CATES - COOKIES AND CLAIRVOYANCE

Uncle Ben gave one last twist of the screwdriver, removed the electronic bell that had been attached to the front door of the Honeybee Bakery for over two years, and, with a smile of satisfaction, climbed down from the stepladder. He strode to where Aunt Lucy stood behind the register and kissed her on the cheek. After handing her the small black box, he turned back to retrieve his tools and take them out to his truck in the alley.

My aunt turned to me. The skin around her eyes crinkled gently as she held up the box. I sure wont miss hearing this every time someone comes in.

I was restocking the display case with pecan rolls and gingersnaps. Me, too, but you have to admit its a good problem to have, I said, carefully arranging a row of cookies at the back of a tray. Being so busy that the bell above the door was always ringing, I mean.

A good problem indeed. She slid the contraption that had chimed thousands of times into the pocket of her hemp apron. But it was getting to be downright distracting.

My aunt was originally from the tiny town of Fillmore, Ohio, just like me, but shed lived in Savannah for decades. Though they were sisters, Lucy was quite different from my perfectly coifed and buttoned-down mother. She looked like the gracefully aging hippie that she wasgray-blond hair stuffed into a messy bun, a brightly embroidered smock from Oaxaca worn over a long cotton skirt, Birkenstocks on her feet, and not a speck of makeup on her cheerful face.

Oh, and she was also a witch.

Then again, so was I. Not that Id had any idea of my hereditary powers until Id moved to Savannah from Akron over two years ago to open the Honeybee with Ben and Lucy, but shed soon filled me in.

That had been interesting.

You come from a long line of witches, Katie. Our family specialty is called hedgewitchery. Its one of the gentler branches of magic. An affinity for herbal lore, herb craft, and a heck of a green thumb. All of which you possess. Pure magic in the kitchen.

Id spluttered and denied the very possibility, of course, but after a while I realized my gifts were why Id always felt a bit different, like an outsider, and I warmed to the idea. Soon I delved into learning more about the Craft and began working with my aunt to add a sprinkle of benevolent magic to our baked goods.

Lucy and I were old-school herbal witches like the women who used to cross the literal hedges that surrounded villages in the old days to gather healing plants for teas and other cures. Hedge was also metaphorical and could refer to the veil between this plane and the next. My aunt had introduced me to a group of women who practiced various kinds of witchcraft, a loose coven of sorts that we called the spellbook club, and theyd graced my life with wisdom, friendship, and support. We actually did meet to talk about spellbooks each monthand occasionally practice a little magic together, of course. For the first time in my life, I felt like I truly fit in.

Once the display trays were filled for the next wave of treat-seeking patrons, I paused to take a sip of sweet tea from the sweating glass by my elbow and surveyed the bakery. It was the typical lull between the lunch rush and peoples need for an afternoon influx of caffeine and sugar. Only a few customers were avoiding the sticky July heat in the air-conditioned atmosphere.

Arthur, our resident author, stared moodily at his laptop screen and sipped minty green tea over in the corner. Two firefighters in uniform traded sections of the