I could only stare at him. Some frantic emotion battered against the walls inside my chest, too tangled and unfamiliar for me to properly name. Yet beneath the confusion lurked one clear and deeply irrational impulse: I didn’t want to help him leave.
The realization frightened me enough that I immediately forced it back down. Of course I would help him. Baking enchanted confections to help others was my purpose, the only reason I believed I had survived when my parents had not. The reason the bakery must have chosen me.
I took a slow, steadying breath. With each exhale, the foreign tightness cinching my chest loosened until only numbness remained once more.“I can bake anything you desire,” I promised. And though I didn’t yet realize it, this single request was about to alter far more than either of us expected.
CHAPTER 5
I can bake anything you desire.
A hush settled briefly between me and my unexpected guest after my declaration, broken only by the steady patter of rain against the windows and the occasional crackle from the hearth. The warmth of the kitchen wrapped around us like a cocoon, sheltering us from the storm-darkened forest beyond the bakery walls.
“But,” I continued, disrupting the silence, “I’ll need to know more about what you’re seeking.”
His current commission remained vague, though that was hardly uncommon. Sometimes this was from shame or hesitance to tell me what they wanted, but most customers struggled to articulate the quiet, aching desires hidden within their hearts. They came seeking courage when what they truly longed for was belonging, or they requested memory charms when what they actually feared was being forgotten.
Usually it only took a bit of prodding and a few carefully chosen questions to uncover the truth beneath the request and guide me towards the proper confection.
Ordinarily I approached this process with detached professionalism. Yet now, seated across from Gabe while rainsoftened the world beyond the windows, I found myself strangely interested in uncovering the mystery hidden beneath his request. Magical confection requests were an opportunity to glimpse a person’s soul, and I couldn’t deny my curiosity to see who this man truly was.
Gabe spoke hesitantly, as if reluctant to follow through with his own request now that it required his secrets. “How many details do you require?”
“As many as it takes to discover the perfect spell.”
I returned to the table where Gabe waited, his gaze fixated on the the recipe book in my arms, curiosity softening the sharp watchfulness usually present in his expression. I held the tome slightly aloft so he could better see it.
The cover was crafted from deep burgundy leather darkened with age, embossed with twisting golden vines that curled across its surface like curls of steam. Tiny gemstones resembling crystallized sugar had been pressed into the corners of the binding, catching the firelight in subtle glimmers.
“Where did you get that?” he asked curiously.
“It’s my family’s heirloom, a book of magical recipes—it’s been in this bakery since long before I was born.”
“And it contains the recipe for my request?”
Though I couldn’t know with certainty until I searched, I still nodded confidently. I had yet to encounter a wish, longing, or problem magic could not somehow address. Surely his mysterious search would prove no different.
His gaze lingered on the recipe book a moment longer before he slowly nodded. I cleared additional space on the table and carefully lowered the heavy book between us. Nutmeg floated down from the rafters to perch atop an overturned teacup while I rested my hand along the spine. The book quivered faintly beneath my touch. Then, with a soft shimmer of gold, the lock clicked open.
Anticipation stirred quietly inside me as it always did whenever I opened the recipe book. Even after all these years, magic still carried the intoxicating promise of possibility. Whatever confection Gabe required, perhaps it would finally steal away these troublesome emotions he’d stirred back to life inside me and return me once more to the comfortable stillness of feeling nothing at all.
I flipped carefully through the thick parchment pages. “What exactly are you hoping the spell will help you find?”
He frowned slightly. “I’m not entirely certain.”
I paused to glance up. “That complicates things.”
His fingers tightened faintly around his teacup as he nodded. “Will that be a problem?”
I considered. “Certain spells need more specifics than others, but all require at least a general direction—a target so that the magic is able to fulfill its intended purpose.”
Though he appeared resigned, it took a long moment for him to gather his courage. Silence stretched while rain whispered against the windows, eventually stirred by his murmur.
“Something—some part of me—is missing.” He hesitated as though searching for the words that would communicate what he felt.
“Is that why you…” I wasn’t sure how to ask the question.
“Get lost?” His lips quirked slightly. “Yes, but it’s more than just a sense of direction when I’m walking. It’s like the entire direction of my life is muddled.”
I tilted my head curiously. “Has it always been this way?”
