Chapter 3
Three
Oaklin woke up mad as a bull. They’d had nightmares about haunted cakes. Their new life of cakeful joy was being ruined by a ghost granny.
A ghost granny who…probably existed? In the light of a new morning, Oaklin once again questioned whether the whole thing was a brain trauma hallucination.
It had to be.
Right?
Right?
They sighed and clutched their pillow to their chest. Their brain might be well and truly broken. Another lingering, unwanted gift from the Enchantrix.
“You’re gonna have to get up a lot earlier than this to be a farmer, you know,” the ghost quipped from her place in the shadows beside the front door. Oaklin threw their pillow across the room in a jolt of startled panic.
Well, that answered that. Oaklin wasn’t sure whether they should be disappointed or relieved. At least there was no screaming this time.
Regardless, there was no point in fighting Ghost Granny’s orders. She was right, after all—Oaklin couldn’t build their shiny new life by lying in bed. It was time to go be a farmer.
“Okay, I’m up, good morning—”
Embarrassed, Oaklin realized for the first time that they’d never asked the ghost’s name. Nailing the basic social skills once again.
“Do you have a name I can call you other than ‘that ghost in my house?’”
The pause that followed was longer than Oaklin expected. It should have been a simple question, but…
“Not yet,” the ghost said. “And I’ll thank you to mind your own business and not go asking around either.”
As if the identity of the ghost in their house wasn’t their business. Right. Well then. That called for one of Ryn’s muffins.
Oaklin selected an enormous golden muffin from the sack of baked goods, one that smelled sweet and citrus-bright.
They bit in and let out an indecent moan; the crumb was delicate and moist, even the next day, flavored with orange and dotted with dried cranberries, little sour-sweet surprises in every bite.
It was like eating soft, sugary sunshine.
Oaklin munched while they got ready for the day, heading into the bedroom to change clothes.
Did it actually provide any privacy with a semi-omniscient ghost around?
Unlikely, but it made Oaklin feel better, at least. They pulled on lightweight brown breeches, then slipped into a deep blue long-sleeved tunic with black stitching at the cuffs, tugging it down over the badly healed scar on their right forearm.
It was the nicest shirt they owned…which wasn’t saying much, considering their wardrobe had consisted exclusively of black cult robes until recently.
A slight breeze carried the early spring chill in through the open window, so Oaklin rummaged through their pack until they came away with a wide black scarf, adding it to the ensemble.
When Oaklin returned to the main room, licking muffin crumbs from their fingers, the still-nameless ghost launched straight into the quest of the day without bothering to see if they were ready.
“Before you can do anything else, you need to borrow two books from the library and meet someone who works there,” she said, her shadowy form slipping over the wall and floor as she paced the length of the room.
“Remember these titles: Hearthcraft for Land Stewardship: A Guide to the Mystical Artes and Arrington’s Magical Herbs and Forage.
We’ll start there, but you best get familiar with the library. You’ll be needing it.”
Oaklin nodded, waiting for more, but the ghost remained silent.
“Wait, that’s it?” Oaklin asked. “Just go to the library and borrow two books?”
“That’s plenty for today.”
Oaklin blinked. It seemed like…maybe they should’ve felt insulted?
“I can handle more than that, you know,” they protested. “I’m not so delicate that I’ll crumble at the sight of a library. I’ll be back by lunchtime. What then?”
The ghost hummed noncommittally. “Why don’t we just wait and see?”
***
Oaklin fully intended to hit the library first, but as soon as their boots hit those cobblestones, they were once again seduced by the intoxicating perfume of Ryn’s baking. How did anyone in Mossley’s Rest get anything done with that constant temptation?
But honestly, what did it matter if they stopped for a cake first? It wasn’t like Ghost Granny was there to spy on them. Probably.
Either way: New life, new priorities, and their current priority was cake.
The Bread Mage was packed with the morning breakfast crowd.
People of all ages stood shoulder to shoulder, wall to wall, ogling the perfectly displayed mounds of flaky pastries filled with cream, crumbly scones, and simple sweet buns, both magical and mundane.
