Seashells, Spells & Caramels: A Cozy Witch Mystery

by Erin Johnson

  I could see that point. But then again, with everyone possessing magical powers, weren’t there a lot of things other folks could do to be sneaky also? Seemed unfair to single out shifters.

  “Last, but not least,” Amelia continued, a few steps further away from Francis, who continued to glare at her. “You’ll be given the afternoon to practice and get the hang of your baking stations. I’m assuming everyone brought their own flames? Yes?”

  I raised my hand and shook my head.

  Amelia sighed heavily. “Right. Where are we going to find you a spare flame?”

  Pritney piped up in an overly sweet voice. “Why doesn’t she partner with Iggy?”

  Amelia’s brows drew together. “You think he’d go for it?”

  Pritney smiled widely and batted her lashes. “Absolutely.”

  “Who’s Iggy?”

  Maple shrugged. “At least you’ll have a flame though.”

  I frowned. I had a feeling I was in way over my head.

  12

  Practice Makes Something

  Amelia folded her hands. “Tomorrow’s challenge will be a showcase bake—something that shows off your skills. It can be anything you like. I suggest you spend the next few hours practicing. Also, I’d like to introduce you to our medic, Natsu.” Amelia motioned to her left. A tall, golden-skinned man with dark, thick brows waved. He wore a navy-blue jumpsuit with a crest embroidered on it.

  “You can call me Nate. And while I’d like to meet you all, I hope it’s not because you’ve blown a hand off.”

  I grinned, and he flashed a bright white smile.

  I turned back to Amelia, though it was difficult to pry my eyes off the handsome medic.

  “He’ll be on hand in case anything goes wrong or you’re not feeling well. All right then, carry on!”

  I swept a hand over the long butcher-block counter. I’d never had so much space in my life. In the cabinets below I found ceramic mixing bowls, spoons, whisks, and tin baking sheets. Now what to make? I drummed my fingers on the butcher block and looked around the tent for inspiration.

  Everywhere, something fantastic caught my eye. Fire danced up Wool’s arms and wrapped around his neck. As Lillian rolled out dough, little blue birds flew into the tent, perching on her shoulders and in her nest of hair, chirping away.

  Bern bent low over his table, peering through his glasses. Reams of papers littered his table with drawings of molds and cakes. He muttered to himself, “It may take a few flying buttresses to maintain the integrity of the….” As he spoke, a feather quill danced magically across the papers, jotting down his specifications and outlining the drawings.

  “That’s incredible,” I murmured.

  “Oh, hmm?” He looked up at me over his spectacles, then down at the quill. “Ah, yes, quite handy. You charm it to jot down exactly what you do, so you can replicate it again, or tweak things for the next time.”

  I sighed. “That would be useful.”

  Bern straightened. “I can show you how if you’d like?”

  I brightened. “I’d love that.”

  The middle-aged man came over to my station. “Do you have a recipe book?”

  “I do!” I procured my folder of loose papers.

  He nodded. “And a quill?”

  I bit my lip. “I don’t.”

  Bern looked around. “Maybe someone has a spare or—oh! That’ll do. Lillian?”

  The older woman looked up, birds flying round her head like a mobile.

  “Might we borrow a feather to make a quill for Imogen?”

  She grinned, showing off a few missing teeth. “Borrow? You going to return it to the birdie then?” She cackled, and with a flick of her wrist, a bright blue feather loosened itself from a bird and floated over to us. Bern plucked it out of the air. “Now we just need a bit of wood and metal.”

  I darted just beyond the tent and picked up a stick. “Will this do?” I felt like a Labrador playing fetch.

  “Perfect.” Bern collected it from me. “We could create all this from scratch, it just requires more effort to do so. The only thing you can’t conjure from nothing is food, of all things. Now for a bit of metal.”

  “Oh!” I reached up into my bun and fished out a bobby pin. “How about this?”

  Bern peered at it through his glasses. “Should work.” He laid the feather, bobby pin, and stick on my station, then moved to his. He returned with a leather-bound book six inches thick.

  My mouth hung open. “What is that?”

  He grinned sheepishly and pushed his glasses up his nose. “My spell book. I’ve been accused of being overly thorough.”

