“Pie, please!” the girl said.
I sighed. It seemed like there would only be one way to get back to work. “What kind?”
“Whatever is your favorite,” they replied in unison, smiling brightly.
I had to suppress my shudder. The smile was just a bit too big, too bright, to be honest. “You know how much my pies cost, right?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” the girl said, her eyes sparkling.
The boy held out his hand, three shining acorns nestled in his palm. Or, at least, I thought they were acorns. But I blinked, and the image of acorns was gone, replaced by a stack of gold coins.
Man, Fae were weird. Couldn’t they just pay in real American dollars?
I eyed the gold coins again. Maybe the bank could exchange them for something I could actually use. “Fine. Just come back tomorrow.”
The children/creatures smiled at me, then turned and skipped back down my path to the sidewalk. I closed the door and had to take a moment to compose myself before doing anything else. I smoothed back my wet hair, now streaked with purple-black, and rubbed at my face.
The oven timer dinged, and I shook myself out of the fear and awkwardness. They wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, and I had to finish this set of orders before I even started thinking about their odd request.
At least it was business.
***
Sometime around lunch, after Luke picked up all the day’s orders, I sat down at the kitchen peninsula and flipped through my handwritten recipe book. What pie was my favorite? That was easy. It was blueberry pie, plain and simple. The same recipe my grandmother passed on to me, with the same crust I used for most of my pies. The first pie I had ever learned to bake, guided by her loving hands.
But somewhere deep inside, there was a piece of me that didn’t want to share that with the creepy children. What were they, anyway? They had to be some type of Fae, judging from the stack of gold coins and the inhuman air about them. The town was overrun with them, ever since the Autumn Prince had struck that bargain for the land behind my house/bakery. It was a place to build his own cottage, a vacation home perfect to view New England’s famous fall foliage. He had officially announced his plans through the news last night during their Harvest Festival updates.
He bought the land for only a few charmed acorns. No one really knew how he’d gotten away with that...or what exactly the acorns were charmed with. At least the Ball meant he was trying to be friends with us, maybe even make up for that bargain. The mayor was doing his best to involve them in the festival, too, probably to cover himself for that blundered deal.
I paused. Were those gold coins really acorns, just like the charms the Prince bought the land with?
Did it really matter now? The deal was struck.
I tried to remember what my grandmother told me about the Fae, any bit of information that would set my mind at ease or give me some direction.
Never break a promise to a Fae, came her voice in my head.
I turned the page. That was true. Whoever these Fae were, if they really were Fae, technically I had agreed to bake my favorite pie for them. Whatever they promised to pay me, I’d already accepted it.
But why did they want my pie? And was it safe to share my favorite pie with them? They already knew my name, since it was right there on my website. And the sign outside my house. And most of my online reviews. Would knowing more about me give them any more power?
Hopefully whatever they were going to use the pie—and the information—for wouldn’t be worse than breaking my promise.
***
Local blueberries were out of season, leaving me with the imported blueberries from the supermarket. I sighed as I removed the carton from my refrigerator the next morning, but I had little other choice.
I mixed the blueberries with sugar and honey and spices, then added my favorite magical touch: the warmth of home. It was almost the same as what I had put into Leonardo’s pies yesterday, but this variant had more of family, holiday tradition, and cozy wool socks than that one did. And this one also had just a touch of nostalgia, appropriate for a pie with such fond memories attached to it.
I drizzled a tiny teaspoon over the bowl of filling, letting the warm vanilla-brown coat the top of the blueberries. It glowed with a cozy yellow-brown briefly before fading into the smell of vanilla and nutmeg. I mixed it into the bowl, then poured it straight into my grandmother’s famous pie shell, fresh from the oven.
And then, of course, I ladled a bit into a tart shell for Thea. Same recipe, just hob-sized.
“Mrowr,” came Nutmeg’s purr-meow at my feet.
“Hey, Meg,” I said, sliding the pies into the oven. “Hungry?”
Meg meowed again, and I busied myself opening a can of wet food for her. But when I set it on the floor, she instead began pacing the length of the kitchen, meowing incessantly.
Odd. Usually she went right for the wet food. It was her favorite treat.
“What is it?” I said. “What do you want?”
“Mrowr!”
I walked over to where she was pacing, near the big kitchen window, and caught movement outside. The forsythia by the fence was aflame with yellow, deep purple, and crimson hues, echoing the trees also beginning to turn, but at first I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.
I put my nose so close to the glass that both the window and my glasses began to fog over from my breath. Meg jumped on the window ledge just below me, and it was then I saw the lowest branches of the forsythia swaying as if in a gentle breeze.
But there was no wind today.
I glanced at Meg, who looked up at me with a triumphant look in her eye before prancing toward the door. I followed, opening the door just in time to see a streak of deep green disappear into the bushes lining my fence.
Whatever it had been, it was gone now.
I shrugged and closed the door, returning inside to finish the pie. Meg, apparently satisfied that she had fulfilled her watch-cat duty, pranced over to the bowl of food.
