I toss the empty wrappers in the trash bin and make my way back to Main Street. Marv the cop is outside the Sit for a Spell Café, issuing a red-faced driver a ticket. Our eyes meet as I pass him, and he gives me a neutral nod. I suppose that bodes well for the pack meet tomorrow night, right?
As I cross the street, my eyes are drawn to the bakery’s opaque white windows. What a minute; who installed the white shades? I don’t think Sophiewould’ve risked another spell, which means her mom and grandmother have already arrived and magicked some shades for privacy. That’s probably not a good sign.
I try the door handle, but it’s locked, so I give the door a firm knock. There’s no answer, but I detect movement on the other side, so I continue pounding until an elderly faerie with a striking resemblance to Miss Dragonfly pulls open the door. “We’re closed, sonny.”
When she starts to shut the door, I insert my foot in the opening. Her mouth pulls into a pout, and I have a feeling if I’m not careful, this faerie might decide to teach me a lesson I’ll never forget. “Are you Miss Catbeam Spellman? Younger sister of Miss Dragonfly Spellman?”
“Who wants to know?” Her eyes narrow into twin slits.
I extend my hand with a smile, but Catbeam Spellman grunts, so I quickly drop it. “I’m Leslie T. Barker. I was your sister’s live-in companion until her untimely death.”
“Untimely?” The faerie shakes her head. “Dragonfly was so old even she forgot her age most days.”
An attractive middle-aged woman stares at me from inside the shop; this must be Phoebe Spellman. I’m a little worried about getting involved in faerie business, but I told Sophie I’d be here for her, and I’m not going to let her down. “Who are you speaking with, Mother?” asks Phoebe.
“A boy named Leslie,” quips Catbeam. “Guess he’sthat Leslie, you know, the one Dragonfly employed for the last few years and then left tenpercent of the bakery to.” Catbeam hasn’t opened the door wider, so I’m perched on the threshold, half in and half out.
“That’s correct,” I say, drawing myself up to my full height. “And I’d like to be permitted entry to the bakery that I partially own.”
“What a hoot!” Catbeam Spellman throws back her head and laughs, reminding me of my late patroness. “I can see why my sister hired you. Come on in, although watch your step; my granddaughter was just explaining to us how that wall disappeared yesterday.”
Sophie gives me a barely perceptible head nod, but I sense she’s grateful I’m here. She says, “Like I was saying, I tried cleaning the wall… and I guess I tried too hard.”
A gargling sound escapes from my throat, which I quickly hide behind a cough. There’s no way Sophie was cleaning yesterday; I don’t think that girl actually knows the meaning of the word. Sophie shoots daggers at me with her eyes, and I manage to get myself under control.
“What spell did you use, child?” asks Catbeam.
“How do you know I used magic?”
“Because your grandmother and I felt it,” snaps Phoebe.
Sophie hangs her head. “It was a combination of a few spells.”
“Then which spells did you combine?” asks her grandmother.
Sophie throws her hands in the air. “I don’t remember. It all happened so fast, and it felt so right at the time, until Cassia shouted at me to stop and pulled me back.”
“I’m glad Cassia had the good sense to stop you.” Phoebe folds her arms and addresses Catbeam. “This is amatter for the elder council, Mother. What’s your verdict?”
The elderly faerie pins her granddaughter with a hawkish glower, but Sophie doesn’t make eye contact; she’s staring down at her green sneakers, shuffling them nervously on the dirty flooring. I’m positively itching to start scrubbing the old glue, gobs of wallboard, and general filth off the shop’s wooden floorboards. I suspect there’s very nice hardwood buried somewhere beneath all that ick.
“Sophie Spellman Brownlee,” huffs Catbeam, obviously ready to pronounce her judgment. “You have been found guilty of the misapplication of magic for the third time. The first two times occurred when you were in high school, and I let you off with a warning each time. But you’re turning twenty-nine next month; it’s time to grow up and face facts. You’re a talented kitchen faerie. Period. Save your magic for desserts, not drywall!”
“Does that mean…” Sophie starts to say, as if she’s sensed a glimmer of hope that, quite honestly, I’m not detecting. This skinny, silver-haired faerie is all business.
“I’m not finished,” Catbeam continues. “Since you have yet to learn your lesson and embrace the wonderful gifts you do have, you leave me with no choice. I’m clipping your wings for six new moons.”
I’ve spent enough time with faeries to know what this archaic expression means; Catbeam is going to bind Sophie’s magic, essentially forcing her to live as a non-super for half a year. I wince as Sophie shrieks, “Granny, no!” Then she turns to her mother, tears welling in her large, gray eyes. “Mom, please, can’t you do something?”
Phoebe Spellman shakes her head, her auburn bob swaying slightly. “I’m sorry, Sophie, but you brought this on yourself.”
Catbeam places her hands on Sophie’s shoulders and utters an incantation in a low, fast murmur. I sense a vibration in the air, although I don’t see anything. When she’s finished speaking, Catbeam pats Sophie’s back and then leaves the shop with Phoebe.
Sophie just stands there in the middle of her broken bakery with the missing wall and gray dust everywhere, and sobs her heart out.
I don’t know what to do, but I’m itching to enfold this woman in my arms and comfort her. The question is… should I? Would that lead to complications neither of us needs?
Then Sophie hiccups and tries wiping her face with the backs of her hands, but it’s useless because she’s crying even harder, and my resolve crumbles. I pull her into my arms, cradling her soft body against my chest.
