Deadly Sweet Page 6

  After mournfully tipping the cake into the trash, I left the kitchen sterile enough that Agatha could perform a heart transplant. All I wanted was to change and shower.

  Supposedly, my room was somewhere upstairs. I crept past Agatha’s office, not wanting to face her on my way to the third floor. The creaky floorboards should’ve given me away, but Agatha must have her earbuds in again because I could hear her off-tune singing down the hallway.

  Upstairs was dark except for the light shining through the door at the end of the hall. Was someone in my room? My “bodyguard” was still passed out downstairs, so if I bumped into any three-headed guard dogs, I’d probably be mauled.

  I tried to tiptoe, but even though the hallway had a strip of purple carpeting, the boards underneath squealed. In the silence, my heart sped faster than my imagination. Strange witches’ houses and the dark were a dangerous combination.

  Taking a deep breath, I peered around the door frame.

  A sweatshirt dangled from the wardrobe, my underwear scattered across the white rug, and a pair of jeans hung over the lamp on the desk. Only one place was empty. The canopy bed’s lavender quilt, where Fondant lay curled up and purring. She cracked an eye open, and I didn’t speak cat or demon or whatever Fondant was, but her smug little muzzle curved just enough to tell me she was laughing.

  My fingers clenched the doorway, nails digging into the soft wood. Thank God I’d kept the valuables and liquids in my backpack. My totally empty suitcase was upside down, and Fondant had used its backside as a scratching post.

  Was I being hazed? By a cat?

  I yanked my jeans off the lamp so they wouldn’t start a fire and grabbed my favorite hooded sweatshirt, which stuck out from under the bed. Its left sleeve had been decorated by claws.

  Perfect.

  I shoved it on and stormed downstairs. If I fought with a familiar, I’d lose. I’d either piss of Agatha or get cursed, or I didn’t even know what else could go wrong, but it would be the rotten olive on top of the shit sandwich of the last few days. Even so, walking away made a sour taste stick to my tongue.

  Wanting to be a few floors away from Fondant, I pulled out my phone and crashed in the sitting room next to the entryway on the first floor. My feet throbbed from so many hours frazzling around the kitchen, so I slipped off my shoes and kicked up on one of the rigid purple grandma seats. The lights were off, but now that I was sitting, I couldn’t be bothered to walk over or focus my magic enough to flick them on.

  The shadows suited my mood as I dialed Mom.

  She answered on the first ring. “Sweetie? Are you there? How was your flight? Are you okay?”

  “Mom.” I actually chuckled through a breath. “One question at a time. I’m okay. I’m at Agatha’s.”

  “And the vortex?”

  The hum was definitely giving me a headache, but I hadn’t blown myself up or choked to death. Yet. “I’m sort of getting used to it.”

  “Good. Good.” Relief bled through her voice. “How is it, really?”

  I gripped the long tear in my sweatshirt. “Fondant got into my suitcase.”

  “Stay away from that cat.” Mom’s tone dropped, deadly serious.

  “I’d love to, but she keeps finding me.” Hopefully, if I ignored her, she’d get tired of tricks. I planned to be here a long time, and I wouldn’t let Agatha’s familiar chase me away if it was a twenty-foot boa constrictor who used to be a death god. “That’s not the bad news. Agatha didn’t like my cake.” Everyone liked my cakes.

  “Sweetie.” Now her voice softened like a pillow because she was setting me up for a hard fall. “I’ve seen that woman make a Michelin-star pastry chef cry salt tears. She’ll like your baking when you’ve worked for her a few decades. Until then, don’t let her make you doubt yourself.”

  “Decades?” Who had that kind of time?

  “It’s your first day. You’re going to burn a few biscuits.”

  I sank back into the hard chair and pulled my knees to my chest. Mom wasn’t wrong, but I didn’t want to think about the hill I had to climb. More like baking Everest. “Apparently I’m so bad I need to relearn the basics. Agatha’s sending me to community college.”

  “And that’s a bad thing now?”

  “Not really.” I was good for a home baker, but I’d known my skills weren’t up to the level of a professional kitchen yet. I had a ton to learn.

