Hedgewitchin' in the Kitchen Page 19

  6. Place in the pan. Cook for 10-15 minutes. They should get a little puffy and a knife will come out clean if inserted into a doughy section, but the rolls should still be pale in color.

  7. While baking, mix all the topping ingredients together.

  8. Take the cinnamon rolls out of the oven. Cover with nuts and honey topping. Bake for 5-10 more minutes.

  9. Allow to cool. Add frosting if desired, using the Cream Cheese Frosting recipe below.

  Cream Cheese Frosting

  This is meant for cinnamon rolls, but also compliments carrot cake, pumpkin bread, zucchini bread, or anything else you wish to spread it on.

  Ingredients

  1 package cream cheese (light is fine)

  3 cups powdered sugar

  ½ cup margarine

  1 tsp. vanilla or a different liquor if you are feeling adventurous

  Directions

  1. In a mixing bowl, blend the cream cheese and butter.

  2. Add the vanilla.

  3. Slowly add the powdered sugar. (The frosting should be thick, but if it gets too thick you can add a drop of milk.)

  4. Drizzle over cinnamon rolls, spread onto a cake, and refrigerate if not used immediately.

  

  Kitchen Omens

  If a loaf of baking bread splits across the top while in the oven, it is a sign of death. Some believe that if a clock strikes twelve as bread is being served it also foretells death. A bread with a hole in it means someone eating from that loaf will soon die.

  Bread that falls out of someone’s hand means a beggar will be knocking on your door—often times in the form of a friend or relative who wants something.

  It’s enough to make one not want to eat bread at all.

  Excerpt from Hex and the City

  I woke in the morning to find myself in my own bed. The tantalizing aromas of baking bread and coffee brewing greeted my nose. I didn’t remember getting there on my own so Thatch must have carried me. Quiet murmurs and the clicking of cutlery on plates came from the kitchen. It sounded like my mom and Thatch were both up. I snuck to the bathroom and took a few minutes to freshen up and make myself presentable.

  I opened the door slowly, wanting to sneak back to my bedroom so I could change before I went out to the kitchen.

  My fairy godmother’s words halted me in my tracks. “I worry so much about my baby. She’s all I have left.”

  “You invest too much time being concerned about your daughter. You need a renewed purpose in life,” Thatch said quietly.

  “I have a purpose.”

  “Plants are not a purpose. Have you considered adopting again? Or mentoring a child too young for Womby’s? There are many out there who need a home and education before going off to a magical finishing school.”

  Mom didn’t answer. She sniffled. Lucifer meowed.

  I walked out to the kitchen, forgetting about my rumpled pajamas. Thatch held her hand, genuine concern in his eyes. He stood when he saw me and dipped his head in acknowledgment.

  My fairy godmother hurriedly wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes with her sleeve and painted a smile on her face.

  I went over and hugged her. “Good morning. Is everything all right?”

  “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

  She didn’t look fine, but she obviously didn’t want to discuss it. She released me, smoothing my hair away from my face. I turned to find Thatch studying me.

  I waved at him, feeling awkward. “Good morning, Mr. Thatch.”

  “Good morning, Miss Lawrence.”

  Mom laughed. “There’s no need to be so formal. I know you’re seeing each other.”

  Thatch’s cheeks flushed pink, a rare occurrence for him. He pulled out a chair and waved to it in a gentlemanly gesture. I sat and helped myself to a sticky bun my mom had made.

  “Mmm,” I said around a gooey mouthful of perfection.

  “They aren’t real cinnamon rolls, just a quick-bread recipe,” she said, as though I would fault her for not using yeast.

  Thatch’s plate was relatively clean, save for a few crumbs and sticky smears that attested to his first serving. The quantity missing from the pan attested to his second and third servings. I tried not to laugh.

  THE END OF RECIPES

  AND MEMORIES

  Hungry for some more recipes? Or hungry for another recipe for disaster in one of Abigail’s adventures with Lucifer?

