Heaven Sent (13 page)

“Umm… I guess I am.” While Aunt Jaz had mentioned both me and Maudrina to Monsieur Perez, it was clear she had neglected to mention
him
to Maudrina. And Maudrina didn’t like it one bit.

“It is indeed a pleasure to meet
you
.” His eyes were on me, keen with interest, as if I were a puzzle he was trying to decipher. The thought that Aunt Jaz had told him about me made me uncomfortable.

“Who are you?” Maudrina demanded.

“Monsieur Perez is a friend,” Aunt Jaz replied, shooting her a quick, side glance for being rude. “Now, which shall it be,” she said, quickly changing the subject, “pineapple upside-down cake, or apple-cheesecake burrito?”

“They both tasted so good. It’s hard to choose,” said Maudrina. She was staring at Monsieur Perez with a rattlesnake’s gaze. I got the feeling she didn’t want to say pineapple upside-down cake—which was my choice—just to spite him.

“It is difficult,” I added for Maudrina’s benefit.

“You two are no help at all,” squawked Aunt Jaz.

“Hello, Jasmine,” a voice called. A severe woman with pinched up features was standing beside the table, a condescending smile on her face.

“Hello, Effie.” No love lost there.

“What’s this?
Two
items. Isn’t that…
cheating
?”

Aunt Jaz shot Effie Pringle a venomous stare. “I knew whatever I baked was going to be very popular, and go very fast, so I brought something extra, just so my fans who arrived late wouldn’t have come all this way for nothing,” she replied, clearly vamping. No way was she going to let Effie in on her strategy for beating her.

“How thoughtful,” Effie said, clearly not buying it. “So, which dessert will be in the contest?” She folded her arms across her chest, over a striking necklace made of shiny black stones.

“Well… It’s umm…” Aunt Jaz looked to me and Maudrina for help.

“The pineapple upside-down cake,” said Guy, gesturing with his head at his empty sample plate. “Hands down.”

Effie Pringle zeroed her condescending gaze on Guy like a laser beam from the Death Star. “Oh, really?” she said, hanging onto the words as if they were a last wish, drawing them out, implying that Guy had made the wrong choice.

“It’s so good,” Guy continued, smiling his smile. If he noticed her deathly gaze or exaggerated
oh
, it didn’t register. “I feel sorry for anyone else who’s in this contest. I hope you don’t have any friends competing, because once the judges taste this masterpiece, the rest of the contestants are out of luck.” His smile widened as he licked the last of the gooey brown sauce from his fork.

“We’ll see about that,” Effie sputtered, and she stormed across the aisle back to her table.

“Thank you for rescuing me, Guy,” said Aunt Jaz, soft, relieved laughter spilling from her lips. “You’re every bit as gallant as Megan said you were.”

“That woman needed to be taken down a peg,” Guy responded.

“Well, now that I’ve made my choice, I’d better hustle over to the judges table and register my cake.”

“I’ll take care of it for you, dear,” Monsieur Perez said, already starting away. “You stay here and entertain your guests.” His smile seemed to relax her. His gaze rested on me momentarily before he started away.

“Thank you, deary.”

Maudrina’s eyes were on Monsieur Perez as he ambled across the floor.

“You and Mr. Perez seem very…” she left the sentence dangling in the air.

“It’s
Monsieur
Perez. And we seem very what?”

Suddenly a small smile found its way onto Maudrina’s lips. “Aunt Jaz and Monsieur Perez sittin’ in a tree...” she began the old schoolgirl chant.

“K-i-s-s-i-n-g,” I added, completing the rhyme.

Silly laughter spilled out of us both. I was glad to see that Maudrina was getting over her dislike of Monsieur Perez.

“You girls have got dirty minds,” said Aunt Jaz, trying to be serious and failing miserably at it. “Monsieur Perez and I are
friends
.”

“A friend you went to all the trouble of baking a pineapple upside-down cake for. You’ve never baked a pineapple upside-down cake for me,” Maudrina continued to tease. She wagged her head back and forth in mock disappointment.

“You two need to stop being so silly. There’s nothing going on between me and Monsieur Perez,” she said, making a second stab at seriousness.

“Uh-huh,” we both said simultaneously. This prompted a huge laugh from Guy.

