Hungry as her python, p.2
Hungry As Her Python, page 2
“Sure, come in,” I mumbled.
“Thank you. Do you have a list of what was destroyed?”
“The display case on the left this time. We were here pretty early, so it didn’t have a chance to spread,” I told him, trying my best not to stare at his tremendous biceps bulging as he scribbled in his little black notebook.
I was a fool to think he still thought of us. Missed my chance with the guy, I supposed. But hey, it was better that way. I didn’t do permanent relationships. They simply were not for me. But still, I wondered if he thought of me. What could I say? I guess I was curious.
I gave him a list of the damage since I would need it in the police report to file with my insurance company. Conrad took it from my hand, and I shivered at the way his fingertips brushed against mine.
Silly witch. Do not think this is personal. He’s just an attractive man I have a history with. There are no sparks. None. Whatsoever.
“Are you alright, Bella?” he asked.
“The damage is superficial—”
“I don’t mean the bakery. I mean you. It must be difficult being targeted.”
“What do you mean? It’s probably just some punk kids,” I began and shrugged.
“This is the second time in a month this place has been struck, Bella. Jaxson and I have been talking and, well, we think it might be personal.”
“Personal? But everyone loves me! I spread joy with cupcakes and donuts, who would want to hurt me?” I exclaimed.
The very idea I was being singled out by some fire-loving psycho made me feel ill. I’d never considered such a thing before.
“What do I do? Am I in danger?” I asked before I could help myself.
It wasn’t like me to fall apart, or show vulnerability, especially not in front of someone like Conrad Boman. The man was the epitome of capability. Still, when his arms came around me and he pulled me to him in a comforting hug, I didn’t resist.
Besides, we were friends, sort of. Friends who happened to have had sex. No big deal.
We were adults. Besides, he’d stopped asking me out, so he must have been over it by now, too.
The realization saddened me. I knew that wasn’t fair of me. It was me who had turned him down, after all.
Still, a part of me wondered what might have been and if he still thought about me. He was a powerful, virile Shifter. A man like him probably had women by the dozen, though he’d given no implication of such a thing.
I was being ridiculous. His love life was none of my business, and that had been my choice. Still, it felt good to be close to him again.
“Hey, you’re safe now,” he murmured, and I snuggled closer.
It felt good. He felt good. The man was a superb hugger. When he cuddled, it was with his entire body, not just his arms, and dang it, I sure loved a good cuddle. I wondered if he felt that same satisfying warmth that I did when he held me.
“I missed you, Bella,” he whispered, lifting my face with one finger on my chin and leaning down. He gave me ample time to back away, but I didn’t want to.
I needed that kiss. Someone was purposely setting fires inside my store, and my entire world had tipped on its axel. But the moment Conrad held me, I felt right again. Like everything was fine as long as I was in his arms.
It was a dangerous feeling. One I shouldn’t ever get used to, but in that moment, I just couldn’t force myself to push him away. I’d always thought of myself as an independent witch but leaning on Conrad even if for a moment felt super good.
Better than chocolate.
CHAPTER 2
A week had passed since that tumultuous kiss with Conrad Boman. He’d left with a resounding smack of his lips against mine, the tease! Ever since that kiss, he’d been patrolling past my bakery most days, and I can only assume nights when he was on duty as deputy.
It was enough to make a witch crazy. My hormones were out of control. I was concerned about my mystery arsonist and cranky from lack of sleep. On top of that, I was panting after a man I swore I wouldn’t get serious about.
This was ridiculous. I was the calm one. The happy one. The one content with her life. Whatever excitement each new dawn brought with it was something I had always welcomed.
It was part of the beauty of my hometown. Anything could happen at any given moment in Castor’s Corner. It was full of supernaturals, expecting anything else was simply foolish. I was rarely foolish. Unless you counted my experiences with men.
Despite my best efforts, I was a confused mess over what had been going on these last few weeks. That was not my norm. Evie and Donny were the ones who worried incessantly over the uncertainty each new dawn could bring, while I used to revel in that fact.
