Chapter 5
I can bake anything you desire.
A hush settled briefly between me and my unexpected guest after my declaration, broken only by the steady patter of rain against the windows and the occasional crackle from the hearth.
The warmth of the kitchen wrapped around us like a cocoon, sheltering us from the storm-darkened forest beyond the bakery walls.
“But,” I continued, disrupting the silence, “I’ll need to know more about what you’re seeking.”
His current commission remained vague, though that was hardly uncommon.
Sometimes this was from shame or hesitance to tell me what they wanted, but most customers struggled to articulate the quiet, aching desires hidden within their hearts.
They came seeking courage when what they truly longed for was belonging, or they requested memory charms when what they actually feared was being forgotten.
Usually it only took a bit of prodding and a few carefully chosen questions to uncover the truth beneath the request and guide me towards the proper confection.
Ordinarily I approached this process with detached professionalism.
Yet now, seated across from Gabe while rain softened the world beyond the windows, I found myself strangely interested in uncovering the mystery hidden beneath his request. Magical confection requests were an opportunity to glimpse a person’s soul, and I couldn’t deny my curiosity to see who this man truly was.
Gabe spoke hesitantly, as if reluctant to follow through with his own request now that it required his secrets. “How many details do you require?”
“As many as it takes to discover the perfect spell.”
I returned to the table where Gabe waited, his gaze fixated on the the recipe book in my arms, curiosity softening the sharp watchfulness usually present in his expression. I held the tome slightly aloft so he could better see it.
The cover was crafted from deep burgundy leather darkened with age, embossed with twisting golden vines that curled across its surface like curls of steam. Tiny gemstones resembling crystallized sugar had been pressed into the corners of the binding, catching the firelight in subtle glimmers.
“Where did you get that?” he asked curiously.
“It’s my family’s heirloom, a book of magical recipes—it’s been in this bakery since long before I was born.”
“And it contains the recipe for my request?”
Though I couldn’t know with certainty until I searched, I still nodded confidently. I had yet to encounter a wish, longing, or problem magic could not somehow address. Surely his mysterious search would prove no different.
His gaze lingered on the recipe book a moment longer before he slowly nodded.
I cleared additional space on the table and carefully lowered the heavy book between us.
Nutmeg floated down from the rafters to perch atop an overturned teacup while I rested my hand along the spine.
The book quivered faintly beneath my touch.
Then, with a soft shimmer of gold, the lock clicked open.
Anticipation stirred quietly inside me as it always did whenever I opened the recipe book.
Even after all these years, magic still carried the intoxicating promise of possibility.
Whatever confection Gabe required, perhaps it would finally steal away these troublesome emotions he’d stirred back to life inside me and return me once more to the comfortable stillness of feeling nothing at all.
I flipped carefully through the thick parchment pages. “What exactly are you hoping the spell will help you find?”
He frowned slightly. “I’m not entirely certain.”
I paused to glance up. “That complicates things.”
His fingers tightened faintly around his teacup as he nodded. “Will that be a problem?”
I considered. “Certain spells need more specifics than others, but all require at least a general direction—a target so that the magic is able to fulfill its intended purpose.”
Though he appeared resigned, it took a long moment for him to gather his courage. Silence stretched while rain whispered against the windows, eventually stirred by his murmur.
“Something—some part of me—is missing.” He hesitated as though searching for the words that would communicate what he felt.
“Is that why you…” I wasn’t sure how to ask the question.
“Get lost?” His lips quirked slightly. “Yes, but it’s more than just a sense of direction when I’m walking. It’s like the entire direction of my life is muddled.”
I tilted my head curiously. “Has it always been this way?”
“No.” He dropped his gaze. “Just since I—just for the past couple of years,” he amended.
Clearly he wasn’t sharing everything, but I didn’t need to know every detail of a customer’s life, however intrigued I might be.
“So what exactly are you hoping the magic will accomplish?” I asked. “You seek to restore your abilities?”
He frowned thoughtfully. “I’m not sure it’s that, exactly,” he finally said. “I can’t fully articulate what I’m seeking, but I have a strong sense that I need to find something, and that if I only knew where to look or what I was looking for, I could find the answers I seek.”
