Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Keep Your Heart Out of the Mixing Bowl
Gideon
No matter how hard I tried to convince Declan that things would be okay, he insisted on going to talk to Elwood before we ate breakfast. He said he was too worried to even think about eating food.
Elwood was in his living room when we arrived, sitting in his ancient wicker chair with a mug of something that smelled of chamomile and an expression of profound serenity. Like he didn’t have a care in the world. George was in his shirt pocket, small nose twitching in our direction.
"Morning," Elwood said.
"Morning," I said.
Declan said, "I made truth muffins."
"I heard," Elwood agreed pleasantly.
"Accidentally."
"I figured."
"I ruined the poker tournament, and Avery told everyone she was bluffing, and a man announced his cards out loud in the middle of a hand, and then Nadia confessed to the hexes, and –"
"Declan." Elwood set down his mug. "Come here."
Declan went. Elwood reached up and took his hand, and something in Declan's posture loosened just slightly, the way it always did when his grandfather touched him. George sniffed at Declan's knuckles with the air of a physician conducting a thorough examination.
"Magic is intent," Elwood said. "You know that. You've known it since your first lesson."
"I know, but dark magic is bad, and–"
"Just stop that line of thought right there," he said gently.
"You weren't trying to manipulate anyone.
You were frustrated. You were baking. Your magic found the feeling and followed it.
That's not dark magic, my boy. That's a young witch who hasn't yet learned to keep his heart out of his mixing bowl. "
Declan let out a breath. "I really didn’t mean to do it.”
"I know." Elwood's eyes crinkled. "The important thing is no one was harmed.
No one was compelled to do anything against their nature.
You simply made it easier for people to say what was already true.
" He squeezed Declan's hand once. "That's a very different thing from what was done to those growlers, as Nadia will soon learn.”
"You're not going to report me to… whoever you'd report something like that to?"
"I’m whoever you'd report something like that to," Elwood said mildly.
"And I'm telling you now. No harm, no foul.
But we will work on it. There are ways to manage intent when you bake.
Ways to keep what you're feeling from wandering into the recipe uninvited.
" He picked up his mug again. "That will be our next lesson. "
George, apparently satisfied with his examination, retreated back into the pocket.
Declan stood there for a moment, then he said, "I'm moving in with Gideon."
A satisfied smile crossed Elwood's face. "Well," he said. "It's about time."
"We haven’t known each other very long," Declan said, like he’d expected an argument.
"And?" Elwood raised an eyebrow at him. Then he looked at me. Then back at Declan. "Some things don't need a lot of time to be certain."
George reappeared from the pocket and fixed Declan with a look of such pointed approval that Declan actually laughed.
"Even George agrees it’s time," I said.
Declan glanced between his grandfather, his familiar, and me, and shook his head slowly. "I’m surrounded by smug people."
"And a mouse," I said.
"And a mouse," he agreed. But he was smiling.
“Do you two want to stay for breakfast?” Elwood asked.
“No, we’re headed over to watch the 5K. Sandy’s running, and we told him we’d come support him.”
“These days I don’t run unless someone’s chasing me,” Elwood said with a chuckle. “You two have fun.”
The 5k had drawn a better turnout than expected on a Saturday morning, which meant Leon was in his element.
The race started in front of the town hall, wound around past the school and the pond, south to Hearth and Griddle, looped back along the river before eventually winding up on Main Street to finish on the southern end of the town square right in front of the library.
A modest crowd had gathered near the finish line with coffee cups and a level of enthusiasm that varied considerably by person.
Before going to the 5k, Declan and I stopped by the Thistle Café and picked up a couple of breakfast sandwiches and some coffee to bring with us.
Beckett Hayes was already there when we arrived. He was standing near the water station, which was set up twenty yards before the finish line. It was a perfect spot. Close enough to see the finishers come in but far enough back to be out of the way, so we joined him.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning." I positioned myself beside him. "Didn't take you for a spectator."
"Normally, I'd be running it." He turned the cup in his hand. "Didn't feel like being stared at for five kilometers."
That was fair. The arrest was still fresh enough that Ravenstone hadn't finished processing it yet.
"I wouldn’t like that either,” Declan said. “But eventually, people will forget.”
"Yeah. Maybe." Beckett didn't sound convinced, but he didn't sound hopeless either. "You two coming to the finish line party after?"
“No, we have other things to do this morning," I said.
“Yeah, we’re just here for the race. Sandy’s agreed to take some pics for me at the party, since we aren’t going,” Declan said.
The first runners were starting to appear at the far end of Main Street now, small figures resolving into people as they closed the distance. The crowd around us stirred.
"Huh," Beckett said, scanning the incoming runners. "I'm actually surprised Fletcher isn't up front."
I looked at him. "Fletcher runs?"
"Ran. State track, back in school. Still goes out every morning. I used to see him on the running trail all the time. Dude used to be fast. That’s why they called him the Flash.
" He watched the leaders cross under the finish banner.
Fletcher wasn't among them. "Guess he had other things on his mind this morning. "
That was odd, though. We didn’t have that many races in Ravenstone, so you would think if he was a runner, he would’ve wanted to participate. Of course, with Roy’s death and figuring out what to do with the brewery, Beckett was probably right and he simply had other things on his mind.
"Speaking of Fletcher," Beckett said. "I got a call from Kettlebrook last night."
Declan turned. "What kind of call?"
"The kind where they tell you they've decided not to move forward with the contract from Black Feather.
" Beckett looked at his water cup. "Too much bad publicity, they said.
The cheating came out, and they don't want their name attached to it.
" He paused. "So they're starting over. Two new candidates. "
"You're one of them," I said. It wasn't a question.
"They said since the winning recipe was technically mine, I'm a candidate." He glanced up, letting out a slow breath. "Donny Pace is the other. He came in second fair and square, so they're giving him a shot."
"That sounds fair," Declan said.
Beckett looked at him for a moment. "Yeah." He almost smiled. "Yeah, I think so, too."
More runners were coming in now. The crowd's energy picked up, cheering for names they recognized, clapping for strangers.
Declan and I spotted Sandy in a t-shirt that read I run on beer and denial and we cheered for him. Clapping our hands and shouting that he could do it, like there was any danger of him quitting feet from the finish line.
Declan reached for the coffee cup he'd set down on the table and accidentally knocked it off.
What came next happened all at once.
Declan said, “Darn it. I’d barely even drank any of that.” At the same time, Becket bent down to pick up the cup.
The sharp crack rang out, and the large water jug at the station behind Beckett exploded.
Water cascaded across the ground. People near the station lurched back, shouting as the cheerful noise of the crowd from a few minutes ago fractured into confusion.
My hand reached for Declan's arm, pulling him hard against me, putting myself between him and the direction the shot had come from. He made a startled sound but huddled closer to my side.
"Gideon—"
"Don't move," I said. I was already scanning. Buildings, rooflines, and the narrow gap between the pharmacy and the post office. The crowd was surging in confused directions, some people dropping, some people running, none of them sure what had happened.
Beckett turned around slowly. He looked at the jug. Then, to where he'd been standing.
The math was simple and horrible.
"Was that—" Beckett started.
"Yes," I said.
A caw split the air above us. Licorice was already moving, a black streak cutting across the sky in the direction of the gap between the buildings. I tracked her with my eyes but didn't follow. Not yet. Not while Declan was in the open.
"We need to get off the street," I said.
Grady's voice cut through everything else, carrying the particular authority of a man who'd gone from race spectator to sheriff in the span of ten seconds.
"Everyone back! Clear the street. Back, now—"
I kept my hand on Declan and moved.