  He flipped through the book. “Q, Q… ah, here it is, quills.” He marked his place on a page covered in words and diagrams. Bern held his other hand over the ingredients. “Turn in a clockwise manner, okay.”

  He swirled his hand over the ingredients, then read from the book. “Metal for the nib, wood for the shaft, feather for the frill, magic make quill.” A little flash of light followed, then a popping noise, and suddenly a quill lay on my table where the individual parts had been a moment ago.

  “Thank you, that’s amazing.” I picked up the quill and pretended to scribble in the air. “And very practical. No ‘hocus pocus’ or ‘alacazam’?”

  He gave me a shy smile. “No. Afraid my spells are rather boring.”

  I smiled back. “How do I get it to write for me?”

  Bern consulted a subcategory of his “quills” entry. “Why don’t you try this one?”

  My stomach turned with a mix of anxiety and excitement. “I’m not sure I can.”

  “It’s the only way to learn,” Bern said gently. “Hold the quill upright.”

  I did.

  “Next, you draw on power from deep within. It’s kind of like taking a deep breath, pulling magic up from your toes. Then you say, ‘Quill, jot down all my recipes, true and right.’”

  The quill vibrated in my trembling hand. I took a deep breath, imagined pulling magical energy up from my toes to my lungs and said, “Quill, jot down all my recipes, true and right.”

  I looked to Bern for confirmation. He nodded at the quill. Slowly, carefully, I pulled my fingers back and—it dropped to the tabletop. Hmmph. Disappointment sat heavy in my stomach.

  “Try again,” he said gently.

  I did, again and again. Lillian counseled me to stand barefoot in the grass. Maple suggested I sing the words to a happy tune, and Zeke offered a wand. Hank helped by muttering, “Can’t even do a simple spell, and they call this a competition.” I wanted to kick him in the shins, but he was right. What was I doing here?

  Bern ended up enchanting the quill for me. I stood over my table, happy to let everyone disperse to their own bakes while I calmed my nerves. I wanted this bad. Not only to win, but to learn to wield my magic. I had nothing to go home to.

  Okay, I had a loving family in St. Louis to go home to, and it was unfair to discount that. I leaned my head against my hand. But it made sense, why I’d always felt I didn’t belong. I literally wasn’t even human. I was… a witch. And not like Pritney was a witch in the personality sense of the word, but an actual, magic-wielding, cackle over a cauldron witch. And I had better learn how to be a darn good witch, or I’d be flying an airplane, instead of a broomstick, home tomorrow.

  I heaved a great sigh. Well, I could always do poppy seed cake the traditional way. Maybe the judges would find my human techniques charming and quaint.

  I flipped to the recipe in my book, the magical quill hovering at the ready. We had full access to the royal gardens behind the tent. Maybe they grew some edible flowers I could adorn the cake with.

  As I walked to the pantry I passed Hank, who didn’t look up, but huffed as I went by. I glared at him. Tall and sharp-jawed, he might have been handsome, despite that large crooked nose, if he weren’t scowling all the time.

  A frosted glass jar of cream flew past my head, the cold of the jar stinging my cheek. I jumped and looked back. Th
e jar floated softly onto Sam’s table. He raised a hand. “Sssorry!”

  Shaky, I raised a hand back and nodded. It’s okay that you almost decapitated me with a jar of cream.

  I dipped into the pantry, a small room lined floor-to-ceiling with shelves. I touched a frosted jar of syrup and yanked my fingers back from another jar wrapped in a band of flames. The liquid inside bubbled. I guessed with magic you didn’t need refrigerators to keep things cold, or slow cookers to warm them. Handy.

  Ducking under a bunch of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, I gathered a carafe of cow’s milk, a jar of butter, plucked a couple of speckled chicken’s eggs from a basket, and grabbed a small burlap sack of poppy seeds.

  When I returned to my station I moved to set my oven to three hundred and fifty degrees, but didn’t see a dial. A sneaking suspicion caused my chest to grow tight. I threw open the cabinets. No electric mixer either. I patted around the tabletop and sides of the counters, my breathing coming faster and faster. Rhonda the Seer rushed up to me and put her hands on my shoulders.

