Hedgewitch Katie Lightfoot is determined to solve a decidedly unsavory mystery in the newest installment of the New York Times bestselling Magical Bakery series.
Since Katie opened a busy bakery in Savannah serving up sweet treats—with a little spellwork on the side—she’s always on the go. While Katie is on a run in the local marshland preserve to de-swamp her jumbled thoughts, she encounters the shocking sight of her friend, reporter and druid Steve Dawes, standing over a dead body. The way the victim is displayed suggests a magical ritual may have been involved.
It turns out that the deceased was a true-crime podcaster who covered paranormal cases in Savannah. The situation gets stickier than a pecan bun when Katie discovers Steve knew the victim. Steve and Katie have had their differences in the past, but she has his back, so with the help of the ladies of her spellbook club, Katie will have to follow the trail of crumbs to the real killer....
Release date:
November 10, 2026
Publisher:
Berkley
Print pages:
320
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
A tall, muscular guy came around the corner ahead and pounded past me on the hard-packed dirt trail, heading toward the water. I startled, but then he was gone, his harsh breathing replaced by the sounds of morning birdsong and my own regular footfalls on the path. Their rhythm soothed me, which is exactly what I'd intended when I left my Cairn terrier-and witch's familiar-catching up on his soap operas while I drove to Whitemarsh Preserve outside Savannah. My mind was a jumble, and running was my tried-and-true way to allow my body to thrum with endorphins and my thoughts to sift and settle.
That was the idea, at least. However, I was nearly finished with my run, and the jumble hadn't yet been sorted. If there had been a dialogue balloon over my head, it would have been filled with a blur of scratch marks and exclamation points.
Whitemarsh Preserve was one of my favorite places to hit the trail, despite the murmur of traffic from Johnny Mercer Boulevard and the almost sulfuric scent of peat slowly forming in the salt marsh. The main pedestrian loop was only two and a half miles, but there were connecting tracks that veered and wandered if you wanted to make it longer or were on a mountain bike. A boardwalk covered the muckiest bit, dappled with shadows. Overhead, Spanish moss hung in swaths from the limbs of black oaks. Dried leaves whirled around my feet. A few downed trees were covered with soft green moss and shelf mushrooms that looked like something from the Jurassic period. I noted the spikes of the plant my aunt Lucy called devil's walking stick as well as exotic-looking passionflowers. Tucked into the shadows clustered deadly but beautiful Amanita muscaria mushrooms. They looked for all the world like a gnome or fairy was about to peek out from under their impressive red caps dotted with white. Squirrels chattered above, and insects buzzed. I'd often seen deer off the trail but none yet today.
Though the preserve could get crowded, people tended to thin out in the evening when the mosquitoes came in droves, as well as in the early morning. It was seven a.m., and the sun had risen in a glorious wash of pastels. Normally, I would have been working for more than an hour by now, but my aunt Lucy had volunteered to get things started at the Honeybee Bakery today.
Mungo should have come out with me instead of snoozing in front of the television back at the carriage house. He's getting a bit chunky. Need to put that little dog on a diet.
Yeah. Like that was going to happen. My mind flickered to something else.
What about adding warm spices to the Derby pies for the big party at the Honeybee next week?
We wanted the Honeybee's offerings to be the best in town, of course. Our customers had come to expect no less. It helped that many of the special touches we added were herbs and spices laced with benevolent magic to help our patrons.
But what to imbue the Derby pies with? Perhaps cloves to promote friendship-we'd be serving them at a crowded Kentucky Derby party, after all. And what about a dash of nutmeg for prosperity? There would be plenty of betting going on during the different races. Along those lines, orange peel was good for luck and would mix nicely with the traditional ingredients of chocolate, walnuts, and bourbon in the pies.
I'll have to ask Aunt Lucy. She'll know.
My aunt had been the one who'd informed me I was a hereditary hedgewitch like she was. After I'd finally managed to wrap my head around that, she'd introduced me to the spellbook club, which was her-and now my-informal coven of witchy ladies. Each member had their own magical specialty, and they'd all graciously stepped in to educate yours truly as a newbie to the whole magic thing.
