The White Glove War

Book 2: The Magnolia League

by Katie Crouch, Grady Hendrix

Genres: YA Contemporary; YA Paranormal

Synopsis

Money, beauty, power, and love -- the youngest members of the Magnolia League have it all. Some may call them lucky, but the truth is they're charmed. Armed with spells, potions, and conjures from the powerful Buzzard family, the Magnolias have bought their luck...at a price. Ensconced in the League's headquarters on Habersham street, golden girl Hayes Anderson would never dream of leaving Savannah, where there's no problem that can't be solved with a cup of Swamp Brew tea. But when danger lurks and family secrets are unearthed, Hayes learns that magic can't fix everything. Across town at an old mansion on Forsyth Park, recent California transplant Alexandria Lee is on a quest to free her mother's spirit from a hoodoo spell. As dark magic sweeps through Savannah's historic squares and misty backwaters, will Hayes and Alex have the strength to save the people they love -- and themselves? Katie Crouch's second Magnolia League novel is a beguiling story about family, friendship, and the magical ties that bind.

Release date: June 18, 2013

Publisher: Poppy

Print pages: 320

Sample

My name is Hayes Mary McCord Anderson. I’m named after my great-grandmother, Hayes Mary McCord, and while you’ve probably never heard of her, in my house she’s practically a celebrity. Not a day goes by when my grandmother doesn’t say her name at least once.

“Big Hayes” was born in 1902, when Savannah was at its poorest and saddest, and she was “empowered” before anyone even knew what that meant. Great-Great-Granddad was in shipping, and the family château on Gaston Street was super fancy, until the War of Northern Aggression came and General Sherman launched his cowardly attack on the city.

My family lost everything. But Big Hayes’s mother was proud and resourceful, and she managed to save up enough money to send her little girl off to boarding school. By the time Big Hayes returned to Savannah, she had her education and her mother was dead of malaria. The first thing Big Hayes did was sell the house on Gaston Street and marry a distant cousin who had inherited so much land upstate that just selling it off was a full-time job. Next, she started the Savannah Society for Ladies, the Citizens League, and the Historical Preservation Core. When Yankee developers began tearing down old houses to put up parking lots, she put on her dungarees and lay down in the middle of Barnard Street to stop them from running a fire road through Pulaski Square.

There is, however, one thing about Big Hayes McCord that no one will tell you. It’s one of our family secrets, hidden away under lock and key. You won’t be able to find it out for yourself in any library or archive, either, because my grandmother has carefully and systematically destroyed every shred of evidence.

You see, Hayes Mary McCord, like many of the McCords before her, was not blessed with beauty. According to legend, she had pores the size and color of oily raisins. Her fingers were like sausages, her hair the texture of a used diner mop. One eye was three times as big as the other, and her nose had a bump on the end as large as a plum. She was so hideous, my grandmother Sybil once confided to me, it was a miracle she married at all. If not for her truly sparkling personality, she would have been doomed. As it was, the distant cousin she married was blind in one eye, and the only thing he was passionate about was collecting beetles. And then they had Sybil.

“It’s a miracle,” my grandmother says, “that I turned out as pretty as I did.”

Then she looks at both of us in the mirror as if she can hardly believe it herself.

“We could practically be sisters.”

However, what my grandmother and my mother and I all know is that our beauty is no miracle. It is bought and paid for. In 1957, a deal was struck in the woods with a man named Doc Buzzard. I’ve benefited greatly from this deal, as have all my sisters in the Magnolia League. But the price—for all of us—has been very, very high.



It’s a cool, beckoning morning. The drama of the holidays has taken a serious toll on my looks, and my charms are due for renewal soon, meaning that I have to be extra careful. I don’t want to go outside looking like I’m unraveling, so before I go, I take a quick Brighten-Me Bath—herbs steeped in peppermint, frankincense, and a drop of wasp pollen—then apply a little Buzzard Eye Bright tincture to my inner lids and give my hair a good Sina-Ever-Shine Steam. A quick hop back and forth over a bundle of birch sticks to ensure my powers of natural attraction, plus a drop of hawk’s blood behind the ear for resilience and wisdom, has me ready to face the day. These potions don’t smell all that wonderful, but they’re effective; by the time I’m done, the dog won’t go near my bathroom, but I look and feel like a million dollars. Having put in enough beauty work to hold me over for the day, I go downstairs to put on my cashmere peacoat and then head to the sunporch to tell my mother I’m going out.

