Page 38 of The Baker and the Wolf

“Cerise, wake up!” A hand gently pats my cheek.

“She’s stirring,” a cultured-sounding voice observes.

“Wake up, baby girl.” My other cheek gets a pat. “Papa’s here. You saved the day.”

Papa? I must be dreaming. Or maybe I’m dead? I try to open my eyes, but it’s too hard. Lying still is better. Or it would be if the ground under me weren’t so cold. I feel like a block of ice. I wonder if I might be dead but can’t seem to get too worked up about it.

Until the memories flood back.Ben!No, I can’t be dead yet! I want to spring up and look for him, but nothing cooperates. I could be dreaming all of this. After all, my mind is so fuzzy, it thinks my father is speaking to me.

“Will Maman be all right?” Papa asks. It takes me a moment to remember that his mother would be Rina.

“She’s here with us . . . and her magic seems intact. Crazy woman.” The elegant voice sounds gruff but then comments with enthusiasm, “That must have been quite the blast. Who’d have guessed one little girl had so much magic bottled up in her?”

“I guessed. Remember? I wrote to you about her.”

“I remember.” The unknown voice sounds sad, but then he adds with a hint of excitement, “Severina thinks Cerise might just take her place on the Council someday. She told me so yesterday. Says our granddaughter just needs a challenge to bring out her possibilities.”

“Cerise met today’s challenge, all right. I do hope Maman didn’t decide to put her through that test deliberately.”

After a pause, the voice that must be my grandfather’s says, “Honestly? I wouldn’t put it past your mother to try a crazy thing like that.”

Papa sighs. “Neither would I.” A warm hand grips mine. “Her hands are like ice. I’ll get her off the ground.” Arms slide under my shoulders and legs, and I feel myself lifted gently.

So, maybe this isn’t a dream. Memories begin to click back into place: the pocket world, Rina, Gisella, the statue . . . Benoît. Where is he?

I manage to crack one eye open, squinting in the wintry light. Above me, I see a brown beard and a pink nose against a backdrop of snow-draped trees.

“Cerise?”

Hearing Rina’s worried voice nearby, I turn my head to search for her. Only an arm’s length away stands a gray-haired man wearing a fur-trimmed coat and holding my grandmére in his arms. She is terribly pale, but her eyes sparkle.

“Darling girl, you did it!” she says as clearly as if she hadn’t just regained consciousness. “Look!”

My eyes follow her pointing finger to my ancestor’s statue in its usual pose not far from my feet. At first glimpse of that bronze axe I flinch, but then I look up and meet my father’s wistful gaze for the first time in thirteen years. “Papa, you’re free,” I whisper. “Am I dreaming?”

His eyes crinkle when he smiles at me. “You’re wide awake, Cerise, and I really am free. Thanks to you, my little girl.”

Rina looks up at the man holding her and grins. “I knew it, Gauthier! Didn’t I tell you she’s asahira?”

In answer, he lifts her higher and kisses her smartly on the lips. “Indeed, you did. However, I may never forgive you for that stunt. What if you were wrong? That woman would have had all your power!”

“Yes, but it did work, and now that horrid Gisella has no power at all! Besides, I had Barbaro for backup, and he obviously performed his task—at risk of his own life, mind you.”

My grandfather smiles, shrugs lightly, and lowers her feet to the ground. “And here I thought I knew your plans. Should have known better.”

“You knew most of them.” Rina brushes snow from her cloak, then orders, “Now put your daughter down, Gerard, so your mother can hug you properly.”

Again I meet Papa’s bright-blue gaze. His jaw works, and tears fill his eyes. “Baby girl.” He hugs me close for a moment, then sets me on my feet and grips my shoulders until I’m steady. “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman. How are Suzette and Charlotte?”

“Very well, Papa.” My voice is nearly as unsteady as his.

“My turn,” Rina calls cheerily. As he turns to her, she flings herself into his arms, and I can’t help smiling at the sight of them, mother and son, together at last. “You’re so big,” she comments. “Nearly as tall as that statue.”

“It was a tight fit in there,” he says, then grins.

She smacks his broad chest. “Toad.”

Just as I open my mouth to ask about Barbaro, I feel a touch on my arm and turn to look into my grandpère’s eyes. “I know you,” I say.

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