Heaven Sent

by E. Van Lowe

  I wish I’d taken cat instead of French in school.

  I kissed her atop her head and started back toward the house. “No more roaming the streets, okay?”

  Maudrina was right, I thought. You always love your children most.

  *

  The Carefree fairgrounds were packed by the time Guy and I arrived. It was just 8:30 in the morning and yet it was already a toasty eighty-five degrees out. We passed a group of older girls in their twenties as we walked from the parking lot toward the fairgrounds. They couldn’t keep their eyes off Guy. I smiled inwardly, content that the cute boy they were ogling was all mine, until I saw that Guy was smiling outwardly—at them!

  “Friends of yours?” I asked, my lips pinched tight.

  “No. I thought they were friends of yours the way they were smiling at us.”

  “They weren’t smiling at us. They were smiling at you,” I said emphatically.

  “Yeah, I figured that when you guys didn’t speak. But by then I’d already smiled and they were practically past us. If we see them again, I’ll shoot them a big frown to let them know I’m yours.”

  He was teasing, trying to coax the snippiness out of me, but it didn’t work. My mind drifted to the lie of omission he’d told about Roxanne.

  “That’s exactly what I was hoping,” I said with a sarcastic lilt.

  He stopped walking and faced me.

  “I’m here with you, Megan. I travelled very far to get here. And here is where I want to be.” He latched onto my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  I’m not the jealous type. I knew Guy loved me. He came all this way to rescue me. I loved him, too. I loved him very deeply, which is why I held onto a tiny bit of doubt. That doubt was the only defense my heart would have if he left again. That doubt would keep me from falling totally to pieces.

  We entered the fairgrounds, holding hands.

  The grounds were lined with avenues of canopies, under which were rows and rows of tables. We moved past tables hawking homemade jellies and jams, Sally’s Sassy Salsa, and Miss Betty’s organic chocolate, on our way to the contest tent.

  “There’s Maudrina,” I said. She was standing by a table selling recipe cards. When she saw us she smiled, yet it seemed as though a veil of caution had slid over her eyes.

  “Well, look who’s back,” she said to Guy.

  “How’s my favorite dance partner?” Guy replied. They hugged.

  I looked around for Curtis. He wasn’t around. Something told me not to ask where he was.

  “Have you stopped by Aunt Jaz’s table yet?” I asked instead.

  “No. I just got here.”

  She didn’t say we.bake-off

  “I’m sure she’s dying for some support. We’d better get over there,” she continued.

  We moved away from the tables to a tented area where the bake-off was going on. It cost an additional two dollars to get in, but once you were inside, you could walk around, sampling everything your taste buds desired.

  As we entered, a yummy mixture of delicious fragrances filled the air. We passed tables featuring coconut-filled tortilla turnovers, churros with chocolate dunking sauce, homemade old-fashioned donuts covered with enough powdered sugar to make it seem as though they’d been in a snow storm. I recognized some of the parents from my neighborhood standing behind tables. Mrs. Green was there with her apple-cherry popovers that she had once baked for my middle school bake sale. Mrs. Martinez was there with a French apple pie with white frosting.

  Aunt Jaz stood alone behind a table of baked goods, wringing her hands nervously as a couple tasted her wares. They nodded their approval and moved away. She looked up and saw us.

  “It’s about time you two got here. Where have you been?” she called. Several heads turned to see who she was talking to.

  Usually there was a smile as big as Texas on Aunt Jaz’s face when she greeted us at her door. Her greetings were always followed by hugs and laughter. Not this time.

  “We’re early,” Maudrina replied, slightly embarrassed over being called out. I don’t think she’d ever witnessed this side of Aunt Jaz before. “The judging doesn’t begin until nine-thirty.”

  We moved to her table. Aunt Jaz was the image of Betty Crocker in a green print dress, her hair neatly done in a conservative cut.

  “You’re right. I’m just a little nervous is all—which is why I baked two items instead of one.”

  A beautiful pineapple upside-down cake was seated on a tall cake plate. Next to it was a pan of an enchilada-style dessert. The placard in front of the pan read: Apple Cheesecake Burritos. Both the cake and burritos were beautifully displayed and got my mouth watering. They looked like something out of a magazine.

