Magic and Macaroons (16 page)

Okay, then. Uncle Connell, possibly immortal and in his personal purgatory, could possess Declan practically without warning. Check.

However, Connell hadn’t been the only thing muddying my half-dozing thoughts. Dawn Taite was still in a mysterious coma. Franklin had been killed by a snake, possibly—no, make that
probably
—in some kind of sacrificial ritual. Dawn’s sudden appearance at the
Honeybee, begging for my help, had been too desperate and alarming—not to mention her current state of mysterious unconsciousness—for there not to be a cause.

A curse. Place by a person, Katie. Someone is behind all this. Connell said to beware someone new.

The missing voodoo talisman had something to do with his death, my gut insisted. The image of Dawn’s fingernails scrabbling on the window glass in the bakery kept returning to my mental movie screen, becoming clearer each time rather than fading as most memories do.

The gris gris is missing. You must find it.

Well, there was Cookie’s friend, Poppa Jack. I didn’t want to believe, for her sake, that he embraced the dark side of voodoo. It didn’t make sense that he’d help me, either, by sending me to the voodoo queens.

Unless he was offering me a distraction from the truth.

Nah. We’d talked in that star-shaped garden at Magnolia Park. It was a sacred place, a witch’s place, and he’d taken us there to determine whether I was worthy of his assistance. I was pretty sure I could trust Poppa Jack.

What about the voodoo queens he’d directed Cookie and me to? Marie LaFevre had certainly had some strange items on offer in her shop, and summarily turned us away. Because she had something to do with Franklin’s death? Maybe. I hadn’t thought she was lying, but, on the other hand, Ms. LaFevre possessed obvious power. Though I didn’t like to admit it, her Voice could have worked on me after all—at least enough to make me think she was telling the truth.

Perhaps Franklin had her in his sights on his ongoing quest against evil. Even during our brief exchange, I suspected the woman would have little compunction about engaging with the darker side of voodoo.

Mambo Jeni was down and out, certainly, but evil? I
couldn’t discount it, but I didn’t know what she’d have against Franklin and Dawn. Mostly I’d felt sorry for her. She might be willing to do just about anything to make a buck, though. So if Mambo Jeni was responsible for what had happened to the Taites, it was possible she was working for someone else. Talk about layers of magic. Ugh.

As for the third voodoo queen, Mother Eulora, I hoped to know more about her before the day was out.

Who else?

I grimaced as Oscar Sanchez came to mind. Cookie’s husband was handsome as all get-out, and the spellbook club was delighted that Cookie appeared to be so deeply in love. He was a scientist and made a good living. She’d told me they planned to have children in a few years. He was polite and interesting to talk to. I didn’t feel a terribly friendly connection to him, however. Perhaps it was his subtle disapproval of the spellbook club that I picked up on. Oscar knew his new wife was a witch, but he didn’t necessarily like it. And he definitely didn’t like her being involved with voodoo.

Yet why would he be involved with Franklin’s death? He’d been out of the country three months ago.

No, wait. Cookie had told the spellbook club that after she and Oscar got married in France, he’d come to Savannah to look for a job in May. She’d followed a couple of weeks later. How “new” had Connell meant? Because Oscar was not only new to me, but his own wife hadn’t known him all that long.

Other people relatively new to my life included Iris and Skipper Dean. And, according to Steve, that girly-girl Samantha had elbowed her way into his life only a few weeks ago. Of course, she was new to his life, not mine. I sighed. I met dozens of new people at the Honeybee in the course of a day’s work. Surely Connell
hadn’t meant any of them. And what about Dawn herself? Was I supposed to beware of her?

I began to mentally roll my eyes, then stopped. Literally stopped running on the sidewalk a block away from the carriage house.

What if Dawn herself is not who she appears to be?

The sun was beginning to lighten the sky when I opened the front door. Declan was already up and the smell of bacon was in the air, but only Mungo looked well rested.

I kissed the cook and hurried in to take a quick shower. Twenty minutes later, I was settled in at the kitchen table, a plate of bacon, eggs, and crispy hash browns in front of me. I dug in with gusto.