  Still. After such a failure, my pride was more beaten than a meringue.

  “I have better news for you.” Papers rustled in the background. “I managed to get in touch with Vanessa and she sent me her daughter’s cell number. Gabi was supposed to be busy registering for classes tomorrow, but now that you’re going to the same school…”

  “Will you send me her number?”

  “I’ll tell it to you now. Ready?”

  I grabbed a pen from my backpack and scribbled the number on my hand. My feet had slipped back to the floor and now my toes tapped the purple Persian rug. If I could work up the guts to text this Gabi, I could actually make a friend. A witch friend. “Do Gabi’s parents have a shop in town?”

  “They run a veterinary clinic for cryptids out toward the ski valley. Gabi’s starting her vet tech certification this year.”

  “Cryptids? Like unicorns?” That I had to see.

  Mom’s dry laugh rang through the line. “Ask Vanessa about unicorns the next time you have a few hours.”

  “What about your other friend?”

  “Peggy? She and her sisters run the funeral home. I haven’t been able to talk with her in ages, but I’d bet you a million dollars her daughter, Blair, is studying to take over.”

  Funeral home, I could skip.

  A yawn stopped me from asking more questions. “I’d better sleep. Agatha has me starting at three tomorrow.”

  “Yikes. Go get some rest. And call me tomorrow?”

  “For sure. Night, Mom.”

  “Love you, sweetie.”

  “Love you, too.” I slumped into the chair for a few minutes, trying to gather enough energy to stand, but I’d reached that point where I was too tired to go to bed.

  A cat’s meow sent a shiver whisking down my spine. The tip of a white tail flashed around the doorway and the kitchen door swung open down the hall. I needed to make a break for it now.

  I rushed up both flights of stairs and ran for my room. I twisted the old-fashioned lock shut behind me and leaned against the door, gasping.

  There was a dent in the quilt and a dusting of white cat hair where Fondant had made her bed. She must’ve had another play around with my clothes, because now one of my bras dangled from the foot of the bed, and the trail of fabric went all the way through to the connected bathroom.

  I opened the dresser drawers and started tossing my stuff inside. I didn’t have the energy to fold. Fondant had totally shredded my fuzziest pair of socks, which I mourned as I dumped in the trash can under the desk. One of my tank tops was damp at the bottom of the shower, but everything else was in okay shape. I just had to do laundry sooner than expected.

  After changing into my sleep clothes, I kicked the dresser shut. The bottom drawer jammed. I lifted it off its tracks and pulled it out.

  A book had fallen, stuck at the back of the dresser. I knelt on the rug to fish it out, crossing my fingers I’d stumbled on a lost grimoire of spells that I could use to impress Agatha.

  My lips pursed in disappointment at the book’s mint green cover. It got worse when I flipped through the pages. The notebook was someone’s old bullet journal, except instead of boxes, the owner used a crazy variety of weird icons like potion bottles, hearts, cake slices, and runes. I could barely read the loopy cursive writing. I’d give it to Agatha tomorrow.

  Tonight, I was spent.

  I scoped out the bathroom while I brushed my teeth. It had double sinks, purple flowers, and black fixtures, with a door that connected to some other room. Just in case, I made sure it was locked. Although I hadn’t heard anyone else on th
e third floor. Maybe it was a guest room?

  I brushed the cat hair off the quilt before flopping into bed. It had one of those squishy foam mattress toppers, so I sank down like a dream, wiggling my toes under the sheet.

  But I couldn’t sleep yet. I had to send a text.

  I transferred Gabi’s number from my hand to my phone and after ten drafts, finally came up with a message that didn’t make me sound like a desperate loner: Hey, Gabi. This is Anise. My mom gave me your number? I’m registering tomorrow too—maybe I’ll see you around campus?

  I hit send before I could spend five hours analyzing. Five hours were all I had to sleep.

  My phone vibrated with Gabi’s response. Anise! I definitely want to meet up. Can you do ten by the fountain?

  That would be amazing. I texted back.