Not knowing what was going to happen was part of the charm of living in a magical town. I’d always liked surprises. Some were actually good.
Take today, for example. When I woke up to the ringing of my alarm, the weather forecaster predicted the sun would make an appearance, a change of pace, for sure. After weeks of doom and gloom, I sure could use a little brightness.
So, nice surprise? Yep.
Another happened when I dressed for my day. See, I’d recently decided to cut my hair an inch shorter at my last appointment over at Donny’s salon—she was a fantastic stylist—and this morning, when I pulled my hair into its usual ponytail, I discovered it now curled at the ends. Totally did not expect that.
Another nice one.
After I poured the remnants of my coffee down the sink, I’d looked in my purse for my keys. At the bottom of my cute little Vera Bradley bag—I adored her quilted collection and currently had three hundred and seventy two of them in all shapes, prints, and sizes—I found an old scratch-off lottery ticket.
Taking a chance, I grabbed a quarter and scratched away. I won $4. How about that? Good surprise indeed. When you were a small business owner, like me, every little bit counted.
The events of this morning were new, unexpected, and completely cool. I’d been pleasantly surprised, and it increased my expectations that today was going to be awesome. My magic was buzzing and humming as I thought about the recipes I’d planned for the day.
Castor’s Corner’s Summer Solstice Festival was fast approaching. I’d already paid my fee for a table and tent set up at the festival. There’d be carnival rides and games galore, then at precisely midnight my two best friends were going to get married to their chosen mates.
Of course, I was making their cake—no charge. It was my gift to them. Designing it was taking up every moment of my free time. Maybe that was why I wasn’t worried as I drove down Main Street to The Tasty Tart.
I was preoccupied. Lulled into a false sense of security because the last few days were quiet. My mind had been wondering a lot lately. Thoughts of Conrad were increasing in frequency, taking up space. But I wasn’t ready to admit all that aloud.
Foolish? Maybe. Wishful thinking? Perhaps. Ultimately, I was an optimist, despite recent events.
Surprises were an integral part of my love language, after food, of course. It was like the Goddess herself was throwing me boons. But not every surprise was good. I was old enough to know that.
The sky was still dark, which was not a surprise. Of course not, the sun wasn’t even up yet. I was, but that was not unusual. I parked my car, opened the door, and my heart stopped.
Sniff.
“That’s smoke, my witchy,” Petyr said from beside me.
“Oh no! Not again,” I mumbled, grabbing my cell phone, and dialing 333, the Castor’s Corner emergency number. Kind of like our very own 911.
Without thinking, I ran inside the store from the back entrance, grabbing the fire extinguishers from off the wall. Petyr was right beside me. Using my magic, I amplified the reach of the extinguisher. It sprayed into the storefront, where another display rack was engulfed in flames.
“Stand back!” someone ordered, and I recognized Conrad and Ryan, Donny’s mate.
Both were firefighters on top of their other jobs. I tried to join them, but Petyr pulled me back. My familiar’s entire purpose was to ensure my safety. I was grateful, but I needed to see the damage for myself.
“Outside, Bella, please. It’s not safe yet,” Conrad said, standing in front of me with his arms wide.
His face was grim, and I knew he was concerned. I couldn’t blame him. I was, too. I allowed Petyr to drag me outside. The bakery was on the corner lot of the town’s busiest street, but I was the first one up and at it, every day. My neighbors wouldn’t learn of this until later.
That was good. Whatever was going on, it was making folks antsy. And the last thing you wanted was a magical community up in arms.
“You okay, my witchy?” Petyr asked.
“Not really,” I shrugged, sitting on the curb.
I covered my face with my hands while Ryan and Conrad made sure the fire was out. Normally at this time I was busy making the morning’s crumb buns, croissants, coffee rings, and preparing the day’s fresh donut batter.
