back so far her chair creaked. “And you can read the difference in their energy as their magic warps, but there’d be no way to tell if you didn’t know them before they turned.”

  “Then I wouldn’t notice.” I hadn’t been in town long enough to tell who was transitioning from witch to evil killer. “But why would they have any idea who I am?”

  “You’re my apprentice.” Agatha’s brow arched as if that explained it all.

  Maybe it did. “I guess everyone at TCC knows I work for you.” That might explain the poison. “Jealousy seems like a stupid reason to want me dead, though.”

  Agatha’s voice dropped low and ominous as a nightmare. “Jealousy’s the only thing that matters with a warlock. A grudge is powerful magic.”

  Jealousy? “Could St
ef…”

  “Oates?” Agatha cackled. “That old prune doesn’t have the guts.”

  “Prune?” If I was mathing right, Agatha was at least thirty years older.

  “Age is just a number, cupcake.” She waved me off. “Have Sam show you around the shop. Just don’t put a toe over the wards.”

  “Is it really safe? With all the windows?”

  “The windows are warded as strong as the doors.” Agatha waved me off. “And there are extra guards at the entrances. Stay buttoned up inside and no one can hurt you.”

  Feeling slightly more reassured, I scuffed my way downstairs. Stef was skulking in the kitchen. She shot a glare that made a shiver roll down my spine, and I forced myself to keep walking. Why hang out when she didn’t have a shift? To make me miserable?

  The shop soothed my frayed nerves. It was as busy as ever, and why wouldn’t it be? The customers had no idea we had a rogue warlock running around town. I recognized the girl standing outside the door, managing the flow of traffic. Jasmine? A burly dude stood next to her on the stoop. He had to be either a Shield or a hired civilian guard. I let out a breath of relief. I’m safe.

  Only fifteen to twenty people were allowed inside the shop at once, leaving four girls to work the counter and registers.

  I slipped to Samira’s side. “Need any help?”

  “Looking good!” She beamed one of her golden smiles. “You’re ready for the front of the house?”

  “If you’ll give me the tour.”

  Sam showed me around the back of the counter. “When it’s this busy, we limit the number of people in the shop, but don’t feel rushed and take your time helping each customer.” She helped me find a pair of latex gloves and demonstrated how to pick items from the case with a sheet of purple tissue paper. The black paper pastry bags were each sealed with a silver Agatha’s Bakeshop sticker. Much fancier than my last gig. “The hardest part for new girls is usually explaining the enchantments, but I’m guessing you’re all over that?”

  “Definitely have that part down.” Even if Agatha wasn’t letting me do anything important, I’d had a hand in making almost every pastry in the shop. I’d for sure peeled the apricots that became glaze for the nearest tray of Danishes.

  “Then go for it. And shout if you need help.” Sam bustled off to stop the little girl pressing her entire face against the ice cream case.

  I peered over the counter, looking for someone to help, but a saucer-eyed lady wandered over before I could call out to anyone. She held her purse in both arms, gripping it to her chest like she was ready to give herself compressions. “I…” Her head swiveled. “Something… For my granddaughter… Her birthday.”

  “How old is she?”

  The woman blinked at me.

  “Your granddaughter?”

  Finally, she processed the question. “Oh, Livvie? She’s turning eight.”

  “Were you thinking a big cake or a spread of cupcakes?” We could do cookie cakes and petit fours—among other things—but giving this woman two options was already a stretch.

  “A big cake. Yes. A big birthday cake.”

  “And the date of the party?” I grabbed an order pad from the countertop, falling right back into my old grocery store routine. Who knew those skills would transfer? Question by question, I worked the woman past her overwhelm.

  She left the shop beaming, and I put in a rush order for a three-tiered chocolate cake with prosperity and happiness enchantments and a butterfly motif. Then there was another customer, and another, and another. I handed out muffins, sliced off hunks of roll cake, and dished out enough donuts to give the entire county diabetes.

  I was already used to the even ding of the shop bell. Ting. Ting. Ting.

  Then Der-ting.

  The noise was odd enough that I glanced up with a Pain au chocolat halfway into its bag. Two men struggled outside the shop, bumping into the door.

  The guard, and…

  A lick of power crawled against my skin.

  That same creepy-crawly warlock magic sparked a wave of nausea.

  Another Hand.

  Magic surged. The ward muted the force of the blast, but a wave of red-black energy sent the Shield outside flying.

  The door opened.

  The Hand’s nightmare gaze swung to me. Whites stained blood red. Dilated pupils.

  Here? The pastry slipped from my fingers.

  But the wards…

  His fingertips sizzled, but the man didn’t flinch. Slowly, he pushed an arm through the doorway. Purple lightning crackled against his skin, singeing off his arm hair. Burning flesh. He kept inching forward.

  Not once breaking eye contact with me.

  A shudder rolled down my back.

  Customers were turning to look, but they didn’t realize what they were seeing yet.