  Really excited to meet you!

  I grinned way more than anyone should while setting an alarm for the middle of the night.

  Chapter Seven

  When my alarm blared at 2:45 in the flapjacking morning, I considered a mutiny. Groaning and groggy, I swung my feet out of bed. Too late, I realized I should’ve set my clothes out last night. I couldn’t find anything in the rumpled mess of my dresser. Somehow, I managed to put myself in an outfit and ooze down the stairs to the kitchen.

  Agatha leaned against the marble island in a white jacket and purple apron. She flicked through an ancient, tattered spellbook. That perked me up faster than a gallon of black coffee. I moved to stand across from her, leaning close as I tried to catch a peek. Other women filled in, all wearing the same chef whites and purple aprons.

  I clutched at my ratty T-shirt, suddenly wide awake. I couldn’t stand out more if I balanced pie on my head.

  Agatha jerked her head toward the doorway. “Check the hallway, cupcake.”

  Confused, I walked out of the kitchen. A giant box took up all the space on the teeny hallway table. Was this what she meant? I pried open the flaps and gaped.

  A new jacket, checkered pants, and a fresh purple apron were folded on top of a shiny pair of nonslip shoes to replace the ones I’d mourned about losing to Darcy’s car. I stepped into the half bath to change and couldn’t resist a spin for the mirror. Everything fit perfect. Not too baggy, not too tight. I felt like I was glowing when I stepped back into the hall. There were more clothes in the box, including one of the frilly black dress uniforms that the shop girls wore, but Agatha’s voice sounded through the kitchen door, so I didn’t have time to dig.

  “…your work assignments.” Agatha handed sticky notes to each of the four women. I joined them at the island, feeling a lot less awkward now that I looked like a worker instead of someone more likely to be found digging through their dumpster. Agatha slid me a handwritten note of my own. I snatched up it to see what amazing things I’d get to bake this morning.

  All I had was a prep list. Peel ten pounds peaches, longevity tart - Jaya. Chop two pounds walnuts, wish cookies - Stef. The list went on and on with things I needed to get ready and I guessed who I needed to give them to.

  The person actually doing the baking.

  My prep list had wrinkled in my fist. I smoothed it out on the marble and swallowed down a boiling blob of pride. Work your way up.

  “Let’s rock.” Agatha brandished a whisk and whirled off. Like their movements were choreographed, the rest of the women headed straight to what must be their normal work stations. I would’ve expected a flurry of activity—clanging and whirring mixers—but instead, a hushed silence fell.

  The room’s energy spiked. Jaya stood closest to me, head bowed. As she took a few deep breaths, the blue haze of her magic glowed beneath her skin. It was as subtle, like her bronzer had a hint of blue in it, but the power was unmistakable. The other women didn’t necessarily glow, but their magic was so present it felt like way more than six of us were moving around the kitchen.

  More than a little intimidated, I hurried into the pantry to haul out my peaches. Ten pounds weren’t going to peel themselves. When I hauled the finished product over to Jaya in a heavy pot, she frowned over the rim.

  “Did you look at the charts before you started this?”

  “Charts?” I wiped sticky fingers on my apron.

  “Here.” She led me into the closet-sized break room next to the pantry. It had two chairs, a microwave, a coffee pot, and walls so plastered in lists and sheets of arcane symbols that it looked like witchcraft wallpaper. “You’ll have to check the walls until you have this all memorized, but it’s important even if you’re only prepping. What were you thinking while you peeled the peaches?”

  That I hate peeling peaches. I swallowed. “Nothing?”

  “There are suggested mantras depending on the spell type.” Jaya tapped a list pinned up near the light switch. “But it’s usually better to come up with your own. Do some reading before you start whatever’s next on your list.”

  So…

  Jaya was gently telling me that I couldn’t even peel a peach without screwing it up.

  I stood staring guiltily at the walls after she’d left. There wasn’t time to read through the room if I was going to finish the other tasks on my list, but I took a lap and tried to absorb the most important tips.