I glanced up at the clock in the kitchen. Almost eleven. All my orders for the day were on their way to the cafés and restaurants, but I had no way of knowing when the children would return for theirs.
As if reading my thoughts, the doorbell chimed. I stood to answer it, hearing only a faint grumble from Thea (she was quite pleased with yesterday’s offering), and opened the door to the same two children.
“We’re here for our pie,” the boy said.
“Please,” the girl added.
I looked over my shoulder at the timer on the oven. “It’s not quite done yet. Another ten minutes.”
The children exchanged an unreadable look.
“May we come in?” the boy said, a smile across his face. “To wait.”
I hesitated. Something about inviting evil into your home flitted through my mind, but I couldn’t seem to remember the myths...or how I had been taught to respond to requests from Fae.
Odd.
There seemed to be a lot I couldn’t remember all of a sudden. Had I had my coffee that morning? What kind? What pies did I bake when I woke up?
Distracted with trying to remember things I never should have forgotten, I stepped aside and gestured for the children to come in. “Can I offer you some hot chocolate while we wait?”
“Oh, yes!” the children said in unison, following me to the kitchen.
They hopped up on the tall bar stools across my peninsula, and I began heating milk and chocolate on the stovetop. Then I poured it into two of my fall leaf mugs, topped them with whipped cream, cinnamon, and graham cracker crumbles, and slid them toward the children.
“What did you bake us?” the girl asked.
“Blueberry,” I responded, my mind hazy.
The two children squealed in excitement, clapping their hands and chattering to each other either in some language I didn’t know or just too fast to hear. The only words I caught were “forest” and “favorite.” Then they both turned bac
k to their mugs, faces stoic.
“Aren’t you having any?” the boy asked.
I glanced at the coffee pot, still unsure if I’d had my customary first cup yet. Or second. Or third. “No, I think I’ll be having coffee.”
“Oh, okay.” The girl stared into my eyes, and hers glimmered with green and yellow. “Pour some.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll have a drink with you,” I found myself saying.
Once I had my cup, full of pumpkin spice and everything nice, I sat across from the children.
The boy pulled a small blue bottle from his pocket. “We have something special for you.”
I took the bottle from him, uncorking it. Wisps of peace, trust, and loyalty greeted my nose.
“That’s...nice,” I said. “What is it?”
“No different from yours,” the girl said. “Only this one is better. Crafted by the Fae.”
I nodded. Of course you should add a little, came a tiny voice in my head. But Fae food could be dangerous, so I’d only mix in a drop.
The drop of their concoction hit the surface of the coffee, and tendrils of steam swirled up and formed the shapes of dancing figures and falling leaves.
How strange. None of my potions did that.
“Drink,” the girl said, a smile on her face.
I raised the cup to my lips, sniffed appreciatively, and took a large swallow. Immediately, warmth filled my belly, and I saw sky-blue serenity streaking the hair that fell over my shoulder. What a delightful brew.
“Lovely,” the boy said, his smile now matching his sister’s.
“Do you mind if we ask you a few questions while we wait for the pie?” the girl said.
“Of course not,” I said, my brain fuzzy, their words seemingly at a distance. This coffee was so good. Like, maybe the best cup I’d ever had.
“What’s your favorite color?” the boy said.
I struggled to focus on his words, barely even hearing my own response. “Blush pink.”
“Favorite food?”
“Coffee.”
He paused, but continued quickly. “Favorite drink?”
“Coffee.”
He paused again, but recovered just as quickly as before. “Favorite candy?”
“Chocolate covered espresso beans.”
The children exchanged amused glances and continued questioning me, everything from my favorite TV show to my most embarrassing moment, until the timer dinged on the oven.
I jumped and blinked, as if waking up from a dream. “I should get that. Would you like to eat it here or take it along?”
“Take it along, please,” the girl said. “Your answers have been most illuminating.”
I cast her a puzzled, concerned look. Illuminating? What did that mean?
She gazed back at me, her eyes sparkling with those beautiful autumn colors, and the thought fuzzed away. I packed up the pie, collected the payment, and sent the children on their way.
At least that was the last of them.
Three
Blissed Apple Cranberry Crumble
I tapped my spoon on the table, deep in thought. Why wasn’t the bliss congealing?
I flipped through my spellbook, even though I hadn’t needed it in years, trying to see if it held any secrets as to why my potion wasn’t coming together.
My cell phone rang on the counter, a too-cheery song from one of my favorite bands. I jumped, the spoon flying across the peninsula, and grabbed the phone.
“Hey, Mom,” I said. “What’s up?”
“REESE!” came her shriek. I held the phone back an inch. “Did you see your shop reviews today?”
My stomach flipped, but I wasn’t sure if the call meant good or bad news. “No. I’ve been busy. What’s going on?”
“You have to open them up! I told you to hire a moderator for that site. Maybe now you’ll finally listen!”
I wedged the phone between my ear and shoulder and pulled my laptop across the counter, opening up a browser and logging into my web page.
I nearly dropped the phone.
Thirty-seven new reviews? Automatically approved?
