Page 8 of Best Hex Ever
Dina ran a finger through the mixture and popped it in her mouth. The whipped buttery sugary goodness met with the soft earthiness of the cinnamon.
“No, it’s perfect.”
Once everything was in the oven, they sat around drinking more hot chocolates, and chatting about Rosemary’s horror novel that was soon going to be made into a movie. The air in the kitchen was soon filled with the delicious scent of baking buns, spiced with cinnamon and clove.
Dina had made an extra batch. None of them waited for the buns to cool down before they tuckedin.
Immy’s eyes began to water as she took a bite.
“Dina, these…Your magic…How did you…It’s like you put me and Eric in them. I don’t understand.”
Dina went over and gave Immy a flour-covered hug.
“I’m glad you like them, love.”
“Mmmfckinggood,” Rosemary mumbled from the other side of the counter, mouth full of cinnamon bun.
Dina had bites of a bun too, but she mostly liked to watch as the magic took hold of her friends as they ate, the frown lines disappearing from their foreheads, the way they sighed contentedly.
“You’re a damn good kitchen witch, Dina. Can you start posting these to me weekly, please?” Rosemary begged.
They continued snacking until none of them could manage another bite. Dina gave them both bags full of pastries and cakes to take home, knowing that Eric would be grumpy if Immy came back from the café without a selection of baked goods.
Dina pulled each of them into a tight hug at the front door of the café.
“Thanks so much for being my baking guinea pigs,” she said with a smile. At least she wouldn’t have to wait long to see them—Immy’s wedding was only a few days away.
“Will you do me a favor?” Immy said, leaning in close.
“Anything.”
“Would you check the, um, tea leaves or the cards or whatever you normally check, to see if the wedding will go all right?”
Dina got it. It was a lot of stress hosting a wedding, and all Immy was asking for was a little peace of mind. Dina was overdue a reading anyway.
“Of course.” She smiled. “I’ll text you what they say.”
“Okay, but if it says there’s going to be some kind of Red Wedding situation then I just don’t want to know.”
“Duly noted.”
—
Closing the shop on her own was a nightly ritual. Not that she didn’t trust Robin to do it, but it was much easier—and moreefficient for both of them—if she had the quiet to focus her mind on several cleaning spells at once.
Robin would be in charge of the café for the next few days while Dina was in Little Hathering, the village north of London near where Immy’s wedding would be taking place. It helped that it was the same village where Dina’s parents lived.
Dina pulled her jacket tight as she locked the shop door behind her, taking a deep inhale of the crisp evening air. She whispered a protective warding spell as she turned the key in the lock. Sometimes Dina cast in English, other times she fell into Darija or French, whichever felt right in the moment. And this wasn’t a malignant spell—Dina didn’t do those. It was simply a spell that would incline any potential burglars away from the café, making it look entirely uninteresting and definitely not the sort of place where cash was stored overnight.
The sun had mostly set, and the leaves swirled around in the autumn breeze as Dina made her way to the station. The trip home was thankfully uneventful, although Dina did use an itching spell to make a man vacate the priority seat that a heavily pregnant woman was too polite to ask for. Dina got off the tube at Putney Bridge and walked down the riverbank to absorb the last of the sunlight.
There were a few rowing boats out on the river, their oars pooling the water around them in small circles. Dina never felt the magic of the city more than she did when she was beside the river. It was as if all of London existed in the swell of every small wave.
Or perhaps it was the river itself. The way it twisted and turned through the city, always flowing. It had been there since before London was anything more than a few mud huts cobbled together on marshland, and Dina had no doubt that it would be there when London was no more. Just the kind of melodramatic thoughts she tended to have when she was tired and wanderinghome. It was all the water—it brought out her pensive, melancholic tendencies.
As always, Heebie Jeebie was waiting for Dina, yowling something awful the moment she stepped through the door.
“I missed you, you tiny menace,” Dina said, cradling the rotund cat in her arms like a baby, a position Heebie would sullenly endure for the unspoken promise of treats later.