Though beautiful, our Pulaski Square house—which boasts five bedrooms, a drawing room, a dining room, a cupola, and a library—is fairly modest by Magnolia League standards. With the help of the Buzzards, none of us ever have financial difficulties, and most of the Leaguers believe that the size of your house should reflect the size of your bank account. My father, Claude, added the cupola in a last-ditch attempt to make a peace offering to my grandmother. She had always complained that our house didn’t have a profile that was “significant enough,” whatever that means. But Dad’s plan didn’t work, the fighting continued, and pretty soon he went off to Paris. Actually, I don’t know for sure that Paris is where he ended up. He didn’t tell my mother where he was going when he left, but in my heart I know it’s France. But then, I’m sort of obsessed with all things French.

“Absolutely not,” I hear my grandmother saying as I approach the sunporch. “Three marriages should be enough for any woman.” I freeze in place. I didn’t know Grandmother was here. If she sees me, I’m not getting out of here for at least an hour. She’s going to want to go over what I must—and what I absolutely mustn’t—do at the meeting this afternoon. I start to quietly back away.

“But Booker’s so dull,” my mother complains. “He’s driving me crazy.”

Not that I’m a part of the conversation, but for the record let me just say that my stepfather isn’t dull. He’s dependable. There is a difference.

“All husbands are dull,” my grandmother says. “Part of a wife’s job is to pretend they’re not. You absolutely may not get another divorce. Think of the family.”

“Claude was never dull,” my mother says, and I hear a clink of glass on glass as she pours herself another drink. Probably something alcoholic.

“Claude was worse than dull,” my grandmother says. “Claude was not suitable. And if you hadn’t had your head full of Harlequin Romances, you would have instantly realized that.”

“Mother, if I hadn’t met Claude, I wouldn’t have had those beautiful children.”

“Cuts both ways, Ellie. The children are saints and blessings, but if you hadn’t met him, then I wouldn’t have had to take steps. Haaaaaaayes!”

My heart flutters, but I recover quickly and make sounds on the steps as if descending, then clatter through the parlor into view. There they are: my mother and my grandmother, both dressed in silk dresses, sitting across from each other, sharing half a chocolate pecan pie. My mother is lounging with her feet up on the ottoman, but Grandmother, as always, sits up straight and proper, as if her spine were made of iron. I was right about the drink too: Although it’s ten o’clock on Saturday morning, a big pitcher of mimosas is within easy reach of my mother.

“There you are! Aren’t you precious? And isn’t that a tasteful coat?”

“Thanks, Grandmother. You actually gave it to—”

“As if I don’t remember, child. Anything to see the end of that foul thing you used to drape over your shoulders. Honestly, it is sometimes such a struggle with you.”

“Such a struggle,” my mother parrots.

“But we certainly were rewarded for our efforts at the Christmas Ball. You were the most gorgeous debutante ever!”

“Well, Madison looked pretty great too,” I say.

“Pshaw! Blondes win over brunettes every time.”

“And Alex—”

“Don’t even speak that name in this house,” my mother says.

“Dorothy Lee’s prodigal granddaughter is a disaster waiting to happen,” my grandmother adds. “She’s as common as pig tracks. Just her being here lowers the tone of the entire city.”

“That’s hardly fair. She’s my friend—”

“Not fair?” my mother gasps. “Have you completely forgotten what she did to Thaddeus? She put a love charm on him. He could have died.”

“Madison did the same thing to Thaddeus, and you don’t hate her.”

