Potions and Pastries Page 2

  Blanching, Orla’s client backed away, then turned and fled. I was surprised at how fast she was able to make her way up the stairway to Bay Street in those heels.

  “Hey!” the man yelled after her. “Stop! You haven’t paid the fee!”

  He appeared poised to run after her, but Orla stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Let it go, Taber.”

  “But—” He shrugged off her hand and turned toward her. “Mother, are you all right?”

  Mother?

  She snorted. “Of course. You worry too much.”

  He regarded her in silence for a few seconds. “Perhaps. Still, you can’t allow your clients to get away without paying. I’m only trying to help.”

  Orla tore off her fedora, which unfastened the braid on top of her head. As it uncoiled, she absently flipped it over her shoulder. That simple act transformed her from being a mysterious reader of fortunes to plain old Orla Black, who loved the peach fritters at the Honeybee Bakery.

  “Have you been spying on me?” she demanded.

  “What are you talking about?” he countered with a sigh, and ran his fingers through his mop of black hair. Without the glasses, his eyes shone bright blue above a sturdy nose. His generous mouth was slightly turned down.

  “I don’t think it was a coincidence that you showed up right when you did.” Her dark eyes flashed. “You should be in the middle of a show. Where is that doll of yours?”

  “Taber! I thought I might find you here.” A woman glided toward us, the ventriloquist’s dummy dangling lifelessly from one hand. She was tall, and her chestnut hair was streaked with copper. Without thinking, I ran my hand through my own short auburn locks. She wore her forest green shift with the kind of glamour seen on the streets of Paris. Her voice was silky as she held the dummy out to the man. “You left Cobby behind.”

  “I just wanted to check on your mother,” he said. “Sometimes she runs into some shady characters.”

  Okay, not her son. Her son-in-law. Now that I saw the newcomer and Orla together, it was clear they were mother and daughter.

  Taber took the dummy. As soon as he held it, the thing seemed to come alive. It shrugged and moved its neck as if to stretch out a crick. The mouth opened and shut a few times as if the puppet were limbering up. Then it all fell slack as Taber dropped his hand to his side, the doll dangling from his fingers.

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re here to protect me from miscreants and thieves.” Orla’s words were fairly dripping with sarcasm. “More like checking on the day’s receipts.”

  Her son-in-law’s jaw set, but his words were mild. “John asked me to keep an eye out.”

  Orla’s eyes widened, and she turned toward her daughter. “Fern? Are you in on this as well?”

  Fern shook her head at Taber. “I think Mother can take care of herself down here.”

  He opened his mouth as if to say something, then glanced over at the four of us watching. “We can continue this conversation at home. In private.”

  Well, good heavens. You’re quarreling on a public walkway, and you don’t like that other people are listening?

  “Hello there!” Lucy bustled toward the trio. Oh, how my aunt loathed conflict of any kind.

  As one, Orla, her daughter, and her son-in-law turned to look. Then Orla’s face transformed into a smile. “Lucy Eagel, as I live and breathe. And Katie. I didn’t realize that was you standing there. Come meet my daughter.” Her nostrils flared slightly. “And her husband.”

  We shook hands, and I introduced Declan. The tension faded somewhat as Lucy and Orla chatted about the weather. Fern smiled politely and walked to the fortune-telling tent. She began picking up the tarot cards her mother’s disgruntled client had scattered on the ground.

  “Hey, are you taking off?” a male voice interrupted. It was the fire juggler. He wore board shorts and had the tanned physique of a runner. His dark hair was in a man bun at the back of his head, and a tattoo of Chinese characters wound up one bicep. A tendril of smoke wafted from one of the torches he still carried.

  Orla turned. “What? No, of course not. Fern, just put those on the table there. I’m planning to be here for at least two more hours this evening. The traffic is terrific tonight.” As she spoke, she coiled the braid back on her head, pinned it in place, and perched the fedora on top.

  Fern sighed. “Are you sure, Mother?”