Behind the counter, Ryn handled the crowd with ease and grace, laughing and smiling, greeting people by name with an unselfconscious smear of batter on his nose.
When it was Oaklin’s turn, Ryn spotted them and clapped with delight.
“Oaklin! Good morning! I don’t have that list ready for you yet. I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
Me either, they thought wryly.
“Yeah, let’s just say that things got weird and I really need cake. You won’t judge me for how I spend what little coin I have, right?”
Ryn pressed an affronted hand to his chest. “I would never! So long as you spend it here, that is,” he said with a wink. “You looking for anything in particular cake-wise?”
Oaklin looked over the displays packed with delicious things, lingering on a series of miniature cakes decorated with smooth icing and generous whorls of cream. They were beautiful, like little works of art, with delicate and precise details in spun and molded sugar.
And expensive.
“Which ones are the cheapest?” Oaklin asked, crestfallen. “I need this, but I also need to eat next week.”
Ryn indicated two small cakes about the size of two fists put together, one chocolate and one vanilla. Oaklin squinted at the little tags below the cakes, which read:
Vanilla dream cake: ensures a single night of pleasant dreams. Great for little ones with nightmares.
Chocolate confidence: a gentle boost to your courage and spirit. Good for dates, bad for adventuring parties.
“I have non-magical ones as well,” Ryn said, pointing to another row of much larger confections. “But they’re a few coppers more.”
Oaklin considered the options while Ryn helped another customer, probing gently at the edges of their wounded heart.
The idea of eating something with magical effects felt…
dangerous. They hadn’t been under the influence of so much as a healing spell since they first had their wounds treated post-cult.
And yet…the world was filled with magic around every corner, if not quite quotidian then at least somewhat common.
Perhaps a cake was the perfect way to start reexposing themself to magic, so they wouldn’t be blindsided.
What better way, in fact? They still would never use their own magic again, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy a little magical cake boost.
With a deep, centering breath, Oaklin considered their options. They hadn’t slept well since…well, maybe not since they’d left home six years ago. Some nice dreams from that vanilla cake sounded like just the thing. Though a little chocolate confidence would be helpful in Ghost Granny dealings…
“I’ll take the confidence—I mean, the chocolate. Please. Thank you,” Oaklin said, flushing.
Ryn smiled, all dimples and twinkling eyes, delighted by Oaklin’s choice. “Coming right up.”
The cheap-but-still-too-expensive cake went in a tiny paper box, which Ryn presented to Oaklin with a flourish.
The coins were collected without comment or judgment, for which Oaklin was desperately grateful.
Even the truly broke deserved comfort and delights.
They stared down at the little box for a moment, thinking of the odd look Ryn and Jules had shared at the mention of the farm the previous afternoon, then looked back up at Ryn.
“So, look… Did you know?” they asked.
Ryn’s expression turned quizzical, brows furrowed.
“Know…what?”
It turned out, there was no good way to say about the ghost in my house without sounding like they needed to be referred to the village healer or temple. Oaklin started and stopped a few times before deciding that the answer could wait.
“You know what? Never mind. This cake is calling my name.”
“Well then, by all means, heed the call!” Ryn said with a chuckle. “It was good to see you again, Oaklin. Don’t be a stranger. I mean that. And if you see Jules, send him on by, will you?”
Despite their unease, Oaklin returned the smile. Couldn’t help it in the face of such kindness and cheer.
“Thanks, Ryn. I’ll see you around.”
And with that, Ryn was promptly engulfed in another wave of customers. Cake in hand, Oaklin made their way to the door, set on the second leg of their mission: the library.
***
A springtime drizzle was just starting to fall as Oaklin stepped back out onto the street.
The villagers were hardly deterred; the clop of hooves and chattering pockets of gossipers continued on without fuss, punctuated by the clang of metal-on-metal from the village blacksmith at work.
People of all sorts bustled from shop to shop, baskets on arms and cowls thrown up against the rain, and a gaggle of both children and chickens caused mostly good-natured trouble as they hung off the statue just before the village square.