Chapter 11 #2
Regret…was that what this feeling was? Yet another uncomfortable emotion that felt too high a price for this morning’s fleeting wonder, proving exactly why I had sacrificed them in the first place.
“May I ask a question?” Gabe’s voice was soft.
I cleared my throat. “Of course. Was your bed uncomfortable? Did you need more blankets?”
He smiled gently. “The bed is just right. Do you mind telling me why the magic requires you to give up your emotions?” I felt tension through the bond, as though he wasn’t sure how I would react.
“Oh.” I paused to collect my thoughts. Giving to the magic was such a normal part of my daily life that I rarely thought about the moment I’d made that life-changing decision. I drew a slow breath.
“I’m not sure I can answer the why, exactly.
But it’s an exchange: magic for our confections in exchange for something from ourselves.
I was six years old when my parents died of a tropical fever.
That’s when I came to live with Grandmother, and she began teaching me to bake.
Not the magical recipes, of course. Just the basics of measuring and stirring and choosing the best ingredients.
I think she was more proud than I was when I baked my first batch of cookies unassisted. ”
“I’m sure they were delicious,” Gabe interjected.
I shrugged. “I doubt it. But as I kept practicing, I learned more and more. I also noticed Grandmother weakening after each of her special treats were baked. One day she told me about her own deal—the slow giving bits of her health to the magic in return for the ability to bake what people needed.”
Gabe shifted, turning to face me more fully as he listened.
“Naturally, I was horrified and wanted her to stop. But a magical contract cannot be broken. If she simply stopped baking, there would be other consequences. Plus, she felt a responsibility to keep providing what the villagers at our various locations needed.”
I paused, trying to recreate my memories in my mind. Over the years they’d begun to grow fuzzy as the emotions faded out of them.
“But her health was fading quickly, too quickly. I knew she couldn’t continue on much longer or there would be nothing left for her to give.
I also knew she would never let me take her place.
So one night, I woke up from a nightmare and realized that Grandmother was asleep, and this was my chance.
I tiptoed into the kitchen and unlocked the cabinet where the cookbook was.
I didn’t really know what to do, but I put my hand on the book and whispered that I wanted to make a deal like my grandmother had. ”
Gabe was sitting up straight now, and the bond pulsed with sympathy and horror. I tried to ignore them as I continued.
“I didn’t see or hear anything, but all of a sudden I knew the magic was there, listening.
And then, in my mind, I was presented with choices.
I could follow in Grandmother’s footsteps and offer my health.
I could give up my ability to talk, slowly growing silent.
Or I could give my emotions. I saw what each of those outcomes would be like and realized that without my emotions, the pain of my parents’ loss and the sorrow of watching Grandmother suffer would abate.
It hardly seemed like a sacrifice to give up something that was more pain than pleasure. ”
“But what happens when you run out of emotions?” Gabe wondered.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. So far there is always something more the magic can take.”
“That must be difficult,” he murmured.
I gave a mirthless laugh. “It’s the easiest part of my life.”
“Don’t you ever wonder what you would be like if this had never happened?”
“On occasion,” I admitted. “But it’s no use pining for something that can’t be. And living without emotions makes life much more simple.”
Gabe sat quietly, gazing with unseeing eyes at the sunrise. My emotions might be practically nonexistent, but his were stormy and tangled. I shifted uncomfortably. We needed to break this spell as quickly as possible.
The resolve must have reached him, because after a brief hesitation he nodded in silent agreement. The shared understanding eased some of the tension knotting my chest.
I wanted nothing more than to go downstairs, search through my recipe book, and bake a solution to this inconvenient problem so Gabe and his meddlesome emotions could leave my life forever.
Instead, he became distracted by the maps crowding the room, covering nearly every available surface. Some hung upon the walls like artwork, while others rested atop desks, shelves, and tables; a few were even stacked in careful piles across the floor.
He motioned towards them. “I woke up early and couldn’t help noticing your maps. You have quite a collection.”
Collection seemed a dramatic understatement. I might have suspected he was attempting to redirect the conversation away from uncomfortable emotions, but a faint thread of genuine curiosity reached me.
