Cake Spell Disaster Read online

  CAKE SPELL DISASTER

  A HAVEN WITCH BOOK

  ZOE ARDEN

  REEDFOSTER PRESS HOUSE

  Contents

  Copyright

  Like my page

  Dedication

  About The Author

  Personal Word from Eleanor Meyers

  .

  Prologue

  .

  Chapter One

  .

  Chapter Two

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  Chapter Three

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  Chapter Four

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  Chapter Five

  .

  Chapter Six

  .

  Chapter Seven

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  Chapter Eight

  .

  Chapter Nine

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  Chapter Ten

  .

  Chapter Eleven

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  Chapter Twelve

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  Chapter Thirteen

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  Chapter Fourteen

  .

  Chapter Fifteen

  .

  Chapter Sixteen

  .

  Epilogue

  .

  Preview of Next Book

  Also By . Order of Books

  Publishers Notes

  COPYRIGHT © 2017 BY

  ZOE ARDEN

  AND

  REEDFOSTER PRESS HOUSE

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  DEDICATION

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  This book is specially dedicated to YOU- the reader!

  First of all, I would like to thank you for picking my book and reading it.

  Your interest to do so spurs me on to write even better stories, stories that will be capable in bringing us to a world of fun, mystery and suspense, albeit just for a little while.

  Your support has always meant a lot to me and I hope you will continue to enjoy reading what I have written.

  Thank you!

  “ THE TRUE MYSTERY OF THE WORLD IS THE VISIBLE, NOT THE INVISIBLE. ”

  OSCAR WILDE

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  * * *

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  * * *

  It was from reading Agatha Christie’s mystery books that inspired Zoe to write cozy mystery novels. Zoe liked the fact that cozy mysteries are able to offer readers a form of escapism that typical detective stories can’t.

  Like what Marilyn Stasio, who has been the Crime columnist forThe New York TimesBook Review since the late 1980s, recently wrote: “The abiding appeal of the cozy mystery owes a lot to our collective memory, true or false, of simpler, sweeter times.” It is Zoe’s desire that her writings will evoke that nostalgic memory in all of us; those memories of the good old days.

  What sets Zoe apart in her writings is her fusing of Mystery with Paranormal elements, a combination which will bring about fantasies that are intriguing and engaging. Her stories contain unexpected twists and sometimes light-hearted moments that will make one smile at Zoe’s quirkiness, fun and wittiness in her writings.

  Much Love,

  * * *

  PERSONAL WORD

  FROM ZOE ARDEN

  * * *

  Hello, lovely reader!

  In my stories, you will find a unique juxtaposition of mystery and paranormal themes, an attempt which I believe will be enthralling.

  You will discover how a mystery case is being cracked through peeling off layers and layers of suspense and clues.

  And fantastical creatures play a part in this…how can it be?

  That’s for you to find out.

  Thank you once again, for being such an incredible support in my writing career.

  MUCH LOVE,

  .

  "L adies and gentleman," Grayson said. "It's time to cut the cake."

  He was great at knowing when an event called for long speeches, and when to keep things short and sweet. There was a burst of applause as Mayor Singer and Tazzie approached the cake.

  Mayor Singer and his wife each placed one hand on the handle of the knife. They smiled at each other as they cut into the cake. The room ripped into applause.

  The Mayor and Tazzie each took a slice in their hand and held it up for the other to eat. Mayor Singer took a big bite; Tazzie a much smaller one. Cameras flashed as Tazzie playfully smashed her slice of cake into her husband's face.

  Mayor Singer laughed as the frosting stained his face red. He tried wiping it away, but his face kept growing redder and redder. Tazzie started to look alarmed and began wiping the frosting off him with a napkin. His eyes turned a soft shade of yellow, and he began to blow up like a water balloon about to explode.

  The humans at the party began to murmur that he looked ill. The witches began to murmur that he looked hexed. A second later, steam came out of Mayor Singer's ears and he fell sideways into the cake, knocking the whole thing down as he crashed face first into a pile of frosting.

  "He's deeeaaad!" Tazzie wailed as friends and family rushed to her side. Her daughter, Kayla, looked like she was about to faint…

  * * *

  PROLOGUE

  .

  "M om, do you think this frosting is too green?"

  Amelia Redfern turned and looked with a discerning eye at the cupcake I held in my hand. I hadn't noticed until now that the frosting was almost as green as my mother's eyes. My own eyes took after my father's, more of a seafoam than the color of clovers.

  "That's not green, it's blue," she said.

  I looked at the frosting again and wondered if my mother was as blind as she was daffy.

  "Mom, it looks like I pureed seaweed with buttercream."

  She looked at it again, adjusting the silver frames on her nose. "Oh, yes. You're right."

