Chapter 19
F or the next week, Lucinda kept her head down as rumours of what the maid had witnessed circulated. Some in town congratulated her, and Grams even came home from her tarot reading with some engagement presents from her clients, which felt rather sudden. Others didn’t like the idea of a Matherson sitting by her side as head of the coven, as made evident by some not-so-subtle comments when she picked up her groceries, asking if the engagement and rumour were some elaborate prank. In that moment, she’d felt oddly inspired to defend Benedict, but instead of causing a scene beside the organic grapefruits she decided to smile and move along. Benedict might’ve wanted to try and stop it, but in Foxford nothing stayed secret for long. She was hoping by the next time she saw him, she’d have the ingredients for the curse-stripping potion.
“Another week?” she exclaimed into the phone. “I was hoping to have the ingredients sooner rather than later.” She hated to push, but she was starting to panic she’d never get her element back. She’d already accidentally singed two books when a patron yelled at her about being skipped on the waiting list for the book she’d given Suzy. It wouldn’t be much longer before Rosie started to get curious as to why she was acting so skittish.
“I’m sorry, but one of the roots you need can only be sourced from the peak of a mountain in Thailand. It’s going to take some time,” Myrtle said. “However, I’ve got everything else you ordered ready for collection.” Thankfully, Myrtle never asked what she needed such rare ingredients for. Her motto was don’t ask, don’t tell.
“Thank you for trying– I’m sorry for being impatient.” Lucy glanced over at Emerson and Rosie huddled together in the study area of the library, going over some magical cold case. “I’ll collect the rest soon.”
She hung up, trying not to let the pressure get to her. Emerson was being unbelievably patient about the grimoire, and Lucy suspected it had something to do with wanting to be around Rosie. Given how he looked at her friend, Lucy was sure his arrival had nothing to do with the spell cast to find her perfect match. However, it wouldn’t be long before the Order demanded he collect what was promised and be on his way. She had the spell and nearly all the ingredients; realistically, she didn’t need the grimoire any longer, but she worried that as soon as she handed it over, she’d discover there was something else she needed to check in it. She only hoped Rosie wouldn’t be too upset when he left.
Since the day was coming to an end, she decided to sneak off home and leave Rosie and Emerson to their ‘work’. She was packing to leave when her phone vibrated with a text. For a moment she thought it might be from Myrtle.
Benedict: Fowler’s Bakery. Come now.
Lucy: I’m not a dog you can summon. You said you would handle today’s meeting.
I got the map, and the university agreed to the changes with the Ferris wheel. However, Mrs Crawford and Mr Lark have decided that we need a cake for our binding reception. If you don’t get here, I’m going to flood the place just so I can escape.
It’s cake! I’m sure you can handle such an important decision.
Okay, I’ll just tell two coven members that you don’t care about our binding banquet. I’m sure that will go over swimmingly.
She glowered at her phone. Since theirs wasn’t a traditional binding, she’d hoped they could skip the whole show. It seemed the coven didn’t feel the same way. At least there would be cake.
Fine, I’ll be right there. There had better be samples.
Just wait and see. He added a cake emoji and a wink.
Outside Fowler’s bakery, Lucy felt a little green. She pressed her hand into her cramping stomach. It wasn’t just her nerves about seeing Benedict since the incident at the Manor– though she found herself hesitating as she reached for the door handle. The last time they’d been in the same space, he’d almost kissed her and she’d almost let him. She’d put it down to their elements, but the idea of seeing him again used to fill her with dread, and now she didn’t know what she felt. The worst part was, she’d been awake most of the night thanks to such horrendous cramps. She didn’t have the energy to deal with petty squabbles today. But she wasn’t about to say, “Sod off, I’ve got cramps and I want to go home and crawl into bed.”
Inhaling deeply, she mustered the courage to face her betrothed. A few cake samples should perk her right up.
The smell of pastries and frosting hit her like a cloud of powdered sugar as soon as she opened the lime green door. She noticed the chairs in the bakery were already up on the tables, except for where Benedict sat looking off into the distance, nursing a coffee.
