Page 35 of The Baker and the Wolf

To my surprise, the night passes uneventfully. Miette wakes me at my usual time by kneading my armpit. As soon as I’m on my feet, she waits at the window, gives one imperative mew, and stares until I oblige her. “Are you coming with me today?” I whisper as she disappears into predawn darkness.

Honestly, I feel lost without her. Today is the day. That is, if all goes as planned. And even our solid plans are conditional—each step dependent on the last, and alternative plans decidedly nebulous.

My mother, who never rises early, waits downstairs with an elaborately decorated basket. “This is lovely, Gisella.” I lift an embroidered tea towel to see a bottle of white wine, obviously from Papa Louis-Baptiste’s cellar, along with five small cheeses, several rosy apples, and a few of the better-looking pastries. “I imagine Grandmére Severina will be quite pleased.”

Both of Gisella’s dimples appear. “I do hope so, darling. I will tuck the dinner invitation into the side here, so don’t forget it,” she explains, then pats the sealed note with satisfaction. “And be careful; it’s rather heavy.”

I heft it easily enough. “I’ll manage. Thank you for doing this, Ma— Gisella. It’s . . . I’m . . . Well, just thank you.” When I bend down to kiss her cheek, she grips my hand, and I feel a stab of her blue magic into the store of magic I set aside as a kind of bait or offering.

Thanks to Rina’s careful instruction—and her advance warning that this would probably happen—I manage to conceal my awareness as I back away. There wasn’t much magic in that store; now there is none. She stole it that quickly and completely.

“I’ll try to make it a quicker visit,” I say while opening the back door, “so I can get in a few hours of work at the bakery.”

“That’s my good girl. I’ll see you this evening. Don’t forget about the invitation.”

“I won’t.”

Miette doesn’t join me this time until I’m outside the gates. I replenish my little pocket of sacrificial magic while walking through the park—there might not be time later. Miette leaves me before I reach the city square, possibly to avoid detection through the statue’s eyes. When I greet my ancestor’s likeness with the usual pat on the foot, a wave of emotion hits me. My father might be aware of my presence. He might even feel my touch. Yet Gisella controls the statue’s every move.

Bar— I mean, Ben emerges from the shadows. Or from thin air, for all I know. “Ready?” He takes the large basket from me. “This looks new.”

I answer as we walk away. “Yes. My mother sent it. I’ve got to get back to work today, so let’s hurry.”

The streets are quiet at this early-morning hour, and I strain my ears to listen for a metallic creak, or the thud of heavy footfalls behind us. “Do you hear it?” I whisper.

“It’s back there.” His voice is a low growl. A moment later, he drags me into an alley.

There, in the darkness and stink of garbage, I try to sense the statue, or Gisella’s magic, or even my father’s. I know this adventure is dangerous. We could die or be trapped in another statue or meet any number of other fates we aren’t even aware Gisella’s fae magic can inflict. Yet beneath my nervous tension lies a deep contentment about Ben’s gentle hold on my arm. And his closeness. And his scent.

Is it possible to love someone after three days’ acquaintance? Obviously, we don’t know each other well. I know about his wicked, violent past, but I have never seen him angry or desperate. I don’t know if he likes to dance or read or play chess or anything like that. But I do know how calmly he behaves under pressure, how clearly and concisely he can explain a complex matter, and how kind and respectful he is to everyone I’ve seen him interact with.

I enjoy his quick-witted humor and, best of all, I can read the kindness, patience, and compassion in his eyes. I don’t know if I will ever have opportunity to know him better, but I know that I hope to.

“Let’s go.”

I grip his arm and follow his lead along the dark streets, around corners, and past a familiar livery stable. We’re nearly there. That was too quick for me; I want more time with him.

Once again, we crouch in the darkness beside his forge. When does he ever find time to work? Does he really work here, or was that story a front? Will I ever see him again after I pass through that door? If our plan works, I might not.

On that thought, I take back the basket, set it down, and reach for his face. This time, I move my thumbs until I know where his mouth is, then lean in and kiss him. Sliding my lips over his prickly beard to his ear, I whisper, “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Carrying the basket.”

I sense more than hear his low chuckle. He whispers back, “Please?” So I kiss him again. If it’s this amazing to kiss him while he’s under a curse, what would it be like if he could truly kiss me back?

He exhales, long and low. “The statue is holding back, hoping to see which door we use. It’s time. Remember to run like you’re worried about being seen.” To my surprise, his eyes actually do glow like burning embers.

In answer, I carefully maneuver the heavy basket out of our hiding place. With my faithful guardian at my side, I run to the door.

My role is to lead Gisella to the cottage where Rina and I together can, theoretically, overcome her. So, as soon as we reach the door, Benoît throws it open, and I stumble through, nearly upending the heavy basket. Instead of following me, he closes the door without another word.

I hate this part of the plan. To enter the pocket-world door, Gisella will need some of his power. He intends to battle the statue and lose, thereby offering his magic as bait.

He says she’ll only get part of his magic, but what if she traps him in the statue or something once she’s stolen it? Worse, what if she kills him as soon as the door is open? During our planning stage, Rina didn’t seem concerned enough by the possibility, and Ben shrugged it off. I can only hope they know something I don’t.

Which is not unlikely.

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