Full Moons, Dunes & Macaroons_A Cozy Witch Mystery

by Erin Johnson

  "Psh." He stepped closer and she backed away. "Vee are not schtrangers and I vill not address you az vone."

  The woman's hair and the scarf tied around her neck blew in the breeze, silhouetted against the glowing tent. "I want them. You have no right to have them."

  "Zey are just az much mine az yours, Maddie."

  She raised her voice. "You had no right! I'm writing that piece, and you can't stop me."

  Bernhardt shrugged. "Vell, zen you von't mind eef zey find zer way to ze press. Oh vait, you are ze press. Vell, I'm sure your colleagues vill be happy to have some scandalous news to report on, yes? Zough I am afraid eet might ruin your reputation."

  She raised her hand and I gasped as she swung at his face. But Bernhardt moved quicker than I would have guessed possible and caught her wrist before her slap could land.

  "Ah, Maddie. You zee? I am vone schtep ahead of you—alvays."

  The woman yanked her arm back. "You're going to answer for your crimes. I'll make sure of it." She turned, her dark hair blowing around her, and stalked off. Bernhardt chuckled and turned to the tent behind him. He waved a hand and a shimmering bubble flashed around the whole thing, then disappeared. He'd cast some sort of spell. A waiter approached, dressed in billowing white robes like all the others, and held a round tray up to him.

  "Sir, a drink? Also, I believe your colleague is searching for you."

  Bernhardt plucked up a champagne flute and nodded at the servant. "Urs? I'll be right along, zen." He walked toward the party as if nothing had happened. What could he have that would ruin that woman, Ms. L'Orange's reputation? And was he blackmailing her? As the head of a prison, that seemed pretty shady to me.

  As the servant turned to follow, he faced in my direction for the briefest of moments. That face. I knew that face. My breath caught. Horace. He smirked, and I gasped as he disappeared out of sight behind the tent. Had I imagined it? For months now I'd been thinking up ways to contact him, ever since I learned he was my brother.

  I lurched forward, following around the curve of the tent. I'd thought of sending up the Badlands Army signal, but it'd be too public and I'd probably end up arrested. I stumbled in the sand and pressed a hand to the snapping canvas of the tent at my side. I walked quicker so as not to lose him. I'd even thought of visiting Nate and Pritney in prison. They’d know how to contact Horace, but the thought of contacting two people who had tried to kill me turned my stomach. And now Horace showed up here, of all places? Heart pounding, I jogged forward, my feet twisting in the sand.

  "Imogen?"

  I screamed as a strong hand closed around my wrist from behind.

  I whirled to find Hank looking as panicked as I felt. I let out a heavy sigh and pressed my eyes closed. I smiled. "Hank."

  "Are you all right? What are you doing back here?"

  I half-turned, part of me still longing to follow Horace. But what if I was wrong? Maybe the lack of food, surplus of alcohol, and intense stress had my eyes playing tricks on me. Mirages were a desert thing, right? They probably didn't happen in the middle of the night, but who knew?

  "What's wrong? Are you looking for someone?"

  I turned to face Hank fully. "Don't freak out, but I thought I saw Horace."

  Hank paled and a muscle jumped in his cheek. "Are you all right? Did he threaten you?" He turned his head and called over his shoulder. "Francis!"

  A slight breeze blew the tendrils of hair at my neck. I turned and found Francis hovering directly behind me, breathing on my neck. "Gah!" I jumped.

  He lifted a dark brow. "You rang."

  "Imogen saw Horace here, at the feast. I need you to look for him and alert security."

  I held up my hands. "Look, I could be wrong. I haven't eaten in hours and have had a few glasses of wine."

  Hank ignored me. "Please, Francis."

  The vampire shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Your father ordered me to keep a close watch on you."

  "I'm sorry, I know it isn't fair for you to have to do this." Hank nodded. "But finding Horace is more important. I'll answer to my father if he takes issue with it."

  "Very well. And in any case, I don't mind being your bodyguard. You're the only member of your family I've ever been able to stand. And I've served three generations of them." Francis swept away as silently as he'd arrived.

  Hank wrung one hand around his other wrist, bunching up the gold cuffs of his uniform. He looked away and shrugged his broad shoulders. "Were you—Did you come out here to speak with Horace?"