“I have to stop by my place before my shift,” Declan said. He sat across from me, digging through the man-sized portions on his plate. Mungo stood over his place mat in the corner, eating his own breakfast. “And by the store—I’m going to make the guys at Five House Mexican steak sandwiches tonight.”

“Mmm. Sounds fabulous. Mungo and I will work on those leftover pork chops.”

Declan put his fork down. “Katie? Are you okay?”

I swallowed and looked up. “You mean about last night? Connell?”

He nodded.

“It was . . . weird. But I don’t have to tell you that.”

He shook his head.

“Um . . . do you think you can stop him from showing up like that? I mean, you opened to him during our little séance and all, but does he have ready access to, well, to—”

“To you?”

“Well, yeah.”

He sat back. “I don’t think so. I was there when he was talking to you, in the background. Unlike the other times
he’s shown up, I felt like I could have pushed my way forward. I wanted to hear what he had to say, though.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “He had a few things to say about me.”

“Come on, Katie. It’s not like you were in the shower. Plenty of people have seen you in your sleep gear. It sure didn’t seem to bother you when Steve did.”

I ignored that. “So, your, er, relationship with Connell has changed?”

“It feels like it. Most of the time he’s not around, but then he’ll be there, in the background.”

I felt the skin tighten across my face. “That doesn’t sound good.”

His head tipped to the side. “I don’t know yet. But I sense that he’s on my side, you know? He’s watching over me—and over you, too. Like your nonna does.”

I started to argue that it was completely different to have the spirit of your grandmother occasionally make contact than to have a half-dead ancestor from the Old Country take over your physical being, but Declan looked at the watch on his wrist and suddenly stood.

“I’ve got to go, darlin’. I’ll call you later, okay?”

Finished with breakfast, I stood, too. He swooped me into a big hug, laid a good-bye smacker on me, and then released me to grab his coat and head for the door.

*   *   *

Things were busy at the Honeybee that morning, but when Cookie showed up at ten o’clock, Lucy shooed us out the door. I drove right to Eulora Scanlon’s house without consulting the address. Cookie didn’t seem to notice, however, and I didn’t mention I’d thought about visiting the voodoo queen—no,
spiritualist
—the evening before on my own.

It was a small, square house on Lincoln Street. The wooden siding was painted butter yellow; the trim, pale
beige. The closer we got, the smaller it appeared, dwarfed by the homes that loomed on either side. The neatly trimmed lawn was set off from the street by an openwork, decorative iron railing. The gate swung open on well-oiled hinges, silent and smooth. I walked up the narrow tabby sidewalk that precisely bisected the front yard, with Cookie on my heel. On either side of the walkway, bright orange marigolds alternated with classic red geraniums. A small table flanked by two rocking chairs with worn but clean patchwork cushions took up most of the space on the covered porch. I didn’t see a doorbell, so rapped on the dark wood of the door. And waited. Beside me, Cookie shifted her weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting with her bracelet.

I tried to quell my own nervousness. If this woman couldn’t—or wouldn’t—help us, I was back to square one.
Perhaps Poppa Jack knows of others,
I told myself. Or perhaps Quinn would come up with information about Franklin’s death—or his life the past few months in Savannah. Neither possibility filled me with hope, however. I tried to center, to focus my intuition to mentally probe beyond the door, trying to get an idea of what to expect from the third of our voodoo queens.

Nothing.

There wasn’t even a response to my knock. I looked to Cookie, who shrugged. Determined, I knocked again, then backed off the porch so I could see the windows. Gauzy curtains shut out the view of passersby. No lamps shone inside, but the windows were large and the light curtains would still let in the sunshine. Someone could be in there.

And avoiding us. Could Mambo Jeni or Marie LaFevre have alerted Eulora Scanlon that we might be visiting? I sighed at the thought. My bet was on the latter.

As I was getting ready to head back to the car in
defeat, the door opened. I quickstepped back up to the porch to find Cookie stammering out, “We are here to petition Mother Eulora for assistance.”

“Petitioning” hadn’t worked so well with Marie LaFevre. I pushed up beside her, peering through the screen door at the handsome woman regarding us from the other side.

“We need a spell,” I said. “A . . . a spell to find something lost.”

A perfectly shaped eyebrow arched in response.

“You are Eulora Scanlon,” I said. “Aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice deep as a cave. “No spells. No magic here. Not anymore.”