  I’d known to consider the moon phase in my baking, I just rarely made anything so complicated or powerful that it mattered. Now my brain shorted out at the millions of other recipe factors I’d never thought of. The date and season. The constellations. My age, where I was in my cycle, and where the other ladies in the kitchen were in their cycles, which, why would I ever have asked?

  But I didn’t have to ask. The charts tracked everything from our periods—and apparently I had to write mine in—to which saints and deities favored which types of spells, and the potion dilution rates we needed to respect to keep from getting shut down by the state of New Mexico. More than one drop of love potion per cupcake and we’d have the health inspector all over our asses.

  It made sense why Agatha’s was considered the best. I hadn’t realized her standard extended to peeling the fruit and the other grunt work. But every ingredient was part of the recipe and I needed to learn to prep them right if I wanted to earn a place for myself.

  The suggested mantras weren’t going to work. For a wish-fulfillment enchantment, I was supposed to chant wish over and over again. It was too utilitarian. I needed something that helped me imagine what the person eating the final wishing cookie would feel and experience.

  After I weighed out walnuts from the sack in the pantry, I took a few breaths and focused on the enchantment instead of the fact that I had to do the chopping. Dream come true would be a much better incantation.

  I thought a variation of the phrase the whole time I chopped. When I scooped the last of them into a bowl, I let out a tired breath. It was hard to stay focused on the one thing without letting my mind wander, but I thought I’d done a pretty good job.

  There were two women in the shop I hadn’t met yet, but luckily they wore name tags. I sneaked a peek. The round-faced older lady who looked jolly as a Campbell’s soup kid grandma was Carol. Which meant the thirty-something blonde was Stef.

  She had her back to the rest of us while she worked at her station in the corner. I set the bowl of walnuts on her table.

  Stef jolted like I’d slapped her. “What the hell?”

  “Sorry.” I took a reflexive step backward. “The walnuts. I chopped—”

  “Ugh.” She slapped the bowl away without a look.

  My heart fell down into my stomach. “I can do it again.”

  “Don’t bother.” Her face puckered. As her gaze flicked over me, the scorn was so hot it seared. She had the greenest eyes I’d ever seen—so green they had to be colored contacts—and between the color and her expression I felt like I was about to be on the receiving end of one poisonous curse.

  I clutched my arms to my coat and retreated to my station.

  Was I that bad?

  Self-doubt had my energy slumping, but
when I delivered toasted almonds to Carol, she smiled and patted my shoulder. So maybe I wasn’t totally irredeemable? Agatha didn’t say a word to me all morning, but I took that as a positive. At the rate I was going, she’d be more likely to hand me a plane ticket than a compliment.

  The four hours flashed by in a whirlwind of flour.

  At the end of my shift, I slumped like a wrung-out dishcloth.

  I didn’t know if I could ever learn it all, but I was damn sure going to try.

  I crashed into my pillow and slept for what felt like ten seconds before my alarm had another seizure. I smacked it before forcing myself to hop up. Sleep deprivation couldn’t keep me from meeting Gabi. I didn’t know a single witch my age, and if our moms had been friends, maybe we could be, too.

  Plus, college. After my morning on the front lines, it was glaringly obvious how behind the other witches I was, and even if I’d disappointed Agatha, I couldn’t make myself consider baking class a punishment.

  I was so excited to register that I tried on every outfit that Fondant hadn’t shredded, just to make sure I looked like a college student. It was still too hot for jeans, so I ended up in a pair of gray capris with my Strawberry Shortcake T-shirt and a thin zip-up tied around my waist. College kids always had shirts tied around their waists.

  Twenty minutes before I was supposed to meet Gabi, I realized I didn’t have a ride to campus. Was there a bus?

  A quick search told me the Taos public transportation system wasn’t going to work. I’d be better off walking to campus, but I would’ve had to leave forty-five minutes ago.

  Did I dare disturb Agatha to ask for a ride? I was creeping down the steps, trying to figure out what to do when I found Lonnie climbing up.

  “Good morning again, dear. I was just coming to get you.” She wore a flowing fruit-print dress, and her smile was as warm as apple crisp.