“Because Madison does not have a malicious bone in her body,” my grandmother says, revealing just how little she knows about Madison. I love Madison, but some of the things she says would strip paint. “Hers was simply the misguided act of a young girl blinded by a teenage crush. What Alex did was a deliberate attempt to destroy this family.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time with her,” I say. “She’s not like that. She’d never hurt Thaddeus on purpose.”

“Hayes,” my mother says, “can’t you see what she’s doing? They can kick Magnolias out, you know. If you associate with a bad element, the League will cut you loose so fast you won’t even have time to bleed.”

“Oh, Ellie, don’t be so dramatic.” My grandmother sighs. “Now you’re scaring her.”

“Well, maybe it’s high time someone started being dramatic,” my mother says, pouring herself another mimosa. “Alex Lee is a disgrace, an embarrassment, and an obstacle to Hayes.”

“Only if her grandmother continues as president of the League, and that’s hardly a foregone conclusion. Now quit your jaw music. I know what’s in my grandchild’s best interests.”

“They may be your grandchildren, but they’re my children, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect them,” my mother says.

“Do Jesus, Ellie, I heard you the first time.” My grandmother sighs again. “Now hush up before you start wearing on my nerves. Hayes, if you’re going out, make sure you’re at 404 Habersham by one forty-five. I know you have a tendency to lollygag, and it will not do for you to be late for your first League meeting.”

“But I’m never—”

“Don’t back-talk me, miss. We need you focused today. All eyes will be watching you as the most promising young Magnolia we have, and I expect you not to disappoint me.”

My cheeks go red. “I won’t.”

“Because your mother is not entirely wrong, you know. Even a broken clock is right twice a day. Magnolia League membership isn’t a given. Not forever. You have to continue to earn your spot.”

“I—”

“So you take that seriously, yes?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Because without the League, you’d be nothing.”

I swallow hard and nod.

“All right. One forty-five, Hayes.”

She turns her back to me as she reaches for the pitcher, indicating that this conversation is over. Seizing the opportunity, I smile at her and my mother and slip out the door before they can start squabbling again.



My grandmother—who discovered Alex’s ill-advised plan to put a Come With Me, Boy on my poor brother, Thad—has advised me to sever all ties with my new friend other than unavoidable Magnolia business. Sybil is a wise woman, correct on just about everything besides the color peach and Michael Bolton, and it’s true that Alex has pulled some less-than-savory moves. She attempted to dose my brother with that love spell, she lied to Madison, she deceived me, and recently she’s inexplicably started acting like some kind of super-perfect League member. I mean—what? She just got here.

But the bottom line is that Alex is a Magnolia sister. I believe in a lot of things—God, our country, the concept that y’all is the correct and most polite way to address a group of people—but above all, I believe in the League. My membership has given me everything I’ve ever wanted. I’m pretty, I’m popular at school, I basically have no problems, and I’m dating a gorgeous boy. If I were just me, well, who even knows what I’d be?

Winter in Savannah is truly amazing. The cold air takes the edge off the swampy breezes, and people can actually walk a few blocks without being drenched in perspiration. Everyone is always out in the parks no matter what the weather, but especially on a day like today. Several of the local ladies have taken the opportunity to celebrate the mid-fifties temperature by dressing their dogs in sweet little sweaters that match their own coats.

The only item on my morning agenda is a Christmas gift return. Jason gave me a book on golf. Golf! At first I thought it was strange but cute that he would give me a book on the sport he likes to play. Then I realized he was regifting me! Which is why I am nipping by to see the reasonable ladies at E. Shaver’s to do a little exchange. Madame Bovary, bien sûr.

The rate at which my hoodoo love charm is wearing off Jason is alarming. I had to dose him for flirting with another girl, and the result was, well, annoying. He always wanted to kiss me, always wanted to be around. But now he’s treating me in a totally second-rate manner, which will not do. As soon as this Magnolia meeting is over, I have to speak to Sam or Sina about another batch.

