Black Arts, Tarts & Gypsy Carts

by Erin Johnson

  I elbowed her. “Got to hand it to him, though. He’s got his bad-cop act down pat.”

  17

  Cat

  Back at the carnival, Maple, Iggy, and I got to work setting up the tent for the day. Soon the smell of cherry pie filled the air and I breathed a little easier. I yawned through the morning, doling out pastries to human tourists and baking more batches to last through the rest of the day and evening.

  Maple pointed at a pile of muffins. “Twelve, thirteen, fourteen—hmm.” She shook her head as her magic quill jotted down notes on a pad of paper below the table so the humans wouldn’t see the magic. “I would’ve sworn there were sixteen here a minute ago.”

  I cocked a brow. “Is our ghost back again?”

  “Ghost?” Maple turned her pale face toward me.

  I held up my hands. “Joking. It’s my explanation for our disappearing pastries. You’re sure you’re not stress eating? Let me check your fingers for blueberry stains.”

  Maple grinned and shook her head. “Ha ha. Hey, do you mind getting another tray of muffins from the pantry and sliding them in the oven?”

  I grinned and stood, stretching my back before moving behind the canvas divider to the back area of the tent. I pulled a tin filled with batter from the magically chilled shelf and carried it back around to the front. As I bent slightly to slide it into the oven, I noted Iggy’s expression and froze. He stared past me with wide eyes and mouth agape.

  I frowned. “What are you doing?”

  He lifted a trembling flame arm and pointed toward the ground behind me. I turned and followed his finger to the ground by Maple’s feet beneath the table. “What are you— Oh my God!”

  I jumped, nearly dropping the muffin tray, and scrambled back. Scurrying around Maple’s feet, a creature with glowing eyes peered back at me.

  “Maple!”

  She turned, pausing in her tallying, and raised a brow at me.

  “Don’t panic.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Just back away from the table—slowly.”

  “What is—?”

  “Just do it.” I pressed myself against the canvas of the tent, trying to get as much distance between the creature and myself as possible.

  Maple frowned but backed away toward me. “What is it?” She blinked her wide, frightened eyes at me and I shifted the tray to one hand so I could point with the other. She followed my trembling finger and gasped.

  “Oh my!” She crouched and inched closer. “What is it?”

  “Maple!” Iggy and I shouted together.

  She looked back, her eyes darting between us. “What?”

  “You don’t know what that is.”

  “Oh, come on. It looks harmless enough.”

  I peeked around the corner of the oven, and Iggy and I exchanged wide-eyed glances. What the eff, Maple?

  She crouched down and inched closer, cooing to it. “Hey, little guy.” She reached a hand out, palm up. “Come on out. I won’t hurt you.”

  “Uh, duh, Maple. It’ll hurt you. Oh my G— Don’t touch it!”

  But I was too late. The thing crawled out and sniffed Maple’s hand. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. She turned to look over her shoulder and grinned at us. “He’s friendly.”

  “Don’t turn your back on it!” Iggy cried.

  The creature scooted out from under the table, coming out of the semidarkness into the full light. I shuddered. The little monster was the size of a large cat and covered in shiny black fur. In one hand it clutched the remains of a muffin.

  “Oh.” Maple put her hands on her hips and gave it a faux stern look. “So you’re our little pastry thief. You sneaky little sneaker.” She scrunched her nose at it. “What a cute little kitty.”

  I held up my hands. That was too much. “Maple.” I closed my eyes and tried to keep the panic out of my voice. “That is not a cat.”

  She cocked her head, looking it up and down. I had to admit it had the long, articulating tail and ears of a cat, but that’s where the similarity ended. “Looks like one to me.”

  “Have you ever seen a cat?” Iggy demanded.

  Maple reached forward and scratched the top of its head. I recoiled, and Iggy gasped. “We were more of a dog family.”

  The creature closed its bulging, globular pug eyes in bliss as Maple scratched under its chin. Its snake-like nostril slits flared as it sighed, and the bat wings tucked against its body shuddered.

  “Uh, Maple, my friend—the wings should be your first clue it’s not a cat.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You guys are overreacting. Look how sweet he is.”

