Soulfully Sweet

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Soulfully Sweet:
A Cupcake Goddess Short
By Shéa MacLeod


Cupcake Goddess: Soulfully Sweet
COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Shéa MacLeod
Published 2012 by Sunwalker Press, Portland, Oregon
Edited by: Tamra Westberry
Formatted by: Pyper Press
The right of Shéa MacLeod to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons either living or dead is entirely coincidental.


Cupcake Goddess: Soulfully Sweet
"What idiot invented this stupid holiday anyway?" Branwen snarled as the doorbell rang for the third time in as many minutes. She yanked open the door, a half eaten cupcake in one hand. "Whaddya want?"
"Trick or treat!" A chorus of tiny voices called out as little hands held up bags to receive their goodies. Half a dozen pairs of eyes locked onto her cupcake.
"Give me a break, kids. You're not getting my cupcake. And if you think I'm going to give you a treat for spending the last year annoying me, you've got another thing coming." And with that she unceremoniously slammed the door in their faces.
Okay, so maybe she'd been a little mean, but she was the freaking goddess of love and beauty, for crying out loud. It was bad enough she was stuck in some Podunk town with less power than a pixie, thanks to humanity's extremely short memory. She was not about to pander to the whims of the locals.
She'd just settled back on the couch to watch an episode of Storage Wars when yet another knock sounded. Muttering a few choice curses under her breath, Branwen stormed to the door and threw it open. "Listen, you brats, I told you…"
There was no one there.
"What the…Are you brats playing pranks again? I swear I will turn you into toads."
"Oh, don't do that." The voice that came out of the darkness was breathy with a Southern edge.
"Who's there? Answer me," Branwen demanded.
"Have you forgotten me so soon?" The hollowness of the voice almost sounded like…like it had no body.
A memory flashed through Branwen's mind. A trip to Kentucky nearly a century ago. A woman in a blue summer dress. A terrible accident. A ghost begging to return to the living.
Branwen very nearly dropped her cupcake. Instead she smeared frosting across half her face.
"Viola, is that you?"
A face shimmered into view, like a dim reflection on rippling water, followed by the rest of her body. "Yes. You remember."
Branwen sighed. "Of course, I remember." She remembered everyone who came to her for help.
"I've been searching for you for ages. I was trapped in the dark for so long and I couldn't find you." The ghost wrung her pale hands together, her slender body shaking. Branwen wasn't sure if it was fear, nerves, or excitement. She supposed all of the above if the poor thing had been stuck in between for so long.
"Yeah, I moved to Washington," Branwen said, swiping a glob of frosting off her cheek. "I thought I told you to move on. You know, go into the light and all that crap."
"It's not fair. I didn't get a chance to live." Viola's voice held sorrow and anger. Branwen could understand both. The girl had died so very young.
"I'm sorry, Viola, but the whole life and death business is way above my pay grade. There's nothing I can do but tell you to get going. You don't belong on this side anymore."
"Please, Branwen. You must be able to do something."
"I can't."
"I'm not leaving until you do." Viola stomped her foot which promptly sank through the floor. With a snort of disgust, the ghost yanked her foot out, making a slight sucking sound.
Great. She had a stubborn ghost on her hands. The last thing she needed was some Southern belle haunting her for the rest of eternity.
Branwen sighed. "All right. Let me send a letter to Headquarters. Maybe I can convince them to do something."
Viola smiled. "Excellent. I'll wait." Her image shimmered and disappeared, but Branwen had no doubt the ghost of the dead girl would stick nice and close.
As she powered up her laptop, she ran through her options. Normally she'd just send a text, but this was a more complicated and delicate situation. She needed to make sure HQ understood what was at stake. Mainly, her ass being haunted.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. What to say? Inspiration struck and with a smile, Branwen pounded out a quick email explaining the situation and her suggestion for action.
Within minutes she had her answer:
You have 24 hours
Branwen smiled. That was all she needed.
***
Branwen sat in the dark, surrounded by