Deadly Sweet Page 2

  Mom sat at the kitchen table in a silk robe and fuzzy slippers, cursing at our ancient laptop while she looked for new day jobs. I brewed a pot of green tea and set a steaming cup in front of her. I held mine, letting it warm my numb fingertips until the tea cooled enough to sip.

  “If I have to commute, we might as well move again.” Mom’s voice was calm enough, but she hit the keyboard too hard.

  Now was as good a time as any. “If we have to move, then one of the vortexes…”

  Her head snapped up. “Anise.”

  “I know they’re dangerous, but aren’t you getting tired of being cast out everywhere we go? If we could stay with our own people—”

  “Witches aren’t our people. People are our people.” She closed the laptop. “And kitchen witches rarely join circles. If you want to keep practicing, you have to learn how to make your magic work for the world we live in.”

  I’d spent eighteen years trying. And it wasn’t like either of us had other prospects. We were both struggling. “Why keep fighting when we could go somewhere we’d be welcomed?”

  “I won’t explain again.” She left the table and her tea, shutting herself into the bathroom. After a few seconds, the shower roared on.

  All my life, Mom had been warning me how dangerous the vortexes were. Not that the vortexes themselves were bad, but they leaked energies from other worlds. So if you were a witch who wanted more power? They were the obvious place to set up shop.

  Literal shop. As much as most people were afraid of us when we lived among them, they treated the vortex cities like witch zoo. They could stop in, take a few pics, and buy their enchanted goods—including charms to protect them from the bad witches—then head home before dark.

  Dark was a problem near the vortexes. Instead of raising me on fairytales, Mom had terrified me with bedtime stories of magical mafiosos and killer witches who turned warlock and their armies of Hands, all fighting for turf and peddling deadly, addictive magics.

  I’d been scared enough not to bug her about going when I was still little, but now that I knew how awful the “real” world could be, I doubted the vortex cities were worse than anywhere else.

  How could they be? They had magic and people who actually practiced it.

  I flipped the laptop around and cracked it back open. A quick search brought me to Agatha’s Bakeshop, Taos, New Mexico. The only certified magical bakery in the US. The cakes displayed on the homepage glittered and glowed. There were chocolate-covered cherries oozing with love spells and laughing macaroons in every flavor.

  And the kicker? It was owned by Agatha Wise. My great-aunt Agatha Wise.

  Mom didn’t know I knew about her, and I’d planned to stay away from the woman, but now? With no other options, I’d be crazy not to at least contact her. If I could work at her bakeshop, I could pay my own way while I learned. I’d wash dishes and sweep the floor. Even then, it would be even better than pastry school because I’d be learning magic recipes instead of the how-tos for non-witches.

  Keeping one ear tuned toward the shower, I typed as fast as I could.

  Dear Aunt Agatha—

  My name is Anise, and I’ve been studying magical baking my whole life. I’d love the chance to come and learn from you in Taos. I’ve already memorized our family’s spellbooks, but there’s so much more I want to study. If you have any openings, please let me know. I’m a hard worker and I’ll do anything you ask.

  -Anise Wise

  It sounded a little desperate, but I was desperate, and the water had just turned off, so I typed my contact info in as quick as I could before sending the message and clearing the browser history. I didn’t need Mom freaking out.

  At least now I had something to do.

  Pray for a response.

  As the summer dragged, I checked my email obsessively. I started losing hope in July. By the end of August, I knew Agatha wasn’t interested.

  Instead of letting despair creep in again, I picked up more shifts at the grocery store. I stood in the kitchen piping roses out of too-sweet chemical buttercream that had to be scooped out of a bucket. No one could pay me to eat the stuff, but at least the roses looked nice. I’d mixed shades of pink and white icing to pipe out soft ombré flowers, and it was the best part of my day whenever customers stopped to coo over the sample cakes in the case.

  I took pictures of the prettiest ones. I might not be able to get into school, but if I put together a portfolio of my work, I could at least trade up for a job at a better bakery. I had skills.

  “Wow.” Darcy came up beside me and leaned her elbows against the work table. “Sweet work, Ann.”