“Pumpkin, how good of you to come!” he said as she reached the table. Lucy couldn’t remember him ever looking so happy to see her. He clearly wasn’t suffering from the same emotional turmoil she was. She’d have reasoned it was for the coven members’ benefit, but Mr Lark and Mrs Crawford weren’t at the table.She’d expected a few others to be joining them, but many were busy with other details, and it wasn’t odd for smaller groups to focus on specific tasks for the festival.
“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” she began, but he kissed her cheek, silencing her.
The warmth of his lips against her skin made her blush; she noticed that he paused and cleared his throat, as though he hadn’t intended to do it. To be so close to one other still felt foreign. Mr Lark and Mrs Crawford must be driving him mad.
Heavy rain pelting against the bakery windows broke the tension. They both stared out at the sky, darkened with thick rain clouds; Lucy had missed the downpour by mere seconds.
“I’m sorry to call you away from work,” Benedict said. He checked his watch, looking as tired as she felt. “I’ve got a vamp wedding reception once the sun goes down, and I need to get back to the manor for the final checks. I figured with you here we could get this sorted as soon as possible.”
“It’s fine, I was hoping to sneak off home anyway. I don’t think Rosie and Emerson will even notice I’ve gone.” Lucy wanted to talk about anything but what had just occurred.
Benedict arched an eyebrow, but she decided it wasn’t the best time to elaborate on Rosie’s brewing feelings for an Order member, considering what had happened the first time he’d met Emerson. There was no point in telling him if it was only a passing flirtation.
“Where are the others?” she asked, slipping off her long coat and hanging it on the back of the white-painted chairs. She recognised Mrs Crawford’s orange beehive through the small kitchen window behind the long counter. Her mouth watered at the sight of all the sweet treats. Even if cramps were killing her appetite, she never said no to baked goods.
Benedict pulled at the back of his neck. “There’s been a slight mistake. Mr Lark was meant to order the samples in advance to surprise us.”
“And he didn’t order them?” Then why did you drag me here?
“Come and see for yourself.” Taking her hand, he led her through the swing doors into the kitchen.
“I thought you said the issue was about the choice,” she whispered.
“Did I?”
She stared at their clasped hands. It seemed so natural for him to reach for her. Then again, he probably wanted to appear united in front of the others.
They heard Mrs Crawford talking about festival preparations before they saw her. In the professional chrome kitchen, Ms Fowler, the owner and head baker, stood with the coven members in a green candy-striped apron with matching hair net. It was a rather cheery look for someone wearing such a deep scowl. Then Lucy registered the problem. Cake samples hadn’t been prepared, but multi-tiered cakes had. Two, to be precise, ornately decorated. In spite of the queasiness from her teleport here, her cravings – always on the sweeter side during her time of the month – propelled her forward. Red velvet… her favourite…
Mrs Crawford noticed Lucy’s arrival and broke away from the others.“Lucy, how good of you to come. We’d hoped to make this a surprise for you both to enjoy, since everything has been going so well with the festival arrangements, but then Benedict said you’d got caught up with work, and now there has been a mix-up,” she exclaimed, side-eyeing Mr Lark. Her red cheeks could’ve equally been caused by a sudden rise in blood pressure or the heat of the kitchen.
“There was no mistake on my part,” Mr Lark huffed, folding his arms across his chest. “I ordered two dozen samples, so you could both try each cake. Somehow that has become two cakes, with six tiers each.”
“It’s such a waste,” Mrs Crawford complained. “The coven wanted to arrange the banquet and everything for you both to enjoy.”
Lucy guessed that the rumours of their being seen at the Manor together with Benedict in a state of undress had confirmed to the coven that the binding would go ahead without fail. Now wasn’t the time to argue the misunderstanding; she’d give Mrs Crawford a heart attack.
“Such beautiful cakes are never a waste! Thank you, Ms Fowler, for preparing these. Regardless of any mistake, this is exceptional work,” Lucy said, not caring who’d made the mistake. All that mattered was making sure Ms Fowler wasn’t put out with the coven. She catered for many events in town.
“Thank you, Lucy – I’m glad someone appreciates the work I put in,” Ms Fowler said, softening her harsh gaze.
