Page 6 of Chasing Stripes

The loss still ached, a hollow space in her chest that had never quite filled. In the city, surrounded by strangers and noise, she’d found it easier to push the grief aside, to focus on building something of her own. But here, where memories lingered in every corner, the pain resurfaced with surprising intensity.

Yet alongside the sorrow came determination. Honeycrisp Bakery had been her parents’ dream, their legacy. She wouldn’t let it fade away.

Wiping her eyes, Artemis returned to her inventory with renewed purpose. She’d need to reorganize everything, update their ordering system, source new suppliers for higher-quality ingredients. The mental list grew, challenge and opportunity intertwined.

Later, when the light outside had begun to soften toward evening, Tilly insisted on showing Artemis the apartment more thoroughly, pointing out quirks of the old plumbing and which window tended to stick in humid weather. They settled in the small sitting area with fresh cups of tea, watching as golden-hour sunlight painted the walls.

“Now, there’s one more thing we should discuss,” Tilly said, her tone growing more serious. “The town council.”

Artemis groaned. “Politics. My favorite topic after dental procedures and tax audits.”

“Necessary politics,” Tilly corrected with a smile. “Enchanted Falls has grown in the years you’ve been gone. More supernaturals seeking refuge from human scrutiny means more potential for conflict.”

She explained how the council now included elders from each major supernatural group: Lysander Foxworthy representing foxes, Jinli Leonid for lions, Fenris Stormclaw for wolves, Ursula Stonepelt for bears, Selene Moonlace for fae, Draven Emberwylde for dragons, Tygra Fangcross for tigers, Alaric Nightbourne for vampires, and Willow Waters for witches.

“Each elder advocates for their community’s interests,” Tilly continued. “Which mostly works fine, except when territorial issues arise.”

“Like businesses in the Borderlands?” Artemis guessed.

“Exactly. Some council members—particularly those from traditionally rival species—get nervous when powerful entities establish themselves too close together.” Tilly sipped her tea thoughtfully. “There’s been talk that another fae-run bakery might not belong so near a shifter bar. Nothing concrete, just... murmurs.”

FIVE

Artemis straightened, indignation flaring. “This bakery was here long before any council drew borders on a map. We have every right to operate wherever we want.”

“Of course, we do,” Tilly soothed. “But navigating council politics requires diplomacy, especially when an alpha tiger is involved.” She patted Artemis’s hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry too much. We’ve got friends on the council, and Rust—being mayor—generally keeps things balanced.”

Artemis nodded, filing the information away for future consideration. Another challenge to address, but not her most pressing concern.

“I think I’ll stretch my legs before dinner,” she decided, standing. “Reacquaint myself with downtown.”

“Excellent idea. The evening air is lovely this time of year.”

Enchanted Falls transformed as twilight approached. Magical lights flickered to life along storefronts—not electric bulbs, but captured moonbeams, bottled starlight, and luminescent fairy dust contained in hand-blown glass lanterns. The air grew thick with enchantment, magical currents flowing more freely as day gave way to night.

Artemis strolled down Main Street, taking in the changes since her departure. New shops had opened—Crystal Computing seemed to offer tech support for magically-challenged devices, while Paws & Reflect appeared to be a meditation studio for shifters. The old bookstore had expanded to include a tea room, and what had once been a dusty antique shop now sported a bright facade advertising “Modern Magical Solutions for Everyday Problems.”

Outside Moonstone & Mugwort, a potion shop run by a family of witches, a broom swept the entrance without human assistance. Near the park, a group of children played with balls of harmless foxfire, squealing as the colored flames danced between their fingers without burning. A vampire couple dressed in understated elegance nodded politely as they passed her, heading toward the Crimson Chalice that she’d spotted earlier.

Artemis caught snippets of conversation as she walked:

“—heard the new alpha in town turned down three dinner invitations already?—”

“—wards around that bar are serious business, stronger than anything else in the Borderlands?—”

“—said the mayor’s wife is hosting another game night, and this time they’ve invited?—”

Pausing near the town square, she watched as a street performer—a young satyr with impressive pipes—entertained a small crowd. His music carried subtle enchantment, making listeners tap their feet involuntarily. Artemis dropped a few dollars into his hat, earning a bright smile and a flourish of melody that made her hair lift slightly in a magical breeze.

The comforting familiarity of it all washed over her. This was home—quirky, magical, sometimes complicated, but home, nonetheless. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the casual integration of supernatural elements into everyday life.

In the city, she’d had to hide so much of herself, keeping her fae magic subtle and unexplained to avoid frightening human customers or attracting unwanted attention from supernatural predators looking for easy prey in urban environments.

By the time she circled back to Honeycrisp Bakery, stars had begun to appear in the deepening blue sky. She paused outside, drinking in the sight of the place—worn and in need of love, but full of potential. Through the window, she could see Tilly tidying up, humming to herself as she wiped down counters with practiced efficiency.

Her gaze drifted across the street to Tooth & Claw. Amber-tinted lights glowed inside, though the “Closed” sign remained on the door. Through the large front windows, she glimpsed elegant wooden tables, a long bar topped with polished stone, and shelves lined with bottles that caught the light. Everything about it spoke of careful planning and significant investment—a stark contrast to Honeycrisp’s homey shabbiness.

As she watched, a strange sensation rippled across her skin—like static electricity but warmer, more alive. Her fae magic responded, sending little sparks dancing across her fingertips without her conscious command. The reaction startled her; her magic had never acted independently before, not even during her most emotional moments.

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