  Ann. I cringed but didn’t correct her. Instead, I tilted my shoulders a little so the name tag pinned to my apron was visible. Anise. How hard was that?

  She set her paper hat on the table and started to retie her ponytail, which we definitely weren’t supposed to do in the workspace. I cringed again as one of her long blonde hairs draped itself across my work table.

  “So,” she said. “There’s a bunch of us from the store going to the fair tonight. You want to come with?”

  “I don’t know…” I’d worked here for a year without being outed, but Darcy was the only one I spoke to. Well, “spoke” to. I didn’t tell her anything much about myself because I didn’t want her getting too close.

  “I won’t pressure you, but there’s gonna be funnel cake.” She dipped an ungloved finger in the frosting bucket and then licked it.

  I bit back a gag. Could she not?

  “Oh, and Trevor from the deli told me to tell you he’d be there. I think he has a crush.”

  Trevor? From the deli? I only remembered Pete, but he was a white-haired grandpa with a potbelly. “Which one is he?”

  “You’re kidding. Trev? The megahottie with the crosses tattooed around his neck?” Darcy pressed a hand to her forehead. “He’s twenty-seven. Too old for me, but perfect for you, right?”

  I kept piping my roses. Darcy had just finished her junior year. I was only a year older, but either she had no idea what my age was, or I came off as a lot older than I should. Probably both. Either way, neck tattoos didn’t do it for me.

  “I’ll text and tell him you’re excited.” She whipped her phone out of her apron pocket and her thumbs were flying before I could bow out.

  “I don’t think I can go.”

  “Come on, Ann. It’s just the fair. Don’t you want to see who won the baking contests?”

  “Baking contests?” I lowered my pastry bag. That could be worth it. But I still shook my head. I’d been lying before, but now that I thought this through, Mom needed the car tonight. “Never mind. I don’t have a ride.”

  “I so have you covered. I’ll wait for you after my shift ends.” Darcy jammed her hat back on and headed to check on the customer peeking over the front counter.

  I kept mulling over the fair as I looped Happy Birthday on sheet cake after sheet cake. I usually avoided big groups of people—and little groups of them, too—but the crowds would go for the rides and food, not the baking pavilion. If I didn’t like Darcy’s group, I could sneak off on my own and catch back up with them at the end of the night. No way would the other kids want to hang out looking at award-winning pound cakes. They’d be out riding coasters and tilt-a-whirls.

  When my shift ended, I popped out the back door. Darcy leaned against the brick wall, smoking and scrolling through her phone. She’d changed into tight jeans and a crop top, with hair tumbling past her shoulders and thick red lipstick. She looked ready for the city instead of the county fair.

  “That’s what you’re wearing?” She asked.

  I self-consciously smoothed my checkered bakery pants. “I didn’t bring a change.” I would’ve worn my Strawberry Shortcake T-shirt anyway, and I had a zip-up to wear if it got chilly, but my clunky, slip-proof work shoes wouldn’t be stylish anywhere outside a kitchen.

  With a heavy sigh, Darcy flicked her cigarette and then ground it into the pavemen
t with the toe of her wedge sandal. “Come on. We need to do some work on you.”

  I followed her, but I didn’t need “work.” Whatever that meant.

  Darcy’s sedan was parked in the back of the employee lot. She opened the back door and gestured for me to hop in. “Go ahead. I have tons of outfits. Although you might be a little too big for them…” She eyed me up and down, then shrugged. “There’s a poncho that’ll fit you.”

  You know what? I didn’t need this. “Actually, I have to go home.” I turned and started walking.

  Her sandals clacked a few quick steps. “Don’t go. I already told everyone you’d be there.” Darcy tugged my arm, trying to pull me back to the car. “And they were really happy they’d finally be able to talk to you. You never hang with us.”

  She gave me sad puppy eyes and I let myself be pulled. If they really wanted to get to know me, I’d give this a chance. And at worse, I’d sneak away to the baked goods while they hit the rides.