  Read the preview for Abigail’s The Trouble with Hedge Witches series below to find out how their adventures began. Go to the author’s website to find out when the series releases.

  Sneak Preview of

  The Witch

  of

  Nightmares

  BOOK ONE

  THE TROUBLE WITH HEDGE WITCHES SERIES

  CHAPTER ONE

  Herbomancy

  Abigail MacQuillan sat with her eight-year-old brother, Emmet, huddled in the bushes. Ominous shadows from the enchanted forest of the Faerie Realm stretched toward them. Each groan of the trees in the wind sounded like the forest was coming to life and about to swallow them whole. Abigail hadn’t slept, too cold and afraid to rest.

  Abigail’s parents had told her three things the day they’d disappeared: stay away from witches and magic, be a good person, and take care of your family. Now here she was five days later, whispering an incantation under her breath, hoping it would work to protect her brother rather than be a beacon to dangerous creatures. Her ma had used the incantation so they could escape their home without detection, but it had left her weak and drained of the ability to use her cunning with plants. Another reason to be wary of magic and the price that came with it.

  A twig snapped, and both Abigail and Emmet jumped. Yellow eyes stared out at them from the darkness, prowling closer. It looked like the eyes of a goblin. Abigail mouthed the words of the spell more fiercely, willing it to work. She didn’t care if using magic left her weak and unable to use her connection with plants. She had to protect her little brother—even if she lost her soul in the process.

  The creature with the gleaming eyes slunk into a patch of moonlight. A cat as black as the shadows prowled past, lazily swaggering on to more interesting sights. The realization that the creature was a cat should have made Abigail feel relieved, but she only felt more frightened. Her parents had warned them that if they came across a cat in the forest, surely it was a witch’s familiar, and witches used their magic for evil.

  At any moment, Abigail expected a wicked witch or a hungry Fae to come for them. That was what their older brother had told them would happen if they weren’t quiet as they waited for him. It didn’t bode well that a full night had passed, and Niall still hadn’t returned from scouting for their parents.

  Emmet pulled his flatcap over his eyes, but Abigail knew he was crying from the way he sniffled into her ear. The pale gray light of dawn brightened the eastern edge of the forest. Birds chirped in the distance, creatures waking around them.

  It had been bad enough when it had been the three of them searching for their parents, but tears burned in Abigail’s eyes when she thought about it just being the two of them. She was only fourteen. She didn’t know what to do without her parents or her older brother.

  Niall had taken her aside before he’d left. He’d held her by the shoulders, staring into her eyes as if to impress the importance of his words. Dirt had crusted his auburn hair and flatcap. “If I donnae return by the morn, ye’ll have to follow the path to find the passage to the Morty Realm without me. Ye’ve got four nights until the full moon. The portal will close when the moon waxes.”

  The idea of being separated from him was unbearable. “I cannae go through the portal without ye.”

  “I’ll join ye later. But ye have to get to the other realm where it’s safe and free from Fae.” He nodded to Emmet curled up against a tree in hunger. “Emmet, mind your sister while I’m away.” He looked to her again. “And whateve
r ye do, be a good lass and donnae use magic.”

  Don’t use magic. Those had been her parent’s words as well, and she hadn’t heeded their warning. Protect her family—she felt as though she’d failed that too. She should have persuaded Niall not to leave them. They’d said to be “good,” but what did that matter if they died in the forest while trying to be good?

  The burden of responsibility pressed in on Abigail, becoming heavier by the minute. Abigail stood up abruptly, unable to stand waiting any longer.

  She stepped out from the bushes. “Come hither. We’d best keep moving.”

  “Niall said we cannae leave. We’re to wait here,” Emmet said in a small voice.

  “Aye, but he also telt us if he were nae back upon the morrow we needed to move on. Are we to stay here all night and day? Ye ken we cannae.” In her frustration, her accent became more pronounced, and she forced herself to speak clearly, to enunciate her words as her parents had made her practice so that she wouldn’t stand out from the rest of the people in the new land where they were going. Folk took advantage of those who were different.

