Chapter 10
I stared at Grandmother, certain I’d misheard her. Connected. The word lingered in the air long after she’d spoken it, settling over the room like the scent of baked bread after the oven door had been opened.
The notion was ridiculous. Magic connected people all the time through charms, blessings, and the occasional ill-advised love potion. But my tracking tart wasn’t designed to bind strangers together—its purpose was to guide someone towards what they sought, nothing more.
Yet no matter how many alternative explanations I considered, none accounted for the facts before me: Gabe couldn't leave, I could feel flashes of emotions that weren’t my own, and every instinct I possessed told me that something fundamental had changed the moment he’d taken that first bite.
I glanced towards where he stood near the hearth with an expression that hovered somewhere between confusion and concern.
The sight stirred a strange awareness deep within me—not quite an emotion, but something adjacent to one.
For a fleeting moment I wondered if he felt it too.
The thought unsettled me enough that I quickly looked away.
This was exactly why emotions were troublesome—they complicated matters that should have been simple. A spell had simply gone wrong, that was all. The fact that my pulse seemed determined to disagree with that conclusion was entirely irrelevant.
Nutmeg floated between us, sparkling with suspicious enthusiasm, while Grandmother looked as though all her Hearthday wishes had arrived early. Meanwhile Gabe and I stood on opposite sides of the room looking equally horrified.
The realization that we were on the same page should have reassured me.
Instead, the memory of the emotion I no longer possessed made my stomach twist. Whatever this connection was, it had already complicated my life far more than any customer had a right to.
Unfortunately, it seemed determined to complicate it further.
We stood trapped in indecision, uncertain how to navigate the conundrum. Normally I found a quiet enjoyment in exploring the unknown, but now I only felt lost. Even a clarifying caramel—one of our most reliable confections for illuminating muddled thoughts—seemed unlikely to show the path ahead.
Grandmother clasped her hands together, breaking the tense silence. “It’s late. Problems are always best resolved after a good night’s rest.”
I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “But what will we do about Gabe?”
She blinked with far too much innocence. “What do you mean? Of course he’ll spend the night.” Despite suggesting something so horrifying, she sounded entirely too pleased with herself.
My heart gave a strange lurch at the not entirely unpleasant idea, one I couldn't determine whether I liked or disliked. “Absolutely not. It’s not…safe.”
Grandmother sighed. “Apparently you thought he was safe enough when you went foraging with him. Besides…” She gave me a crafty look.
“Even if we discovered how to break the magic binding him here, you would send a customer prone to getting lost into the woods during a storm because of your mistake?”
Her eyes widened in exaggerated admonishment.
I glanced at the window to see that outside in the darkened night, the rain had not only begun to fall again, but had intensified into a proper tempest, wind rattling the windows as though determined to reinforce her argument.
The timing felt suspiciously convenient.
If I hadn't known better, I would have suspected she’d sampled a weather-whisper taffy for the sole purpose of manipulating the elements to conduct her mischief.
For several tense moments we became locked in a silent stare-down, one I had no hope of winning against Grandmother’s stubbornness. Eventually I released a sigh of surrender. Admittedly she was right, though I regretted the magic not stealing my pride as a baker or my good sense.
I cast Nutmeg a pleading glance, hoping for support, but the ember sprite sparkled with excitement at the prospect. Traitor.
With no remaining allies, I relinquished the fight and turned towards Gabe, who had been anxiously watching our whispered exchange from the other side of the parlor.
I forced a smile. “We would be honored to allow you to stay the night.”
The moment the words left my mouth, an intense surge of alarm washed through me, too strong to be from my dormant emotions. “Oh no, I couldn’t—”
“It’s the least I can do when I’m at fault for the broken spell,” I said.
“You misunderstand—I’m not being courteous; I can’t stay the night.
” Real panic emerged from beneath his polite refusal.
His hand tightened around the strap of his satchel.
“Not only would it would be inappropriate enough to impose upon your hospitality under ordinary circumstances, but the tart was supposed to help me continue my search. I can’t waste any more time. ”
The quiet desperation in his voice caught me off guard, as acutely as if I were feeling it myself.