“He’s here for a special kind of support,” Aunt Jaz said, lowering her voice while eyeing Effie Pringle across the aisle. “That witch has been my nemesis since nineteen eighty-five when she stole my recipe for chili con carne. It’s high time we put a stop to her shenanigans.”

“That’s the second time you’ve called her a witch,” I said.

“She is a witch. A real one.” Aunt Jaz realized she’d raised her voice, and looked around, embarrassed, making sure no one had overheard her. “She beat me out for the blue ribbon last year. I suspect foul play,” she said, sounding mysterious.

I glanced across the aisle at Effie, who was serving a sampling of her cake to a young couple in their twenties. She must have felt my gaze on her because she looked up, catching my eye.

There was a fierceness to her gaze I hadn’t noticed before. Her eyes were brown, with deep blue hoops ringing the edges of her pupils that seemed to set them off from the rest of her angular face. I fought the sudden urge to recoil as she narrowed them at me. Something fired in my belly.

Hatred. I hated her.

I hated Effie Pringle right there on the spot and without warning or reason. A hint of the sticky deliciousness I’d felt that day at Splashtopia warmed my belly. I found myself wanting to race across the floor, claw Effie Pringle’s eyeballs out of her head, and squish them into goo with my hands.

I bet that would wipe the smirk off her face.

“Oh, my!” I muttered softly, coming to my senses.

Effie smiled and nodded, as if she knew just what I had been thinking and welcomed the challenge.

“That’s the reason I brought Monsieur Perez along,” Aunt Jaz continued, dragging my thoughts back to the conversation.

“What do you mean?” I asked, still shaking off the ugly feelings.

“I believe Effie Pringle used dark magic on the judges last year.”

“Aunt Jaz, please! Maybe she baked a better cake than you did. That
is
possible, you know?”

Aunt Jaz shot a venomous eye in Maudrina’s direction. “That may be true,” she said, turning her nose up at the idea. “But I don’t think it is.” She turned back to me. “A while ago, I told you the good magic members of the occult community were supporting you in your battle against Satan. Monsieur Perez is the head of our local chapter. He’s a Shaman, and he’s here with me today to keep an eye on things, and to make sure the person with the best baked good is the person who wins the blue ribbon.” The last part was directed at Maudrina for even thinking that Aunt Jaz could have lost last year’s contest without being cheated.

“Whatever.” Maudrina smirked at the idea that the little old lady across the aisle was a powerful magician.

I knew it was true. I knew when she looked into my eyes that something deep inside of her had spoken to something deep inside of me. It recognized the power in me, and the power in me recognized the power in her. I also knew the look in her eye was a warning that I’d better watch my step—or else.

We looked up to see Monsieur Perez hustling back across the floor toward us, beads of sweat glistening along his forehead. “We’re registered, Jasmine. I got it in just in time,” he called with a grin. He didn’t look like a shaman capable of thwarting a powerful witch. He was just a kind, old gentleman who clearly had a crush on Aunt Jaz.

“Thank you, deary.”

I turned to Guy who was eyeing Effie with a bemused look. “Can we talk?” I asked.

“Sure.”

I made the excuse that we wanted to sample some of the other pastries.

“You’ve already had the best,” said Monsieur Perez. Aunt Jaz beamed at him as we moved away.

“Is something wrong?” Guy asked.

“I don’t know. This thing inside me. My ability. It’s triggered by anger. But I never get angry. At least I never got angry before I acquired the ability. Now there seems to be a rage inside me that can spring up at any time. A few minutes ago, I wanted to claw Effie Pringle’s eyes out.”

His expression shifted from bemusement to a thoughtful, caring one. “The rage you feel is your rage,” he said softly, making no sense at all. “The anger you’ve never displayed is buried inside you.”

My face twisted into a look of disbelief. “Why would I have anger buried inside me?”

“You’re the type of person who doesn’t get angry. You said so yourself. But everyone gets angry sometimes. Right?”

Tiny spires of anger began swirling in my stomach. “Right,” I replied as I bit down on my lip.

“Instead of letting your anger out, you bury it deep in here.” He placed his hand on my chest, his palm over my heart. I had an immediate reaction to his touch, but pushed past it.

“So you’re saying I’ve been saving up this anger all my life?”

He laughed. “I’m sure you’ve gotten angry a few other times since you’ve been alive. I can think of one right off the top of my head.”

My cheeks began to redden. He was talking about the day he’d introduced me to Roxanne outside the gym.