But that wasn’t right. I’d just checked it last night! And I didn’t have reviews set to automatically approve. I had to approve them manually. I’d learned my lesson when I ended up with fifty irate comments from my ex in one day.
But this...it was like that naïve mistake all over again. As I began scrolling through the reviews—reviews I never approved—my stomach sank and my heart began pounding.
This was bad. This was really, really bad.
And it wasn’t just that there were thirty-seven new reviews. It was that they were one-star reviews with absolutely no explanation. Who had I offended? I began deleting, but there was no telling who had already seen the spam. How many potential customers had been scared off?
My phone vibrated, and I jumped again. I’d already forgotten Mom was on the other end.
“Reese? Are you okay?” she said.
I pulled the phone away from my ear, checking the screen. Maple was calling.
“Yeah, Mom,” I said. “Fine. But I have to take care of this.”
“Of course, honey bun. But don’t forget to call me back! You never call anymore. I need updates on your life. I sent you that dating site, and—”
“Mom!” I cut her off. I couldn’t deal with dating talk, not now. I could barely even deal with it on a normal day.
Today was definitely not normal.
“Right, right. You have things to take care of. Just don’t forget to fill me in!”
“I won’t, Mom. Love you, bye!”
“Love you, too, honey.”
The phone clicked on the other end, and I dialed the voicemail for Maple’s message.
Reese! Are you okay? Why aren’t you answering? Have you seen what happened to your website? How awful is that! Don’t worry, I’m on my way over with ice cream and chocolate and COFFEE! Be there in ten!
I deleted the message and sighed. It seemed I would not be left on my own to fix this, but at least I could always count on Maple to make things seem less catastrophic. She was my closest (and maybe only) friend, the only person other than my mom who I could tell anything.
I was relieved she would be here soon, but that didn’t fix the problem.
Gray streaked through my hair as I thought of all the people who may have seen the messages already, and I got back to deleting.
About ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. Well, rang might not have been the best word. Because Maple hit the buzzer repeatedly until I got to the door.
By the time I threw it open to her concerned face, bubblegum hair, and bag full of goodies, Thea was near a rampage. All I could hear from the gingerbread house was incoherent screaming.
I waved Maple in, holding a finger to my lips. “You know not to do that!”
She covered her mouth with a hand, but her eyes screamed unrepentant. “Oops! I forgot. Sorry!” She shoved a pumpkin spice latte into my hand and preceded me into the kitchen, closing her eyes and sniffing the air. “Oooh, is that pumpkin muffins I smell? With cream cheese?”
Her nose was a bit too good. And Maple was always hungry. Maybe it was her Fae heritage.
“Uh, yeah. I just took them out,” I said. “I only have a few extra, though. So you can only have one this time!”
She breezed into the kitchen and snatched one off the cooling rack on the counter.
Thea appeared at the doorway. “Are you going to keep it down now so I can actually sleep?”
I blushed, pink creeping into my hair with my embarrassment. That’s right, my favorite color was also the color of humiliation. “Yes, Thea.”
“Good. I work all night, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
She paused. “Do those muffins have cream cheese?”
Instead of answering, I plucked another one from the counter and bent to hand it to her. It was almost half her height, but she took it anyway, disappearing back to her apar
tment.
“Spoiled spells, Maple,” I said, returning to the peninsula and taking the seat next to my friend. “Do you want Thea to curse me?”
She ducked her head, her own cheeks turning red and her bright purple eyes sparkling. “Sorry, Reese. But this is important!”
She took a bite of the muffin and spun my laptop around to face us. I had left the website up, the comments already deleted. But now I had another problem.
My website had vanished.
I dropped my forehead to the granite with a thunk. “This just isn’t my day.”
***
I spent the entire day on the phone, either answering my mom’s frantic questions or complaining to my hosting site about the lost website. Every moment the site was down meant more orders I didn’t get. And no orders meant no money. No money meant no bakery. And all of that meant no house.
I’d have to move back in with my parents. Who were on a grandchild rampage, after my sister’s baby had been born just a few months ago. Baby fever was in the family, and in their eyes, I was next.
Which explained all the hints about dating from Mom.
I shuddered, taking another bite of the Chinese chicken and broccoli Maple had fetched when it became apparent we would be hunkering down for a while. There would be time to worry about my parents later. Besides, finding a mate wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
If I could ever convince myself to take another risk.
But now it was just me and Maple and the glaring problems for Pie-Jinks. There were no more phone calls to make, just anxiety to feel and food to eat and time to kill.
“I don’t understand,” she said around a mouthful of noodles. “How does a site just vanish?”
I sighed, spearing a tree of broccoli. “They said they never had it happen before. And they weren’t sure it could be recovered. They’ll get back to me in the morning.”
Meg leapt onto the counter, rubbing against the laptop. “Mrowr.”
“Meg, we’re eating!” I said, reaching to push her away.
She leapt out of my reach, then jumped to the window. It was fogged over with frost already, the night air cold against the warmth of the kitchen.
Seasons of Magic Volume 1 Page 8