Bailey Cates - Potions and pastries

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 Hueys Southern Caf. Moments later, the sugary fragrance of custom-made candies outside River Street Sweets filled my nose. If I hadnt just finished off our celebratory meal at Vics with an indulgent serving of sweet potato crme brle, I might have dragged my companions inside for a piece of salted fudge.

I cant believe its already been two years, Aunt Lucy said. She and Uncle Ben were walking ahead of Declan and me, their arms twined around each others waists.

Ben smiled and drew her closer. The time certainly has flown by.

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.

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.

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.

Is that one of yours? he murmured.

I shrugged. Theres just the one. Probably on the hunt for supper.

Seems a bit late in the day, he answered with mild skepticism.

Mm. More mosquitoes out now, though.

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 witchs totem, a kind of metaphysical tap on the shoulder that told me to pay attention to whatever was going on.

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 wasnt interested in taps on the shouldermetaphysical or otherwisecalling me to action. Still, I couldnt help a quick glance around, intuitively probing our surroundings. Nothing along Rousakis Plaza appeared amiss, and I dismissed the winged visitor as a coincidence.

The four of us were taking our time returning from a thoroughly decadent supper at Vics on the River. Wed 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 wed 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 Savannahs 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.