  “What are you looking for?” Her eyes searched my face.

  “There’s no electricity.” I needed to sit down.

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Rhonda said. “Let’s ask Amelia. AMELIA!” she screamed. “AMELIA!”

  Outside the tent, Amelia stood talking with a small group of men with hammers and long boards of wood thrown over their shoulders. She held up a finger, said a few more words to the men, and then stalked over, a tight smile on her face. “Yes? What?”

  Rhonda pointed a neon-green-and-pink fingernail at me. “Imogen needs licktricity.”

  Amelia turned to me, eyebrow cocked.

  “Electricity. I— That’s what I cook with at home.”

  “Oh right, the flame.” Amelia grabbed a handful of grass, spoke a few words into her palms, and then blew the blades into the air. As they fell onto my table they caught fire, growing into a bright orange-and-gold flame. “There. Anything else?”

  I blinked at the fire, which miraculously wasn’t spreading. “How do I cook with it?”

  Amelia threw an arm toward the oven below the counter. “Put it in the oven.” She pressed a finger to her earpiece. “Be right there.” She dashed off.

  Rhonda the Seer gave me a double thumbs-up, then skipped off.

  I turned back to the flame sitting on my table. “Okay, how to get it into the oven.”

  “It? Rude. Maybe I’ll just call you ‘it.’”

  I staggered a few steps back. My fire had just spoken. I looked around the tent, but no one had seemed to notice. Or maybe they just didn’t find it that remarkable. “You can speak.”

  “Oh, we’ve got a real genius here.” My fire had a very low, droll English accent, and a face, two round eyeballs with black dots in the center and mouth that gaped open when it spoke.

  “I’m Imogen.” I reached out a hand in greeting, then pulled it back when the flame roared higher and hotter. “Right. Fire. Will burn.” I chuckled nervously, rubbing my arm.

  The fire continued to stare me down.

  “What’s your name?”

  “I’m only telling you because I don’t wish to be addressed as ‘it.’”

  I nodded. “Sorry about that.”

  “Iggy. My name is Iggy.”

  “All right then. Iggy.” I plastered on a smile. “Could you— I mean, would you mind—” I swept both hands toward the oven.

  Iggy’s eyes grew small.

  I stood there waiting, my palms open. I gave him a toothy grin. “Maybe we can work together?” I was pleading with a flame. A flame who continued to glare at me. Warmth rushed to my chest and cheeks. I could see my bad luck with fire was only continuing. I stomped my foot. “Get in there!” I jabbed my finger at the oven.

  Iggy gave me a cruel smile and slid over the counter into the mouth of the oven, leaving a charred black trail behind. “As you command.”

  I took a few calming breaths. Maybe that had been a little rude of me. Okay, a lot. I crouched down in front of him, worried my eyebrows might be in danger of being singed off.

  “We got off on the wrong foot.”

  “I don’t have feet, witch.”

  I closed my eyes for several moments, willing the anger inside me to simmer down. “Figure of speech. We started off badly. But I’d like it if we could start over.”

  He said nothing.

  “Could you, please, heat the oven to three hundred and fifty degrees? I’d very much appreciate it.”

  His eyes flashed and a slow grin spread across his face, until he burst into laughter, his fire gusting with each deep-throated chuckle.

  I shifted, balancing on my toes. “What?”

  He continued to laugh. “Do you think I’m a thermometer?”

  Maple came to stand by me. “Flames are tricky.”

  I rolled my eyes toward Wool, whose fire danced along his arms. “Doesn’t seem tricky for anyone else.”

  “Wool’s had his flame since birth.” A pink blush spread over her cheeks. “It’s why the Fire Kingdom has such good bakers. The Earth Kingdom may have the best ingredients and training, but the Fire Kingdom people spend their lives developing their relationships with their flames. It takes time, and trust. Maybe try to get to know him?”

  “I’m so behind,” I muttered.

  Maple stood taller. “Whenever I felt discouraged by not being as good as someone else at something, my nana always said, ‘They had to start where you are. Everyone starts at zero.’ Just remember that, all right?”

  I nodded. Yeah, but what if I stay at zero? “I’m used to cooking with set temperatures. How do you bake with a magical flame?”

