{"product_id":"potions-and-pastries-isbn-9780399586996","title":"Potions and Pastries","description":"\u003cb\u003eIn this \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling mystery series, witch Katie Lightfoot bakes enchanted treats—and faces more than her fair share of toil and trouble.... \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e It’s been exactly two years since Katie and her aunt and uncle opened the Honeybee Bakery, where they serve delicious—and bespelled—treats to the good people of Savannah. After a dinner celebrating the bakery’s anniversary, they all take a stroll along the waterfront and meet Aunt Lucy’s friend Orla, a colorful character who has been telling the fortunes of locals and tourists alike for years.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e The next day, Orla meets with what seems like a terrible accident, but Katie’s witchy intuition tells her it was something more sinister. Together with her trustworthy coven and her firefighter boyfriend, she’ll race to find out what happened to the unfortunate fortune-teller before the piping hot trail goes cold....\u003cb\u003ePraise for the Magical Bakery Mysteries\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Katie is a charming amateur sleuth, baking her way through murder and magic set against the enchanting backdrop of Savannah, Georgia.”—\u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author Jenn McKinlay\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “[The] sixth of the Magical Bakery Mystery series remains as entertaining as the first, with a mythology that is as developed as Katie’s newfound talent and life within the Savannah magical community.”—Kings River Life Magazine\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Ms. Cates has most assuredly found the right ingredients...a series that is a finely sifted blend of drama, suspense, romance, and otherworldly elements.”—Once Upon a Romance\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “As a fan of magic and witches in my cozies, Cates’s series remains a favorite.”—Fresh Fiction\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Charming....Let Cates cast her spell over you.”—\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eBailey Cates \u003c\/b\u003ebelieves magic is all around us if we only look for it. She is the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of the Magical Bakery Mysteries, including \u003ci\u003eSpells and Scones\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eMagic and Macaroons\u003c\/i\u003e,\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eSome Enchanted Éclair.\u003c\/i\u003e Writing as Bailey Cattrell, she is also the author of the Enchanted Garden Mysteries, which began with \u003ci\u003eDaisies for Innocence\u003c\/i\u003e.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The bleat of a boat horn drifted from the river to mingle with the      sounds of the Savannah waterfront. Tourists and locals strolled      along the brick and tabby sidewalks. A pack of kids ran by, their      laughter sparkling through the air. The intense aromas of she-crab      soup, garlic, and onions drifted from Huey's Southern Café.      Moments later, the sugary fragrance of custom-made candies outside      River Street Sweets filled my nose. If I hadn't just finished off      our celebratory meal at Vic's with an indulgent serving of sweet      potato crème brûlée, I might have dragged my companions inside for      a piece of salted fudge.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I can't believe it's already been two years,\" Aunt Lucy said. She      and Uncle Ben were walking ahead of Declan and me, their arms      twined around each other's waists.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Ben smiled and drew her closer. \"The time certainly has flown by.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She laid her head against his shoulder, and a long tendril of      gray-blond hair escaped from its messy bun to curl against the      back of her neck. Hand in hand, Declan and I followed at a      leisurely pace.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e We passed a man strumming a guitar and crooning \"Mr. Tambourine      Man,\" occasionally blowing into the harmonica suspended by a metal      bracket in front of his face. A bearded gentleman dropped a few      dollars into the guitar case at his feet, and they exchanged nods.      A toddler in shorts and a chocolate-stained T-shirt ran by at an      impressive speed, his harassed-looking mother barreling after him,      half bent over with her arms spread wide to sweep him up. Streaks      of color pinked the western sky as the sun dipped toward the      horizon.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A dragonfly flitted in front of us. Declan squeezed my fingers as      the iridescent beauty dodged the watchful gaze of a gull on a      nearby light post and zoomed toward the Savannah River. Our steps      slowed as we both took note of its path.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Is that one of yours?\" he murmured.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I shrugged. \"There's just the one. Probably on the hunt for      supper.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Seems a bit late in the day,\" he answered with mild skepticism.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Mm. More mosquitoes out now, though.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Aunt Lucy noticed the mosquito hawk as well and shot me a      conspiratorial look over her shoulder. She and Declan both knew      dragonflies were my witch's totem, a kind of metaphysical tap on      the shoulder that told me to pay attention to whatever was going      on.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But I was feeling happy and lazy, my skin caressed by the soft      April air, my belly full of good food, and the evening blessed      with the company of some of my favorite people in the world. At      the moment, I wasn't interested in taps on the      shoulder-metaphysical or otherwise-calling me to action. Still, I      couldn't help a quick glance around, intuitively probing our      surroundings. Nothing along Rousakis Plaza appeared amiss, and I      dismissed the winged visitor as a coincidence.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The four of us were taking our time returning from a thoroughly      decadent supper at Vic's on the River. We'd been celebrating the      second anniversary of the grand opening of the Honeybee Bakery, as      well as the success our enterprise had enjoyed during the past two      years. There had been a few low points, of course. Heck, before      we'd even managed to open the doors to the public, Uncle Ben had      been the main suspect in the murder of crotchety old Mavis      Templeton. Nevertheless, I would be forever grateful that he and      my aunt had talked me into quitting my boring, poorly paid      position as an assistant bakery manager in downtown Akron to move      to Georgia. Ben had just retired as Savannah's fire chief, and      their brainstorm of teaming up with me to start the Honeybee had      saved my sanity. Plus, getting far away from the guy who had      dumped me mere days before our wedding had seriously saved my      pride.