  I sighed. "I—I just needed some air." I lifted a finger. "But we've talked about this. He's my brother."

  Hank held up his big hands. "Imogen. Someone might hear."

  I huffed, but lowered my voice. "Sorry. I know he's a wanted criminal and all that, but… I just want the chance to talk to him."

  Hank crossed his muscled arms. "Fine. Once he's behind bars."

  I shook my head. "He saved me as a baby, and he led us to Wee Ferngroveshire so I could learn that. He won't hurt me… probably."

  Hank threw his head back and looked at the stars, exposing his throat. As frustrated as I was, I longed to kiss it. He leveled his gaze at me. "I'm not okay with 'probably.' 'Probably,' isn't good enough when we're talking about your safety."

  "You don't get to decide."

  He looked pained. "I know I don't." His nostrils flared. "But if you're not going to value your life, I'd hope you'd think about how much I value it, before you go risking everything to—" He lowered his voice. "To speak to your homicidal brother."

  I set my jaw. "I care what you think, I don't want to hurt you, but he's the only brother I've got and I want to know who he is."

  Hank let out a heavy sigh and I crossed my arms. I toed the sand and willed my breathing deeper, breath after breath. Finally my chest relaxed a little. I lifted a palm and looked at Hank. "What are you doing?" I tried for a smile. "It's your wedding feast—they might notice you're missing."

  "I don't care. We need to talk." He sighed and lifted his brows in the middle. "And I don't want to fight."

  My eyes darted to his, then dropped again. I kicked the sand. "About what?" I didn't wait for him to answer. "I'm sure it can wait."

  He stepped closer. "You've been saying that for weeks. Imogen, I love you. I know this is hard for me—it must be terrible for you. I want to know what you're thinking, how you're feeling."

  I stepped back and only lifted my eyes as high as his chest. "I'm thinking that you're getting married to someone who isn't me and that's not ideal, but it's happening. Like, in a few days happening. And yeah, I'll have to deal with it." I gave a jerky shrug. "And I'm thinking this, us talking in the dark under the stars, doesn't look good, so we should get back to the feast."

  I turned to leave.

  "Imogen, wait."

  I turned and lifted my brows, my lips pressed into a tight line.

  "I saw you break that glass."

  My face darkened. "It was an accident."

  "Because you're upset—understandably. I am, too." He licked his lips. "When I was younger, before my father found my tutor and I learned to control my powers, I'd have, well, outbursts when I was stressed or upset." He stepped closer and reached for my hand. Just like he'd reached for Shaday's.

  My nostrils flared. "Well, you didn't look that upset earlier. And besides, I'm fine, it was just an accident."

  His brows pinched together in confusion. I let out a shaky breath. I was letting him see how upset I was. I needed to reel it in. I needed to not be upset, because it would be a waste—I saw no point in fighting something inevitable. I pressed my eyes closed and when I opened them again, arranged my face to be pleasant and calm, though my chest still felt choked.

  "Come on. It's your party and you can cry if you want to, but I'm heading back for some shish kebabs." I flashed a tight smile and headed back to the feast and the music and the fire dancers before he could stop me. Hank called after me, but I didn't turn back.

  3

&
nbsp; Too Many Cooks

  We spent the night glamping in tents out in the desert, and the next morning rode camels into the walled city of Calloon, the capital of the Fire Kingdom. The other bakers and I shuffled through narrow, winding streets, following Wool to the main square and then to the royal riad.

  K'ree and Wool acted as tour guides, pointing out the best spots for a mint tea (which was every other cafe, apparently), scoffing at the vendors selling knockoff Damavash flames (I already had a genuine one, thank you very much) and identifying the various piles of spices and exotic fruits we passed. I found all the distractions such a welcome relief from agonizing over my wreck of a love life that I actually forgot to be depressed and had some real fun.

  When we passed through the doors of the riad and entered the center courtyard with its rectangular fountain pool, bordered on all sides by two-story balconies, it felt as though we'd entered a different world. Instead of shouting merchants hawking their wares, birds chirped as they flitted about the garden and we got some relief from the heat inside the shaded space. Wool led us through the tiled courtyard, down a winding hall lined with archways, and finally into the back of the palace to the kitchen.