“I’m surprised you all resisted grabbing a fork!” Lucy tried to lighten the mood, but based on the looks she received from the whole group, their sense of humour had left long before her arrival. Benedict stifled a chuckle with his hand.
“I hardly think now is a time for jokes, Ms Hawthorne. I hope you wouldn’t handle coven matters with such a cavalier attitude,” said Mr Lark, grimacing.
Chastised, Lucy said, “You’re right, forgive me.”
“No need to apologise. Benedict told us how swamped you are, and you still came to help us with what was meant to be a nice surprise. Must be so unpleasant having someone from the Order breathing down your neck,” Mrs Crawford said, wrinkling her nose. The Crawfords would never be happy with an Order member being in Foxford. Emerson might’ve got a position at the university, but rightly or wrongly, he’d have to win the town over before being accepted here, and who knew how long or what that would take.
“Not at all. Emerson has been very helpful, and if working together can further our relationship with the Order, then I think that will benefit all of us,” Lucy said, trying not to sound too much like a politician.
No one replied, but she felt the rise in tension.
“It just occurred to me.” She snapped her fingers. “Benedict mentioned he has a wedding at the hotel today.”
Mrs Crawford was looking at their hands, which Lucy suddenly realised were still entwined. She tried to free herself, but Benedict refused to release his grip. With a smirk, he brought her hand to his lips. From Mrs Crawford’s amused smile, the display would play in their favour.
“They already have a cake,” he told Lucy.
“And I expect to be paid. We put an awful lot of work into these cakes,” Ms Fowler put in, rightfully upset. They were covered in ornate designs, one with autumnal scenes and the other themed for the Halloween season with black frosting and gold details of pumpkins, ghosts and gravestones, tastefully done.
“Of course the cost will be covered,” Lucy said quickly. Before Mr Lark, who handled the accounts, and Mrs Crawford, who was a stickler for cost-cutting, could argue, she added, “This mix-up won’t affect the budget of the festival, and since it was done out of kindness, Benedict and I will be covering the cost.” She’d pay for the whole thing herself if it meant she didn’t need to add another stress to her life.“Why don’t you give the wedding party a call? The red velvet might be a perfect fit for them. Even if they already have some, wedding guests are always eager for more sweet treats. Ms Fowler’s cakes are legendary, and wedding cakes book out years in advance.”
Ms Fowler beamed, and Benedict nodded.
“I’ll ring the wedding planner.” He disappeared to the front of the shop.
Lucy forced herself to smile. She wished the coven would stop doing what they thought was best for them, when the interference only made things worse. The sooner this matter was settled, the sooner they could leave, even if they were both out of pocket for cakes they’d never even wanted or asked for in the first place.
“That still leaves us with one,” Mrs Crawford sighed.
Benedict rejoined them, putting his phone in his black jacket pocket. “The wedding planner agreed to the red velvet. I’ve added it to their wedding package, so the Manor will cover the cost.”
“And what about the other one?” Mr Lark said, tapping his thin fingers against the table.
“What about freezing it and keeping it for the festival?” Lucy suggested. “We could offer it to viewers as a treat for the midnight movie.” It was projected on the side of the town hall every year.
“That’s a wonderful idea!” Ms Fowler enthused. “It’d be great advertising for the bakery.”
Lucy grinned. “Perfect. Then it’s all settled. Crisis averted.”
“I’ll prepare the invoice,” Ms Fowler added.
“We’ll join you; we need to talk about the separate arrangements for the movie night,” Mrs Crawford said, following Ms Fowler out of the kitchen. Mr Lark followed, leaving Lucy and Benedict alone.
“If I’d known I was going to end up footing the bill, I would’ve handled it myself,” Benedict muttered under his breath.
Lucy scowled. She’d given up her bed to help him. Egged on by her hormones, her annoyance, or both, she picked up a small sample of cake from a tray on the side and shoved it in his mouth to shut him up.
“Hope that’ll sweeten your words.” She stared up at his startled expression, smile widening. “‘Thank you, Lucy, for fixing the problem so I can leave’ would be much better.” She batted her eyelashes at him.
Rolling his eyes, he chewed and swallowed, then raised his eyebrows. “The red velvet is delicious.” He licked the cake from the corners of his mouth. “I hope you enjoyed that.”