“They’re all the places I’ve lived in,” I said.
His gaze drifted slowly across the room, pausing to study each map like he might browse an art gallery. “All of them?”
I nodded. He approached a map pinned near the window and studied the careful lines for several moments. “Do you ever go back?”
His brow furrowed when I shook my head, and a strange sensation drifted across the bond, almost as though he resonated with the idea of leaving places behind. His finger traced the lines of a map from nearly a year ago, when the bakery had settled in a seaside town.
“Which has been your favorite?”
“It’s impossible to choose,” I said. “Each has provided its own unique experience.”
His expression softened in a way that made my heart patter strangely. “Then each seems worth remembering,” he said.
I looked away first. I tried to convince myself any information was purely practical—the more I knew about him, the greater the likelihood I could discover a way to break this enchanted connection.
Yet despite the excuse, genuine interest about the places he’d wandered was beginning to sprout within me.
Whether that feeling belonged to me or had crossed the connection from him, I wasn’t entirely certain.
Before I could further nourish this curiosity, Gabe turned away from my maps, and the opportunity slipped away. “I’ll leave so you can change.”
He quietly withdrew from the room, inviting the now familiar tension that always seemed to accompany our separation when the door closed behind him.
Eager to escape this suffocating heaviness settling over me, I hastily dressed and joined him on the landing.
Together we made our way to the brightly lit kitchen.
I motioned for Gabe to sit at the table while I retrieved ingredients from the cupboard to prepare breakfast. When I turned around with my arms filled with a loaf of bread and several jars of jam, I discovered he hadn’t moved. I cast him a questioning look.
He shuffled his feet. “May I cook for you?”
My eyebrows rose. “You know how to cook?”
I felt a sharp flash of an emotion that I tentatively identified as offense. “I’ve managed to survive in the woods for years,” he said. “Besides, I would like to do something to repay you for the trouble I caused commissioning the confection.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said. “I’m the one who baked the tart. Anything that went wrong is my responsibility.”
“Unless it was caused by my interference when I insisted on helping,” he countered. “Not only did I contribute my complete lack of baking experience, but I also requested a confection without considering the cost it would require from you.”
Whether our connection was lending him some of my stubbornness or I was simply learning more about his character the longer we spent together, I sensed this was not a battle he intended to surrender.
I still opened my mouth to argue, but before I could, Grandmother called my name from her bedroom down the hall.
“Let the boy help, Cecelia.”
I strode to her doorway, conveniently left open wide enough to allow effortless eavesdropping. I gave her a mocking stern look. “You want to insist on allowing a customer to cook in our kitchen?”
“He’s currently our guest,” she said serenely. “And it is only proper to accommodate a guest’s wishes. Besides, I would like to sample such a sweet young man’s cooking. It’s undoubtedly delicious.”
How convenient Gabe seemed capable of transforming between customer and guest depending on whichever title would best support her argument.
I was tempted to roll my eyes, but instead a flicker of amusement bubbled up unexpectedly.
I turned and found Gabe unsuccessfully attempting not to smile.
Wonderful. Now I was apparently borrowing his amusement too.
Good thing Grandmother couldn’t see his reaction from her room; it would only encourage her.
“You are certainly persistent in your current efforts,” I informed her. “Too bad none of your meddling will work.”
“We shall see, dear. Enjoy your unsupervised time together.” She winked, then lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Be sure to return later and satisfy an old woman’s curiosity with every juicy detail.”
With a suppressed sigh, I tucked the quilt around her, set her knitting on the bed next to her, and turned my back on her wriggling eyebrows. For as unwelcome as her matchmaking remained, I didn’t have the heart to discourage it when it brought her so much obvious delight.
I returned to the kitchen and paused in the doorway, staring.
Encouraged by Grandmother, Gabe had apparently decided my approval was unnecessary.
He already stood over the hearth, breaking eggs into a skillet.
When he noticed me watching, his familiar blush immediately returned, though he stubbornly remained at his post.
“Forgive me,” he said. “You seemed unlikely to accept otherwise, and I truly want to thank you.”