After purchasing my book, I make my way up through Madison Square to my favorite part of Savannah—Broughton Street, a lovely stretch a few blocks from the river just packed full of the cutest little shops and cafés, not to mention Leopold’s Ice Cream. I start off my morning with a chocolate brownie sundae, complete with butterscotch, whipped cream, and candied pecans, then make my way to my favorite boutiques—Copper Penny for shoes, James Gunn for cocktail dresses. Then, before going into BleuBelle’s to see what’s new, I pause to catch my reflection in a store window. It’s always good to keep an eye on things. My hair, which Sybil had me conjure as long and blonde, is radiant from the Ever-Shine, and the Calorie Canaries seem to have been working overtime, because I’m looking even trimmer than usual. As for my complexion, I’ve kept up the deer-tick paste regimen Sina prescribed and, I have to say, despite the concoction’s disgusting texture, it’s cleared every blemish from my face, as promised. I am a Buzzard-created beauty, head to toe.

“Hayes!”

I whirl around. It’s Anna, in all-new Christmas clothes.

“Hey, Anna! How was your holiday, sweetie?”

“Great! My dad got me a Vespa. It’s super cute. You should come for a ride.”

“Does it have a matching helmet?”

“Helmet? Who wants helmet hair? Besides, I’m a good driver.”

I’ve seen Anna drive, and she’s like a squirrel on Adderall behind the wheel, but it’s not my place to judge. Alex and Madison make fun of Anna enough, calling her Orang-Anna, a reference to her ill-advised self-tanning routine.

“Well, be careful.”

“So, what’s the gossip?”

I’ve always liked Anna, but according to my mother, her family is complete New Money, and my grandmother has pointed out on several occasions that they’re not even really Southern. She claims Anna was born in Delaware or something. Still, Anna prides herself on knowing everything before anyone else does. She’s not all bad.

“Oh, Anna, you know I don’t gossip!”

“And you call yourself a Southerner. Well, the whole school is talking about your friend Alex.”

What? “Why?”

“First she comes to town looking like something that crawled out of one of those natural, organic food barns. Then she gets it together and lands your superhot brother. Then she dumps him—I mean, your brother! And we’re all sitting around thinking that she totally blew her social life, doing that, but it’s like… she’s, like, doing this phoenix-rising-from-the-ashes thing, you know? I mean, she’s everywhere around town over vacation—every ball, every wedding, every charity event—right at her grandmother’s side. Everyone’s just waiting to see who she lands next, and what she’ll do. Did you see that thing on her in ‘Savannah Seen’? It’s, like, she’s only sixteen, you know, and she’s the biggest thing the Magnolia League has ever turned out.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

“Not as far as I can tell. And you don’t have any inside dirt on why she gave Thad the boot?”

I bristle. I may have my issues with Alex, but we’re both in the League, and that means something. It means Alex and Madison will always have my back and I will always have theirs. If I can’t trust that, then what is the League but a bunch of gossipy old ladies?

“No, Anna. Because, really, it’s none of my business.”

“The heartache of your brother and your best friend? I mean, Hayes, if it’s not your business, then whose business is it?”

She has a point. But still…

“Anna, I just can’t say any more. Magnolia loyalty. You understand.”

Anna nods. “I get it. Although what I don’t get, Hayesie, is why you bother keeping up with that League stuff. It made sense when you were obviously going to be the head of it. But what if Alex changes it all around? I mean, her grandmother has been running it forever, and obviously Alex is going to be in charge next. Where does that leave you?”

My heart hammers inside my chest as I think of my grandmother’s words this morning: Without the League, you’re nothing.

“I guess you have Jason.”

“Oh yes,” I answer, grimly thinking of his halfhearted presentation of Swing Now! wrapped in newspaper at our Christmas tea. “Anna, it’s so sweet of you to be concerned for me, but I’ve got to go. Important Magnolia meeting this afternoon. I’ll see you in school, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, with what I can’t help seeing as a crafty smile as she saunters off. It’s all I can do to run into BleuBelle’s and have Damien show me the latest clothes that fall within the River School dress code. Shopping always helps, of course. After a few outfits I’m barely thinking about Anna anymore.

But really… what if she’s right?



On the first Satur. . .