The scents of fresh yeasty goodness and yummy, sweet batter in the morning were my favorites. Of course, my donuts were positively sinful. Baked or fried, they were made to order with a plethora of fillings and toppings.
I usually had them laid out across the long stainless-steel counter by now, waiting for whatever glorious concoctions my muses lead me to create as the day’s specials.
I was a witch and a baker who took pride in my work. I made it a point to show up seven days a week. Even with my new help, Petyr my familiar, a furry Domovyk, who had quite the skill with buttercream and pie dough, and Donny’s mate, Ryan, a huge grizzly bear Shifter, and total badass with bread dough—I still came in.
Every. Single. Day.
There was always something to be done. Inventory, invoices, bookkeeping, payroll, not to mention working on my not so secret calorie free goodies recipes which—when I actually succeeded—were going to make me and my friends the happiest witches in all Castor’s Corner.
I was super proud of my goodies. And no, I didn’t mean the ones I inherited from my awesome Italian and Viking ancestors. I was talking about my baked goodies, not my witchy-metabolism-proof curves, though I was proud of those, too.
Not everyone could fill out a triple D-cup the way I could. Every other witch in the known supernatural world stays young and thin for hundreds of years. I had inherited the longevity part, but for some reason, skinny was never within my reach.
No matter how much I starved myself, my size didn’t budge. I was a plus size witch. Unheard of, really. Well, except for my besties and me. If I were being honest, I’d admit I only ever tried the whole starving myself thing once. It was not a good look.
My magic went bonkers, and I accidentally zapped my father right on his rear end. He couldn’t sit for a week. I learned then that hungry and my magic did not mix.
It sucked, though. Why did every other witch get to eat whatever she wanted? Just take the Shifter Wanker, Zelda, herself. It was widely known Zelda was a huge gobbler of goodies—she loved my Undeath By Chocolate cupcakes.
I sent her a couple of dozen as a thank you for giving me a familiar. But despite all her snarfing, she remained thin as ever. Now, I’d never been skinny, and I loved my curves, but keeping them in check was a challenge.
At least, I did not suffer alone. Donny and Evie had the same big bosoms and rotund hips as I did. They also shared my appreciation for sweets. Donny, Evie, and I just couldn’t stay away from sugary, buttery delights.
Maybe it had something to do with our recent discovery we had more than our bubble butts in common.
Good old Grandpa Al.
The old coot had stepped out on his wife a few times, which explained his ghost missing his magical no-no square. Seemed Evie’s Nonna wasn’t a fan of being cheated on. Any who, at least part of the mystery surrounding our unmagical metabolism, was solved.
The three of us were not just besties, we were cousins. We shared the same genes, and yes, sometimes even the same jeans.
Made sense, right?
Anyway, it wasn’t easy being part of the select few supernaturals who suffered from tuchus gigantamous—thanks, Aunt Edna!
Of course, being a baker, I was probably not in the best profession if I wanted to lose some of my body fat. But of the three of us, I didn’t really have an issue. I liked myself, curves, and all.
But back to Petyr. My familiar was unusual, true, but his powers were so cool. He didn’t seem to have a limit to what he could do. Whereas I was bound by what my witchy magic could do and where it applied.
Kitchen magic, as my Granny called it, was not the same as some other magic. Evie was an important seer witch. She could see past and future events and was only really starting to understand how powerful a tool that truly was.
Donny’s magic could see and mend inner hurts. Outward appearance was related to how a person felt, and while she brought out the best in a person’s hair with her gifts, she also made their self-confidence rise.
I supposed of the two, I was more closely related to Donny, magic-wise. My talents relied on my ability to spread goodwill and happiness through my baked goods. Not exactly earth shattering. Even so, my spells and casts served a purpose.
Castor’s Corner needed a baker, and I was one. Easy peasy, right? Folks loved my treats. They even lined up to get them. But if I was so valued, then why was someone targeting me?
“I check on storage, my witchy,” Petyr told me before blinking out of sight.
