“And ineligible ones,” Carolina quips.
The Warlock busies himself untangling cookie cutters, doing his best to ignore the attention. Far from the safety of his gardens, he’s tried to camouflage his tall presence all morning, to no avail. So far, this community event has conjured even more questions. Ms. Buchanan is plenty old enough to have known his face before he withdrew from town. Even Carolina would’ve seen him; everyone passes through the hospital at some point. I think. Yet it’s like everyone is meeting him for the very first time.
When he doesn’t take the bait, Ms. Buchanan makes me her next target. “Where is the elusive Mayor Frost, sugar? Skipping a Mother’s Day cookie bake? Your mama can’t hide behind her work forever.”
Eva Mae nods in agreement. “Her neighbors hardly see her.”
My heartbeat jackhammers. The Warlock is watching me intently. He frowns.
“She’s incredibly bossy,” I say, stumbling. “Busy, I mean. She and I celebrated Mother’s Day yesterday.” That’s the truth, at least.
My heart clenches with another truth. Watching all these kids baking cookies with their parents, grandmothers… I’m missing my mom extra hard today. Every chef needs her sous-chef.
“Besides, you’d have to make an appointment to visit her office, but her number two is notoriously hard to reach, so I wouldn’t even bother.”
Sorry, Silas.
“Ladies, I reckon we should pay Marigold a visit soon,” Ms. Buchanan declares.
My neck flames up. “Oh, that’s not necessary—”
“That does beg the question,” Eva Mae ponders.
No, no questions begged!
Eva Mae turns to me. “Why doesn’t Marigold just run the Apothakery again? Especially with Arna Jean’s help. She’d probably enjoy the baking more than the politics.”
Too many eyes land on me, blinking with expectation.
Could be the heat of the ovens, or that I can’t remember what I’ve eaten today, or the Warlock’s stare, or this chatter about my mom, who’s dying a little more every day—I’m suddenly hot. Sweating under my apron.
It’s alltoo much. I need a minute.
“That’s the oven timer,” I chirp to the backdrop of absolutely no timer. But before they question my hearing, I bolt toward the AGA.
Taking deep breaths, I busy myself making a fresh pitcher of sweet tea. Slowly, my cheeks cool and the surface of my skin stops fizzing.
Calm yourself, girl.
Momaw’s voice soothes the turmoil in my mind, but only for a moment. She had similar symptoms as my mom, though she was older,already a grandmother. But like me, my mom started managing the shop years before her mom actually passed, ever since Momaw first began declining. How would I survive not having my mom around?
Right now, a cure feels very much like a wish in the dark.
Thyme tickles the back of my tongue.
“This is utter bedlam, Ms. Frost.”
“Bedlamis a strong word,” I say, turning to face the Warlock. The kids are so besotted with his magic now, they’re snapping for fun, mimicking him. “And I’ve told you twice now not to use magic just to create rainbow frosting. We can make that, sir.”
The one rule Ms. Zeen and I agree on is, as it happens, the rule the Warlock is dismal at following.No magic. Not while his curse is supposedly squeezing the life from his body like a voracious juicer. If he expends any magic, it’s for the Manor’s wards.
“The children’s wishes are too small to harm me,” he grumbles in protest. “The cost is minimal. A headache tomorrow, at most.”
Lies. Since splitting my time between the Warlock, my mom’s research, baking for my regulars… I’m fluent in faking energy. Every granted wish leaves him slightly paler, and he needs more and more time between each one. He doesn’t think anyone notices, but I do. If he keeps this up, the thyme smell around me will become permanent. Which wouldn’t be so bad. But still.
“You’re going to exhaust yourself and I need to be able to measure your health when you’re eating my recipes.Withoutcompeting variables.”
However, I can’t deny seeing him show an interest in something other than being a brooding recluse… It feelsgood. Even his gloves were clean this morning, like he put on a fresh pair just for today.