  Being from another realm was as different as one could be.

  “We shall search for Niall,” she said. “Mayhap he found Ma and Da.” The false hope tasted wrong in her mouth, but Abigail wanted to believe it.

  Emmet didn’t move.

  “Stop being such a barmy lad.” Abigail nudged him with her foot. “Niall left me in charge. Ye need to mind me.”

  He turned away.

  “Fine, then. I’ll leave ye be. Alone.” Abigail stomped off down the path, the earth cold on her bare feet. She waited at a small oak sapling growing out of a nurse log, pretending to examine the maidenhair ferns at the base, as if searching for edible plants.

  It only took a couple seconds before Emmet ran to her, terror on his face. “Oi!” He threw his arms around her and buried his face against her arm, knocking his flatcap to the ground. “Donnae leave me, Abby.”

  She hugged him and kissed the top of his head. His bright auburn hair smelled like lambs and earth. He smelled like home.

  “Let’s see if we can find a wee bit of breakfast,” she said. “Niall will be tired and hungry when we find him. We ought to do something nice for him.”

  “I’m hungry too, ye ken,” Emmet complained.

  Her belly whined in protest as well. They’d only eaten some bitter greens the day before.

  “Use yer cunning,” he whispered, as if afraid someone might hear him utter those words.

  She bit her lip. “Niall said nae to use it.” Ma and Da had said not to use it.

  Niall had been afraid she might draw attention from Fae creatures that would snatch them away and drain them of their magic and life to make a supper out of them. But he’d caught a hare, and he’d roasted it for their supper three days before. The fire would have surely drawn more attention than a wee bit of magic.

  “Stand watch,” she said.

  Abigail stood in the brightest patch of morning light and let her toes sink into the mud. Her body felt as though it were rooting into the forest. She sensed the worms wiggling through the earth below her and understood the poetry of the trees as their leaves whispered in the breeze.

  The perfume of blackberries wafted toward them, inviting her to pluck them from the bushes. Clusters of mushrooms hummed songs of warning not to eat them. She tasted the places where chard uncurled to greet the sunlight.

  Abigail was one with the forest. Peace washed over her as she spread out her awareness farther. Hunger and fatigue left her. The trees spoke to her in their secret language, and there were moments she thought she understood their whispers. When she lost herself in the bliss of greenery like this, she wanted to stay there forever. It was the only time she felt safe. She didn’t feel alone.

  Deer pranced on the other side of a stream, their hooves trampling over wildflowers and brambles. She couldn’t sense the animals themselves in the forest, only the impression they made on the environment with the way they interacted with roots, branches, or foliage. Each time a bird pecked a bug out of a tree, the vibrations trembled through her.

  She couldn’t tell if the feet navigating around plants were her older brother’s or a large animal. As the footsteps drew closer, magic tingled across leaves, attesting to something not quite human.

  Just beyond the edge of her awareness, Abigail sensed something else in the forest. It was brilliantly bright, and so full of magic she couldn’t see it. Yet that place tasted of darkness, the roots around the area bitter and caustic. The life that grew there didn’t feel natural. Something stirred in the bright shadows, a creature, probably a Fae. The soil was tainted with blood. She shivered.

  Sparkles of black light twinkled toward her consciousness. Abigail recoiled from that place before anything could detect her presence. She drew back into the sanctuary of towering trees and peaceful plants.

  Something grabbed hold of her arm. She screamed.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Make Like a Tree and Leaf

  Ma and Da had always said there was a price to magic. She’d witnessed how using excessive magic had drained her ma. Even the cunning had to be used wisely and sparingly by a trained adult—and Abigail had never been trained. She didn’t know how to construct wards or create the blessings needed to shield herself from detection.

  Now her rashness was about to get her and Emmet in trouble. She couldn’t allow anything to happen to him.