I skimmed through a few pages on seeking lost or stolen items. None of them seemed quite right for someone looking for lost pieces of self, or some undefined need.
“Sometimes I dream of it,” Gabe added quietly. “Of finding what I’m looking for. I can never quite see it in my dreams, but I know that I’m about to be whole again.”
“Dreams are their own form of magic,” I explained. “Often sharing insights of our secret longings hidden from our conscious selves. Thankfully magic is an expert tracker that will lead you to where you need to go.”
I slowly turned several more pages until one particular recipe caught my attention: a raspberry guidance tart. The illustration beside it shimmered faintly beneath the firelight: crimson berries woven into delicate pastry crust dusted with enchanted sugar.
Beneath the title, elegant script described its purpose: to guide the lost towards what their heart seeks, even when the mind cannot name it.
I wordlessly angled the book in his direction. His breath caught softly. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Instead we simply leaned over the glowing recipe book, while Nutmeg pretended very badly not to eavesdrop from atop the rafters.
With a soft sigh, I traced my finger down the ingredient list: flour, butter, fresh cream, wild honey, freshly squeezed lemon, enchanted sugar, eggs, extract from rose petals, vanilla, three drops of rainwater gathered beneath moonlight.
Concluding with fresh raspberries gathered beneath a briarthorn tree at dusk.
I frowned faintly at the final line, adapted for the bakery’s current location.
Everything else remained well stocked within the bakery pantry, but according to the earlier glimpse I’d captured of Gabe’s map, the briarthorn hollow rested several miles north through dense forest terrain, and the berries themselves spoiled quickly if not gathered fresh before baking.
Beyond the windows, the overcast afternoon had already begun darkening towards evening. If I left soon, I would likely reach the hollow before dusk fully settled over the woods.
Though strangely, I found myself reluctant to bake the tart too quickly.
I gave my head a small shake. No, I had already decided these distracting emotions needed to disappear before they rooted themselves any deeper.
Another enchanted confection would take them eventually, just as all the others had before.
I looked back up at Gabe, watching me with quiet anticipation. I closed the recipe book. “I have all the ingredients except for the raspberries, which means I’ll need to forage for them now.”
Gabe immediately straightened. “Now?” His gaze darted towards the rain-streaked windows where mist blurred the forest beyond into shifting shades of silver and green. Rain still fell steadily beneath the darkening afternoon sky, soft and relentless against the glass. “But…it’s pouring.”
I shrugged. Rain often strengthened magical properties by washing away impurities and heightening their natural enchantments.
Storms were inconvenient for ordinary baking perhaps, but ideal for gathering spelled ingredients.
“The berries must be plucked at dusk for their magic to be strongest,” I explained.
“I would lose a full day if I waited for the rain to stop.”
Not to mention the sooner I completed his request, the sooner I could rid myself of of the thoroughly confusing emotions this hunter kept awakening inside me and return to the peaceful numbness I’d enjoyed before meeting him in the forest.
It was especially unwise with his unfortunate sense of direction. Though I kept that observation to myself, he seemed to sense the argument lingering unspoken behind my words. His tips of his ears reddened again, yet stubborn determination settled across his features all the same.
“I still don’t think you should go alone in weather like this.”
I looked at him in surprise. “I’m used to foraging in all kinds of weather. This will be a matter of hours to find the ingredients and bake the tart. I can deliver it to you tomorrow, or you can come pick it up in the morning if you like.”
He hesitated, looking as though he wanted to argue, but wasn’t sure what to say.
Logically I knew I ought to dread an excursion into the cold.
Yet I had always welcomed time outdoors and any opportunity to further explore a landscape still unfamiliar to my maps.
I returned the recipe book to its cabinet and locked it away before crossing to the coat rack near the door where my cloak hung beside the hearth.
Gabe stared a moment at the locked cabinet where the book had disappeared before he followed. “At least allow me to accompany you,” he insisted. “The forest becomes difficult to navigate in heavy rain. I could be useful.”