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Of course, I'd learned Lucy had another reason for luring me      south. Out of the blue, she'd sprung the news that she and I were      both hedgewitches. Magic in the kitchen, she'd said. A natural      green thumb. Some call those of us with a gift for cooking and      garden spells \"green witches.\" Whatever moniker you choose, our      kind has been helping and healing for centuries by tapping into      the natural magic inherent in herbs, spices, and food.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It had taken a little convincing, though. Imagine having someone      you love suddenly dump that bombshell on you one afternoon over a      cup of tea. Lucy had assured me hedgewitchery was a family      heritage my mother had long hidden from me. At first, I'd scoffed      and rolled my eyes at my hemp-wearing hippie aunt's airy-fairy      notion. I mean, who wouldn't? However, I'd eventually realized      that it explained an awful lot about my childhood-and my      adulthood, for that matter-and came to accept my magical gifts.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I brought my thoughts back to the present. Near the Anchor      Monument, an elderly couple held hands and gazed out toward the      water. Suddenly, the woman leaned in and whispered something into      the man's ear, and he smiled. They had an aura about them that      told me they'd been together for most of their lives, probably had      children and grandchildren and maybe even great-grandchildren.      Still, they could make each other smile, still wanted to hold      hands.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I glanced up at Declan's face, savoring his ice-blue eyes beneath      wavy dark hair. A half grin softened the solid planes of his      cheekbones and jaw. However, his attention had been snagged by      something down toward the River Street Market Place, and he missed      the question in my eyes. Would we be like that older couple in      fifty years? Would we have children and grandchildren, too? We'd      been engaged for a little more than four months but hadn't set a      date for the wedding yet. He'd made only a few mild comments, but      I could sense he was getting impatient. From the beginning, Declan      had been the one pushing our relationship to the next level.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I knew he wasn't at all like Andrew, my erstwhile fiancé of three      years ago. He'd never leave me at the altar. Still, how could I      know we'd make it together in the long run? How could anyone know?      Then my gaze cut to Lucy and Ben, and I had my answer. His gentle      brown eyes were full of affection as they met hers. They'd met      later in life and been married thirteen years. I couldn't imagine      the way they looked at each other ever changing, not if they lived      to be a hundred. The chemistry between them was undeniable, the      roots of their connection tangled deep and strong.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Declan and I had been through quite a bit in the year and a half      we'd been together. It had been touch and go a couple of      times-especially after an incident when I'd nearly killed him with      magic. It had been an accident, but still . . . it could have      broken us. Yet in the end it had helped to strengthen our bond.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The anxiety that had begun to rise within me quieted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As we continued to walk, I disengaged my hand from Declan's and      slid it around his waist. He grinned down at me absently, then      looked at the juggler we were approaching. As we watched, he      touched a flame to four torches and began tossing them into the      air. The spectacle lent a dramatic touch to the festive      atmosphere. Ben's and Declan's eyes lit up in appreciation, drawn      to the flames as only those of a former fire chief and a current      firefighter would be.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Ben either hadn't noticed the dragonfly or didn't care. Unlike      Lucy and me, my uncle wasn't particularly interested in such small      magical details. He knew we were witches, of course, and fully      supported his wife, his niece, and the other members of our      informal coven, the spellbook club. Declan had come around, too,      especially after a séance in which he discovered he had his own,      er . . . gift.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e We passed the juggler. A group of children was gathered around a      ventriloquist with a wooden dummy on his knee, their mouths open      with delight as the dummy appeared to speak of its own accord. The      man and his puppet sported the same dark-framed glasses and black      hair, the puppet a mirror of its handler.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"What's brown and sticky?\" the ventriloquist asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Murmurs from the kids, and a few parents exchanged looks of mild      alarm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"A stick!\" cracked the dummy in a high voice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Everyone laughed, and we kept walking.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A redheaded man on a unicycle pedaled among the buskers and      spectators in complicated turns and spirals, stopping on a dime      and then veering off again. Booths and tables boasted everything      from crafts and food products to kitschy souvenirs and funky      clothing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e About fifty feet away, a woman sat beneath an arching canopy of      draperies. The high back of her chair was elaborately carved and      rose a foot above her head, giving the impression of a throne. Her      silver braid was coiled on the crown of her head. A small black      fedora tied with a scarlet scarf perched on top of the braid. Her      long red skirt pooled on the patterned carpet beneath her feet,      and silver rings flashed from every finger. Thick eyeliner gave      her the look of a wise cat, peering over her tiny half-glasses at      the woman sitting across the table from her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Katie, look. That's Orla.\" Lucy turned to me. \"She hasn't come      into the bakery for ages.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Maybe she's on a diet,\" I said. \"And I rather suspect that at the      moment she's not the Orla Black we know.