  My father had always said my mother was a walking contradiction—she was dotty even when she was my age, yet she possessed the palette of a genius.

  It had been six years since my father's death. Now, at twenty-three years old, I could still envision my father walking through the door of my mother's shop, Cakes and Creations. He was prone to delivering my mother surprise bouquets of handpicked wildflowers. Heavenly Haven was an island full of wildflowers. It was unfortunate that the last bouquet he'd given her had turned out to be Snapperdragons instead of Snapdragons. They had bitten my mother's nose in two places when she'd leaned in to inhale their scent. Sometimes, he was as dotty as she was.

  At least his death had brought about the witch-wide reform of the Motorcoach 1800. Those brooms had always had problems when traveling long distances. To this day, I refused to get on one, preferring the human method
of transportation—automobiles. As I'd told my mother and brothers a million times, cars did not crash into chimney tops when a strong gust of wind pushed you the wrong way.

  "It's perfect," Amelia said. "St. Patrick's Day is coming up. You know how the humans love to celebrate. Especially the ones in Mistmoor Point."

  "Mom," I said, but she didn't even hear me. She was on a tangent about Mistmoor now, and on a tangent she would remain.

  "I suspect they have little else to do here. The humans, that is. It's such a small island and an even smaller town. At least Sweetland Cove has that gem shop now. What do we have?"

  "St. Patrick's isn't for another month," I replied. A stray strand of red hair fell across my eyes, and I pushed it away.

  "Felicity, I will never understand why you ask me something if you aren't going to listen to what I say." I suspected she was hiding the fact that she had probably thought it was already March. She wasn't very good with dates. Somehow, though, she never missed a deadline on a cake.

  My mother wiped her hands on her apron and peered into the bowl of green frosting on the counter. She ran her finger along its edge, gathering the frosting on her fingertip. She sniffed it before placing a tiny dot on the tip of her tongue and letting it melt there. Her silver-streaked auburn hair shined under the bakery's lights, softening any lines on her face and making her look forty instead of fifty-five.

  "Essence of love and peace?!" she gasped as my frosting dissolved on her tongue.

  The corners of my mouth curved up. My mother had the best palette of anyone on the island, including my mother's ex-partner, Edith Woodruff, who owned Creams, Cakes, and Creations. It was my ultimate mission to trick my mother's taste buds into guessing the wrong mood extracts that every item in our bakery was infused with. I had yet to stump her.

  I nodded. My mother rolled her eyes and went back to decorating the top layer of the mayor's anniversary cake. His party was in two days and there was still a lot to do.

  "I have told you before, Felicity, and I'll tell you again..."

  This time, I rolled my eyes, though I made sure to turn my head first so she couldn't see me do it.

  "You cannot infuse frosting with peace. Humans don't like peace. They like wars and... and violence and... cheaply made candy bars."

  I smiled. "I'm pretty sure humans have the same sweet tooth witches do. We're human ourselves." My mother gave me a cockeyed look. "More or less."

  "Change it."

  I sighed and carried the bowl of frosting into the back room. Sunny lifted his head as I came in. He was curled up by the window, his white fur gleaming in the sunlight. He yawned and opened one eye. His feline nose twitched.

  "Hello, Felicity," he said, then laid his head back down. He was asleep again a second later. I envied my mother's familiar. Sleeping in the sun in the middle of the afternoon—what a life.

  I had been helping my mother in the bakery since I was twelve, and every time I was here it was still fresh and exciting to me. The combinations of extracts and flavors were endless. Chocolate happiness lava cake with pistachios and love-infused cherries. Red velvet sweet dreams cake with a hint of ESP solution. Orange desire cinnamon rolls with candied ginger and buttercream brain enhancer. And on and on.

  I began sorting through all the shakers and jars, looking for the one I needed to change peace to understanding. My mother preferred to stick to the classics... love, happiness, intelligence. The last thing Amelia Redfern would ever allow in her shop were the dark elements—anger, sadness, fear. If people wanted those, they had to go Edith Woodruff's shop.

  I agreed completely with my mother that the dark elements had no place in a bakery, but I wished she would be more open to new combinations. I just knew that a butterscotch cupcake infused with eroticism would be a smash with couples of all ages, but she had labeled it as too risqué and vetoed the idea repeatedly.

  The jar of understanding popped out from behind the rose water and I shook some into the bowl. The frosting glowed softly but did not transform. I scrunched my face. I was forgetting something.

  "Oh, right," I muttered to myself. "I'm transforming, not creating. Duh."

  The bell above the front door chimed, announcing a customer. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost noon. Whoever had just come in marked the start of our lunch rush.

