by Shéa MacLeod
Also by Shéa MacLeod
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Nothing Tastes As Good
Soulfully Sweet
A Stitch In Time (A Cupcake Goddess Novelette)
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Infinite Justice
A Rage of Angels
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Lady Rample Steps Out
Lady Rample Spies A Clue
Lady Rample and the Silver Screen
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Kiss Me, Chloe
Kiss Me, Stupid
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Soulshifter
Fearless
Sunwalker Saga: Witchblood
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The Corpse in the Cabana
The Stiff in the Study (Coming Soon)
The Poison in the Pudding (Coming Soon)
The Body in the Bathtub (Coming Soon)
The Venom in the Valentine (Coming Soon)
The Remains in the Rectory (Coming Soon)
The Death in the Drink (Coming Soon)
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Watch for more at Shéa MacLeod’s site.
Soulfully Sweet:
A Cupcake Goddess Short
By Shéa MacLeod
Cupcake Goddess: Soulfully Sweet
COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Shéa MacLeod
Published 2012 by Sunwalker Press, Portland, Oregon
Edited by: Tamra Westberry
Formatted by: Pyper Press
The right of Shéa MacLeod to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons either living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Cupcake Goddess: Soulfully Sweet
"What idiot invented this stupid holiday anyway?" Branwen snarled as the doorbell rang for the third time in as many minutes. She yanked open the door, a half eaten cupcake in one hand. "Whaddya want?"
"Trick or treat!" A chorus of tiny voices called out as little hands held up bags to receive their goodies. Half a dozen pairs of eyes locked onto her cupcake.
"Give me a break, kids. You're not getting my cupcake. And if you think I'm going to give you a treat for spending the last year annoying me, you've got another thing coming." And with that she unceremoniously slammed the door in their faces.
Okay, so maybe she'd been a little mean, but she was the freaking goddess of love and beauty, for crying out loud. It was bad enough she was stuck in some Podunk town with less power than a pixie, thanks to humanity's extremely short memory. She was not about to pander to the whims of the locals.
She'd just settled back on the couch to watch an episode of Storage Wars when yet another knock sounded. Muttering a few choice curses under her breath, Branwen stormed to the door and threw it open. "Listen, you brats, I told you…"
There was no one there.
"What the…Are you brats playing pranks again? I swear I will turn you into toads."
"Oh, don't do that." The voice that came out of the darkness was breathy with a Southern edge.
"Who's there? Answer me," Branwen demanded.
"Have you forgotten me so soon?" The hollowness of the voice almost sounded like…like it had no body.
A memory flashed through Branwen's mind. A trip to Kentucky nearly a century ago. A woman in a blue summer dress. A terrible accident. A ghost begging to return to the living.
Branwen very nearly dropped her cupcake. Instead she smeared frosting across half her face.
"Viola, is that you?"
A face shimmered into view, like a dim reflection on rippling water, followed by the rest of her body. "Yes. You remember."
Branwen sighed. "Of course, I remember." She remembered everyone who came to her for help.
"I've been searching for you for ages. I was trapped in the dark for so long and I couldn't find you." The ghost wrung her pale hands together, her slender body shaking. Branwen wasn't sure if it was fear, nerves, or excitement. She supposed all of the above if the poor thing had been stuck in between for so long.
"Yeah, I moved to Washington," Branwen said, swiping a glob of frosting off her cheek. "I thought I told you to move on. You know, go into the light and all that crap."
"It's not fair. I didn't get a chance to live." Viola's voice held sorrow and anger. Branwen could understand both. The girl had died so very young.
"I'm sorry, Viola, but the whole life and death business is way above my pay grade. There's nothing I can do but tell you to get going. You don't belong on this side anymore."
"Please, Branwen. You must be able to do something."
"I can't."
"I'm not leaving until you do." Viola stomped her foot which promptly sank through the floor. With a snort of disgust, the ghost yanked her foot out, making a slight sucking sound.
Great. She had a stubborn ghost on her hands. The last thing she needed was some Southern belle haunting her for the rest of eternity.
Branwen sighed. "All right. Let me send a letter to Headquarters. Maybe I can convince them to do something."
Viola smiled. "Excellent. I'll wait." Her image shimmered and disappeared, but Branwen had no doubt the ghost of the dead girl would stick nice and close.
As she powered up her laptop, she ran through her options. Normally she'd just send a text, but this was a more complicated and delicate situation. She needed to make sure HQ understood what was at stake. Mainly, her ass being haunted.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. What to say? Inspiration struck and with a smile, Branwen pounded out a quick email explaining the situation and her suggestion for action.