“Please,” I began as she shut the door in my face. “Please, Ms. Scanlon!”

The latch clicked, and I heard footsteps walking away.

I stepped up and pounded on the door with my fist. “Mother Eulora,” I yelled. “Just let us talk to you!”

Silence answered my plea. It was broken by only the distant sound of a megaphoned voice from a tour bus the next block over and a light breeze sighing through the cypress tree in the neighbor’s yard.

My shoulders slumped, and I turned to Cookie. She leaned one slim hip against the porch railing, looking as if she had somehow failed.

I put my hand on her arm. “Thank you for trying. I know all this has been hard for you.”

“I’m sorry there isn’t more I can do. I suppose we could try finding someone online that could help. Or maybe the spellbook club . . . ?” She blinked hard, and I realized she was nearly in tears.

“Oh, Cookie! Please don’t feel bad. We’ll figure something out.” I gave her a quick hug, and we turned and began walking slowly back to the street.

“Ladies!” a light, wavering voice called behind us.

We looked over our shoulders to see the screen door open and a short, round woman bustle forth. She had a deep butterscotch complexion and a puff of pure white hair. She stopped on the top step and put her hands on her more-than-ample hips.

“I do believe you were looking for me.”

I felt a grin break out on my face as Cookie and I hurried
back.

Chapter 13

The woman was shaking her head, and a wide smile revealed teeth so even and white that I suspected they might not be her own. “That Tanna. She’s a little overprotective. Doesn’t like me to see clients anymore.”

A fine web of wrinkles laced her face from forehead to neck. Her eyes flashed with amusement as she spoke—at least on the surface. They were brown, so dark as to almost appear purple, and as they searched my face, I felt her assessing me far beyond social niceties. Real power drifted from her in waves. Far more than from Marie LaFevre.

Her eyebrows lifted, and her smile became more speculative. “However, I think you two are truly in need of my help.”

“You’re Eulora Scanlon?” I asked, trying to keep my eagerness under control. Of all the voodoo practitioners Cookie and I had met in the past twenty-four hours, this woman might really be able to help us.

Or hurt us. I suspected that Cheshire cat smile fronted more than cherubic goodwill—just like Mimsey’s Southern charm. In fact, she reminded me a great deal of the senior member of our coven.

She dipped her chin. “I am Mother Eulora.”

“Right. Sorry,” I said. “Mother Eulora.”

The hard-eyed woman who’d answered the door appeared behind her, stooping to murmur into the older woman’s ear.

“Bah,” the self-proclaimed spiritualist said. “I know you are looking out for me, dear. But I’m not on my deathbed yet.”

When Tanna didn’t respond, Mother Eulora turned to meet her gaze. They engaged in a silent battle of wills for several seconds before the younger woman looked away.

“Show them inside,” she said to Tanna in a gentle voice, then gestured us forward. “Please.” She went back inside.

We sidled past an unsmiling Tanna and found ourselves in a tidy living room. I took in the chintz sofa where someone had set aside a copy of the
Savannah Morning News
, the glass-topped coffee table decorated with a bowl of wooden apples and three copies of
Southern Living
magazine, the mauve-colored silk shades on the floor lamps bookending the sofa, and a serious collection of figurines—all of which, I realized, were hedgehogs—on a long shelf over the television. Nowhere was there a hint of an altar or any kind of magical activity. Then again, no one would come into my home and think,
Oh, a witch lives here
. After Marie LaFevre’s shop and the wacky dining room at Mambo Jeni’s, it was refreshing.

“Real magic does not require trappings,” the voodoo queen said, settling on the sofa. “In case that’s what you were wondering.”

I smiled. “You caught me.”

“Please sit down. Tanna, would you please get us some tea?”

“Oh, that’s okay,” I said.

“Some people say you should never accept food from a voudon. That we cast spells that will bloom when you ingest them.”

Cookie’s swallow was audible, and I looked over to see her gazing wide-eyed at Mother Eulora. I wondered why my friend hadn’t mentioned that to me. Given my own newbie knowledge of hedgewitchery, I was willing to believe it was true.

“I’m sure it would be fine, Mother Eulora,” I said. “I’m not thirsty, though.”