\" I tipped my head to the      side. I'd never seen our friend in her full fortune-telling      regalia.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My aunt nodded. \"This is certainly a different look for her. I      wonder if she's almost finished with this client.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Client or mark?\" Ben murmured as he pushed his  glasses up the      bridge of his nose. Even though he witnessed us practicing our      mild-mannered magic every day, his eyes were narrowed with      skepticism, and his lips pressed together above his short beard.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Hush, dear,\" Lucy said. \"Orla's the real deal.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A lush velvet cloth the color of the night sky covered the round      table in front of the fortune-teller. On it sat a deck of      oversized tarot cards and a plain glass sphere on a black stand.      Instinctively, I sent out a questioning tendril of intuition and      felt an oh-so-subtle current of real power coming from the woman.      That wasn't surprising, really, since magic is around us every day      if we pause to look for it. However, the elaborate costume and      stereotypical trappings seemed a little over-the-top.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Or are they stereotypical? I chided myself. Spellbook club member      Jaida French was an expert in all things tarot, and Mimsey      Carmichael's pink quartz shew stone had come in handy for our      group more than once.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"We should get back to the bakery,\" Ben said with a pointed glance      at his watch.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Reluctantly, I began to follow him toward the stairs that led up      to Bay Street.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Suddenly the air was a-whir with the lacy wings of a hundred      dragonflies. I heard Declan suck in his breath, and a pang of      anticipation arrowed through my sternum as I stopped and turned      back toward Orla.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Katie,\" Ben said, \"what are you . . .\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He trailed off when Lucy gently squeezed his shoulder. Her eyes      followed the phalanx of dragonflies as they gathered above the      fortune-teller's canopy, hovered in a tight knot, and then      exploded in every direction like a benevolent bomb.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I quickly sidled back, drawing Declan with me. We watched as Orla      shoved the crystal ball to the side, placed her hands palms up in      the center of the table, and nodded for the woman who sat in the      rickety metal chair across from her to grasp them with her own.      After a moment's hesitation, she did. She flinched as their skin      touched, and she drew back. Then she took a deep breath and      reached for the fortune-teller's fingers again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The client looked to be a decade or so older than me, so about      forty. Her cream-colored suit and expensive shoes coupled with the      blond chignon and haughty expression made her look like an      unlikely personality to seek the advice of a sidewalk seer. Still,      I knew better than to judge anyone by her looks when it came to      magic or any of its ancillaries. No one in the spellbook club      looked like a \"witch,\" except perhaps Bianca Devereaux, with her      long black hair and piercing green eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e We had drawn close enough that I could hear the lilt of Orla's      murmuring voice, but not the words. However, the look on the other      woman's face had gone from stony to frightened.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Suddenly, the blonde swept the deck of cards off the table and      stood. \"How dare you say that to me?\" she growled. Her hand came      up, and she shook her finger in Orla's face. \"You are a disgrace.      A sad, pathetic disgrace. A complete and utter fraud. And you ask      for money for telling people this kind of nonsense?      Unconscionable!\" Her eyes blazed with anger, but even from where      Declan and I stood thirty feet away, I could see the anguish      behind her anger.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Wow,\" Declan murmured into my ear. \"I've never heard anyone      actually use that word out loud before.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I nudged him to be quiet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Madam.\" Orla slowly rose to her feet with great dignity. \"I'm      sorry you didn't like what you heard. However, you did insist that      I tell you the truth. It is my gift and my curse that I am able to      do so.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Truth! Ha! I bet what you're doing is illegal. In fact, I'm going      to contact the authorities-\" She stopped midsentence as a man      strode across the brick walk toward her. It was the ventriloquist      whom we'd seen earlier, sans dummy. His face, so cheerful when      he'd been joking with the kids, was now mottled with fury.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Blanching, Orla's client backed away, then turned and fled. I was      surprised at how fast she was able to make her way up the stairway      to Bay Street in those heels.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Hey!\" the man yelled after her. \"Stop! You haven't paid the fee!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He appeared poised to run after her, but Orla stopped him with a      hand on his arm. \"Let it go, Taber.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"But-\" He shrugged off her hand and turned toward her. \"Mother,      are you all right?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Mother?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She snorted. \"Of course. You worry too much.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He regarded her in silence for a few seconds. \"Perhaps. Still, you      can't allow your clients to get away without paying. I'm only      trying to help.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Orla tore off her fedora, which unfastened the braid on top of her      head. As it uncoiled, she absently flipped it over her shoulder.      That simple act transformed her from being a mysterious reader of      fortunes to plain old Orla Black, who loved the peach fritters at      the Honeybee Bakery.","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301724967141,"sku":"NP9780399586996","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780399586996.jpg?v=1767735006","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/potions-and-pastries-isbn-9780399586996","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}