My fingers tightened around the page. Not after everything she’d fought to reclaim and after she’d only just begun remembering how to feel. And yet, there was likely no other way of breaking my curse. The book slipped shut beneath my trembling hand. I stared down at the worn wolf upon the cover, no longer seeing salvation…only a price I could never ask her to pay.
My heart lurched at the sudden sound of the footsteps I’d grown intimately familiar with upon the stairs. Without thinking, I hastily flipped through the recipe book to find the page, tore it out with a wince, folded it, and shoved it deep into my shirt pocket before hastily returning the book to its cupboard.
The door swung open. Cecelia paused upon seeing me, her head tilted in that thoughtful way of hers that always reminded me of a curious robin.
“Good morning,” I managed, forcing far more cheerfulness into my voice than I felt. Praying she didn’t notice my flare of anxiety, I scrambled for some innocent explanation for why I was standing alone in her kitchen before sunrise. “I was startingto make some oatmeal for us, though I think Nutmeg may have eaten all the dried berries while I was distracted.”
Though I fully intended to follow through with my procured excuse, the page seemed to burn from its hiding place. Now that I knew the price hidden upon it, I found myself looking at her differently—not because she’d changed, but because every quiet kindness I’d admired over the past week suddenly felt infinitely more precious. She deserved to keep every one of them.
Her eyes widened for the briefest moment before something softened within them, gentling her entire expression in a way that sent my heart stumbling. I had the sudden desire to devote myself to discovering how to bring that look to her face. Instead, I’d spent the morning snooping and stealing from her.
I rummaged through the pantry for some oats and honey. Cecelia shook her head. “You’re going to spoil me.” She delivered the words in her usual calm, matter-of-fact tone, yet her eyes seemed brighter than usual, with the faintest hint of a smile lingering at the corners of her mouth. Then, almost imperceptibly, it faltered as her expression dimmed.
The warmth I’d felt through our strange enchantment was gradually giving way to something quieter, an emotion I was afraid to name, but one I was certain she could feel. The page hidden in my pocket pressed like a weight pressing upon my heart.
My pulse quickened. “It’s the least I can do. I’ve imposed upon your hospitality enough already. Besides…” I offered what little truth I safely could. “…I couldn’t sleep.”
“I imagine not, with all that we discovered yesterday.” Her gaze lingered on me another moment, as though trying to solve a map with one crucial landmark missing. “We’ll find a way to break your curse before the full moon.”
The words struck harder than she could possibly know. Only moments ago I would have agreed without hesitation. Now thethought of breaking it filled me with something far worse than endless wandering. It meant asking her to surrender the very heart she’d only just begun reclaiming. My chest tightened.
She tilted her head once more, studying me with quiet concern. “Is something wrong?” For someone convinced she scarcely experienced emotions, she noticed far more than she gave herself credit for.
I’d prepared a dozen careful lies while sneaking around the bakery. Now, standing before those earnest brown eyes, I found I couldn’t utter a single one. I lowered my gaze, unable to bear the kindness and understanding in her expression while the page concealed beneath my pocket seemed heavier than the recipe book itself.
After a moment’s silence, she continued. “If the bakery moves while we’re still connected, you’ll have to travel with us. I’m not sure what would happen with the bond if I move with the bakery and you stay here.”
I frowned. “But what option do we have? We’ve been searching for a solution all week, yet still don’t know how to undo the spell.”
A small noise from near the hearth in the adjoining room caught our attention. We both entered the parlor where Grandmother was easing herself into her rocking chair, her eyes shadowed from a night of poor sleep but her hands already reaching for her knitting. Her thin shoulders drooped and she sighed.
Cecelia stared at her. “Grandmother! You know the cure, don’t you?” But her scolding sounded half-hearted.
The tiny woman seemed to shrink still smaller. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I know how to break the connection.”
She beckoned Cecelia and whispered some instructions. Cecelia disappeared into the back rooms while I still stood,staring in shock at the woman who’d known all along how to untangle this snarl we’d found ourselves in.
Grandmother met my eyes and offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I know I could have spared you some discomfort, but if I broke the spell too soon, I was afraid you and Cecelia would never have the chance to truly get to know each other before this bakery moved.”
Emotions swirled through me, but to my surprise I wasn’t feeling anger or resentment. The unexpected bond that had initially been an enormous inconvenience had gradually morphed into an opportunity to build a friendship like I hadn’t experienced in years. Now that our relationship seemed to be deepening, I couldn’t regret our time of forced closeness.
But then another thought occurred to me. “Did you rig the original recipe to lead me to Cecelia instead of whatever I actually was seeking?” I asked.
Grandmother shook her head vehemently. “No, the spell was true. I just allowed it to do its work rather than interfering. But now it’s time for you and Cecelia to make your own decisions without the influence of magic.”
Cecelia returned to the kitchen holding a small wooden box. “Is this it, Grandmother?”
Grandmother nodded, taking the box from her. “I made these long ago, when I was a new baker and made frequent mistakes with magic. One time I was supposed to bake a muffin that would help a restless child sleep. I somehow made a mistake in mixing the magic and the child fell into an unending sleep. The parents were frantic, of course, and I was horrified at what I’d done. I scoured the recipe book for help and found this recipe for peppermints that could undo enchantments. The mother tucked it into her sleeping son’s mouth and he instantly woke. Incidentally, no one from that village asked for a sleeping cure the rest of the month.” She smiled slightly. “As time went on, Imade fewer mistakes. And when you were young, I watched over you whenever you used magic, so these haven’t been needed in years.”
Cecelia frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t recall seeing that recipe in the book.”
Grandmother shrugged. “The book is magic. It adapts to what is needed. The recipes we use regularly are permanent, but when something is no longer needed, it may disappear.”
Carefully Grandmother drew a white candy, striped with faded pink, out of the box. Cecelia took it from her and offered it to me. I hesitantly lifted it to my lips and was surprised to see that Cecelia looked equally torn. Could it be that she too regretted losing the closeness, the inconvenient intimacy that had upended our lives?
Our gazes met as I put the mint on my tongue. The pungent flavor, undimmed by years, flooded my mouth for a moment, as though it was simply a normal candy. But then I became aware of a stretching sensation, like the candy was tugging something from within me. Cecelia gave a small gasp and took a step towards me, as though she felt it too.
And then, with a pop that I wasn’t sure was audible or just felt, the pulling stopped, like a string had snapped. Instinctively, I reached for the quiet presence that had become as familiar as breathing. There was nothing there. I felt a flood of sadness at the realization.