  Orla waved away her daughter’s concern. “Of course. Go on home and put Nuala to bed. I’ll stop in when I get back.”

  Fern hesitated, then nodded. “All right. Come on, Taber. Mother doesn’t need your help, and your audience has moved on. Finn is still around on his cycle. He’ll help her pack up.”

  Her husband looked as if he was about to argue, but finally gave a little shrug and joined her.

  “Nice to meet you all,” Orla’s daughter called as they walked toward the River Market.

  The juggler’s expression had hardened into anger. “You know this was my spot first, Orla.”

  “I know, dear.” Her response was mild.

  “And that guy was with the one who ran me off.” He pointed at her son-in-law’s retreating back.

  “Ran you off? Oh, now—”

  “He threatened me,” the juggler insisted.

  She looked surprised. Then her face fell. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  The juggler snorted. “You didn’t know? I just bet. This is the best spot on the riverfront.”

  “Plenty of people walk by where you work now,” Lucy protested, to my surprise.

  To Ben’s, too, because he stepped in and put his arm protectively around her shoulders. Declan went to stand by them.

  Ignoring the two men, the juggler took a step toward Orla. “Sure, they walk by to get to the market, but that far away, only half as many people stop to watch. I put on a show, lady, and I need the right stage.” He pointed down to the ground. “This one. I have friends, you know. Tomorrow I want this spot back.”

  Orla’s expression hardened. “I rather like it here, and I don’t think I’ll be moving anytime soon. Go find another place to throw your little balls.”

  I blinked. This was a side of Orla I’d never witnessed before. The evening was turning out to be quite interesting, but so far nothing seemed to require any magical intervention from me.

  His face red with frustration and embarrassment, the juggler turned and stalked away.

  “Whew!” Lucy exclaimed. “I had no idea there was so much drama down here in the evenings. We’ll have to come to the riverfront more often, Ben.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. The tension was spoiling our mellow celebration.

  Orla shook her head. “Sorry about all that. Listen, I’d better get back to work. I’ll come into the Honeybee soon, and we can catch up then. Okay, girls? Besides, I haven’t had a peach fritter for ages.” She grinned.

  “Of course,” my aunt said. “We need to get going anyway. Honeybee and Mungo are waiting.” My companions began to walk away.

  At the mention of Honeybee—Lucy’s cat, who had inspired the name of our bakery—and my own canine familiar, I felt a pang of guilt. Still, I didn’t move.

  Why the dragonflies?

  “See you later, Orla,” I said, prolonging my contact with her a few more seconds.

  She smiled and held out her hands to me. “Sooner than later, my dear.”

  I took her hands and squeezed them in farewell.

  She gasped. Her eyes fluttered closed. When she opened them, her pupils had eclipsed the coffee-colored irises, almost seeming to throb. Fascinated and a little frightened, I couldn’t look away.

  Chapter 2

  “You have such power.” Orla’s lips barely moved, and I leaned closer to hear. “I had no idea.” Her hands were shaking in mine.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but she continued. “So much violence!
You’ve seen so much. More than your share.”

  Well, anyone who read the Savannah Morning News would know I had a tendency to get caught up in homicide cases on an alarmingly frequent basis. Still, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from hers.

  “No wonder, as it is your calling to help others in the magical community,” she breathed.

  Okay, that wasn’t common knowledge. And honestly, I still took issue with the idea that I was somehow obligated to answer this “calling” of mine. Could Lucy have told her?

  Orla’s voice was dreamy, and she swayed on her feet. “You are particularly gifted at it.”

  “Er . . .” I finally managed.

  Her eyes widened, and the grip on my hands grew so tight it was painful.

  “Sacrifice.”

  “What?”

  “There is sacrifice to come. You will have a decision to make.”

  Uh-oh.

  “Katie?” Lucy said. I could hear the alarm in her voice. “Is everything all right?” She started back toward me.

  Orla blinked rapidly, and she dropped my hands. “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry!”

