Page 25 of Chasing Stripes

Bartek’s posture shifted subtly—his spine straightening, shoulders squaring. The movement seemed unconscious, instinctive. “When did it disappear?”

“I noticed it missing three days ago, but based on what we just learned, it could have been taken last week.” She ran a hand through her hair, dislodging more strands from her already messy bun. “A woman who helped with inventory—Pandora Hurley—saw someone examining it closely before it vanished. Thaddeus Dartmouth.”

Recognition flashed across Bartek’s face. “Tall guy? Dark suits? Comes in for whiskey but barely touches it?”

“That’s him. You know him?”

“Not well. He’s approached me about investing in Tooth & Claw several times. Something about him never felt right.” Bartek set down his untouched coffee. “Tygra Fangcross mentioned him at the last council meeting. He’s been asking unusual questions about town history, clan territories.”

“And you’re just mentioning this now?” Artemis felt a flare of irritation.

“I didn’t realize it was connected to you,” he replied, his voice level but with an undercurrent of tension. “Until this moment.”

Their eyes locked in silent challenge. The space between them crackled with something that wasn’t quite anger—something far more complicated and significantly more dangerous.

A bowl of sugar packets near Artemis’s elbow began to vibrate. One by one, the packets rose into the air, forming a slowly rotating circle above the counter.

Bartek’s gaze flicked to the floating sugar, then back to her face. One corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Happens often?”

TWENTY-TWO

Artemis exhaled slowly, willing the packets back down. They settled with a gentle rustle. “Only recently,” she admitted. “Since yesterday, actually.”

“Since we met,” he observed, his voice dropping to a register that rumbled rather than spoke.

Heat bloomed in her chest, spreading upward to her cheeks. “Coincidence.”

“Is it?” He leaned forward slightly, narrowing the gap between them. “Because my claws have been trying to emerge all morning. Every time I think about?—”

Tilly emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray of the glowing pink cinnamon rolls.

“Oh good, you two are getting acquainted,” she said brightly as if she hadn’t orchestrated the entire meeting. “Bartek, you simply must try these. Artemis created them this morning. They’re quite special.”

“Aunt Tilly!” Artemis protested. “They’re just strawberry cinnamon rolls.”

“With a touch of fae magic,” Tilly added, setting the tray on the counter. “In the old recipes, pink-glowing pastries revealed compatible magical energies between people. Fascinating tradition, don’t you think?”

Artemis wanted to sink through the floor. “They glow because I added too much vanilla and got distracted while mixing, not because of some ancient baking tradition.”

“If you say so, dear.” Tilly’s eyes danced with mischief. “Though I distinctly remember your mother making these exact same glowing treats the week she met your father.”

Bartek looked between the women, then at the suspiciously glowing pastries. To Artemis’s mortification, he reached for one without hesitation.

“I never turn down bakery magic,” he said, holding her gaze as he brought the roll to his lips.

He took a bite. The roll glowed brighter, pulsing in perfect sync with the handprints at her waist. For a split second, Artemis could have sworn the amber flecks in his eyes expanded, consuming the brown until they glowed like molten gold.

“These are...” he paused, searching for words, “remarkable.”

“Just a recipe accident,” Artemis insisted, though her racing heart suggested otherwise.

“A delicious accident,” he amended, taking another bite. The connection between them pulled taut, an invisible thread humming with potential energy.

Tilly watched them with undisguised satisfaction. “Well, I’ll leave you two to discuss the festival collaboration. The council will want something special from both establishments, I’m sure.” She started toward the kitchen, then paused. “Oh, and Artemis? Why don’t you show Bartek those special spice blends you created? The ones with the protective properties? Given recent events, his bar might benefit from similar safeguards.”

Before Artemis could protest this transparent attempt to prolong their interaction, the front door flew open with enough force to rattle the bell nearly off its hook.

A tall man in an immaculate dark suit stepped inside. His sharp features arranged in a pleasant smile that didn’t reach his cold gray eyes. The potted herbs in the windowsill visibly wilted as he passed.

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