“Perfect,” I assured him, biting my lip to keep from laughing.
I fished out the shards and sifted flour into a light veil, sprinkling it over the cauldron where water and butter simmered. As soon as I added the matcha, the powder unfurled into frothy swirls. The grimoire trembled again, and a new line of ink etched itself:
Pistachio cream: Crush the pistachios gently, as if awakening old memories. Toast them slowly until they glimmer with golden-green warmth. Whip them into a velvety cream.
I grabbed a mortar and poured in the pistachios, rolling them under the weight of the pestle. Éclair, delighted with his new mission, seized a whisk and plunged it into the cream. Splashes flew into the air, some even landing on the ceiling.
“Slower,” I laughed, retrieving the whisk. “Think of Aignan when you do it. Gentle.”
The choux dough finally rested on the counter, ready to be piped.
“Pipe the dough in circles, crowns, binding souls together. Bake them until they turn golden. Fill each crown with pistachio cream and dust them with sucre d'or and a pinch of four-leaf clover, for lasting bonds.”
I shaped perfect rings of dough, their golden spirals taking form on the tray. The kitchen hummed softly, as if singing along with me. As night fell, the house slowly turned northward toward the lake. A gong resonated in the distance. The Spirits were waking. It was dinnertime for them.
I placed the last clover atop the tray of choux and handed it to Éclair. “Would you take these to the Spirits, please?”
I knew they were greedy. And maybe most had never tasted sweets infused with the sucre d'or. Éclair nodded solemnly and shuffled toward the garden, the tray wobbling dangerously in his hands. He waited.
Shadows flitted among the trees, but none approached. Only one Spirit passed by—the orchard boy. He followed his usual path, drifting through Éclair like a breeze.
“Do you like sugarplums?” I shouted from the window.
They were made of sugar, fruits, and spice. The child paused for a moment, then ignored me. I hadn’t forgotten my promise. To make a sweet just for him.
I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, bits of dough still stuck to my cheek. I set aside a few choux for Chouquette. Aignan had returned, sitting now in the grass and staring at the sky. The ceiling cracked. I picked up a choux and placed it in a cloth, right beneath the fissure.
“You’ll have to overcome your shyness if you want to eat too. This one’s for you,” I told it, though perhaps I’d lost my mind.
The night air brushed my skin as I climbed out the window to join Aignan, settling beside him against the kitchen wall. Tonight, the mist was thin and the stars brilliant.
Arawn must be in a good mood.
I handed him a pastry. “You wandered outside all day. You need to eat. It’s to make up for my uselessness.”
Aignan didn’t lower his eyes. He stretched out a paw, grabbed the Forest Crown, and swallowed it in a single bite.
“You’re not that useless,” he said. “You know, back when I was still a sorcerer’s test subject, Nyla sat with me every night to watch the stars. At Bois-Joli, you rarely saw them, but there… they were dazzling. My favorite was the Big Dipper.”
My eyes widened. It was rare for Aignan to open up. “The one shaped like a ladle?”
He nodded. “And here I thought you were ignorant. Nyla used to say that when a star shot across the sky, it meant a soul was at peace. So I wait. I hope to see one someday.”
I let his words drift between us, fragile as a wish you don’t dare disturb. I looked up at the sky, where constellations glowed in tranquil light.
“Nyla made me feel… important,” he said. “She didn’t see me as a pathetic Cursed, magicless, or a failed experiment. She said I had a special gift. That I was meant to protect. It may have been a lie, but she believed that as long as someone watched the stars for her, she’d live on a little longer. So I can do that for her.”
I stroked his fur with tenderness. “You’re our lucky star, Aignan. You shine too.”
He sniffed and bit into another pastry with feigned indifference. His little furry chest puffed out. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just an exceptional lamb. And you’re just an ordinary human despite your weird curse.”
I smiled. “And that’s fine with me. Being ordinary, as long as I have all of you… that’s enough.”
I kissed his muzzle before tasting my own pastry. The crisp shell broke beneath my teeth, revealing a heart of silky cream.
“This reminds me of when I was sick,” I said with a laugh. “Nyla made me a guimauve shaped like you. You sulked for a week because you thought it was too ugly to resemble you.”
“In hindsight, I’m sure you were the one who drew that monstrosity,” he growled. “And for the last time, I donothave a big nose or a fat belly!”