  Aunt Jaz’s eyes moved to Guy. “Hello, young man.”

  I’d forgotten she hadn’t met him before. “Aunt Jaz, this is Guy Matson.”

  Her eyes widened, before crinkling with laughter. “Come here, you.” She reached across the table, engulfing Guy in one of her famous bear hugs. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” I’m sure she was surprised that he’d suddenly shown up. But she didn’t show it.

  “You, too,” he replied as she squeezed the breath out of him.

  He’s an angel, I thought. He can take it. I smiled inwardly.

  After a lengthy hug, Aunt Jaz released Guy and looked around. “Where’s Curtis?”

  “He couldn’t make it.”

  Aunt Jaz was too preoccupied with the bake-off to notice the swiftness of Maudrina’s response, or hear the change in her voice when she replied. But I noticed it.

  Something happened between the two of them last night.

  It wasn’t the time or place to bring it up, so I held my tongue.

  “I figured I’d hedge my bets by baking two items,” Aunt Jaz said, looking down at the baked goods on her table. “Then I’d enter the one the people liked best, ensuring my chances of winning the blue ribbon. But so far it’s a tie. I need you girls to break the tie.” She looked at her watch. “I have to enter by nine or miss out. And you know I’m not missing out. So, I hope you brought your appetites with you.”

  We laughed. Aunt Jaz’s favorite pastime was serving food. We had fifteen minutes to sample each pastry and help break the tie. Despite wanting to know what had happened between Maudrina and Curtis, I knew I had to put my concerns aside and focus on deliciousness.

  Aunt Jaz served us each sample plates from containers she kept below the table. As we ate, she looked across the aisle and frowned. “Effie Pringle made her chocolate-chocolate cake again. There should be a law against entering the same item two years in a row.” Her eyes narrowed. “I am not losing the first place blue ribbon to that witch again.”

  There was something disconcerting about the way Aunt Jaz was staring at the woman across the aisle. The look in her eyes gave me goose bumps.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Here you go, Jasmine.” A man came up and handed Aunt Jaz a bottle of drinking water and a cup.

  “Thank you, deary.” She took the bottle and began to pour.

  “I’m afraid all this anxiety is my fault,” the man said, turning to us. He was an older man, with a head full of thick gray hair, and the sexy mellifluous voice of a late night radio host. He was sweating.

  “Oh?” said Maudrina in response to the man.

  “The pineapple upside-upside-down cake was my idea. It’s my favorite,” the man said, smiling at Maudrina.

  Maudrina did not smile back.

  He pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and mopped it across his brow. It was at least ninety degrees out by now, yet he had on a light tweed sports coat over a white cotton shirt. Perspiration stains, like ink blots, appeared on the shirt.

  “Allow me to make some introductions,” chimed Aunt Jaz. “This is Monsieur Perez.”

  Monsieur Perez immediately offered his hand to Maudrina. “It’s a pleasure to meet Jasmine’s favorite niece.” He had the hint of an accent I couldn’t place. I don’t have m
uch experience with accents, but his didn’t sound French or Spanish. “And you are the young lady Jasmine has spoken of,” said Monsieur Perez, turning his attention to me.

  “Umm… I guess I am.” While Aunt Jaz had mentioned both me and Maudrina to Monsieur Perez, it was clear she had neglected to mention him to Maudrina. And Maudrina didn’t like it one bit.

  “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you.” His eyes were on me, keen with interest, as if I were a puzzle he was trying to decipher. The thought that Aunt Jaz had told him about me made me uncomfortable.

  “Who are you?” Maudrina demanded.

  “Monsieur Perez is a friend,” Aunt Jaz replied, shooting her a quick, side glance for being rude. “Now, which shall it be,” she said, quickly changing the subject, “pineapple upside-down cake, or apple-cheesecake burrito?”

  “They both tasted so good. It’s hard to choose,” said Maudrina. She was staring at Monsieur Perez with a rattlesnake’s gaze. I got the feeling she didn’t want to say pineapple upside-down cake—which was my choice—just to spite him.