  I grabbed Sam’s arm. “Get Agatha. And Wynn.”

  Her lips parted in an O as the man’s elbow crossed the ward. “Crap.” She pushed aside a stack of paper towels to slam the panic button under the counter.

  A faint alarm echoed—somewhere in the house?

  Agatha had to feel her ward straining, but it would take her long seconds to race downstairs.

  “Everyone through the kitchen!” I waved the nearest customers to the back of the store. The other shop girls tugged at the stragglers, dragging them through the next layer of warding.

  The Hand was already halfway inside. His feet hadn’t crossed the threshold, but he was using the door to lever the rest of his body across, no matter that his flesh smoked with magical burns. I didn’t dare cast anything as long as the ward was holding. I couldn’t risk cracking it.

  But I couldn’t stand here either. If I could just slow him down until backup came…

  Pressing my fingertips to the wall, I threw my power into the ward. Hold strong. Energy drained out of me until my vision wobbled, but his forward motion slowed.

  His hips had already cleared the ward. He hung half in the shop, half out, propped up by the flickering barrier.

  He reached for his pocket.

  A gun?

  No. A round mass—an inky black stone that pulsed with warlock magic.

  He lifted it high.

  The wards shattered along with every piece of glass in the shop.

  I ducked, covering my head against the spray of glass from the pastry case. The echoes of the dusted wards made my head spin.

  He’s in. He stood backlit by the afternoon sun. The crystal in his palm sucked in the light.

  “Anisssssse,” he hissed.

  Goose bumps pebbled my flesh.

  He grinned, dilated eyes crinkling.

  Don’t just stand here, idiot!

  What was I thinking?

  Burn.

  I gathered every scrap of magic I could call and pointed, directing the force straight between his eyes.

  Burn him.

  Fire bloomed like I’d pulled the trigger on a flamethrower. I sent the torrent flying for him.

  He lifted his stone and a blackish shield flared to life. When my flames collided with his spell, the two magics clanged like a hammer on a gong. The force knocked me skidding on shards of broken glass.

  My power started to flicker.

  Burn. I took a deep breath and urged the flames higher. My breath came in pants. I drew energy from my earring wells to keep fueling the fire. With the vortex humming in my veins, I had more power than ever.

  It wasn’t enough.

  The man laughed from within the whirlwind of flames, safe behind his inky barrier. My knees rocked. Vision wobbled. I’d black out if I kept this up much longer.

  Where was Agatha? Where was—

  Wynn vaulted the countertop.

  Finally!

  Sword bare, he flew for the Hand. I dropped my wall of flames and sagged, pouring sweat and barely able to stand.

  A snake of black magic whipped at Wynn, but violet light burst when the rope touched his gauntlet—a shield of purple light. He didn’t fli
nch at the smoke and acrylic-nails-on-chalkboard sound of magic on magic.

  I did flinch, covering my ears against the noise. I had to help, but my whole body shook. Already drained.

  Wynn dipped and dodged, but more magic snakes sprouted to dart for him. One grabbed his arm and the smell of burning flesh made me gag.

  Shield charm.

  I gripped my earlobe tight and let loose the protective charm, directing the energy over Wynn. A pale blue shield cut between him and the Hand and the tongues of black magic retreated.

  But no matter how he hacked with his sword, Wynn couldn’t crack the Hand’s barrier.

  My vision already had spots, but I was still conscious. Whatever energy I had left, Wynn needed it more.

  I pressed a thumb to one of the countless shards of glass that scattered the floor. A prick and a drop of blood oozed red as a pomegranate seed. When Wynn’s attack brought him dancing to my side of the bakery, I flicked the drop toward him. Whether it hit him or not didn’t matter.

  Witchcraft was ninety-nine percent intention and I knew exactly what I wanted.

  Give Wynn the strength to kick that asshole’s butt.

  Orangey sparks of light surrounded Wynn like fireflies. They flew into him and diffused, absorbing into his skin and spirit.

  Energy spent, I dropped. Crushed glass ground into my hands and knees. I could barely keep my eyes open, let alone feel the pain.

  With the hit of extra energy, Wynn’s blade whirled that much faster. The Hand stepped back and back. The miasma of red-black magic shrank by the second and the shield charm glowed strong and blue.

  Above the clanging, ringing chaos, I somehow heard another set of footsteps on the glass. The warlock?

  Not even adrenaline could force me to my feet at this point. Fear bubbled as I grappled for the strength to turn my head.

  Agatha stood at the gap in the counter.

  She crackled purple and black. The magic matched the fire in her eyes. “My shop?” Agatha made a chopping motion and the Hand’s stone shattered.

  The cloud of dark power dissolved like a breeze had blown through. And it had.

  A storm of Agatha.

  Without magic, the guy was no match for Wynn, who side-kicked him in the stomach, knocking him to his knees. The Hand’s insanely wide-eyed gaze stayed locked on me the whole time.