  “What? Why?” I cried, thoroughly alarmed now as well.

  “I can’t think what came over me. I never do that! It’s a personal rule of mine, to not force what I see upon other people. It’s the kind of thing I abhor in those who have my talent, and I’m very ashamed.”

  “Well, it’s not—”

  “Please forgive me, Katie?”

  “Well, of course, I forgive you. There’s nothing to . . . What did you mean by—”

  Orla shook her head so hard, her fedora slipped. “I shouldn’t have imposed like that. You may decide you want to know more. If you do, let me know, and I’ll be happy to officially read for you. But now I have a client waiting.”

  I looked over and saw that a man was indeed standing by her booth.

  “Katie? Mungo and Honeybee will be wanting their suppers,” Lucy called.

  I gave Orla a quick nod. “I’ll let you know.”

  She sketched a wave as she turned away to tend to her paying client.

  What just happened?

  “Are you okay?” Declan asked when I hurried over to join them. “What did she say to you?”

  I tried to wave it away with a flip of my wrist. “It’s nothing. Though, I must say, if that’s a sales technique to convince people to pay for more, it’s one of the more creative loss leaders I’ve seen. I’m afraid it makes her look like just another sidewalk charlatan.” Yet a part of me suspected I might have been overreacting because Orla’s words had disturbed me.

  Lucy confirmed it. She and Ben were walking in front of us again, and she whirled to face me. “Katie! I’m surprised at you. If anyone can sense that Orla has real ability when it comes to divination, it’s you.” As she resumed walking, I heard her mutter, “Better than any of us in the spellbook club—that’s for sure.”

  “Aye, that’s a woman who knows her stuff,” Declan said in a low voice, the slightest Irish lilt riding beneath the words.

  I stopped dead in my tracks, staring at him. When we’d first been getting to know each other, Declan had told me of his heritage and tried to put on a real Irish accent. He’d failed miserably. He was a Savannah boy, through and through, and I loved how the round sounds of the South threaded through his speech.

  Declan didn’t sound Irish, but someone else we both knew did. Remember that “gift” I mentioned he’d acquired during a séance?

  “Connell,” I hissed, “you promised to leave him alone.”

  Several feet ahead of us on the sidewalk, Ben and Lucy paused to look back at us quizzically.

  Declan gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head along with a look that said we’d talk about it later.

  Great. Just what I need.

  I’d thought my boyfriend had tamed the spirit of his not-quite-dead and possibly leprechaun ancestor to the point where I didn’t have to worry about its otherworldly interference anymore. Apparently, I was wrong.

  And worse, Connell had just confirmed that I should take Orla’s fortune seriously. The problem was, I wasn’t even sure what she had started to tell me.

  Sacrifice.

  • • •

  We’d replaced the blinds in the Honeybee with cozy café curtains the same blue as the bistro chairs in the customer seating area. They were closed against the lowering night as we approached, giving the bakery a snug, put-to-bed appearance. Through the glass of the door, the faint gleam of the shiny stainless appliances and work surfaces in the open kitchen promised passersby tasty treats warm from the oven come morning. A cheery light beckoned from the floor lamp in the reading area as well. Lucy’s feline familiar would no doubt be snoozing on her window perch there.

  Ben took out his keys and unlocked the door. We followed him inside. It felt strange to be coming in during the evening rather than in the dark of morning, and I resisted the urge to flip on all the lights and ready the ovens for the first batch of sourdough bread. The high ceiling was in shadow, as were the welcoming amber and burnt orange walls. The chalkboard menu behind the old-fashioned register listed our current offerings of pastries and pies, cakes and cookies, muffins, scones, and more. With the Easter holiday approaching, Lucy had added drawings of bunnies and chicks and flowers around the edges. The miniature sandwich board on top of the dark display case was literally a blank slate awaiting the next day’s special to be declared in chalk. The tulips sitting next to it in a vase had shuttered their blooms tightly for the night.

  Yip!