  “It is difficult,” I added for Maudrina’s benefit.

  “You two are no help at all,” squawked Aunt Jaz.

  “Hello, Jasmine,” a voice called. A severe woman with pinched up features was standing beside the table, a condescending smile on her face.

  “Hello, Effie.” No love lost there.

  “What’s this? Two items. Isn’t that… cheating?”

  Aunt Jaz shot Effie Pringle a venomous stare. “I knew whatever I baked was going to be very popular, and go very fast, so I brought something extra, just so my fans who arrived late wouldn’t have come all this way for nothing,” she replied, clearly vamping. No way was she going to let Effie in on her strategy for beating her.

  “How thoughtful,” Effie said, clearly not buying it. “So, which dessert will be in the contest?” She folded her arms across her chest, over a striking necklace made of shiny black stones.

  “Well… It’s umm…” Aunt Jaz looked to me and Maudrina for help.

  “The pineapple upside-down cake,” said Guy, gesturing with his head at his empty sample plate. “Hands down.”

  Effie Pringle zeroed her condescending gaze on Guy like a laser beam from the Death Star. “Oh, really?” she said, hanging onto the words as if they were a last wish, drawing them out, implying that Guy had made the wrong choice.

  “It’s so good,” Guy continued, smiling his smile. If he noticed her deathly gaze or exaggerated oh, it didn’t register. “I feel sorry for anyone else who’s in this contest. I hope you don’t have any friends competing, because once the judges taste this masterpiece, the rest of the contestants are out of luck.” His smile widened as he licked the last of the gooey brown sauce from his fork.

  “We’ll see about that,” Effie sputtered, and she stormed across the aisle back to her table.

  “Thank you for rescuing me, Guy,” said Aunt Jaz, soft, relieved laughter spilling from her lips. “You’re every bit as gallant as Megan said you were.”

  “That woman needed to be taken down a peg,” Guy responded.

  “Well, now that I’ve made my choice, I’d better hustle over to the judges table and register my cake.”

  “I’ll take care of it for you, dear,” Monsieur Perez said, already starting away. “You stay here and entertain your guests.” His smile seemed to relax her. His gaze rested on me momentarily before he started away.

  “Thank you, deary.”

  Maudrina’s eyes were on Monsieur Perez as he ambled across the floor.

  “You and Mr. Perez seem very…” she left the sentence dangling in the air.

  “It’s Monsieur Perez. And we seem very what?”

  Suddenly a small smile found its way onto Maudrina’s lips. “Aunt Jaz and Monsieur Perez sittin’ in a tree...” she began the old schoolgirl chant.

  “K-i-s-s-i-n-g,” I added, completing the rhyme.

  Silly laughter spilled out of us both. I was glad to see that Maudrina was getting over her dislike of Monsieur Perez.

  “You girls have got dirty minds,” said Aunt Jaz, trying to be serious and failing miserably at it. “Monsieur Perez and I are friends.”

  “A friend you went to all the trouble of baking a pineapple upside-down cake for. You’ve never baked a pineapple upside-down cake for me,” Maudrina continued to tease. She wagged her head back and forth in mock disappointment.

  “You two need to stop being so silly. There’s nothing going on between me and Monsieur Perez,” she said, making a second stab at seriousness.

  “Uh-huh,” we both said simultaneously. This prompted a huge laugh from Guy.

  “He’s here for a special kind of support,” Aunt Jaz said, lowering her voice while eyeing Effie Pringle across the aisle. “That witch has been my nemesis since nineteen eighty-five when she stole my recipe for chili con carne. It’s high time we put a stop to her shenanigans.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve called her a witch,” I said.

  “She is a witch. A real one.” Aunt Jaz realized she’d raised her voice, and looked around, embarrassed, making sure no one had overheard her. “She beat me out for the blue ribbon last year. I suspect foul play,” she said, sounding mysterious.

  I glanced across the aisle at Effie, who was serving a sampling of her cake to a young couple in their twenties. She must have felt my gaze on her because she looked up, catching my eye.

