Page 23 of The Baker and the Wolf

I can only stand still and stare in wonder at Barbaro, whose eyes seem to light up the night. “She knows her duty.”

“Is she . . . magical?”

He shrugs. “She’s a cat.” As if that’s an answer. “I’ll follow and make certain you reach home safely. Once you’re through the gates, Miette will find her own way into the house.”

“I’ll open my window for her,” I promise.

On the way home I take an even wider circuitous route, enjoying the warm weight of Miette on my shoulders and feeling secure in the certainty that Barbaro is somewhere nearby.

This time, as I approach the mayoral mansion from a different direction, I feel magic in the perimeter fencing. Using my recovered senses, I slip into this new-yet-old way of seeing and instantly perceive the magic that twines in and around the stones and the iron posts. It seems . . . familiar. Just as I reach out to touch it, I realize why and stop. The familiar magic is, or was, mine. However, intermingled with it, anchoring it in place, is a strange . . . something. It must be magic, but it is perceptibly—where I “see” it inside my head, that is—blue. A cold, dark, sinister hue I could never have imagined. It wraps through and around the stolen magic like a parasite, feeding onmypower.

All at once I realize the danger of my position. Whatever this parasitic magic is, the person or thing that controls it lets it feed on me. On my magic.

I’m reluctant to touch the gate, but it opens readily to me, as always. No magical alarms go off. On the other hand, as soon as I step inside the grounds, I keenly feel how this barrier surrounds me. Does it notify the thief every time I step through, in or out?

Miette abruptly hops off my shoulder and vanishes into the nearby shrubbery. As soon as she’s gone, I feel terribly alone. In summer, the mansion has lovely gardens and gazebos and vine-draped trellises; Gisella loves to host garden parties for her society friends.

However, at this time of year the flowers have faded, and the grounds have a dismal, lonely feel. Until I step through the side door near the kitchen, I cling to the comforting thought that Miette is prowling out there somewhere and studiously ignore the fact that she’s only a little tabby cat.

I’ve just slipped out of my pattens and hung up my cloak when my mother bursts into the passage on a wave of flowery scent. At sight of me, she heaves a deep sigh and flings her arms wide. “Where have you been, child? And don’t tell me ‘church.’ Where were you all afternoon?”

I store my empty basket on an overhead shelf, then turn to face her wrath. “I’m sorry if you worried about me, Mama.”

“Gisella,” she inserts, this time without a patient smile.

“I fully intend to explain. Today, I met my grandmère DuBois.”

I hear Gisella suck in a sharp breath. A fraught moment passes.

“Did I hear you say that Grand-mémé DuBois is in Chartreuse?” Charlotte’s voice reaches us from the back stairs, and a moment later my sisters enter behind our mother, crowding the already narrow hall.

Before I can answer, Suzette, my older sister, wraps me in a theatrical hug. “How marvelous, chérie! However did you end up meeting her? Did she send you a message?”

Charlotte exclaims, “You really met her? I’m so jealous! What’s she like?”

They pelt me with questions without giving me time to answer. I really can’t blame them. We’ve all three longed to meet Papa’s relatives for as long as we can remember.

“Well!” Gisella’s facial expressions change so quickly that I can’t keep track. She settles on a patient smile. “I wish you had shared the news. We might all have called upon her.”

“Youwant to call on her?” I blink like an idiot.

“The evil enchantress?” Charlotte adds.

“But you always said—”

“Of course!” Our mother cuts off Suzette, looking hurt and betrayed. “I would be the last person to prevent you girls from knowing your grandparents. They simply never made any effort before. Severina is here alone, is she?” She tsks, shaking her head. “Girls, we all really must visit her, poor thing. She lost her son, and possibly her husband.”

I open my mouth, ready to inform her that Gauthier DuBois is alive and well, but realize I should say as little as possible.

“Now, I don’t mean to assume he’s dead.” She heaves a sigh. “You know, sometimes marriages fall apart. The poor old woman will want to hear all about dear Gerard’s death, I’m sure, and we can take her to visit his gravestone. Is she staying at the hotel?”

“No. I met her in a quiet place outside town.”

“That would explain your dirty cloak and shoes when you came in.” Her gaze drops to my dusty slippers. “You should have already changed for dinner, but it can’t be helped now. Our guests must be introduced to you. One in particular.” She gives me a profound wink, which never bodes well. “Come along now.”

As we dutifully follow her to the parlor, Suzette says, loud enough for anyone in the mansion to hear, “Beware, Cerise: Mama’s on the matrimonial warpath. The man with the huge mustache and bland smile? She’s already earmarked him for you.”

Gisella responds in that patient tone, “Girls, I must insist that you address and speak of me as Gisella. This constant disregard for my wishes is—”

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