Page 4 of The Soulmate Bakery

I know what you’re thinking: does this witch hate herself?

The answer is … maybe? Because it could only be a potent form of self-hatred that led me to volunteer for the fall bake sale. At 6 a.m. On a Saturday. The day after my midnight gallivanting across town.

I dragged myself out of bed at the crack of dawn, uncaring of the noise that echoed through the Reverie household, because Mum was already at work and my sister, Rani, was away at MAC studying magical bookkeeping.

On my way out, I grabbed one of the croissants I’d made early in the week – not charmed or enchanted, yet, and made my way to Main Street. The street ran through the centre of Maple Falls and was marked by a tall clock tower. Every secret magical town has a portal – a way of travelling to and from without needing to reveal ourselves to the mortal world. Maple Falls’ was the clock tower.

Later today, Main Street would be bustling with activity. The bake sale was the annual fundraising event for the Fallen Leaves Festival, which would be happening next month. The festival marked the moment when the leaves of the Firewood Forest that surrounded the town would turn a brilliant gold, before shedding and welcoming the winter. It was a night full of warm drinks, fun stalls and the best doorstep-thick apple-pie slices charmed by Ivy to keep everyone warm well into the night.

For the fall bake sale, the clock tower had been wrapped in purple wisteria enchanted to remain fresh by Flora’s Flowers, a shop run by faerie triplets. Bunting was strung up between lamp posts, and stalls lined either side of the street that were slowly being filled with various goods. Spotting Ivy, I beelined to the stall where my boss stood.

‘Morning, sunshine,’ Ivy said when she saw me, her voice filled with a little too much cheer for this early in the morning. Her star-shaped glasses were a cool purple colour, her cheekbones glittered with iridescent purple highlighter that made the burnished brown of her skin glow.

‘Morning, Ivy,’ I parroted back, trying to infuse my voice with the same enthusiasm but failing miserably. Most of the time, we matched each other’s energy perfectly. But when you’ve had maybe four hours of sleep, and you feel like the inside of your head is made more of cotton than brain, cheeriness is a difficult emotion to emulate.

If Ivy noticed my change in demeanour, she didn’t let on. She was too distracted by ensuring everything from the bakery was in the right place.

‘Tell me where you need me,’ I offered, catching her flighty gaze.

Ivy gave me a grateful look and with a flick of her wrist, she made a box of doughnuts from her stall levitate towards me. The show of effortless, spell-less magic almost made me jealous. Unlike my mum and sister, my magic proficiency started and ended with my kitchen magic. Anything more complicated usually ended in disaster for me.

‘Take these doughnuts to that stall there. Remember, the custard doughnuts are enchanted with a spell intended to soothe any pressing worries, and the lemon-jam ones are for those who want to add a little brightness to their day.’

‘Understood,’ I said, eyeing the doughnut box that was now nestled in my hands.

‘Good.’ Ivy grinned and then reached out to give my shoulder a squeeze. ‘And don’t think I forgot, assistant-of-mine! I’ll make sure to get an accurate count of how many people buy your dreamweaver shortbread.’

In the wave of disappointment following my spectacular failure last night, I had entirely forgotten that one of my creations would be shared with Maple Falls residents today. Ivy’s enthusiasm warmed something inside me, and, for the first time since the night before, I felt a little excited.

I made my way to the stall and placed the box down, before muttering a spell under my breath.

‘Align, arrange and set in order, fill this doughnut case from edge to corner.’

One by one, the doughnuts slid perfectly into place in the case. When the last one found its spot, I felt the tension in my shoulders loosen. An organizational spell like that was meant to be easy, taught to witches at a young age. It wasn’t like the more complicated spells – summoning or healing – or anything that required enchanting or charming someone.

But still it was difficult not to feel that gnawing worry that I was going to cast the spell wrong, especially after last night.

The morning slipped by as Ivy and I finished setting up the stall, spoke about ideas for next week’s menu and what bakes I was cooking up in my culinary magic classes.

Before I knew it, it was time for the bake sale to officially start, and the townsfolk were eager as ever to show their enthusiasm. Soon, I was attending to a line that winded all the way down Main Street.

As the morning went on, my sour mood lifted and I lost myself in the easy repetition of selling the doughnuts, taking money and making small talk. I even served Inspector Vale, who I was pleased to see appeared none the wiser about my late-night excursion.

It was hitting noon, and the line in front of our stall had finally dwindled, when I felt someone familiar sidle up beside me.

‘So, nothing’s changed?’ Raven asked, looking at me warily.

‘Yes, Raven,’ I said patiently, keeping my voice levelled as I replenished our stock. ‘I woke up this morning just like I went to bed last night: still soulmate-less.’

‘But your charmed bakes always work,’ she countered, holding a coffee cup from our local café, Charmed & Toasty.

‘Yes, Raven,’ I replied, pedantically. ‘I also thought I was at least competent in kitchen magic.’

Something in my voice must have caught her attention, because the confusion on my best friend’s face melted into something else. When one sees Raven Hawthorne, they wouldn’t think of the word soft. I know because I’ve heard how people in our school talked about her. A dragon shifter who excelled at spellcasting (especially hexes), and the only daughter of one of the most proficient detectives in Maple Falls, Raven simply looked like someone you didn’t want to mess with. And whenever we stood together, we appeared like opposites.

Like today, for instance, Raven was decked out in a short brown-leather jacket and a dark-brown bodysuit, paired with dragon-scale jeans that matched her fox-like eyes and the scales that actually appeared when she was in dragon form. Next to her – dressed in a white T-shirt, paired with a pink cardigan buttoned only at the top and straight-leg jeans – I resembled … a cupcake.

We looked like two people who shouldn’t have been friends.