  Maple brows knitted together. “We simply tell them what we want. For instance, ‘cook this pie until the crust is golden brown and you can see the filling bubbling up.’ Something like that.”

  I cocked my head to the side. “So the flame, theoretically at least, helps you?”

  “Oh, yes.” Maple shook her head, blond waves skimming her shoulders. “I don’t know how I’d get on without mine. She was my nana’s flame, actually. Knows all her recipes.”

  Maple moved back to her station, pausing once to give me an encouraging nod. I crouched back down to my flame.

  “Iggy, I’d very much like if we could work together.”

  “I’m sure you would,” he drawled.

  I tried not to let him rile me, and considered Maple’s words. “Can you heat this oven evenly at a medium-hot temperature? Just the right one for baking a poppy seed cake?”

  Iggy considered a moment, then nodded. “Yes. I can.”

  I grinned. “Wow. Thank you.” I stood up and gave the counter a happy little pat. Well, good. I frowned. Though it seemed too easy.

  I mixed up my cake batter. As I added almond extract, the blue feathered quill hopped onto the open page next to me. Its feather bobbed as it crossed out 1 teaspoon and wrote 1 1/2 teaspoons. I grinned, delighted. I then buttered a beautiful silver Bundt pan and poured the batter into it.

  I crouched down in front of the oven, the heat stinging my face. I smiled at Iggy and gently slid the pan into the opening.

  “Can you cook this until it’s baked through, not too dark, just a very light golden crust around the outside?”

  Iggy grinned slyly. “Indeed, I can.”

  “Thank you. I think an hour should just about do it.”

  I stood and turned over a magical hourglass that Zeke had explained ran out at whatever time you ordered it to. “One hour.” Maybe baking without magic wouldn’t be as much of a challenge as I’d imagined—not with everyone’s help.

  The tent took on a mix of beautiful aromas—sweet sugar, bitter chocolate, and tart raspberry. My nose was in heaven.

  I made a few trips to the pantry, returning the pouch of poppy seeds and the jar of milk. When I returned, the stinging scent of smoke reached my nose. I sniffed a few times, looking around the tent, before I realized it came from my ove
n.

  I dropped to a crouch. “Oh no!” I fanned my hand, then grabbed a kitchen towel and fanned away more black smoke. “Iggy! Iggy, stop burning!”

  “Oh, now you want me to just extinguish and die, I see.”

  “No, I mean, stop burning my cake.”

  The flame pulled to the back of the oven, and with red mitts over my hands, I pulled the pan out, turning my head to avoid the smoke. I coughed through it, shoving the torched bake onto my countertop. Zeke dashed over and waved his wand at it. The smoke cleared immediately, but black, charred cake remained.

  “Is it a volcano cake?” Zeke grinned at me through his scruffy beard. I wanted to laugh, but just didn’t have it in me. Zeke mouthed “Sorry” and retreated back to his station. I gritted my teeth together and dropped down.

  “You said you would bake it till it was golden brown.”

  “No,” Iggy purred. “I said I could, not that I would.”

  “Urg! You are—” I pressed my lips tight together, stopping myself before I cursed at him.

  “Infuriating?” Iggy opened his fire eyes wide.

  “Yes!” My chest heaved.

  “You could always quit.”

  13

  The Library

  So, practice went well.

  I stood with the others on the lawn in front of the house, trying to stay on my feet in spite of my exhaustion.

  “I need not remind you the royal family will be present tomorrow, so let’s do our best.” Amelia opened her gray eyes wide, looking at each and every one of us. Nerves tightened my chest. She then clapped her hands. “Dinner will appear soon. See you here, on the lawn, tomorrow morning at eight sharp.”

  She turned to go, but Glenn raised a finger. “Have my dietary needs been considered for dinner and breakfast and all our meals? If we want snacks, where do we get those?” He looked around the group, grinning. “Sometimes I get a bit peckish in the middle of the night, you know. Don’t worry, I’m not sleepwalking if you see me roaming the halls, just looking for a bit of cheese and bread, or some hot cereal, or a slice of chocolate cake.” He licked his full lips, eyes closed. “Hmm, I could go for a bit of chocolate cake right about now, couldn’t you? In fact, how about—”