  It nuzzled against her leg and wove around her like a cat, one monkey hand still holding the muffin. Maple straightened up to standing, and its bat wings fluttered so that the little creature hovered up into the air and floated into her arms.

  Maple turned to Iggy and me like a kid holding a bunny rabbit. Her face lit up and she smiled broadly. “Aw, you guys….”

  She cradled it in one arm like a baby and petted it with the other. The little creature lifted an arm of its own and used its monkey paw to stroke the side of her face. Iggy and I gawked at each other in horror. Maple smiled at us, and the thing turned and smiled also, revealing rows of sharp pointy teeth.

  “That is—” I couldn’t find the words. Horrifying?

  “Adorable.” Maple cuddled it to her. “I’m going to call you Cat.”

  “Sea goddess help us all,” Iggy grumbled. “She’s named it.”

  “We are not keeping it.” I planted my hands on my hips, still cowering beside the oven, as far away as I could get without retreating to the pantry. “It probably escaped from the Badlands Monster tent.”

  Maple gasped. “I can’t believe you. It’s not like we can return him to it, to be paraded around and exploited.”

  I shook my head at her. “Fine, but ‘Cat’ is your responsibility.”

  She grinned and cooed at it.

  I cleared my throat and edged my way back to my stool. “You should probably, er, hide that thing so the humans don’t see it.”

  She nodded, but kept her eyes on her new pet. “Yeah, you’re right. Just another minute, he’s so cute.”

  I swallowed. Yeah… supercute. I scratched my cheek, trying to change the subject. “So… um… have you heard back from Wool yet?”

  Her face fell and she sighed. “No.”

  Cat scampered up her arm and perched with his hands on her head and his feet on her shoulders. Maple grinned and ducked, trying to get a look at him.

  “Sorry. I’m sure you’ll hear something soon.”

  Maple sighed. “I hope so.”

  Cat made a choking sound, followed by a rasping, gagging, gulping. He turned his head and regurgitated a slimy, dead rat onto the ground at Maple’s feet. I pressed a hand to my mouth and swayed on my stool. I might be sick.

  “Okay.” Maple tilted her head to the side. “I’ll admit that was a little gross.” She shrugged and scrunched her nose. “Cats and their hairballs, though. What’re are you gonna do?”

  At least that explained the rat mystery.

  18

  Potion Maker

  It was midafternoon, after the lunchtime rush, by the time Maple and I stood in front of the potion maker’s stall. We’d left Iggy to hold down the fort—well, tent—and heat up the oven till we got back to reopen for the magic at dusk. Cat had winged off to do… whatever Cat did.

  Maple had fidgeted with her apron, looking off after him. “Do you think he’ll come back?”

  I huffed. She’d been feeding him bits of dough and cranberries all day. “Oh, he’ll be back.”

  I took in the low overhang of the potions stall, square white flags strung from it blowing in the breeze. I glanced up at the sky. Thick clouds had blown in and the wind whipped my bangs. I smoothed back some flyaways.

  “Shall we?”

  Maple nodded, and we stepped across the busy thoroughfare up to the counter painted with
the cauldron and crossed broomsticks logo. We ducked under the overhang and waited to be served by the tiny woman bustling about behind the counter.

  She juggled an armful of glass jars of all shapes and sizes, sliding them back into place on the shelves that lined the back of the booth. Glowing liquids sloshed inside some; others churned with swirling powders. Corks stoppered each cobalt, amber, or clear bottle, and handwritten labels marked the contents. Wooden boxes and dusty books also lined the shelves.

  I cleared my throat. Still the lady didn’t turn. Maple shrugged at me. I leaned against the tall counter. Maybe there was one of those brass hotel bells I could ring? Nope.

  Just an antique metal till, a single lamp, a tiny, bubbling cauldron, marble mortar and pestle, and an exotic-looking plant with orange blossoms in a glass display. I reached a hand out and fiddled with the pile of grass lying beside the miniature cauldron.

  “No touching!”

  I jumped and yanked my hand back to my side.

  The tiny woman glared at me, dark freckles and spots speckling her cheeks. “Go away. We all out.”