For a fleeting moment I felt not merely frustration, but the weariness of someone who had spent a very long time chasing something that remained perpetually beyond reach.
The sensation vanished as quickly as it came, leaving me unsettled.
Rain hammered against the windows, the only sound as Gabe seemed to silently war within himself. Eventually, his shoulders sagged in resignation. “Very well,” he murmured. “I gratefully accept your hospitality.”
The moment he surrendered, the tension evident in his posture eased…
and inexplicably, so did something inside me.
I frowned. That was twice I had felt emotions that weren’t mine.
The first instance had been easy to dismiss as the whims of my imagination.
Was this the work of the connection the spell had created between us?
The realization lingered uneasily in the back of my mind while Grandmother, immune to my lack of enthusiasm, immediately set about making arrangements.
With her cane she directed Nutmeg and me towards the linen cupboard, humming under her breath with more health and vigor than she’d had in months.
The ember sprite darted about carrying pillowcases much larger than herself with entirely too much enthusiasm.
I went through the motions numbly. Across the room, Gabe watched me carefully, not with the curious way he had in the forest. Each time our eyes met, his brow furrowed slightly, as though he were trying to solve a puzzle.
“What is it?” I asked.
For a moment I thought he might refuse to answer. “Nothing,” he said, the sort of response people gave when they meant the opposite.
His gaze lingered on me another moment before drifting away, but his strange concern remained, leaving me wondering what exactly he thought he saw.
When the preparations were complete, I took a candle and led Gabe upstairs to the tiny guest room at the back of the bakery, one occasionally used by traveling merchants or visitors whenever the bakery settled near a busy road.
I stood aside to let him pass, but upon reaching the doorway, Gabe froze.
I cast him a quizzical look. “What’s wrong?”
He hesitated. “I’m not sure. I just felt an uncomfortable pulling sensation, like a thread stretched too tightly.”
My brow furrowed. As he spoke, I could feel the same sensation too…along with a strange reluctance to leave him behind. The feeling lessened when I stepped closer and lifted my candle to search the shadows of the tiny room, but I detected no signs of lingering magic.
“Forgive me,” Gabe said hastily. “I’m sure it’s my imagination. I appreciate your hospitality. The room is more than comfortable.”
I took that as my cue to leave him for the night, but my hesitation in departing remained. I found myself glancing around in an unconscious search for an excuse to linger.
“Do you need anything else?” I asked. He shook his head. “Then I bid you goodnight. Tomorrow morning I’ll create a new spell for you.” One that hopefully would break this inconvenient connection.
I turned and left him still standing in the doorway, yet with every step down the hall the strange sensation strengthened, as though an invisible cord stretched between us, growing tauter the farther I moved away.
The urge to turn around and return to him intensified until it became difficult to think about anything else.
My only explanation for the peculiar anomaly was that Grandmother had somehow cast a spell as part of her matchmaking schemes, though I’d never heard of one like this. Could it be the effects of my failed tracking tart?
Normally I brushed aside unsolved puzzles as easily as I dismissed emotions, but this mystery haunted me into bed and refused to let me rest.
The storm continued throughout the night.
Rain pattered steadily against the windowpane, a familiar lullaby that usually soothed me to sleep.
Tonight it offered little comfort. Restlessness entangled me more tightly than my covers, growing stronger the longer I remained alone.
I shifted beneath the blankets, turned over, adjusted my pillow, then repeated the process several times.
The feeling only worsened. With how rarely I experienced emotion, it took me long into the night to identify the one currently tormenting me.
At first I assumed it was frustration over my failed spell, then I blamed curiosity, before settling upon simple sleeplessness.
Yet none of those explanations felt quite right.
Anxiety—if that was indeed this torturous feeling—pressed against my ribs, the sensation seeming wholly disproportionate to the situation.
I had weathered magical mishaps before. Why should this one trouble me so deeply?
Eventually exhaustion dragged me into a restless sleep marred by troubling dreams of searching for something unknown.