  After we met the other five Fire bakers, Wool gave us an orientation. Recessed shelves lined one entire white plaster wall. Wool gestured at various bottles, translating the labels for us.

  "We'll cast a translation spell, of course," he assured Maple, and the little line between her brows relaxed.

  She pressed a hand to her chest. "Thank goodness—I was feeling a bit worried I'd use long pepper." She gestured at one glass jar. "When I meant to use regular black pepper." She nodded at another.

  Wool chuckled. "No worries, Maple." He placed a hand on her shoulder and guided us on to the next wall. Beside me, Wiley sucked in a deep, loud breath through his nose and blew it out. Again, and again. I gave him a side-eye look.

  "You okay there?"

  He lifted a brow. "Hm? Oh, yeah." He sniffed in again as we shuffled past one of the large tiled islands that occupied the center of the kitchen.

  "Really? Because you seem like you're about to hyperventilate and pass out."

  He shook his head and blew out a stream of air with an open mouth. "Nah. Just this breathing technique I've been reading about. It's supposed to help with relaxation."

  "Well, you're not doing it right, because it's stressing me out."

  He rolled his eyes, but muttered, "Sorry. It's just this guy—"

  "Wool?"

  "Yeah, whatever. It's like he thinks he knows everything. I've been baking for plenty of years, buddy, thank you very much, am I right?"

  I lifted a brow and blew my bangs out of my eyes. "I had no idea what any of those spices were."

  Wiley's eyes fell to his shoes. "Yeah. Me neither."

  Wool pointed out the stove, where they kept the pans and baking sheets in the various black cupboards that matched the black-and-white-patterned floor tiles, and showed us to the recessed ovens that they'd cleared to make room for our flames. I spent a few minutes placing Iggy in one and getting him settled in with a supply of split logs. Wool and Maple moved to a corner to speak more.

  Iggy looked past my shoulder toward him. "You think he liked my joke? He smiled and I think he chuckled a little."

  I stacked some logs to the side of the oven and lifted a brow. "Who?"

  The little flame rolled his eyes. "Wool, of course. Who else?"

  I tugged my lips to the side and tried to suppress my smile. "Well, of course, how silly of me. What joke again?"

  Iggy grabbed a log and pulled it closer, absentmindedly munching on the end of it. A tendril of steam rose from the wood. "You know, just a minute ago. Someone mentioned the toasts from last night and I said, 'I make toasts every morning—for the king's breakfast. He likes his with butter and grape jelly.' You didn't hear?"

  I chuckled. "Right, that joke. Hilarious."

  Iggy sniffed. "You're just jealous that Wool likes me better."

  I opened my mouth in an exaggerated O. "If I didn't know better, I'd say somebody had a crush."

  Iggy dropped the log and looked offended. "Oh, because I can't just appreciate a suave and cultured man who appreciates me as a friend? Way to act real insecure Imogen, real insecure."

  I placed the last logs inside the oven and raised my palms. "My apologies. I'll attempt to be less threatened."

  Grinning, I joined the others in a circle up around Wool and Maple.

  Maple folded her hands across her apron. "This afternoon, the royal families are having a tea together." She glanced up at Wool. "We thought it'd be fun for the Water Kingdom bakers to make one of our specialties for the Fire Kingdom royalty."

  "And we'll make one of our dishes for Hank and his family," Wool finished in his deep voice.

  "So… what are we making?" Annie asked.

  Maple took a deep breath. "Macaroons, but with a Fire Kingdom twist. We'll infuse one batch with rose water, and for the other we'll use pistachio instead of almond flour."

  I grinned. "Yum."

  Sam wrung his hands. "Tricky though, macaroons."

  I nodded. This was true, and we had foreign royalty to impress.

  Wool flashed his white smile. "And we'll be making shortbread cookies."

  Wiley scoffed and muttered, "How original."

  "The pastry will be perfumed with orange blossom water and filled with a date jelly spiced with nutmeg." Wool nodded.

  Wiley crossed his arms. "Okay, that's actually pretty original."

