Bell, Book and Scandal (Bedknobs and Broomsticks #3) - Josh Lanyon Page 0,5

misty and green, I made the avert sign. The coffee table flipped over, flinging blue ink everywhere, and the lamp next to the couch exploded.

“No, no! GramMa, no. Please no!” Ambrose was crying. He did not attempt to stop her, of course, would never have dreamed of using Craft against her.

Nor could I. Or rather, I could have, but such an act would be unthinkable.

It would also be unthinkable to let her slay me.

Open the door that hides within

Protect this crone from mortal sin

I shall return another day

But just for now I must away

The door to the apartment flew open at the same moment a blue rectangle appeared. I opted for the rectangle and sprang through the frame of light.

I landed on my hands and knees on a high wooden platform.

A high wooden platform surrounded by yellow prison bars and crowded with small children, one of whom shouted into my face, “It’s MY turn!”

“I—right. I see that.” I looked around and saw also that, in addition to the munchkins, there were several alarmed-looking women already on their feet and closing in on what turned out to be a large and elaborate play structure, complete with a plastic green palm tree that was preventing me from standing.

This is what comes of relying on kiddie Craft. And relying on kiddie Craft is what comes when you make promises you shouldn’t make.

“You’re too BIG,” another tiny terror bellowed, and kicked me with her pink daisy sneaker.

“Ouch! All right. I’m going…”

I dove down the wavy blue plastic slide, arms first, and landed ungracefully in a pile of sand and scattered toys. I could hear the cell phones clicking like paparazzi as I scrambled up and sprinted away, hands raised to shield my face.

* * * * *

“You can stop laughing now,” I told Andi.

We were sitting in the back office of the Mad Batter, the specialty cupcake shop Andi owns and operates.

I suppose you could say Andromeda Merriweather is my best friend, but when you’ve known someone as long as I’ve known Andi—all my life, in fact—the bond is closer to blood tie than friendship. And I say that as someone raised in a society where blood is everything.

Anyway, Andi is three months older than me. She’s tall and lanky, wears her coppery hair short and spiky, has hazel eyes and freckles as cute as cupcake sprinkles. Despite all that refined sugar, she’s not a frivolous person, but she laughs easily, and she was still laughing as she pushed a red-brown cream-cheese-topped cupcake my way.

“Sorry. But you have to admit, if this happened to Bree or V. or Whitby…”

“I’d be laughing my ass off if it happened to Whitby,” I agreed. Waite Whitby is my first cousin on my mother’s side, which means that if I were to break my neck falling off a kiddie play structure, he would take my place in the direct line of succession to trône de sorcière.

Well, no, because he’d have to get my mother and his mother out of the way first, but anyway, he’d definitely move up a rung on the ladder. Which is something he’s been aware of since he was seven and I was five and he tried to drown me in the fountain of our aunt Laure d’Estrées’ Parisian garden.

Not that you need to know about that now.

I took a bite of cupcake and raised my eyebrows. “Mmm. What is that?”

“Devil in Red Velvet.”

“Wow.” I savored another lusciously creamy sweet bite, said slowly, thickly, “Did you…?”

“Just a pinch,” she admitted.

“Kind of pushing the envelope, don’t you think?”

She acknowledged it. “They’re not for my regular customers. I’m thinking of starting an exclusive line, catering to Craft clients.”

I nodded. The idea bothered me, no lie. There’s so much bias against mortals, but I really didn’t expect that of Andi. For one thing, she’s in love with a mortal—although she won’t admit it.

“How’s Trace?” I asked, none too subtly. Trace Levine was probably John’s best friend. They grew up together, served in the SEALs together, and Trace had been Best Man at our wedding, which was where he’d met Andi.

She made a face, reading me correctly. “He’s fine. Everything is great between us.”

You would think that would be good news. But you would be wrong. Her sigh was wistful.

I changed the subject. Only not really. “Does John talk much to Trace?” I asked.

“Sure.”

“I mean, like we talk.”

“Oh.” Andi moved her head in negation. “No. John’s so busy these days. But no. He doesn’t talk to Trace about