That had been three years ago. Thanks to them and to stumbling into a series of homicide cases that always seemed to involve some kind of magic, I'd more or less come into my own in the Craft. Still, Lucy had been trained as a hedgewitch from an early age and had scads more experience than I could ever hope for since my own parents had fearfully hidden my heritage from me.
If there's time, we can talk about the Derby party tonight after the spellbook club meeting. And we can figure out the details for our Beltane celebration. Declan will be home from work the night of May first, so it would be better to have it someplace besides our house.
My steps slowed as I thought of my husband of less than a year. With the back of my wrist, I swiped at the perspiration that had formed on my brow, then picked up the pace. Time to face the real reason I was out here running.
The problem was I didn't know if I was running toward it or running away.
Earlier, Declan and I had been having a normal morning. I was up stupid early as usual. Working at a bakery along with my sleep disorder that prevented me from sleeping more than a few hours a night had that effect. Coffee and fresh applesauce muffins awaited Declan when he shuffled into the kitchen, his morning scruff and hilarious sticky-up bedhead not dampening the quick pitter-pat my heart still did when I saw him. Even first thing in the morning. Even after months of marriage. I understood that was supposed to fade over time, but for now I enjoyed the heck out of the feeling.
Caffeine and carbohydrates brought him around, and soon we were chatting about his upcoming shift at the firehouse, the extra hours he was putting in as part of paramedic training, and the phone call he'd had with his mother in Boston the day before.
Then, out of the blue, the wild, wild blue, he looked around our newly expanded kitchen and said, "Hey, Katie, do you think this place will be big enough once we start a family?"
An innocent enough question, right? I mean, we had talked about having children. Before the wedding. Theoretically. In the future. Sometime. He'd joked about having a whole passel of them, as a matter of fact.
At least I'd thought he was joking.
And while I didn't want a passel of kiddos, I'd always assumed we'd have at least one or two. However, for some reason when Declan had brought it up, I'd felt something akin to alarm.
What was that all about?
I'd maneuvered the conversation to another subject, and he'd gone along without resistance, as if his question carried the same weight as wondering what to fix for supper. I'd tucked it away to think about later.
Which was now.
I realized I was running full out, my footsteps thudding, my even exhalations now ragged panting. I slowed, then stopped and leaned forward, hands on my knees, struggling to control my breath.
What did I know about being a mother? I was an only child. My parents had lied to me my whole life about who and what I really was. What kind of training was that for raising a child? Children? Not only that, but Declan and I had both inherited what you might call gifts. How would those pass down to our children?
And that unknown, I realized, was what had sparked my earlier anxiety.
Feeling dizzy, I blinked slowly at my feet, then called upon the element of earth to ground and calm me. I felt the welcome whisper of comforting power travel up through my legs and body, quieting my thoughts and clearing my head.
It's going to be okay, I thought. It'll be fine. Mothers always know what to do when it comes down to the wire. I just have to make better choices than mine did.
Right?
I stood, taking in my environment. Being so much in my head, I'd lost track of how far I'd come along the trail. I was nearly back to the parking area.
Green undergrowth lined the path on either side. The thick fragrance of the forest floor tickled my nose, a woodpecker pecked at a distant tree, and warblers warbled. The ever-present immediacy of the natural world brought me all the way into the here and now. It was time to get back home, shower, and drive to the Honeybee. There was baking to be done and customers to feed. I started down the curved footpath toward where I'd left my Volkswagen Bug.
And stopped. A figure stood in a grassy expanse off the trail a hundred and fifty feet away, looking down at the ground.
A figure I recognized right away.
Medium height, slender but muscular build, honey-colored hair pulled back into a short ponytail that I knew was tied with a strip of leather even though I couldn't see it from where I stood. His usual uniform of T-shirt and cargo shorts.
You'd never know Steve Dawes was a member of the oldest druid clan in Savannah.
To be fair, no one would know from looking at us that any of the spellbook club members were witches, either. So, there was that.