  Darcy’s back seat had more clothes than my closet. I had to push away piles of rumpled shirts and pants to click my seatbelt and my feet couldn’t touch the floorboards with all the shoes piled up.

  “Dig through. I’m sure you’ll find something.” Darcy started the car.

  I made a half-hearted attempt to find a new outfit as she drove, but I didn’t want to wear a crop top and everything she owned reeked of cigarettes. I did manage to find a pair of flip-flops that fit. I only owned one pair of work shoes, and I didn’t want them getting muddy at the fair.

  While Darcy sang to the pop song on the radio, I texted Mom. Going to the fair with some people from work. See you after your shift.

  It was Friday, which meant Mom would be bartending until late. After a few seconds, my phone buzzed. Be safe.

  The drive to the fair took us out past strip mall town until the houses were farther and farther apart. Eventually, there were more cow fields than stoplights.

  Darcy had arranged to meet up with the others inside the gates, so we parked in the dirt lot and followed the families and date-night couples marching happily toward the smell of frying oil. The pull of funnel cake was strong.

  I tried to stand tall as we handed our tickets to the woman at the gate, but the urge to hunch kept sinking my shoulders. A toddler rammed into my knees and kept running, his mom chasing after him with a juice box.

  “Sorry!” She jogged past me, hurrying to catch the kid.

  I jammed my hands into my pockets where they hopefully wouldn’t get me into trouble and tried to stick close to Darcy. Even though I hardly knew her, she beat all the nameless faces crowded around. I winced as we passed one of the animal buildings. A pitchfork stood ready next to the bales of hay.

  But I won’t give anyone a reason to go for pitchforks. I wasn’t here as Anise the witch. Just Anise, grocery store employee and college reject.

  “There they are.” Darcy skipped ahead. “Trev!”

  I hurried to keep up, but let her go when she jumped into Trevor’s arms for a hug. The V of his shirt showed the row of gothic crosses ringing his neck like a necklace. He had more ear piercings than me, but his were wicked-looking spikes when mine were innocent studs that Mom had charmed with protection spells. I felt like I needed those spells when he turned his sharp gray eyes on me.

  “What up, Annie?”

  Something about his smooth voice curdled my spine.

  “Uh. Hi.” I cast around, looking for anyone else to talk with, but Darcy was busy batting her eyelashes and the three other kids from the store were so focused on their phones they either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care that I’d arrived.

  “Rides first?” Darcy asked. “Or food first?”

  “Rides for sure.” Trevor made eye contact again, and the way he said rides…

  My instincts said to run far away from this guy. I slipped to the back of the group as everyone headed toward the ride part of the fairgrounds. Even if Trevor hadn’t creeped me out, the posted prices would have sent me running. Six dollars for the wheel of fire coaster thing? I’d rather spend my precious bills on things that came out of a deep fryer.

  They kept plowing through the crowd, not noticing at all when I slipped away. If I liked people, that would’ve bothered me, but as much as I wanted friends, I wanted real friends who I could relax with. Not people who’d run away at the first flare of magic.

  I wasn’t sure where I was headed, but the fairgrounds weren’t that big, so I followed my nose to the food trailers. Macaroni and cheese on pizza seemed a little much, but I drooled over the rows and rows of candy apples. Something about that shiny red color filled the holes in my soul. I was about to spring for one when a couple walked by with a funnel cake. The smell of hot sugar and deep-fried goodness had me speed-walking in the direction they’d come from.

  I handed over my cash with a smile and ate every bite by myself until I was licking powdered sugar off my fingers.

  Times like this, I loved being alone. No sharing.

  When I smelled cows, I knew I was headed the wrong way, but a little more meandering brought me to a cozy wooden building. A white-haired woman sat at the folding table in front, her eyes closed in a catnap. I crept close enough to look at the table, then grinned. The stack of print-outs listed all the winners of the baking contests. I snagged one and headed into my version of heaven.

  Cold-cases hummed against the walls and every one was packed with shelves of goodies. Cakes, cookies, and tarts. Pies, breads, and muffins. The air was thick with yeast and cinnamon. I took a deep breath.

