Page 28 of The Baker and the Wolf

“What else is wrong, my dear?”

Although the question brings fresh tears to my eyes, I do my best to relate events of the evening before. “My sisters came for dinner, and I told everyone about my visit with you.”

Seeing Rina’s brows rise, I add, “Nothing about magic, of course.”

When she nods, I continue: “Suzette and Charlotte are longing to meet you. After dinner, while Mama was talking with other guests, we girls started sharing stories about Papa, little things we remember. Well, Charlotte doesn’t remember much, since she’s youngest, but she always drinks in our stories. Suzette says it felt like the joy and magic left our home when Papa died.”

“Did your mother hear this?” Rina’s tone and expression are neutral.

“Not that part, but earlier she wanted to know where you are staying—said we should all call on you. I just told her I met you in a quiet place outside town. Later, during the dinner, she reminded us more than once that you and Grandpère are powerful mages who’ve shown no interest in their grandchildren.” I glance up at her with an apologetic smile. “I’m sure you’ve been terribly busy—”

The look of outrage on her face silences me. “No interest in . . .!” She pops out of her chair, extends one hand before her, and mumbles something I don’t quite catch. A paper appears in her hand. She scans it quickly, then hands it to me. “I received this by mail. Ordinary, non-magical mail, that is.”

The paper feels strange in my hand. “But there’s magic here,” I observe. I first look at the signature: Gerard DuBois. My papa. But the magic isn’t his. It’s Charlotte’s. A sense of dread trickles down my spine as Rina watches me with expectation and concern.

Nothing can happen to me with her near, so I read the letter, which lists the reasons why he, Gerard, intends to cut off contact with his parents and raise his children as normal humans with no magical influences. I read the formal closing and signature, then look up at Rina. “Papa would never have written this. He loved you, and he encouraged me and Charlotte to practice our magic. He played magical games with Suzette too, and she loves those memories. Papa wrote a letter telling you that we were coming to see you and to expect us in two weeks. He—”

“We never received such a letter.” Rina’s eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

I shake my head adamantly. “I watched him write it. He was smiling and excited. And I remember exactly when he wrote that letter to you, because it was right before he . . . he died.”

But no, that isn’t right. Why can’t I remember? My head feels fuzzy and dark.

Rina asks, “How did he die?” Her voice is barely a whisper.

When I focus on that question, a terrible pain grips my head. “I can’t . . . I can’t remember. Gisella told us he died in a hunting accident, but I think something else happened.” I rub my forehead with both hands.

“Your memories are blocked,” Rina says.

“Can you find a lost memory?” I ask, peering between my fingers.

“Nose around in your memories? That’s dangerous territory. Only you can do it safely.”

“Oh. Well, I think this is jogging my memory.” I wave the letter in my hand. “This isn’t Papa’s stationery. I remember that after. . .after, Gisella burned his desk and all his things. She told us it made her too sad to see anything that reminded her of him around the house.”

Rina releases a tremulous breath. “Child, it breaks my heart that you girls went through such horror, yet today you’ve removed a terrible burden from my heart. I can hardly wait to share this news with your grandpère. As I told you yesterday, Gerard left home against our will—told us he needed to find himself. He had enough magic and guile to prevent us from finding him. Several years passed before he wrote to tell us that he was married and had three sweet little daughters—and that he was living in Chartreuse, near his father’s ancestral home.”

“He worked as a farrier in the city,” I add quietly. “I loved watching him with horses.”

A little smile touches Rina’s face. “His gifting and his joy. I wish I had understood him better, been more patient and less demanding.” She meets my gaze. “He boasted in that first letter of your magical aptitude.” She sighs. “I have always treasured that letter—the love and kindness in his words. And I cannot express the joy your lovely face now brings to my heart. I look forward to meeting your sisters.”

“They will love you too,” I state with confidence.

She drops her gaze to the letter in my hand, sets her jaw, and nods decisively. “Finish your story of last night. What happened after your sisters went home?”

“Mama tried to make me promise not to visit you again without her there to protect me. She kept trying to touch me, but I avoided her, excused myself, and went up to my room. I checked to make sure my magic was still tucked away safely, then prepared for bed. Mama sent a servant up with warm milk, as she does every night, and—”

“Why? Why the warm milk?”

“She’s done that for years. I had trouble sleeping when I was younger—lots of nightmares.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Rina inserts, her tone dry.

I nod, grimacing a little, but continue, “Now that I must rise early each morning to prepare pastries for the shop, the warm milk helps me sleep.”

When I tell her about Miette’s timely intervention, Rina interrupts, her eyes gleaming. “I knew it! I never wanted to believe ill of your mother, but as soon as I learned of the use of illegal magic in the city of Chartreuse, I feared for you girls and volunteered for the mission. What exactly do you remember upon waking up?”

I tell her everything, and she questions me in detail about the blue flash and the similar magic entwined with my stolen magic in the perimeter fence and gates. “It was Barbaro’s idea to bring my cat home with me,” I add while Rina ponders my account of the night’s adventures.

---