Chapter 9 #2
I did my best to ignore Grandmother’s growing triumphant grin. “What happened?” I asked Gabe.
Gabe rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s difficult to explain.
” He searched for the words. “Have you ever forgotten something important and been unable to think about anything else until you remembered? It was as though that feeling was becoming stronger and stronger the farther I walked.” He glanced back towards the trees.
“Almost as though…I was leaving something behind.”
The words unsettled me for reasons I couldn’t explain, a feeling that deepened when Grandmother suddenly straightened and pointed her cane towards me. “Now you try.”
I blinked. “Me?”
“If we’re experimenting, we should be thorough.”
By the mischievous glint that had suddenly appeared in her eyes, I suspected her reasoning extended beyond mere thoroughness. I sighed but complied. The moment I began walking towards the trees, a strange restlessness stirred within me, the unmistakable sensation that something was missing.
The feeling sharpened the farther I drew from the bakery, growing taut, like a string about to break.
The moment I reached the same place Gabe had stopped, it grew too unbearable to continue.
I struggled to breathe as though the air had grown thin, feeling that taking a single step farther might cause me to faint.
I turned around almost without thinking and the feeling eased the moment I started back.
By the time I reached the bakery once more, it had vanished entirely.
Numbly I reentered the bakery, my mind too full of what was happening to more than dimly register Gabe helping Grandmother back into her chair and tucking a quilt over her lap.
Grandmother nodded to herself, knowing without my explanation that my experience mirrored Gabe’s. “That was quite enlightening. Do you better understand the spell you created, Cecelia?”
I shook my head—more in denial of a knowledge that seemed to be trying to capture my attention, but which I refused to acknowledge.
Nutmeg gave an impatient spark, as though she sensed my conclusion and disapproved of my aversion.
In a sudden burst into motion, the ember sprite darted between us, glowing brighter than usual.
She tugged at Gabe’s sleeve, then flew over to grab the hem of my skirt before trying to pull me forward.
“What are you trying to show us, Nutmeg?” I asked. Though by her behavior, she seemed to have her own wild theories that I would certainly disagree with.
She chirped impatiently and continued darting between us, as though following an invisible thread. She glowed brighter each time she crossed the space separating us, as though attempting to show us something obvious.
Nutmeg chirped louder at our continued puzzlement and once again flew between us. This time I paid closer attention. The farther apart Gabe and I stood, the brighter she glowed; the closer together we moved, the dimmer she became, as though whatever tension she sensed was easing.
Across the hearth, Gabe watched Nutmeg’s exchange with growing concern. “I truly am sorry,” he said. “If this happened because I wanted to help or distracted you while baking—”
“That’s not what she’s trying to tell us.” A faint unease stirred my heart as an uncomfortable possibility occurred to me.
The recipe had been followed correctly, the ingredients had been correct, the payment had been successfully made. Everything should have worked…which left only one troubling possibility.
I slowly closed the book. “The tart didn't fail because I baked it incorrectly,” I murmured.
Gabe straightened. “Then why did it fail?” he asked.
I looked towards the door, where moonlight filtered through the glass panes.
For the first time since Gabe’s return, I allowed myself to consider the possibility I had been avoiding—an answer far more frightening than any mistake I could have made.
My breath caught. “No.”
By Grandmother’s growing delight, a similar possibility had just occurred to her. “The spell isn’t drawing him to the bakery, but to to something within it…or perhaps someone.”
She grew thoughtful as she studied us both carefully before her gaze settled upon me.
She pushed herself to her feet again, and her cane clicked on the floorboards with each slow, wobbly step as she approached me and leaned close, this time keeping her tone to a discreet whisper.
“Tell me something, dear: what emotion did the tracking tart take?”
The teasing vanished from her voice, which immediately captured my attention. The answer should have come easily, considering I paid emotions all the time, yet for some reason, I found myself strangely reluctant to answer. “I don't remember,” I admitted softly.
The confession felt strangely significant. Once the magic took an emotion, the feeling itself disappeared. Yet no matter which feeling the magic claimed, I usually remembered what it was. But this time was different, as though I had misplaced something valuable and only just realized it was gone.
Grandmother’s brows rose. “You truly don’t remember?”
“Why does it matter whether or not I remember which emotion it was when it’s no longer mine?”
“Because powerful emotions leave powerful impressions upon magic.” Grandmother studied me for a long moment through narrowed eyes. “I wondered…which leads me to suspect that whatever emotion it was, you didn’t want to give it up.”
The certainty in her voice irritated me. “Of course I did,” I said sharply.
“Did you?” The question settled heavily between us.
I couldn't answer immediately. Memories stirred to life from baking the tart that until now I’d forgotten—I remembered resisting, of asking the magic not to take its chosen price—though the reason escaped me entirely.
My hand drifted unconsciously towards my chest whose hollow absence felt larger than usual. “If I didn’t want to give the emotion up…what does that mean?”
She glanced towards the forest where the briarthorn berries had grown. “I think it began when you gathered the ingredients together, berries which themselves respond to companionship.”
I already didn’t like where this conversation was heading.
“And then you paid for the spell with an emotion you were unwilling to surrender.” Her cheerful warmth softened; for the first time that evening, she looked genuinely thoughtful.
When she next spoke, she raised her voice to include Gabe into our conversation.
“Whatever happened, I don’t think the tart failed. ”
An uncomfortable silence settled over us. “If it didn’t fail,” Gabe said. “Then what did it do?”
Grandmother’s gaze moved between us. “I believe it connected you.”
The word lingered in the night air, giving life to the fear I hadn’t been able to voice aloud after Nutmeg’s skit. I immediately shook my head.
“We can’t be,” I protested. “And if we are…connected how?”
“Heavens if I know,” she said with an innocence I was certain was entirely fabricated. “I’ve made a few love potions in my day, but never anything quite like this.”
I wasn't certain whether I wanted to know more about Grandmother’s youth.
She became suddenly serious and lowered her voice. “Your spells are different from mine, Cecelia. Paying with emotions instead of health changes things. Magic has a way of adapting itself around what is offered.”
I stared first at her. A connection. The idea was ridiculous.
And yet, standing there with the moonbeams slanting through the window to illuminate us with the strange tug still lingering whenever we separated, I found myself unable to dismiss it entirely.
For the first time since Gabe had returned, I began to suspect the problem wasn’t a failed spell—it was a successful one.