The Unfortunate Side Effects of Heartbreak and Magic(4)

“You do?” Sadie asked, startled.

“Never you mind.” Gigi pulled her in for a hug and patted her waist. “Now, get back there and finish those cookies before I sugar ’em to death.”

Sadie hurried to her dough, checking the timer as she did and wondering what kind of curses Gigi was talking about and what had brought on the physical display of affection. With eight minutes left, she gave the frosting a contemplative stir.

Heartbreak for Sadie wasn’t a passing folly, to be recovered from with time and chocolate and tears. Because of her curse, it could take everything from her. Which made falling in love a risk that wasn’t worth taking.

Something drew her to the oven despite the six minutes left on the timer. Peering in, panic scorched down her body like chili flakes when she saw the cookies were starting to burn at the edges. The message was clear as cold ice: “Something wicked this way comes.”

“No, no, no,” she whispered, hastily grabbing the nearest dishtowel. But the pan burned her hand through the fabric.

She yelped and dropped it on the stovetop with a reverberating clang. Someone, or something, had turned the oven up to five hundred degrees. She waved the dishtowel frantically, trying to fan away any scent of the evidence, because if Gigi caught so much as a whiff, she’d banish Sadie from the kitchen for the day.

She hurriedly scraped the burned cookies into the sink and turned on the garbage disposal. A familiar fire was burning along her veins, and her fist ached to hit something. The sixth bad omen. The sachet of lavender and buckbean she kept in her apron pocket was doing little to keep her calm the way it was supposed to.

In front of her, peppered on the countertop and the long wall shelves, she eyed her canisters. Each one had a label, written by Gigi. There was no cinnamon, basil, clove, or marjoram. Instead, “Youth” sat next to “Friendship,” while “Love,” “Kindness,” and “Forgetfulness” were relegated to their own section. “Stability,” “Health,” and “Fertility” kept “Good Wishes” company, while “Misfortune” was pushed to the back like a dark secret.

Sadie reached for the glass jars labeled “Traditions” and “Protection.” She inhaled the scent of freshly ground cinnamon before sprinkling some into the dough. Traditions—would this do the trick?

With careful fingers, she grabbed a pinch of salt and whispered a quick blessing over it before dashing it into the bowl, hoping it would keep whatever was coming at bay.

Sadie stirred the ingredients in with her wooden spoon, carved by hand from the white oak tree in the forest behind Gigi’s backyard. Her grandfather had loved wood carving in his spare time. He had passed away when the twins were six, and she didn’t remember much about him other than his famous pastrami sandwiches and the little wood figurines he’d sculpt for her. He had traveled a lot for work as a technician and would always bring Gigi a small collector spoon from whatever state he’d visited. Sadie had loved those little spoons, tracing her finger over the intricate filigree or studying the resin design. She hadn’t thought of those spoons in years.

“Querido amado.” A high, musical voice barged into her sanctuary just as she slid the baking tray into the oven. “Did a tornado hit in here?”

Sadie turned and frowned at the raven-haired woman. Raquel, her best friend since childhood, scanned the room with wide, expressive eyes. Even when she was still, she somehow seemed to be in motion. Fingers or foot always tapping, eyes so thoughtful you could practically hear her talking even when she was silent.

“I thought I banned you from coming in here if you couldn’t say anything nice,” Sadie retorted, holding up her wooden spoon like a sword.

“I’m not worried until I see the fire in your eyes.” Raquel laughed. “That’s when I know we’ve really got a problem.”

Sadie hugged her best friend and then pinched her on the arm.

“Ow!” Raquel cried, her face drawn into a frown.

“Pinching is my love language.” Sadie shrugged, checking the timer.

“What’s wrong?” Raquel demanded, leaning against the counter and eyeing her best friend, waiting.

Sadie’s lips pursed. She never could hide anything from Raquel and found it rather inconvenient the way best friends could see into you even when you refused to look yourself.

“Hello!” Raquel snapped her fingers. “You in there?”

“I’m thinking.”

“You’re always thinking. Sometimes it’s healthy to just say what’s on your mind, you little control freak.”

Sadie laughed.

“I’m just—you know, just wallowing in a bit of self-pity. Freaking out about being alone for the rest of my life. I had a minor panic attack over toothbrushes this morning. So, you know, the usual.”

“Were the toothbrushes on fire? Did they insult you?”

“More the fact that there was only one.”

“Exactly how many toothbrushes do you need?” Raquel demanded, arching a perfectly lined eyebrow.

“I’ll only ever have one. You know, because I’ll always be brushing alone.” Sadie dragged a finger along the countertop, trying and failing to stop the ache that bloomed in her chest.

“Do you want me to brush my teeth with you? All you have to do is ask, you know.”