Page 3 of The Baker and the Wolf

Before I have time to come up with a logical answer, Matthias, our delivery boy, pushes through the door behind me.“Whew! Busy today.”

“It sure is. I thought you’d never get here. How’d things go? Any trouble with the deliveries?”

“Usual, and nope. Monsieur LaRoche even tipped me. Says our bread sells his soups.”

“Kind of him, and I hope so!”

While I count change for a patron, Matthias unloads his delivery takings into the till. “Madame Lafitte wants two dozen more madeleines tomorrow,” he says. “And as many chouquettes as you can spare.”

“Just tomorrow?”

“Nope. Every day from now on.”

I chalk a note of it on the back wall. I’ll have to leave instructions for my . . . helpers. Without thinking, I sneak a sideward glance at my stranger. He smiles, his gaze like warm honey, and I feel as if we are the only two people in the shop.

“Need me to send Lizzy out here?”

I turn blankly to Matthias, who indicates thenearly bare cubbyholes and display bin.

“Oh. Yes. Tell her I need the rest of thepastries and another batch of baguettes. Anything you can find, actually.”

“Got it.”

He vanishes into the adjoining bakery, and the open door admits a yeast-scented wave of heat.A crew labors back there, mixing huge bowls of bread dough,forming loaves of varied shapes and sizes before loading them on paddles and slipping them inand out ofbrick ovens.

They’ve been at it for hours. Bernard, the boulanger, has baked delicious loaves here most of his life. He and his two sons and four grandsons handle all the bread-baking. I create some of the pastries—customers often say my éclairs and chouquettes are the best they’ve ever tasted. But the macarons and madeleines and pies and biscotti happen overnight.

Yes, overnight. A pair of brownies live and work in the family boulangerie. They’ve been here longer than even my grandmère could remember. Since I don’t have magic, I never see them. I thank them aloud every morning when I arrive and see the trays of beautiful pastries waiting, just in case they’re in hearing range.

Yes, it is unnerving to have invisible magical creatures in my shop, but I’m used to it.

Customers keep pouring in. All the cubbyholes and shelves are empty or close to it by the time Lizzy backs through the swinging doorwith a tray of éclairs in each hand, plops them on the counter, andvanishes with a hasty promise to bring bread.

Business is so brisk that I sell the last few baguettes and croissantsbefore she and Matthias return with armloads of bread. While they stuff loaves of various shapes into the designated cubbyholes built into the back wall, I snatch two round loaves out of Lizzy’s hands and sell them.

I can’t recall ever seeing so much business in one day. I’m just about dead on my feet. What’s going on?

I glance toward the stranger, who now gazes out the front window, allowing me a clear view of his aquiline nose. He still twiddles that coin.

My fingers seem to tingle.

Magic.Something stings the back of my mind, demanding focus. Something . . . surreal. My heart begins to pound.

“Cerise!” Lizzy’s voice jolts me back to reality. “You’d better stowthose pastries in the case before they get smashed or dumped on the floor. I’ll be right back with the rest of the bread and take over sales for a while.”

Before I can react, she’s gone.

A long and restless queue has formed at the counter. A man near the door shouts a complaint while I count change for an older woman who speaks and movesslowly. “Please have patience,” I reply without looking up. “I’m working as quickly as I can.”

Then someone starts shoving.

“Wait! No!” I shout, too late. The old woman staggers into the counter, and her shopping basket crashes into a tray of éclairs.

That tray slides into the other, and both tip off the edge. I fling myself toward them, but it’s already too late. Even if by some miracle I catch the trays, momentum will send most of thedelicatepastriesonto the floor, and the rest will smash together and be spoiled.

One moment, I’m diving to catch falling trays.

The next moment, as if a blanket of silence dropped over the world, all is still.

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