  I opened the cabinet behind me for the carafe of La La Juice, wanting to hurry and get back out front before it started getting crazy. I managed to spill the carafe's contents on the floor as it slipped through my fingers and the cork popped out.

  "Beetle brains!" I yelled, quickly moving to clean it up before the juice could spread.

  A misty vapor began circling through the air, making me feel giddy and light headed. I tried to hold my breath but it was too late. I was overcome with what the witching world referred to as a "mad case of the giggles."

  My mother's voice suddenly rang sharply through the air.

  "I'll do no such thing!" she cried.

  Sunny lifted his head by the window, his ears perking.

  I tried to call out and ask if everything was all right, but I couldn't form the words through my laughter. "M-m-m-mo... hahahahahehehe."

  "I've already told you the answer is no! Now leave here before I put a hex on you!"

  I'd never heard my mother threaten to hex anyone before. It alarmed me. I managed to stand, but the laughter kept me doubled over and unable to walk.

  "Go!" my mother screamed at the type of her lungs. The bell chimed again and then there was silence.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and managed to suck in a great gulp of air. Sunny ran past me, his tail wagging. The vapors that had infected me began to fade. I walked out front and found my mother hard at work on Mayor Singer's cake as if nothing had happened.

  "M-mom?" I asked, still fighting back the giggles.

  "Yes?" She was concentrating on her pipework.

  "Who were you yelling at?"

  Her eyes never left the cake. "No one."

  Sunny stood beside her, eyeing her curiously.

  "No one?" I asked. "So you were yelling at yourself? Should I call Dr. Wallace?"

  Sunny laughed.

  My mother set her piping bag down and looked at us.

  "I meant that it was no one important. Just... just an annoying customer."

  "What did they want?"

  "Nothing. Free cupcakes. You know how the people on this island are. Have you finished changing the formula on that frosting yet?"

  "She is changing the subject," Sunny said. My mother ignored him.

  "Not yet," I sighed.

  "Well, you better snap to it. Love and understanding is one of our best sellers."

  I returned to the back, not at all satisfied with my mother's answer, but deciding that I would let it go. For now. Maybe Sunny could get some answers later. Then again, my brother, Grayson, always said that the only thing harder than the coconuts that grew on Heavenly Haven was my mother's head. If she didn't want to tell us something, nothing Sunny or I could say would change her mind.

  * * *

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  .

  .

  .

  * * *

  THE WITCHES BEGAN TO MURMUR

  THAT HE LOOKED HEXED. …

  * * *

  .

  "T hings are going well, don't you think?" my mother whispered to me between bites of peppermint pistachio joy cupcakes.

  "I'd say so," I replied, looking around the large, elegantly draped room at the hundreds of smiling guests who had turned out for the mayor's anniversary party.

  Our cookies, cupcakes, and pastries filled every table in the room. Guests who weren't eating the buffet of meats, veggies, and sides were scarfing down all of the goodies Mom and I had created for this event.

  Mayor Singer and his wife, Tazzie, had rented out my brother, Grayson's, restaurant for the evening. The Golden Goose was a favorite among Heavenly Haven's elite witches, though I had to admit
the favoritism was confined to the Mistmoor Point side of the island. You rarely saw anyone from Sweetland Cove over here.

  Our two sides had a long-standing rivalry dating back 1200 years, when Sara Sweetland married Patrick Mistmoor. Not long after their marriage, an affair was discovered. Their marriage broke apart, and their family and friends took sides. Whose side you landed on dictated which side of the island you lived on. We preferred not to mix unless absolutely necessary. The saddest part of the story was that Patrick and Sara both died within days of each other. Sara threw herself off a cliff, and Patrick died from a broken heart—or a guilty heart—depending on who you believed.

  "Amelia!" Tazzie Singer cried, running up to my mother and taking her in a bear hug. Tazzie was a large bubbly woman of sixty with gray-brown hair and sparkling brown eyes to match.

  "You've outdone yourself!" Tazzie said, kissing my mother's cheeks before turning to me. She scooped me in her arms and squeezed me until the air left my lungs. "Felicity, you're a gem. I can't thank you both enough."

  I blushed but my mother took the compliment with ease.

  "Thank you," Amelia said. "You both deserve it. Forty years of marriage is not easily come by these days."

  Mayor Singer came up beside his wife and shook our hands. Even his bushy mustache, which stretched almost from ear to ear, couldn't hide the fact that he was beaming like a kid on his last day of school.

  "The cake you made, Amelia... it's, well, it's incredible." He turned his head, overcome with emotion, and gazed toward the center of the room.

  The cake my mother had painstakingly created stood twenty feet tall and almost as wide. There were forty layers, one for each year of marriage. Rich velvety buttercream frosting wound its way up in alternating shades of rose red and snow white. Perfect for a February wedding anniversary.