Within minutes she had her answer:
You have 24 hours
Branwen smiled. That was all she needed.
***
Branwen sat in the dark, surrounded by candles while Viola's specter hung in the corner. The candles were completely superfluous, of course, but they created atmosphere. And Branwen was a goddess, for crying out loud. Atmosphere was practically a requirement.
Granted she hadn't had the power to pull off this kind of caper in at least a thousand years. But fortunately HQ had granted her just enough just this once. She practically giggled with glee, but managed to ke
ep a solemn expression for the sake of her non-corporeal guest. Standards must be maintained, after all.
"Viola, draw near." Branwen let the power of a true goddess seep into her voice.
With a shiver, Viola's ghost drew closer into the circle of candle light. Her passing stirred the candle flame.
"Take my hand."
Viola gave her a look that spoke volumes. "I'm a ghost."
"And I'm a goddess. Take my hand."
With a shrug the ghost placed her slender hand into Branwen's pudgy one. The minute they touched, Viola turned solid.
"Oh my." Viola glanced down at herself and practically squealed in excitement. "I'm alive!"
"Not yet. You're only solid because I'm touching you. Close your eyes."
Viola did as she was told and Branwen mumbled a few words in ancient Welsh. It was all for show, of course, but humans, even dead ones, liked a bit of ceremony with their magic. The actual words were lyrics to a raunchy drinking song.
"Okay, done. You can open your eyes."
Viola's eyelids flew open. "I'm real? Alive? Not a ghost anymore?"
"Yep."
"Is it permanent?"
Clever minx. "Depends."
"On what?"
A little smile curved Branwen's lips. "On whether you want it to be."
"Oh, I do," Viola insisted.
"We'll see," Branwen said. "Meet me back here this time tomorrow and I will make this permanent. If you want it to be."
***
Viola stepped outside and sucked in a deep lungful of fresh air. That was promptly followed by a coughing fit as a large metal monster roared by spewing black smoke and giving her heart palpations.
Car, she reminded herself. It was a car, not a monster, and the smoke was…well, okay that was smoke, more or less. Why people insisted on driving such things was beyond her. What was wrong with a perfectly good horse and carriage she wanted to know?
She gave another very unladylike hack to clear her lungs and continued down the sidewalk, taking in the wonders of the night. It was such a relief to be able to take a stroll without someone walking through her or a random body part getting stuck in the pavement. Granted in her day a young lady would never walk alone, especially at night. But times had changed and she'd have to change with them if she was going to live in this era.
Viola almost gasped aloud as a pair of women about her age crossed the street in front of her. Their incredibly short skirts showed off legs covered in holey stockings all the way up to…well, their unmentionables… and their tops showed off so much of their décolletage it was a wonder anything was left to the imagination. She had no idea how they managed to walk with spikes on their shoes, either. These must be ladies of the night!
She held back a quiver of excitement. She'd never met any ladies of the night before.
One of the women called out, "Nice costume. Where'd you get it?"
Costume? Viola glanced down at her full skirts and bodice. "My maid sewed them for me."
The two ladies of the night glance at each other with raised eyebrows. "Way to stay in character, girl." They giggled. "You must really love Halloween."
Viola had spent the last hundred years thinking of this night as simply the night when the veil between worlds was thinnest. She usually ran around trying to find someone with the power to bring her back. She'd forgotten it was a human holiday. They must think she was headed to a ball or some such.
"Thank you. I like your costumes, as well," she said politely.
One of the women snorted. "These ain't costumes, chicky. These are our uniforms. We're waitresses down at the diner." She pointed down the street to a perfectly ordinary eating establishment. "We're off to get into our costumes now. We're going as hookers and our boyfriends are going as pimps. Won't that be awesome?"
They laughed and waved as they made their way down the street leaving Viola staring at them. If their current outfits were their work clothes, she couldn't imagine what true ladies of the night wore in this day and age. Did this mean she had to dress in such hideous clothing, too? Exposing her flesh like some…some…
"Don't be judgmental, Viola," she whispered to herself. "If you want to live in this world you better learn to fit in." Still, the very thought of wearing such skimpy clothes, or looking at other people in them, made her shudder.
Another metal monster careened by, a heavy thumping sound coming from the interior. The noise made her head throb and she nearly jumped out of her skin as the driver blasted his horn.
"Hey, bitch, get outta the road!" someone yelled out the window. The yell was followed by an empty beer bottle which narrowly avoided hitting her in the head. Instead it hit the pavement and smashed into tiny shards.