That creature was faster than lightning when he wanted to be. I wasn’t sure how he did it, but the other day when I lamented upon missing my Granny’s special banana extract made with the now commercially extinct Gros Michel bananas, my furry little familiar disappeared for hours.
When Petyr had returned, not only did he have three bushels of the delightfully ripe fruit, but he was also sporting an Elvis-style pompadour atop his head, and he was humming Teddy Bear.
Anyway, I now had a barrel of banana extract processing in my storeroom in the back of the bakery next to the walk-in refrigerator. I could not wait till it was ready. Oh, I was going to bake up a storm of banana nut loaves when it was ready.
Squeak!
It would be the perfect thing to try my next guilt free recipe on. I have been trying to come up with a viable magical hack for weight loss since, well, forever. Donny, Evie, and I would likely always be the three curviest dang witches around. Still, I kept trying.
It would be great not to have to worry about gaining ten pounds every time I got a craving for pineapple cheesecake, a giant chocolate covered cannoli, or vanilla cream napoleons with fresh strawberries.
Yum.
I’d learned to bake at my grandmother’s knees, and when I was old enough, I opened my own shop, naming it The Tasty Tart.
I was a hit. My store was well known for having the best confections in all of Castor’s Corner. I even did well with my brand new global website and delivery business, too.
I still can’t believe people from all over the world want my goodies.
Hang on, I was getting off track again. Where was I? Oh yeah, watching Ryan pack up the firetruck, and Conrad store his gear before walking back to where I was still glued to the cold concrete curb.
I was NOT supposed to be answering questions about another attack by the mystery serial arsonist attacking my store. Petyr was off sweeping up debris and I was clutching the remnants of my favorite rolling pin the furry little dude had found beneath the ruined rack.
“I have to ask you some questions, Bella. So, you arrived here at 4:30 this morning?” Conrad asked.
His mien was serious, and I tried not to admire him, really, I did. But it was pointless. He was damned gorgeous, regardless of his expression.
Ridiculous witch. Drooling over the man when your shop is in shambles.
“Yes, I got here about then.” I mumbled.
This was the third time this month some jerk started a fire inside my shop.
“I think it is time we talk about who might have a grudge against you,” he began.
Anger filled me. To think some ungrateful citizen of Castor’s Corner was putting me through this was unbelievable.
“I’m part of the witch trifecta keeping Castor’s Corner safe,” I started. “How could someone I know do this to me?”
“I am not sure, Bella. Now, could you have a disgruntled customer? Someone who received a wrong order?”
“I do not get orders wrong! My goodies are made with the best of intentions, and I fill each order precisely as it should be filled,” I snapped, a little more than insulted.
“Bella, I know you have a gift for baking. I think your goodies are perfect,” he rumbled in a husky voice that appeased my slightly bruised ego.
I was being unreasonable. But I couldn’t help it! Had I messed something up so badly someone would try to destroy my store multiple times?
Think, Bella!
“If there is anyone with even the slightest grievance, it could help us,” Conrad tried again.
Brave man suggesting such a thing twice. Pink and white sparks fired from my fingertips, and I was grateful my hands were down. Conrad raised an eyebrow, and I shrugged unapologetically.
“I did use blue royal blue fondant on Grayson Fox’s sixth birthday cake instead of cerulean blue, as his mother had asked, but only after checking with her. The cerulean dye was not available when she needed it, and I ran out,” I confessed.
“Okay, that’s a start.”
“Fine, I ran out of Bavarian filled donut holes for the Castor’s Corner Library last Wednesday, but I used a very similar vanilla custard instead. And the senior center’s order was an hour late yesterday because my produce delivery arrived later than usual.”
“Not sure any of those qualify as truly disgruntled customers, but I’ll look into it,” Conrad said, his grin disarming.
I gasped and shook my head. The man was bewitching me, and he wasn’t even a warlock! I noticed Petyr returning to the dumpster out of the corner of my eye, carrying more trash with him.
“Sonovacockroach!”
“What isssss it?” Conrad hissed, turning to face the danger.