The traces of icing still on the corner of his lower lip looked rather enticing. Lucy found herself swiping it off with her thumb.
“I did,” she agreed, bringing the icing to her lips.
His eyes widened, and she froze. She didn’t know what had come over her; the sweet, tangy cream cheese frosting had been too tempting. She wanted to tell him it was the icing and not him, though as he studied her lips part of her was sure he’d be downright delicious.
Just then, a blinding cramp forced her to lean against the counter for support. She needed some painkillers and a water bottle.
“Are you alright?” Benedict rested a hand on her lower back. The pressure was nice; she almost groaned when he removed it. Waiting for the wave of pain to subside so she could reply, she gripped the corner of the table.
Benedict jumped back as the red velvet cake before them burst into flames. He grabbed Lucy, pulling her away from the blazing cake. The icing melted quickly, and the decorations turned black. She was too stunned to speak; she hadn’t meant to start it.
“It was the pain,” she started to say as Benedict protected her from the rippling flames. As quickly as it had caught fire, he doused it in water. Smoke shrouded them. It was a slightly alarming miracle that the fire alarm didn’t go off.
“We can’t let them see this!” Lucy panicked, staring at the swing doors as they heard the others returning.
“What the hell are we supposed to do?” Benedict ran his hands through his hair.
Lucy did the only thing she could think of.
“Where the hell is the cake?” Benedict hissed when it disappeared.
“I think I sent it to my house.” She wasn’t entirely sure.
“You think?!” he barked, checking the door.
“I panicked when I heard them coming. I didn’t exactly have time to think it through!”
Benedict shook his head. “So there’s a burnt, soggy, six-tier cake around town somewhere?”
Lucy winced, and they both stared at each other for a moment before erupting into laughter. She laughed until her chest hurt, and Benedict braced himself against the counter.
Mrs Crawford and Mr Lark halted at the strange scene. Benedict straightened, fixing his tie as he returned to his stoic self.
“I sent the cake to the Manor,” he announced.
“We thought we’d save on time and the courier,” Lucy chimed in.
“Good idea. It’s late as it is, and we wouldn’t want to keep the wedding guests waiting.” Mrs Crawford sniffed the air with a small frown.
“I should settle the bill.” Benedict distracted Mrs Crawford by leading her out of the kitchen. Lucy wasn’t going to argue; she didn’t want them to figure out something had gone wrong. She only hoped she’d find the cake in the kitchen when she got home.
Hoping she’d be free to go, Lucy headed out of the kitchen only to find their table covered in small plates of cake. She forced herself to smile, not wanting to offend Ms Fowler since she’d gone to the trouble.
“I pulled some cakes from the counter for you to try, now that everything is settled,” the baker said, ushering her to the table. “We should pick the cake for your binding banquet before you leave so I can get started.”
Mrs Crawford and Mr Lark took their seats happily. Lucy locked eyes with Benedict, who wanted to leave as much as she did. However, they both bit the bullet and sat down, trying every cake pushed in their direction until they couldn’t eat another frosted bite.
“The white chocolate is far too sweet for the season,” Benedict said, as though he cared. Lucy knew how much he hated sweet things, except for pumpkin pie.
“We need something rich, but not too sweet,” Mr Lark agreed, shoving the giant slice of chocolate fudge over to Lucy.
“Dark chocolate is my favourite,” she hedged, so full of sugar she thought she explode if she took another bite.
“Want some pumpkin?” Benedict offered, holding out a fork. The glint in his eye told her he was referencing her and not the cake on it.
“I hate pumpkin, and we want a crowd-pleaser,” she said softly.
“Pity; it’s my favourite.” Benedict winked, popping the piece between his lips.
“The dark chocolate fudge is a crowd-pleaser,” Mr Lark reiterated.
“What if we do two cakes, since we know the dark chocolate is going to be a success?” Benedict suggested.
“I love that idea,” Crawford beamed. “How is it the magless do it? Something old, something new…”
“Maybe we should make it blue.”