  There was a fierceness to her gaze I hadn’t noticed before. Her eyes were brown, with deep blue hoops ringing the edges of her pupils that seemed to set them off from the rest of her angular face. I fought the sudden urge to recoil as she narrowed them at me. Something fired in my belly.

  Hatred. I hated her.

  I hated Effie Pringle right there on the spot and without warning or reason. A hint of the sticky deliciousness I’d felt that day at Splashtopia warmed my belly. I found myself wanting to race across the floor, claw Effie Pringle’s eyeballs out of her head, and squish them into goo with my hands.

  I bet that would wipe the smirk off her face.

  “Oh, my!” I muttered softly, coming to my senses.

  Effie smiled and nodded, as if she knew just what I had been thinking and welcomed the challenge.

  “That’s the reason I brought Monsieur Perez along,” Aunt Jaz continued, dragging my thoughts back to the conversation.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, still shaking off the ugly feelings.

  “I believe Effie Pringle used dark magic on the judges last year.”

  “Aunt Jaz, please! Maybe she baked a better cake than you did. That is possible, you know?”

  Aunt Jaz shot a venomous eye in Maudrina’s direction. “That may be true,” she said, turning her nose up at the idea. “But I don’t think it is.” She turned back to me. “A while ago, I told you the good magic members of the occult community were supporting you in your battle against Satan. Monsieur Perez is the head of our local chapter. He’s a Shaman, and he’s here with me today to keep an eye on things, and to make sure the person with the best baked good is the person who wins the blue ribbon.” The last part was directed at Maudrina for even thinking that Aunt Jaz could have lost last year’s contest without being cheated.

  “Whatever.” Maudrina smirked at the idea that the little old lady across the aisle was a powerful magician.

  I knew it was true. I knew when she looked into my eyes that something deep inside of her had spoken to something deep inside of me. It recognized the power in me, and the power in me recognized the power in her. I also knew the look in her eye was a warning that I’d better watch my step—or else.

  We looked up to see Monsieur Perez hustling back across the floor toward us, beads of sweat glistening along his forehead. “We’re registered, Jasmine. I got it in just in time,” he called with a grin. He didn’t look like a shaman capable of thwarting a powerful witch. He was just a kind, old gentleman who clearly had a crush on Aunt Jaz.

  “Thank you, deary.”


  I turned to Guy who was eyeing Effie with a bemused look. “Can we talk?” I asked.

  “Sure.”

  I made the excuse that we wanted to sample some of the other pastries.

  “You’ve already had the best,” said Monsieur Perez. Aunt Jaz beamed at him as we moved away.

  “Is something wrong?” Guy asked.

  “I don’t know. This thing inside me. My ability. It’s triggered by anger. But I never get angry. At least I never got angry before I acquired the ability. Now there seems to be a rage inside me that can spring up at any time. A few minutes ago, I wanted to claw Effie Pringle’s eyes out.”

  His expression shifted from bemusement to a thoughtful, caring one. “The rage you feel is your rage,” he said softly, making no sense at all. “The anger you’ve never displayed is buried inside you.”

  My face twisted into a look of disbelief. “Why would I have anger buried inside me?”

  “You’re the type of person who doesn’t get angry. You said so yourself. But everyone gets angry sometimes. Right?”

  Tiny spires of anger began swirling in my stomach. “Right,” I replied as I bit down on my lip.

  “Instead of letting your anger out, you bury it deep in here.” He placed his hand on my chest, his palm over my heart. I had an immediate reaction to his touch, but pushed past it.

  “So you’re saying I’ve been saving up this anger all my life?”

  He laughed. “I’m sure you’ve gotten angry a few other times since you’ve been alive. I can think of one right off the top of my head.”

  My cheeks began to redden. He was talking about the day he’d introduced me to Roxanne outside the gym.

  “Yeah. That anger almost cost me everything,” I said, my eyes moving to my shoes. It was too embarrassing to look at him.

  He removed his hand from my chest and reached down and grabbed my hand, dangling by my side. “But it didn’t cost you everything. I’m here.” He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

  The anger in my belly calmed.

  “Your new ability has tapped into your stored-up anger, releasing it. Once we get your abilities under control, these outbursts will more than likely stop.”