  Maple and I exchanged confused looks.

  “Out of… what?”

  She planted her hands on her hips, her elbows jutting out at sharp angles. “You not here for Decandeo? Orrrr Glow Be Gone, huh?” She glared alternately at me and Maple. “Night of the Dead potion?”

  That’s right! I mentally smacked my forehead. I’d forgotten that tonight I’d promised to take Iggy to the graveyard so he could see Nan one last time.

  “Loved ones can have dat unsightly afterlife glow to dem. Potion gets rid of it. Some people prefer da dead to look more alive, huh?” The little old woman cackled, her eyes squinting. “Puts dem more at ease. You no want potion?”

  “Um, no… but thanks.” I plastered on my friendliest smile.

  Maple gave me an encouraging nod. I licked my lips. “We’re wondering if… if Madame Zerna, the famous necromancer, bought something from you a couple of days ago?” I braced myself for a rejection.

  The little woman slid closer and rested an arm on the counter. With her other hand she smoothed back some black tendrils of hair into her bun. She peered at us. “Why?”

  I shrugged one shoulder and lifted my brows, trying to look innocent. “Just curious. It would’ve been a cobalt bottle, about this big.” I held my hands about six inches apart, according to my memory of the bottle she’d taken a swig from, before it lay shattered beside her body. I waited, my stomach churning with nerves. Though this lady was probably half my size and twice my age, I felt certain she could take me down if she wanted to. Maybe because she reminded me of Yoda….

  She rubbed a finger across her bottom lip, eyes narrowed in thought. “What it worth you?”

  My brows jumped up my head. So she did have information. I leaned over to Maple and spoke out of the corner of my mouth. “Do you have any money?”

  Maple fished around in her apron pocket, then shook her head. “Not much. Think she’d want a prison mint?”

  I frowned. “They had mints?”

  “Yeah, didn’t you see them in that bowl by the entrance?”

  “No. I want a mint.”

  “Ladies. I no have all day.” The little woman gave us a hard look.

  Maple held up a handful of wrapped mints.

  “Psht.” The lady turned her back to us and began muttering in a language I didn’t understand. “Go. We closed.”

  Desperate, I looked at her shelves. An idea popped into my head. “Wait! We have access to the royal gardens—all the special herbs and plants there.”

  Maple’s eyes widened at me and she tersely shook her head. I widened my eyes back to say, come on, it’s our only chance.

  The old lady turned and rubbed her mouth. She cocked her head at Maple. “You the new royal baker, huh?”

  Maple’s cheeks lost their color but she nodded.

  “Get me two sprig of lollyrush and you got deal.”

  I beamed and held out my hand. “Deal.”

  Maple pulled my hand down, then dragged me aside.

  I held a finger up. “Just a moment. We need to consult.” I turned to Maple and whispered. “What?”

  “We can’t give her lollyrush!” she hissed.

  I raised my palms. “Why? Two sprigs doesn’t sound like much.”

  Maple gave the old lady a sideways glance. “It’s potentially dangerous. We don’t know what she’s going to use it for, and if I got caught, I could lose my job.”

  “Dangerous, huh?”

  She nodded.

  “And you could lose your job? I don’t want that.”

  She shook her head.

  I bit my lip and straightened, then turned back to the old woman. “What do you plan to use the lollyrush for?” I squinted at her. “Something dangerous?”

  She cackled, pressing her liver-spotted hands to her aproned belly. She wiped a tear from her eyes. “DeeDee!”

  A young woman scampered out from behind the shelving, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked from the old lady to us. “What, Grandma?”

  Still chuckling, she waved a finger at her, then us. “Tell these girls what we use lollyrush for.”

  Deedee’s golden cheeks flushed pink. “We use it for a special kind of tea.”

  The old lady turned to us. “Dong tea.”

  “Dong tea?” Maple repeated. “What’s dong tea?” She gave me a puzzled look, and I bit back a smile.

  “You know.” The old lady karate chopped either side of her crotch. “Dong tea make large.”

  Maple choked.