One of the bits of glass bounced back, slicing open a tiny cut on her hand. The sharp sting was a shock. She hadn't felt pain in so long she'd forgotten what it felt like. It was only a small cut, but it frightened her. So many horrible things could happen to a person. So much pain. How could she forget the pain of being human?
She realized suddenly she had nowhere to go. No friends. No family. No home. Everyone she knew was long dead. She didn't even have any money and she had no idea how to get any.
Another pain hit, this time in her stomach. For a moment she couldn't figure out what was wrong. Was she dying? Again?
Then she realized she was hungry. Starving, in fact.
Without conscious thought, her feet turned toward the diner the women had pointed out. Inside it was bright and warm and clean. It smelled like bacon and bread and other delicious things.
Her stomach let out a grumble and Viola felt her cheeks heating. Ladies did not have growly stomachs.
"Can I help ya, hon?"
This waitress was marginally more respectable. Her skirt actually went to her knees and her blouse was buttoned up nearly to her throat. She gave Viola a tired smile.
"I…no. Sorry, I don't have any money."
"Unemployed, huh?"
"Yes. That's right." Viola was a little vague on the exact meaning of the word, but she caught the gist.
The waitress gave a tisk of sympathy. "These are hard times for everyone. Well, why don't you sit down for a bit, take a load off. I think I can rustle you up something on the down low." She gave Viola a wink and sashayed off to the kitchen.
Viola had only understood half of what the waitress had said, but she knew enough to take a seat at one of the booths. She flinched as someone turned up what she assumed passed for music, the loud screeching and thumping grating against her ears like nails on a chalkboard.
The waitress plopped down a plate and a glass. "There ya go, hon. Best I can do. But it's better than nothing."
"Thank you."
Viola eyed the plate warily. It contained what appeared to be bread and butter, except the bread was very white and thinly sliced. She took a delicate bite. It tasted faintly of paste and paper, not that she'd ever tried either, but it tasted like they smelled. And people called this bread? The butter was little better, tasting nothing like any butter she'd ever tried. Still, she politely ate every crumb washing it down with the strange brown liquid she found in the glass. It was sickeningly sweet and the bubbles tickled her nose.
Cola. She remembered it from the little drug store around the corner from her home. But it didn't taste like this cola. This cola tasted…fake.
As she finished her sad little repast, a group of young men entered the diner. Their voices were loud and every other word was a shocking vulgarity. Yet, no one took any notice. Apparently swearing loudly in public was perfectly normal. As was kicking the waste basket over, swearing at the waitress, and getting in a fight with the cook.
When one of the young men pulled a knife, Viola flew out the door and into the night, fear flooding her body with adrenaline. What a horrible, violent world this was.
A respectable looking man in a sharply pressed suit strode by, talking loudly. To himself. They let insane people out in public?
A shrill si
ren split the air, causing her to clap her hands over her ears. What now?
Another metal monster roared up and screeched to a halt in front of the diner she'd just left. Men in blue uniforms spilled out. And they had guns!
Viola didn't wait to see what happened next, she took off running, forgetting completely that ladies didn't run. She dashed across the street, nearly getting plastered by yet another metal monster. She barely noticed the driver, blaring his horn and cussing at her.
She finally arrived at Branwen's building. Rushing inside she dashed up the stairs until she arrived, out of breath, at the goddess's door. She banged on the door with all her might.
***
Branwen was finally unwinding after her little ghost adventure. She had her pajamas on, a box of mini cupcakes at hand, and Hunger Games on DVD. What more could a goddess want?
A sudden and violent banging broke out. Apparently, peace and quiet.
With a few choice cuss words (in Welsh, of course) she got up and answered the door. It was the ghost. Well, the former ghost.
"I already gave you what you wanted. Come back tomorrow." She started to close the door.
"Wait, Branwen, please. I need you to take it back."
Branwen stared at Viola in shock. The girl's eyes were wild and her dark brown hair was sticking up in a dozen different directions. There was a small cut on her hand and she stank of beer and diner grease.
Repressing her smile, Branwen waved the former ghost inside. "You want me to take it back, huh?"
"Yes, please."
"What, so you can haunt my ass for eternity? No thanks."
Viola grabbed her by the arm. "Please. I promise, if you turn me back I will go into the light. Like you told me to all those years ago."
Branwen raised an eyebrow as she sank back onto the couch. "What made you change your mind?"
Viola shook her head. "This world isn't for me. This isn't my place or my time. Everyone I know is gone. Everything is changed. I don't fit in here. I had my chance at life. It wasn't much of one, but it was mine and this isn't." Her expression was sad, but determined.