Page 22 of The Baker and the Wolf

“No, I intend to request help from a guardian who can easily slip past the magical barrier.” He offers his arm, and I take it without realizing until we’re walking along the path back toward the city center. What guard could possibly help? The bakers have magic, so they can’t sneak past any barrier either.

“A brownie?” I guess. Even as the words leave my lips, a memory pops into my head. A tiny woman smiling up at me, her dark eyes bright with affection and pride. “Wenna!”

“You remember her?” Barbaro sounds pleased. “And Othen?”

“Yes, Othen,” I murmur. He seldom interacted with me like Wenna did, but I remember his short, grizzled hair and the gap between his front teeth when he smiled, which was a rare sight. “He never talked much.”

“He still doesn’t, but he likes you. They will be delighted that you can see them again. But in answer to your question, no. Although I expect the brownies might avoid detection, they will never leave the bakery.”

“Then who?” I ask in frustration. “Miette?”

“Yes.”

I stop at an intersection of paths, dragging him to a halt. “You’re not serious. A cat?”

His smile flashes briefly. “A cat.”

Before I can question his sanity, he says, “The bakery is watched, I’m certain. I don’t yet understand quite how it’s being done, but I have sensed irregular magic around the city square, so we’ll split up here, use side streets to avoid that area, and meet at the shop’s back door. Your red cloak is difficult to see in the dark, and the ward on it prevents men from noticing you—all to our benefit.”

His urgency convinces me this is no joke. “I’ll go left.”

He nods . . . and vanishes into the shadows. Alone in the forest, I draw a quivering breath, pull my hood down over my face, and start walking. I know the paths and streets, so it’s easy enough to make my way far around the city square and arrive in the bakery’s back courtyard. I’m more relieved than surprised when Barbaro emerges from the shadows into the light of a full moon. “I’ll wait for you here,” he says. “Someone is working inside.”

“Probably Bernard, prepping for tomorrow. He supposedly lives upstairs, but everyone knows the bakery is his real home.” I unlock the door and enter the back hall, calling, “It’s me, Bernard.”

“Is anything wrong, Cerise?” He steps out of a storeroom, his face streaked with flour. “I’m just doing inventory.”

“Thank you! I nearly forgot about it this month. Nothing’s wrong. I’m just here to pick up something I need tonight. And no, it’s not a pastry.”

He chuckles. “You could stand to eat more of your pastries, petite.” Still smiling, he returns to his labor, and I head for the shop. Miette might be anywhere—for mousing purposes, she has free access to every room at night—but I find her perched atop the display case, her amber eyes bright, as if she’s been waiting for me. She lifts her chin and trills a greeting.

Only then do I notice the brownies, one of them standing on a stool beside a worktable to crack an egg into a bowl, the other removing a tray of biscotti from the big oven.

“Wenna! Othen!”

They turn to me, eyes wide, mouths dropping open. “Cerise!” Wenna cries. “You can see us!”

The tiny woman hops off the stool and runs to me. The top of her head only reaches my knee, but when I kneel to return her hug, I feel startling strength in her small arms.

“Miette already told us why you’re here tonight,” she says, smiling from ear to ear.

“How did she know?” I ask in wonder.

Wenna shrugs. “We mustn’t get behind on our work now, but in the morning we’ll be eager to hear everything! You go on now—don’t keephimwaiting.” She pats my arm.

Thus dismissed, I merely smile and wave at Othen, who nods in return from his stepstool, then closes the creaky oven door, balancing the hot tray easily with one mitted hand.

Scrambling to my feet, I ask Miette, “You don’t mind coming home with me tonight? Barbaro says I need you to guard me.” I’ve always spoken to the cat as though she understands me, and now I know she does. Still, I’m surprised when she hops down, rushes to rub around my ankles, then leads the way through the main bakery room and down the hall.

“See you in the morning, Bernard,” I call in passing.

“Bright and early,” he answers in his usual way.

Since I first found Miette, a skinny, bedraggled kitten crying at this very back door, I’ve never seen her step outside. She’s never once tried to escape. But now, as I open the door, she trots through, runs straight to Barbaro, and polishes his boots with her sleek sides.

“I saw the brownies,” I tell him.

“Of course.” After an approving glance at me, he says something to Miette. She responds with one of her head-bobbing trills, then returns to me and leaps from the ground into my arms. From there, she slips around the back of my neck, under my hood. I never once feel her claws.

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