He apparently hadn't seen nor heard me. If he had, he wouldn't be staring down at the ground with . . . what was that expression pinching his features? I'd known Steve since my first weeks in Savannah, in fact had gotten to know him pretty darn well, to Declan's dismay. I'd never seen that look on his face.
I debated whether to approach him. He was my friend; at least that was what we both told ourselves, but we had a complicated past. Since I'd married Declan, Steve didn't come into the Honeybee as often as he once had. Plus, I could just imagine Declan's delight when he heard I'd encountered his old nemesis on my morning run. Glancing at my watch, I saw that I had even less time than I'd thought to shower and buzz into work. I half turned toward the parking lot. If I simply eased around the corner, Steve would never know I'd been here.
Never know I'd seen him.
Seen him doing what, exactly?
He was a runner, too. I'd known that from the first time he'd offered to show me around Savannah, including this very trail. We'd never managed that tour, and I'd explored the local natural areas on my own. Still, it wasn't unusual that he'd be here.
Running.
Only he wasn't running. He was still staring at the ground in front of him with that strange look on his face. Wearing cargo shorts.
Maybe he ran in cargo shorts?
Who runs in cargo shorts?
Curiosity tugged at me. Then it stopped tugging and flat-out grabbed me.
What the heck. I had the instant excuse of not being able to stick around and catch up with whatever was going on in Steve's life these days because I was already late for work. I bounced on my toes, backtracked the fifteen yards to where the path diverged, and lightly jogged toward Steve. Sensing my approach, he looked up with sudden alarm. A second later, it was replaced with resignation.
"Katie on-the-spot Lightfoot." He sighed. "Of course you'd show up right now."
"Well." I came to a stop. "Hello to you, too."
Another sigh.
Frowning, I glanced around. Usually, Steve's response when we met was either affection or awkwardness. Was I interrupting something?
A movement in my peripheral vision made me turn my head. A bright blue dragonfly whizzed by my head. A green one followed, then a striking red-and-black one. As if the first three had merely been scouting, the tall grass exploded with dozens of them, their iridescent wings flashing in the angled sunlight.
Closing my eyes, I squeezed the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger. Dragonflies loved the water, and there were plenty of mosquitoes around here, their favorite prey. That's why there were suddenly so many.
It has to be.
When I opened my eyes and met Steve's brown ones, I knew in my bones the insects weren't there because of the mosquitoes.
One of the first things I'd learned from Lucy was that dragonflies were my totem. Had been my whole life, apparently. As a child, I'd simply thought they were everywhere. As I grew older, and especially as I grew into my powers in the last few years, the appearance of dragonflies often served as a kind of metaphysical Hello! Pay attention!
Something was either very wrong right now, or it was about to be.
Adrenaline surged under my skin. I scanned my surroundings again, this time employing my witchy intuition. I didn't sense any immediate danger, but something pulled at me from where Steve stood.
With trepidation, I closed the rest of the distance between us. As I rounded a large rock surrounded by ferns, Steve took one step back, to the very edge of the clearing, and folded his arms.
Which gave me an uninterrupted view of the body he was standing over.
Chapter 2
The woman was lying on her back in the middle of the clearing, arms straight out from her shoulders for all the world in parody of Leonardo da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. Her long brown hair fanned around her head in a strange dark halo, and her eyes were closed. Her expression was placid, her navy slacks and blue shirt unwrinkled.
Oh, and she was dead. Definitely, positively dead.
How I knew that was hard to pinpoint. No sign of breath, for one thing. No movement of any kind. But mostly it was the palpable lack of life in her body. No spark.
Nada. Zilch. However, there was something off. Other than her being dead, I mean. Something sour about her. I sniffed. Was it an odor, or was I sensing something else? I couldn't tell, and I wasn't going closer to the body to find out.
"How long ago did you call 911?" I asked.
Steve didn't answer right away. I tore my gaze away from the dead woman and met his.
"Steve?"
"I haven't."
"What?"
Silence.
"Why not?"
A beat, then he said, "I just found her."
I reached into the leg pocket of my running tights and pulled out my phone.
"Wait."
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
