Page 26 of The Baker and the Wolf

“No.” I shake my head while a strange dread comes over me. I want to change the subject, but I can’t. “I know she was in my room last night and stealing my magic, but I didn’t sense her presence in my head like I did when Rina trained me to protect my magic.” I sip my coffee, avoiding his eyes.

His forehead crinkles slightly. “Today, you and I must report what we’ve discovered to Severina.” His tone is grim. “I believe it will fill in those puzzling blanks in our theories.”

Something like panic bubbles up in me, and I glance around. “Couldn’t you tell her my story along with yours? I need to work. I should—”

“The brownies will gladly fill in for you.”

I slide a guilty glance toward the worktables and unexpectedly meet Othen’s direct gaze. “You must talk with the enchantress,” he says.

“We suffer too, Miss Cerise,” Wenna chimed in from her station at the ovens.

“You suffer? How?” I ask in a rush of outrage. “Who would dare oppress brownies?”

They stare at me, eyes wide, but say nothing. I turn back to Barbaro, but he merely holds my gaze. I know the truth: even the brownies are enspelled by this monstrous blue magic.

“I guess I could tell Bernard to have Lizzy run the shop,” I admit.

Just as the words leave my lips, Miette springs to the windowsill beside us and stares out into the darkness. Suddenly, she puffs like a furry pastry and lets out a challenging growl. Barbaro and I both stare from her to the darkness beyond the glass. I can’t see a thing, but Barbaro charges toward the door.

“What did you see?” I ask, too late. The door closes behind him. The brownies stop working, and Miette prowls on the sill, growling deep in her throat.

When I try to follow Barbaro, the cat throws herself in front of me, bristling from her nose to the tip of her tail and snarling. At me. Ears flattened, back arched.

I freeze and swallow hard. “It’s just me, little girl,” I remind her. She replies with language and tones I imagine a banshee might use. Sure, she’s just a little cat, but . . .

I’m working up the courage to try to edge past her when Barbaro steps back inside. The look on his face sets my heart racing. “What? What did you see?”

He barely glances at me, vaults the counter, and pushes through the back door. I hear several male voices, including Bernard’s, raised but not angry.

I begin to feel angry myself. Why will no one but Miette, who’s not exactly articulate, talk to me?

Meanwhile, the brownies resume their work, which is somewhat reassuring. They seem to know more about what’s going on than I do. Possibly more than Barbaro knows.

“What can I do?” I ask, wringing my hands and pacing.

“Put on your cloak and pattens,” Wenna states.

“Why?”

“The weather is cold and damp.” Her tone is cheerfully matter-of-fact. “The shifter will take you to the enchantress.”

“Shifter?” I pause, struggling to think. “You mean to my grandmére?”

“She will know what to do.”

Othen gives me a solemn nod of agreement. Something evil apparently lurks outside, and I can’t help wondering if Rina has any answers worth a run through the streets in the blackest hours with something terrifying at our heels.

Still, I follow Wenna’s advice, and I’m just fastening my cloak when Barbaro returns, looking grim. After a glance at me, he nods, his expression briefly lightening. “Good girl. We must hurry.”

I watch him fling on his coat and hat. “Will we use the back door again?”

“No point in that. Be ready to run for your life if I tell you.” He ushers me outside and hurries me along the street. “We have a chance. I don’t believe it knows where Severina’s door is.”

“What is it? The thing, I mean,” I ask, afraid to look around.

“I think it’s . . .” His voice is almost a growl. “It seems impossible, but I think it’s . . .” He flashes a glance past me. “Hurry!”

I trot along at his side, still ignorant but too frightened to ask again. We frequently duck into alleys and hide in doorways so that he can check our trail, behind and ahead. We take back streets and alleys, a circuitous route to say the least. At this hour, all is shades of darkness to me. I smell the smithy before I see it.

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