In this New York Times bestselling mystery series, witch Katie Lightfoot bakes enchanted treats—and faces more than her fair share of toil and trouble.... It’s been exactly two years since Katie and her aunt and uncle opened the Honeybee Bakery, where they serve delicious—and bespelled—treats to the good people of Savannah. After a dinner celebrating the bakery’s anniversary, they all take a stroll along the waterfront and meet Aunt Lucy’s friend Orla, a colorful character who has been telling the fortunes of locals and tourists alike for years. The next day, Orla meets with what seems like a terrible accident, but Katie’s witchy intuition tells her it was something more sinister. Together with her trustworthy coven and her firefighter boyfriend, she’ll race to find out what happened to the unfortunate fortune-teller before the piping hot trail goes cold.... Praise for the Magical Bakery Mysteries “Katie is a charming amateur sleuth, baking her way through murder and magic set against the enchanting backdrop of Savannah, Georgia.”— New York Times bestselling author Jenn McKinlay “[The] sixth of the Magical Bakery Mystery series remains as entertaining as the first, with a mythology that is as developed as Katie’s newfound talent and life within the Savannah magical community.”—Kings River Life Magazine “Ms. Cates has most assuredly found the right ingredients...a series that is a finely sifted blend of drama, suspense, romance, and otherworldly elements.”—Once Upon a Romance “As a fan of magic and witches in my cozies, Cates’s series remains a favorite.”—Fresh Fiction “Charming....Let Cates cast her spell over you.”— Library Journal Bailey Cates believes magic is all around us if we only look for it. She is the New York Times bestselling author of the Magical Bakery Mysteries, including Spells and Scones , Magic and Macaroons , and Some Enchanted Éclair. Writing as Bailey Cattrell, she is also the author of the Enchanted Garden Mysteries, which began with Daisies for Innocence . Chapter 1 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 Huey's Southern Café. Moments later, the sugary fragrance of custom-made candies outside River Street Sweets filled my nose. If I hadn't just finished off our celebratory meal at Vic's with an indulgent serving of sweet potato crème brûlée, I might have dragged my companions inside for a piece of salted fudge. "I can't believe it's already been two years," Aunt Lucy said. She and Uncle Ben were walking ahead of Declan and me, their arms twined around each other's 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. "There's 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 witch's 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 wasn't interested in taps on the shoulder-metaphysical or otherwise-calling me to action. Still, I couldn't 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 Vic's on the River. We'd been celebrating the second anniversary of the