Page 27 of The Baker and the Wolf

We crouch in the shadows beside an old building. Beside me, Barbaro sniffs the air, listens so hard he might pull an ear muscle if that were possible, and stares holes into the darkness. At last he grips my elbow, and we leap into a run toward the office door. But instead of running straight to it, he pulls me aside into his work area, where we crouch beside the forge. At least it’s a warm hiding place.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper. “You’re coming in with me, aren’t you? You can’t mean to stay behind and fight this thing!”

After a tense silence, I hear him blow out a deep breath. “I’ll escort you to the cottage. But, Cerise, there’s something I haven’t told you.”

Hearing dread in his voice, I brace for the worst. But what could possibly be worse than what I already know?

“My mother—” His voice cracks. He swallows hard and tries again. “I . . . I inherited her magic as well as my father’s.”

I give my head a little shake. “I inherited magic from both my parents too.”

“No, I—”

A sound like a smith’s hammer on metal rings through the darkness. Barbaro’s hand grips my arm. “It’s coming. We must run.Now.”

I leap into a full sprint beside him.

Reaching the office, we skid to a stop. He opens the door, and I practically fall into the bright winter wonderland, staggering and slipping several steps. I hear him grunt with effort, and the door shuts with a solid thud. “Whew!” I puff for breath, tugging my hood closer around my face and shivering. “We’re safe now, right?”

My feet are once again clad in heavy boots, and gloves warm my hands. I take a moment to look around at the wood, able to appreciate its beauty now that I’m not alone and terrified by its strangeness.

Hearing his soft groan and quick breathing behind me, I turn around. “I assume you’ve let Severina kn—”

First, I see Barbaro’s face lengthen into a black muzzle. Then, his hands transform into paws and land in the snow, and his clothing morphs into shaggy black fur. Shock steals my voice and all thought for some time—maybe a minute, maybe longer.

The wolf stands there in the snow, head and tail lowered, ears flattened, eyes nearly shut, like a dog expecting punishment.

My heart eventually resumes its normal pace, and my brain at least partially unfreezes. After all the insanity of the past few days, what more did I expect? “I . . . well . . . That was . . .” I struggle for a description.Unexpectedwould be accurate but obvious. I settle on “That was something new. To me, I mean.”

The wolf sneezes and shakes itself. Thick fur ripples from its ears to its tail. Black and glossy, like Barbaro’s hair.

ItisBarbaro’s hair . . . Fur.

My mouth just . . . says things: “I’m guessing this is the magic you inherited from your mother.”

Without meeting my gaze, he rolls out his tongue to pant and starts trotting along the packed-snow path ahead of me. “You’re the wolf who saved me from that horrible man in the alley,” I muse aloud, falling in behind him, my boots crunching softly. “You did come when I called. Thank you.”

He doesn’t respond. He probably can’t speak while in wolf form. That mouth wasn’t shaped to form words.

Questions rush through my head, but all of them must wait until he’s capable of answering.

As soon as the cottage comes in sight, the wolf vanishes into the woods. “I’ll see you . . . later,” I call after him, my voice trailing off as I realize I should shut my mouth and think things through.

The fact that I have romantic feelings for a man who’s also a wolf will require thorough thought. At some other time.

Rina somehow knows I’m coming. She pulls me inside and closes the door, wraps me in a warm hug, then holds me away for a deeper look. “What’s happened, Cerise?”

The concern in her voice seems to open a well of sorrows—a terrible sense of lostness floods through me. “I don’t know if I can trustanyone!”

Rina sighs, gazing deep into my heart with sorrow and . . . and a depth of love I hadn’t expected from a grandmére I met only the day before.

“My mother—” I choke up and start sobbing so hard I double over.

“Come and sit down, dear girl.” She draws me into the room, removes my cloak and gloves, and settles me in a warm armchair, all the while soothing me with gentle words that my mind doesn’t register but my soul drinks in.

Kneeling before me, she removes my boots and replaces them with knitted kitty-faced slippers that somehow make me laugh. I sound a bit hysterical, but it relieves more of the pressure.

Soon I sit with a cup of tea in my hands and a plate of my own pastries on a tiny table between our chairs. My heart still aches, but I can breathe without a hitch.

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