  Grinning, I turned to her. “If anything happens, I’ll say I’m the one who took the lollyrush, all right?”

  Maple whimpered. “I guess.”

  I nodded. Maple hummed a little tune, mumbling, “Lollyrush, come to us, we need your leaves, for—” She gulped. “Special tea.”

  Two long branches with small green leaves appeared on the counter. The old lady swiped them and handed them to her granddaughter. “Out, DeeDee.” The young woman moved behind the shelves again, and the old woman waggled her finger for us to come closer. She lowered her voice. “Madame Zerna no buy anyting from me.”

  My brows lowered. Really? All that and nothing?

  “But her assistant did. Came in with scrip for Levango for her boss.” She shook her head. “Levango only treat pain—for people with serious, fatal illness. Only prolongs life a little.”

  My jaw dropped. “Madame Zerna was terminally ill?”

  “How sad.” Maple played with the edge of the counter.

  The old lady nodded. “Dat all I know.”

  We thanked her and moved away from the counter. “Why didn’t Frennie tell us Madame Zerna was ill?” I chewed my lip. “If Rhonda’s correct, the potion Frennie bought killed Madame Zerna. Plus, when I asked her about Zerna’s diary the other night, she acted like a total creeper. She seems pretty guilty.”

  Maple shook her head. “But why would she, or someone else, bother killing Madame Zerna if she was about to die anyway?”

  The blaring of trumpets outside startled us out of our musings. A herald marched by, followed by four guards with golden lances and then—my stomach plummeted—Hank, walking side by side with the gorgeous Princess Shaday. The strong breeze made her veils flow around her. She looked like a goddess. I froze, some part of me hoping Hank had T-rex vision. If I don’t move, he can’t see me.

  Of course he saw me. He gulped and brought the procession up short. “Imogen.” The trumpets stopped.

  His blue eyes locked onto mine. Maple gasped, then dropped into a deep curtsy beside me. It felt strange, but I followed suit.

  “Oh don’t—” Hank waved at us to rise. “How are you? How’s the booth going? I’ve come by a few times, but you weren’t there.”

  Yep. I’d been slacking in my work duties to investigate a murder. Pretty standard stuff. “Uh—yeah. Just—running errands for the booth.” I would’ve told Hank what I was up to, but it felt stra
nge to talk about it in front of Shaday. Especially when she watched me so closely with those perfect, dark eyes and composed poker face.

  He raised his brows, moved as if to step toward me, but glanced at Shaday and stopped himself. “Oh. Is that what you’re doing here?” He tried for a smile, but it fell and he looked at me with longing. Yes, I want to talk with you too. No, we can’t.

  “Yeah….” I glanced at Maple, who shot me a worried look. “We were just browsing for some herbs.”

  “Dey help me with dong tea!”

  My stomach clenched and I could feel my cheeks burning. I turned, slowly. The old lady waved. She smiled and leaned against the counter. I turned ever so slowly back. I shrugged, then lifted a hand, then chuckled through my nose as if to say, who knows what that senile old broad’s talking about. Am I right? Hank looked confused, and Shaday maintained her perfectly impassive mask. I glanced at Maple.

  “He’s going to fire me,” she mouthed.

  “No he’s not,” I mouthed back.

  She scrunched up her nose. “I’ve uh—got to check on the booth—your highnesses.” Maple took two steps, curtsied, took two steps, curtsied… all the way out of the booth and halfway down the path. I leaned forward and caught her pause to look back, then sprint off around the corner. She ditched me!

  Princess Shaday ever so slightly coughed, and Hank straightened. “Right. Well. We must be off. We’re touring the carnival.” He smiled. Then his face fell. “Kind of hard to do when you’re escorted by eight guards.” He hitched a thumb toward the four behind him and Shaday. “And a herald.”

  I nodded. Then shook my head and pressed my lips together in a thin smile. “Not the lowest of profiles.”

  He returned the thin smile, then started forward, the procession clearing a path through. I wondered what the humans thought of the royalty marching by. Probably thought it was an act or something. I watched them walk away, Shaday’s arm linked through Hank’s. Was it an act, or did he have feelings for her?

  19

  Cold Hands