  Actual heaven. And not one other person inside to bother me.

  Ribbons were taped the shelves. I gravitated to the shelf of banana breads cut helpfully in half after being tasted for judging. The blue-ribbon loaf was tall and moist, with a dense, even crumb. I smelled banana through the glass, and I didn’t need a bite to tell why this one was the winner. Farther down the row were a few sad, ribbonless loaves with fallen tops and not enough browning.

  My stomach rumbled even though I’d downed my funnel cake in record time. If not for the glass, I would’ve been tempted to steal a few bites. I wished I would’ve known to enter the contests. I could’ve dominated the layer cake division this year.

  But the pies. I could only aspire to such flaky-crust greatness. My face was an inch from the glass as I fangirled over the lattice on the champion blueberry pie when a negative energy creeped down my back.

  “Been looking for you.” Trevor’s warm breath hit my neck. The hairs on my arms rose, my magic responding to the danger.

  But there’s no danger. Just a creepy guy. I stepped away, burrowing my hands into the pockets of my zip-up.

  “I like your studs.” Trevor reached like he was going to stroke the curve of my ear. My arm came up to block him. His face pinched, but his gaze shifted to my hand. “Like your rings, too.”

  He reached again, and this time I wasn’t fast enough. Trevor caught my fingers and stretched them out, holding on hard enough that I was afraid to pull away. I tried to relax as he lifted my hand closer to his face and squinted at the rings.

  “Pentagram? Are you a…?” His voice trailed off and he licked his lips.

  Damnit. I never wore anything obviously witchy, but my middle finger ring had the teeniest pentagram engraved on its side. No one would ever spot it unless they were weird enough to look that close.

  I tried to tug away but Trevor tightened his grip so hard my knuckles cracked. The light in his eyes held a purpose that made it hard to swallow.

  “Let go.” My voice quavered.

  “You are, aren’t you?” He grinned.

  Chills rolled through me. I glanced around, looking for someone who could help. There was only the grandmotherly lady at the front of the tent, still dozing off.

  “You’re going to let go.” Now my voice and my hand shook, but magic bubbled inside me. Please don’t let me have to use it. If he pushed me much farther, I wouldn’t have a choice.

  “Nah. You’re g
oing to come with me is what’s going to happen. Otherwise I out you.” He leaned in to whisper. “Witch.”

  His wet tongue touched my ear.

  And I was done.

  I shoved him with my free hand. As my emotions peaked, raw power exploded out of me. No time for spells. No time to hold back. Trevor flew into the wall in a burst of red and orange.

  Flames.

  No.

  That wasn’t what I wanted.

  He screamed as his T-shirt smoldered. I called for air, ready to put out the fire, but he thrashed and the nearest cold case caught like it had been doused in oil.

  Is that my power?

  It couldn’t be.

  I took a step and wobbled, dizzy. Or not dizzy.

  Draining myself?

  While Trevor screamed and rolled, I focused on the flow of my energy. Fed by my fear, magical flames blazed. I pulled back the power that was adding the fuel, but I couldn’t put out what I’d already lit without casting an actual spell. The fire was too big. Smoke billowed higher and higher.

  A spell. What spell? My mind scraped at nothing. It was hard enough to stay standing after all the power I’d bled.

  I reached for Trevor, wanting to drag him out of here, but someone grabbed my shoulders first. “The building’s coming down!”

  Already? How? I tried to whirl, but the movement was sluggish and a last little bit of magic glowed at my fingertips.

  “You did this?” The man who’d come up behind me paled.

  I snuffed out the power and hid my hands behind my back. “No. I—”

  He shoved past me and lifted his voice. “We need help in here!” He whipped off his jacket and started beating back the flames that curled over Trevor.

  More people rushed in, sweeping past me. I coughed in the thickening smoke, but I didn’t think to move until they started dragging Trevor to safety. Someone else pulled at me and I let them tug me out of the building.

  I caught one last glimpse of the cold cases crackling and popping in the blaze. The buttercream flowers on the first-prize layer cake had melted into puddles. Its tiers slid, inching to collapse.