  I smiled. “Hey, little guy. Miss me?”

  My Cairn terrier tumbled out of his bed on a bottom bookshelf and ran over to me. I scooped him up, and he licked my chin in greeting. I laughed and set him back down.

  “There’s my girl,” Lucy said. Honeybee jumped down from her window perch to stroll languidly over. Her orange stripes glowed brightly in the yellow lamplight.

  I started to reach down to give her a scritch under the chin but decided not to risk it. My allergies had been helped a little by a naturopath and even more by one of Bianca’s moon potions, but not enough that I could actually snuggle with those of the feline persuasion. However, as if she understood that now it would no longer send me into paroxysms of sneezing, she’d taken to coming to work with Lucy, like Mungo did with me.

  After retrieving the jackets we’d worn on our way to work at five a.m., Lucy and I joined the guys out on the sidewalk, our animals in our arms. Ben locked up again, and I one-arm-hugged my aunt and uncle good night.

  “Thanks for dinner, Ben,” Declan said, and shook his hand.

  “Of course, son.” My uncle really did look upon Declan as a son after taking him under his wing as a firefighter years before. I’d never seen him happier than when I’d accepted Declan’s proposal.

  Ben and Lucy headed down Broughton Street toward Lucy’s car, while Declan and I headed to our respective vehicles in the opposite direction.

  He kissed me before I climbed into my Volkswagen Bug. “I need to swing by my place for some clothes, but I won’t be long.”

  I kissed him back. “Okay. See you in a few.”

  Seconds later the Bug was pulling out on the street, Declan’s ginormous pickup truck right behind me. He was practically living with me since we’d become engaged—well, before that, really—but our disparate schedules meant we hardly ever rode in the same vehicle.

  I wended my way down Abercorn Street, around a few of the famous Savannah squares created by the city’s founder, James Oglethorpe, and out of the historic district toward Midtown. Soon I arrived at the little carriage house I’d bought when I’d decided to move south. The down payment had taken all the money I’d saved in Akron, but it had been so perfect, I couldn’t see spending money on rent instead. It had been one of the best decisions I’d ever made.

 
; I parked in the driveway and got out. Mungo leaped out of the backseat and headed for the lawn. Immediately, a few fireflies lit up near where he paused to take care of business. They were his totems like dragonflies were mine.

  Leaning against the wheel well of the car, I considered. Why had the dragonflies appeared earlier that evening? It had to have something to do with Orla.

  Orla Black, fortune-teller. Who’d told me a fortune. Or at least part of one.

  Sacrifice.

  But what? I wondered if there was anyone who had ever been told they would be called upon to sacrifice something who thought, Oh, great. I can hardly wait for that. Yay!

  I thought not.

  As possibilities ran through my mind, I realized I was staring at my house. It had originally been the carriage house of a large estate, but that was long gone now. A middle-class neighborhood had taken the place of the mansion and grounds, with the carriage house being the only remnant. Though quite small, it sat on a standard-sized lot, so I’d had the pleasure of filling the backyard with gardens and a gazebo. In front, brilliant apricot-colored azaleas bloomed along the wrought-iron porch railing, and the dark magnolia by the corner of the house waved its broad shiny leaves in the moonlight. Declan had left the porch light on that morning, so the little abode seemed to be even more welcoming than usual.

  A sudden, heavy sense of loss descended upon me.

  This is what she meant. I’m going to have to give up this house to marry Declan.

  And I didn’t want to. I wanted to marry the man I loved and keep this place. But there just wasn’t enough room. My brain knew that, even if my heart didn’t. We’d already started looking for a new home.

  “Yoo-hoo! Katie!”

  I turned to see my next-door neighbor hurrying across her front lawn. “Hey, Margie. Haven’t seen you for a few days.”

  She stopped in front of me and stuck out her lower lip to blow a stray lock of fair hair off her forehead. “Lordy, girl. It seems like you’re only home in the middle of the night anymore. You get a second job?”