“Yeah. That anger almost cost me everything,” I said, my eyes moving to my shoes. It was too embarrassing to look at him.

He removed his hand from my chest and reached down and grabbed my hand, dangling by my side. “But it didn’t cost you everything. I’m here.” He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

The anger in my belly calmed.

“Your new ability has tapped into your stored-up anger, releasing it. Once we get your abilities under control, these outbursts will more than likely stop.”

“More than likely? That’s not exactly a vote of confidence.”

He lifted my chin with his free hand so that we were eye-to-eye. “I wish I could be more reassuring.” He was so close, I could smell the subtle sweetness of cinnamon wafting off of him. I could feel myself beginning to flush. “The good news is, no matter how things turn out, you will always have me by your side.”

“Thanks,” I croaked, my throat suddenly dry like aged leather. I swallowed hard, trying not to read too much into what he had just said, but I couldn’t help myself. The angel I loved had just told me he’d never leave me. When you hear the words you’ve been longing to hear, it’s hard to ignore them.

“The judges are coming.” A lady standing at a nearby table called, rescuing me from the embarrassment of mumbling some incomprehensible mumbo-jumbo.

Two men and a woman had entered the tent and were making their way to the first table. They each wore the judge’s badges with official looking blue ribbons hanging from them. The woman carried a clipboard. She was about the same age as Aunt Jaz. She wore a white church-lady dress with big blue polka dots.

“We’d better get back. Aunt Jaz will never speak to me again if I’m not clapping and screaming my head off when she wins the blue ribbon.”

“You mean
if
she wins the blue ribbon.” There was a mischievous twinkle in Guy’s eyes. I shot him the stink eye and he laughed. “Just kidding. I’m sure she’ll win.”

The trio of judges stopped by the first table. Each cleared his or her palate with sips of water before picking up the sample plate. They chewed the baked delight thoughtfully, then stepped away and huddled for a few moments. The woman wrote something on the clipboard, and then they moved to the next contestant.

The tent was slowly filling up, as everyone in the fairgrounds tried to squeeze in to see the results of the bake-off. By the time we got back to Aunt Jaz, the temperature in the tent had risen dramatically. It was beginning to feel like we were inside an easy-bake oven.

Monsieur Perez was slumped in Aunt Jaz’s chair. He was sweating heavily, tiny rivulets running down the side of his face. He was a slender man with a tidy paunch around the middle. He mopped the sweat-stained handkerchief along his face.

“Are you all right?” I asked. Maudrina and Aunt Jaz had been busy tidying up the area and hadn’t noticed the change in him until then.

“It’s a wee bit too hot in here for me,” he responded. “But it’s okay. Just need to stay hydrated,” he added, hoisting his water bottle into the air, shaking it to let me know he had things under control. He took a sip of water and smiled.

The judges moved from table to table, chatting politely with the man or woman standing behind the table as they tasted each entry.

“The woman with the clipboard is Darla Prince. She’s been judging this contest since two thousand five when Mylie Jones passed on,” said Aunt Jaz. “The skinny man in the hat is Michael Simmons. He works for Pillsbury. They used to sponsor the event before the economy went bad.” Her tone changed. “I have no idea what Judge Chowdry is doin’ here. He’s new.” She didn’t seem pleased to see him.

“Is something wrong, Jasmine, dear?” asked Monsieur Perez. He was sweating more than when I last looked at him. Perspiration stains had worked their way into the armpits of his jacket. He had loosened his collar and the jacket hung open revealing his saturated shirt.

“That balding fat man in the white shirt and suspenders,” said Aunt Jaz. “He’s Archibald Chowdry, circuit court judge of the fifth district. I also happen to know he smokes a pack a day. He’ll never be able to detect the delicate flavors in my pineapple upside-down cake. Might as well be serving him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for all it matters. Smokers should not be allowed to judge baking contests.”

The judges were working their way, or should I say, eating their way toward us. The closer they got, the more I could feel the mounting tension surrounding our little group. I glanced across the floor to Effie Pringle’s booth. She was standing alone behind the table; a beautiful chocolate-chocolate cake sat on a crystal cake plate in front of her. Her eyes were semi-closed, and she was clutching the black stones that hung low around her neck. Her lips were moving rapidly, as if she were mouthing a prayer… or a spell.