  Abigail opened her eyes, flinching back, ready to run. She whirled, taking in Emmet’s startled expression, his eyes wide with fear.

  Emmet jumped back, releasing her sleeve. “What is it? Ye all right?”

  Abigail’s heart thundered in her chest. She realized it had been Emmet who had grabbed her, not a beast. Not a witch or Fae.

  She laughed in relief. “Ye nearly scared me out of my skin. Donnae do that when I’m using my cunning.”

  “Sorry.” He kicked at a pinecone. “Did ye find a wee bit of anything for us to eat? Any strawberries?”

  It took her a moment to catch her breath. Sunlight shone down on them, banishing the cold of the morning. Nothing lurked in the shadows. They were safe there.

  Green dust motes sparkled in front of her and clung to her auburn hair. She swatted the remnants of her cunning away. She didn’t want to stand out or draw attention.

  “Blackberries.” She pointed to a place off the path where her cunning had told her they would be waiting. It was in the opposite direction of the dark-bright place that radiated wrongness. She was glad they didn’t need to go near soil tainted with blood.

  She took Emmet’s hand, about to step into the brush. “Come along.”

  “Nay. We need to make an arrow to show Niall we’ve gone over yonder, we do,” Emmet said.

  She humored him and made an arrow out of twigs and rocks. She hoped she wasn’t making a trail of breadcrumbs that would lead a monster to them. She picked up a large stick she found beside the path in case they needed it as a weapon. It made her feel a little safer. Mostly she used it to clear the brush as they walked.

  “Have a care where ye step,” Abigail said, pointing to a patch of poison oak.

  Emmet at least had socks on, as filthy as they were. They’d taken their shoes off two nights before when their feet had grown too blistered from walking. Niall had told them not to remove their shoes while they’d slept, but Abigail hadn’t listened to her older brother. When a troll had woken them and chased them off, they’d only escaped because Niall had thrown their remaining food at him, distracting the creature with a small meal of sausage and bread.

  Abigail didn’t mind walking barefoot. She felt more connected to the forest this way. Her feet knew the way to the blackberries, and she could have found every oak in the forest with her eyes closed if she had tried. She breathed in the scent of wet earth and late summer. She didn’t understand how anything that felt so natural could be so bad. Was this magic? Or her cu
nning? With every step she took, Abigail feared she might be walking closer to the path of becoming a witch.

  Emmet kept sneaking peeks at her as they walked.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Ye’re doing it again.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Magic. Ye always look a wee bit queer when ye use your cunning,” Emmet frowned. “Yer eyes are greener, and yer hair gets mighty red.”

  “Like Ma?”

  He kicked at a decaying branch. “Aye.”

  Abigail liked the idea that she might look bonnie like their mother, but magic would attract dangerous creatures.

  Abigail remembered the cozy bed she’d shared with Emmet and Niall when they’d been younger while her ma had read them fairy tales about witches and cunning fairies who lured children into the forest to eat them up.

  “Ye mustn’t use the cunning when Fae are about,” Ma had said. “There’s nothing that lot likes more than the taste of bairn—except wee ones who can use magic. Ye guard yer secrets when we’re at the market selling our produce or when we go to the fair to sell livestock, and they’ll leave ye be.”

  “But ye use magic,” Abigail argued.

  Niall elbowed her in the ribs. “Stop giving Ma yer sass.”

  She elbowed him back. “I’m nae being sassy! I’m just asking.”

  Ma smiled, her expression patient. “Lass, yer too young to understand the difference between the gifts we’re born with and that of witches and their kin. The cunning is a blessing and will help guide ye in the knowledge of herbs, medicines, and plants. We use it for good.”

  She smoothed the hair from Abigail’s eyes. “Witchcraft uses magic for selfish purposes. Witches use spells and potions that bring ill upon folk. One must have a care using the cunning, lest it tempt a healer down a slippery slope to more dangerous magics. Soon ye’ll be coming into yer own gifts, and I’ll show ye the difference.”