But if she shifted her gaze just an inch to the left, the sense of peace and tranquility broke into a million pieces. Trucks and trailers had invaded the grounds, large tents were already in place, and she could see electricians and carpenters and painters at work on the twelve cooking stations. As the star judge of the wildly popular TV series The Great British Baking Contest, Elspeth Peach liked to cast her discerning eye over the setup to make sure that everything was perfect.
When the reality show became a hit, Elspeth Peach had been rocketed to a household name. She’d have been just as happy to be left alone in relative obscurity, writing cookbooks and devising new recipes. When she’d first agreed to judge amateur bakers, she’d imagined a tiny production watched only by serious foodies, and with a limited run. Had she known the show would become an international success, she never would have agreed to become so public a figure. Because Elspeth Peach had an important secret to keep. She was an excellent baker, but she was an even better witch.
Elspeth had made a foolish mistake. Baking made her happy, and she wanted to spread some of that joy to others. But she never envisaged how popular the series would become or how closely she’d be scrutinized by The British Witches Council, the governing body of witches in the UK. The council wielded great power, and any witch who didn’t follow the rules was punished.
When she’d been unknown, she’d been able to fudge the borders of rule-following a bit. She always obeyed the main tenet of a white witch—do no harm. However, she wasn’t so good at the dictates about not interfering with mortals without good reason. Now, she knew she was being watched very carefully, and she’d have to be vigilant. Still, as nervous as she was about her own position, she was more worried about her brand-new co-host.
Jonathon Pine was another famous British baker. His cookbooks rivaled hers in popularity and sales, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he’d been chosen as her co-judge. Except that Jonathon was also a witch.
She’d argued passionately against the council’s decision to have him as her co-judge, but it was no good. She was stuck with him. And that put the only cloud in the blue sky of this lovely day.
To her surprise, she saw Jonathon approaching her. She’d imagined he’d be the type to turn up a minute before cameras began rolling. He was an attractive man of about fifty with sparkling blue eyes and thick, dark hair. However, at this moment he looked sheepish, more like a sulky boy than a baking celebrity. Her innate empathy led her to get right to the issue that was obviously bothering him, and since she was at least twenty years his senior, she said in a motherly tone, “Has somebody been a naughty witch?”
He met her gaze then. “You know I have. I’m sorry, Elspeth. The council says I have to do this show.” He poked at a stone with the toe of his signature cowboy boot—one of his affectations, along with the blue shirts he always wore to bring out the color of his admittedly very pretty eyes.
“But how are you going to manage it?”
“I’m hoping you’ll help me.”
She shook her head at him. “Five best-selling books and a consultant to how many bakeries and restaurants? What were you thinking?”
He jutted out his bottom lip. “It started as a bit of a lark, but things got out of control. I became addicted to the fame.”
“But you know we’re not allowed to use our magic for personal gain.”
He’d dug out the stone now with the toe of his boot, and his attention dropped to the divot he’d made in the lawn. “I know, I know. It all started innocently enough. This woman I met said no man can bake a proper scone. Well, I decided to show her that wasn’t true by baking her the best scone she’d ever tasted. All right, I used a spell, since I couldn’t bake a scone or anything else, for that matter. But it was a matter of principle. And then one thing led to another.”
“Tell me the truth, Jonathon. Can you bake at all? Without using magic, I mean.”
A worm crawled lazily across the exposed dirt, and he followed its path. She found herself watching the slow, curling brown body too, hoping. Finally, he admitted, “I can’t boil water.”
She could see that the council had come up with the perfect punishment for him by making the man who couldn’t bake a celebrity judge. He was going to be publicly humiliated. But, unfortunately, so was she.
He groaned. “If only I’d said no to that first book deal. That’s when the real trouble started.”
Privately, she thought it was when he magicked a scone into being. It was too easy to become addicted to praise and far too easy to slip into inappropriate uses of magic. One bad move could snowball into catastrophe. And now look where they were.
When he raised his blue eyes to meet hers, he looked quite desperate. “The council told me I had to learn how to bake and come and do this show without using any magic at all.” He sighed. “Or else.”
“Or else?” Her eyes squinted as though the sun were blinding her, but really she dreaded the answer.
He lowered his voice. “Banishment.”
She took a sharp breath. “As bad as that?”
He nodded. “And you’re not entirely innocent either, you know. They told me you’ve been handing out your magic like it’s warm milk and cuddles. You’ve got to stop, Elspeth, or it’s banishment for you, too.”
She swallowed. Her heart pounded. She couldn’t believe the council had sent her a message via Jonathon rather than calling her in themselves. She’d never used her magic for personal gain, as Jonathon