  Wool spread his arms wide. "Our kitchen is your kitchen. Make yourselves at home, and if we can help in any way, do not hesitate to ask." Wool winked at Maple and her cheeks flushed bright pink. Wiley scowled and slammed a gold metal mixing bowl down on the counter, which made the rest of us jump. K'ree and I flashed eyes at each other. This was going to be an interesting day.

  We Water bakers moved to one side of the kitchen and gathered around a tile-topped island, while the Fire bakers moved to the other side. Maple delegated out tasks and within minutes the kitchen bustled with all of us moving about in the relatively tight space. After the enchanted mortars and pestles had ground the bowls of almonds fine enough, I stood beside Maple and sifted the almond flour and sugar mixture through a sieve, as she did the same with the pistachio flour mixture.

  I bumped my shoulder against hers. "So, how's your Bermuda love triangle going?"

  She grinned. "I don't know what you're saying."

  I glanced over my shoulder and spotted Wool laughing with a bunch of his bakers. "I think you do." I waggled my brows at her.

  A pink flush rose from her neck and spread over her cheeks. She turned the mixing bowl into the sieve and started over to catch more clumps. She lowered her voice so that only I could hear over the clanks of pans and whir of spoons in bowls.

  "Ugh. I'm so worried about it. I mean, I like Wool, but I also like Wiley." She shook the sieve harder, more fine powder trailing into the mixing bowl below. "And I'm trying to be professional. This is our first collaboration with royal bakers from another kingdom. Everything has to go perfectly." A little crease formed between her brows. "And if Wiley gets upset and starts acting like a child, or he offends Wool and they kick us out of the kitchen, what am I—"

  I laughed and put a hand on her shoulder. "That's not going to happen. Everything will be wonderful. Trust me."

  She looked up and let out a little sigh. "Oh Imogen, I hope so."

  I smiled back. "It will. I mean, rose and pistachio macaroons? A brilliant idea, who wouldn't love them?"

  She nodded. "I hope Shaday and her family do."

  "They will."

  As I put my flour through a third and final pass, just to be extra diligent, I wiped the back of my hand across my brow. My bangs stuck to my forehead and I blew out a little breath. "Man, it is warm in here though."

  Sam, standing across the kitchen island from me, closed his milky blue eyes behind his thick glasses. "Mm. It'sss perfect."<
br />
  I grinned. Maybe being a snake shifter left him a bit cold-blooded when in human form.

  K'ree stood behind several mixing bowls, supervising the spelled wooden spoons that beat eggs whites and sugar together until they formed peaks. "If they'd put the kitchen in the central courtyard we'd get more of a breeze," she grumbled. She blew her gauzy black veil out of her face as she leaned over to the check on her mixture. "That's how my family's home is set up. But here at the back of the house, all the windows face the back alley."

  I glanced up. The windows had all been opened, but not much air flowed through. I used my apron to dab at my neck. When K'ree gave me the signal, I sifted my flour mixture over the egg whites she'd been working on. Then I moved to the Fire Kingdom side of the room. One of the women hummed a spell to make her spoons whirl round a bowl. The intoxicating aroma of orange blossoms wafted up and I took a deep inhale. It reminded me of a warm spring day. I opened my eyes and tapped Wool on the shoulder.

  He turned. "Yes, Imogen? How can I help?"

  I pointed at the shelves of spices. "Do you have beetroot powder?"

  He grinned. "Of course."

  Wool scanned the labels and then plucked a glass jar of intense fuchsia powder and handed it to me.

  I held it up to the light and peered at it. "Thank you, Wool. I probably would have grabbed the saffron if left to my own devices." The bright red spice looked similar to the beetroot in the shadowed recess of the shelves.

  Wool smiled. "That would make for… interesting macaroons."

  "Inedible is more like it." I lifted the jar. "Thanks again, and for hosting us in your kitchen. I know there's a lot of us."

  "More make merrier." He ducked his tall head and as I moved to return to my work station, I caught both Maple and Wiley watching before they whirled around and stared down at their work. I chuckled to myself and stood beside Maple again.

  "Yes, he's still just as charming as ten minutes ago, if you were wondering."

  K'ree chuckled and Wiley made a point of banging his spoon loudly against the side of the metal mixing bowl as he beat the butter and sugar together for the filling. Real mature, Wiley.