Page 2 of Chasing Stripes

Herself at age six, standing on a stepstool beside her mother, learning how to pipe frosting onto cupcakes. Her father creating tiny illusions of butterflies and dragonflies that fluttered around customers while they waited in line. The way the bakery had always smelled like happiness.

Now it smelled... tired. Still good, but faded like a once-vibrant painting left too long in direct sunlight.

The interior confirmed what the exterior had hinted at. Scuffed hardwood floors had lost their shine. The once-gleaming display cases showed signs of hasty repairs, and only three sad-looking muffins occupied the middle shelf. The cozy corner nook where Artemis had done homework after school still had its cushioned window seat, but the upholstery had worn thin in spots.

“I know it’s seen better days,” Tilly said, noticing her expression. “These old bones of mine don’t cooperate with ladders anymore, and hiring help is expensive when you insist on paying living wages—which your parents always did.” She brushed some crumbs from the counter. “That’s part of why I’m so grateful you came. We need your energy. Your vision.”

“We’ll get it back into shape,” Artemis promised, trailing her fingers along the countertop. A spark of fae magic responded to her touch, leaping from her fingertips to dance briefly across the surface. The counter gleamed momentarily where her magic had touched it.

Tilly’s eyebrows rose. “Well, that’s new. Your magic’s gotten stronger.”

“Had to in the city. Competition was fierce.” Artemis shrugged, but couldn’t help a small smile of pride. Her magic had always been strong, but she’d refined it during her time away, learning to channel it with greater precision. “You should see what I can do with pastry cream now.”

“I look forward to the demonstration. But first—” Tilly gestured toward the back. “Tea, conversation, and then we’ll tackle business.”

The back office looked like a paper hurricane had swept through it. Stacks of invoices, receipts, and what appeared to be half-completed order forms covered the desk and had expanded to claim two chairs and most of the filing cabinet tops. Tilly looked sheepish as she cleared a path to the desk.

“Filing system broke down around the same time my reading glasses disappeared. I suspect gremlins, but it might just be my organizational skills waving the white flag.”

“Tilly, this is—” Artemis began, trying to keep the horror from her voice.

“A disaster of epic proportions? A paperwork apocalypse? The reason accountants have nightmares?” Tilly supplied helpfully. “I’m aware, dear. Hence my desperate plea for your return.”

Despite herself, Artemis laughed. This was so typical of her aunt—brilliant with people and baking, but hopeless with administrative tasks. Some things never changed.

Tilly handed Artemis a steaming mug of tea—chamomile with honey and a hint of something magical that made the steam twist into miniature cloud shapes before dissipating.

TWO

“So,” Artemis settled into the one clear chair, cradling the warm mug between her palms. “How bad is it here, really? The bakery, I mean.”

Tilly sank into her own seat with a sigh that seemed to come from her very soul. “We’re keeping afloat, but only just. The regulars still come—loyalty runs deep in Enchanted Falls. But we’ve lost ground to newer establishments. I didn’t have their flair—” she gestured to the photo of Artemis’s parents on the wall, “—for innovation or marketing. Or bookkeeping, evidently.”

The unspoken pain hovered between them—the accident that had claimed both her parents five years ago, leaving Tilly to run the bakery alone while Artemis fled to the city, unable to face the memories.

“I should have come back sooner,” Artemis admitted, the words catching in her throat. “I shouldn’t have left you to handle everything alone.”

“Nonsense,” Tilly’s tone brooked no argument. “You needed to find your own path. Grief doesn’t heal in a straight line, and yours took you away for a while. That’s perfectly all right.” Her eyes twinkled. “Besides, look at you now—a successful bakery owner in your own right! That experience is exactly what Honeycrisp needs.

“Your ancestors chose this precise spot for a reason, you know,” Matilda mentioned. “The original foundation stones were quarried from the mountain where the realms overlap. Some say you can feel the heartbeat of Enchanted Falls itself if you press your ear to the basement floor on a full moon. I always thought that was just old baker’s superstition until your mother showed me otherwise.”

Artemis didn’t mention how she’d sold her city bakery at a loss, too eager to come home to negotiate properly. That conversation could wait.

“So,” she redirected, “tell me about the neighborhood. Any changes I should know about? Feuds? Scandals? Supernatural drama that might affect business?”

Tilly perked up, clearly delighted to share the local gossip. “Oh my, where to start? You know this area sits right on the edge of what folks now call the ‘Borderlands’—that stretch between the Sparkle District and the Fang Quarter.”

“When did we start segregating by species?” Artemis asked, brow furrowing. Growing up, territorial divisions had been informal at most.

“About three years ago. The supernatural population’s grown since you left—refugees from less tolerant communities seeking somewhere that accepts magical folk.” Tilly took a sip of her tea. “The town council decided designated areas would prevent friction. The Sparkle District is primarily for fae and witch-owned businesses, while the Fang Quarter is meant for predator shifters—wolves, big cats, and the like.”

“And we’re...”

“Technically in the Sparkle District, but close enough to the border that it gets complicated. Especially now.”

“Because?”

Tilly’s eyes gleamed with barely suppressed glee. “Because of our new neighbor.”

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