Lucy gripped her fork as Benedict placed his hand on her thigh in silent warning about her tone. She hadn’t meant to sound so mocking. Eyeing the Matherson ring on her thigh, she found it hard to swallow, wishing there was more than just her sheer tights between his hand and her skin.
“Sorry– it’s an excellent idea, but I think two cakes would be rather excessive,” she said, sliding his distracting hand from her thigh and firmly putting it on the table.
“What a beautiful ring!” exclaimed Mrs Crawford, taking Lucy’s hand. “Combining the two stones, how…” She hesitated. “Thoughtful.”
“Do you have yours yet?” Mr Lark asked Benedict.
“Not yet – it’s in the works,” Lucy lied, wishing she hadn’t left it so long. She’d been so distracted trying to get the curse-stripping potion organised. “If we’re going to have two cakes, then the pumpkin would be a nice choice for the second,” she decided. “So we each have our favourite.” The ring reminded her of how he had gone against tradition to combine both their elements. The least she could do was let him have his favourite cake flavour.
“The cream cheese frosting is exceptional and would be a great alternative for those with less of a sweet tooth!” Mr Lark put in.
“Then we agree?” Mrs Crawford asked the table.
Lucy took a shallow breath, her cramps growing sharper again. She pressed her palm into her abdomen, willing them to stop.
“Are you okay? You’ve gone pale,” Benedict whispered.
“I’m fine, it’s just warm in here,” she said, wiping her lips with her napkin. “Could you excuse me for a minute?” Fortunately, only Benedict was paying attention; the other two were still debating the cake issue.
Lucy hurried to the bathroom. Stress made her cramps and flow worse, and with everything going on, this period felt like someone was butchering her insides. Thankfully, she had some pads in her bag, but she let out a little sob when she found her vintage pill box was empty. She’d have to wait to take something for the pain, the last dose having worn off long ago.
Returning to the table, she found the group were ready to leave.
“We decided to go with one cake with different layers. I knew you’d be worried about waste with two cakes,” Benedict said, resting a hand on her lower back. Comforted by his touch, she wanted to lean into him.
“Happy with that?” Mrs Crawford asked.
“Perfect,” Lucy said, trying to pay attention as the cramps crept into her legs. Mrs Crawford and Mr Lark finalised the details with Fowler while she gathered her things.
“Sorry for making the final decision without you,” Benedict whispered, offering her the coat from the back of her chair. “You were so pale when you left, I figured you weren’t feeling well and would want to leave.”
“I’m just a bit nauseous,” she lied, forcing a small smile. “Too much cake, and you’re right to split the layers. An excellent compromise.”
“We’re going to the bar at the Manor to decide on a special cocktail. Benedict said we could design one for the festival guests,” Mr Lark announced, meeting them at the door.
“If you’re feeling up to it– it was just an idea,” Benedict said, concern edging his words as he studied Lucy like she was about to crumble.
“It’s a great idea, but I should head home. I’m not feeling too well.”
“Sorry to hear that; we’ll keep you informed,” Mrs Crawford said, resting a reassuring hand on her arm. “Get some rest.”
“You go ahead. I’ll be along shortly,” Benedict told the others as they all left the bakery.
“I wouldn’t leave them alone for too long; you know they don’t get along,” Lucy said, but he kept an arm around her and she was grateful for the support. “I’m fine. You can tell me what you decide. I just need to get home.”
“Come back to the Manor. You look like you’re about to faint,” he said firmly as Ms Fowler locked up behind them.
“I’m not a damsel in distress,” she protested, but truthfully she didn’t know if she could make the walk back. After setting the cake on fire, she didn’t trust herself to use magic to cover the distance.
“Accepting my help doesn’t make you a damsel,” he pressed, and she hesitated, chewing her lip. “Please don’t be stubborn. It’s a twenty-minute walk to your house from here, and I’m not letting you walk back alone. It’s only five to the hotel.”
The fresh air was helping to ease her nausea, and she was too uncomfortable to argue with him. She could rest a bit in the Manor, get some painkillers, and then walk home. “Okay. You win.”
He grinned.
“What?” she grumbled.
“Nothing. Just feels good to win.”
“Don’t get used to it,” she muttered, and he squeezed her waist gently.