Page 25 of The Baker and the Wolf

I will never call her my mother again.

Sleep is impossible. Every time I start to doze off, I think I hearGisella sneak into the room.

When I sit up and light my candle, Miette gives a sweet little “mrrrrrr” and stretches her toes.

“I might as well get dressed,” I tell her. And once I do that, I might as well head to the bakery an hour or two early. So what if it’s the middle of the night? I’ve got my man-warding cloak—a blessing after all. Also, my lethal tabby weapon is close at hand. Last but not least, I still have my magic. For all the good that’ll do me.

I’m expert at slipping quietly out of the house before dawn, and this walk through the park feels much like any other dark morning. Except for the cat riding on my shoulders. And I’m more awake than usual, my mind running in circles.

The perimeter fence will notify Gisella that I left the property. What will she do?

I’ve just glimpsed light ahead when Miette leaps from my shoulder to the ground, and a human form emerges from the trees into my path. “Cerise, it’s me,” it whispers.

My mouth, open to scream, snaps shut. “Do you spend the night here?” I ask in a hushed tone, approaching close enough to see his face.

“I sensed your approach. What happened?”

Before I can respond, he stiffens, alert, as if cocking his ear at a noise behind him, then shakes his head at me and leans in close to whisper. “Walk to the bakery and talk to your statue like usual. I’ll meet you inside the shop.” Before I can speak, he vanishes into the darkness.

I do my best. Statues, shrubs, and benches are silhouetted against the streetlights as I cross the street to the city square. I approach the plinth and pause to rub Grandpère Christophe’s foot like usual. “Sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I couldn’t sleep so figured I’d come early and bake more pastries.” Then I cross the empty street to the bakery, pull out my key, and realize I’m shaking like a dog in a thunderstorm. I try three times before the key goes into the lock.

Once I step inside and the door clicks shut, familiar scents and sights reach my senses, and my heartrate begins to slow.

“You’re safe now, Cerise,” Barbaro says, his breath warm on my ear. Instead of startling me, his closeness floods me with memories of yesterday. I never once wonder how he got inside the shop. He’s . . . magical.

But as he steps around from behind me, I wonder how I had the courage, the audacity, to kiss this frighteningly handsome and reputedly nefarious man. I also know I would do it again, given opportunity. Probably a good thing we currently have an audience.

Miette trots across the room to greet Othen and Wenna, who are both still hard at work. Othen scarcely looks up, focused as he is on rolling a block of butter flat, but Wenna pauses with a tray of madeleines in hand to greet us. “Good morning, Cerise and Barbaro.”

“Good morning.” I glance at Barbaro. “They won’t finish for another hour or two.”

“We can talk safely here.” He nods toward Miette, who crouches in one corner of the room, her gaze fixed on something I can’t see. “She’ll let us know if trouble approaches.”

Relaxing slightly, I let him take my cloak and hang it beside his coat and hat. He then leads me to his usual table and pulls out a chair. “Coffee?”

“Yes, but I’ll make it. I know where everything—”

“No need.” He sets a cup of steaming brew before me. “The way my mother used to make it—hot and very sweet.”

Mother. He hardly knew his mother, yet he sounds fond of her.

I stare at the cup, which is thick, brightly painted, and has no handle. “If you can produce this out of thin air, why do you bother ordering coffee from me?” I ask, taking it between my hands. Its warmth is soothing. Hardly realizing what I’m doing, I sit down and breathe in the rich aroma.

He sits across from me. “I enjoy your coffee. But this”—he indicates my cup and another that just appeared in his hand—“will keep us awake and alert for hours.”

I feel my mouth curve easily into a smile, and my gaze rises from his cup to study his long nose and the thick black lashes and brows that frame his amazing eyes. Then I scan his high cheekbones, smooth brown skin, and full lips. He studies my face in turn, and I suddenly feel warm to my toes. Does he really find me attractive?

“Tell me,” he says quietly.

So I relate everything that happened to me since we parted last evening, keeping my composure until I reach the part when Miette woke me . . . and then my hands and voice start shaking. “The blue light in my head was exactly like what I saw in the fence around the mayoral mansion. Same color, same weird sensation . . .” I shudder again. “Do you know what it is?”

“We have theories.” He gives me an apologetic look. “That magic is what first brought us here. Traces of it appear around the city, but we’ve not yet officially identified the source.”

I frown. “Whatever that magic is, tonight it was in my head while my magic was being stolen. If not for Miette, I might have lost everything again.”

He simply listens while I relate what I experienced—at least, what I can remember of it and find words to describe. “Just thinking about that light makes me feel ill and shaky. There was this sudden flash of it . . .” I frown, trying to process what I sensed. “When I woke up, it sort of slid out of my head and into something . . .” I pause. “Maybe my mother? But it wasn’t like Rina’s magic or mine.”

“Have you ever sensed your mother’s magic?”

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