Chapter 18
Enchanted objects always carry an echo of their creator. Over time, they develop wills of their own—capricious, stubborn, and utterly unpredictable. They observe, judge, and sometimes refuse to obey altogether.
LEMPICKA
Arawn had forgotten me.
With his tall silhouette towering above the crowd, he should have been easy to find. Yet, in the chaos of bodies jostling me from every side, I couldn’t see him anywhere. My fists clenched as a pang of frustration knotted in my stomach. He had completely abandoned me.
It was easy for him—opening a path with a single stormy glance. But me? I had to keep my hood in place, clutch his broom against me, and try not to trip over my own feet. I had none of his imposing presence, and my eyes, far too wide, were not built for menacing stares.
At the edge of the market, a couple fiddled with enchanted trinkets without buying a thing.
Clearly, he had lied to me. But why? My heart stumbled at the thought, but I quickly chased away that weakness with a mischievous smile.
He wasn’t even looking for me. Then I wouldn’t waste my time looking for him either.
“After all, he’s the one who lost me,” I muttered, resolute.
If he wanted to wander off alone, fine. I’d just take the chance to explore every stall of the market.
But no matter how many stalls I passed, Arawn’s scowling face continued haunting my thoughts.
That was when a pink cloud slipped between my feet.
Not a cloud—a rabbit, soft as spun sugar.
It hopped around my ankles, leaving behind shimmering wisps of mist. Its trail was laced with threads of morning dew, like the kind clinging to spiderwebs, sparkling just before dawn.
I bent to touch it, but it leaped away before my fingers reached, then glanced back over its shoulder, as if saying: follow me. And so, I did.
It hopped onto the stall of a little girl with white braids, dressed in a pink kimono and a rabbit mask.
In her hands, she spun a pearly-pink lighter.
The rabbit evaporated instantly. The lighter looked almost identical to Arawn’s.
Same rounded shape, that discreet click at the lid, the translucent center holding a liquid.
Except this one had a thread wrapped around the cap, braided with pink petals and crystals.
“Your lighter… I know someone who has one just like it,” I said.
She flicked it between her fingers. “There are very few of them. The last was forged a thousand years ago, when its maker died. Is it an heirloom?”
“In a way,” I admitted, uneasy. “But his is broken. Only mist comes out of it, and dies right away.”
She lit hers with a snap. The rabbit reappeared, vaporous, playful, circling me.
“Then your friend is broken inside. How is the thread? The thread is the charm that binds it to its guide. Without it, no light. If it’s frayed, someone has to offer him a new one for protection.”
His thread was worn. Very worn. A thin cord, almost unraveling, its color dull. “It’s… damaged.”
She ducked under her table and returned with a small box of double latches. She opened it. Inside were dozens of threads: pale gold, ashen blue, crimson red. All beautiful. My gaze fell on one woven with tiny pale crystals, like frost or liquid diamonds.
“They say the guide leads to what one desires most,” she whispered, her rabbit perched on her finger. “But in truth, it guides to what the heart refuses to see. What we hide from ourselves. Me? I need customers. So Lapine leads me to those whose desire can be bargained for. Like you.”
She placed the silver thread in my palm. It was surprisingly heavy.
“I don’t have coins,” I said, stepping back a little, embarrassed.
“I don’t take coins. Only trades. What about your broom?”
I glanced down at my broom. It was only a broom, after all. Easily replaced. But Arawn had enchanted it for me (even if originally it was to throw me out of his office).
I shook my head firmly. “I can’t. It’s a gift.”
“Then… your most precious memory,” she suggested with a little laugh.
I hesitated. My gaze lingered on the heavy thread in my hand. He seemed attached to that lighter, no matter what he claimed. And who would give him a replacement? Charms had to be given. Otherwise, their magic was void.
Magic always came with a price. I knew that. If this girl asked for a precious memory, it was probably because she had none of her own. If I could give her mine, to comfort her, then so be it. I had plenty of others.
I gave her a small smile. “All right.”
The girl clasped my hand. I wondered which memory she’d see. Which was truly the most precious. And then the scent of apples and warm, flaky croissants enveloped me, and I saw my younger self, crying on the threshold of Nyla’s bakery.
“We can’t feed you anymore. You were a mistake that should never have been born. Maybe the confectioner will pity you if you stay quiet.” Those were the last words of my parents before they left me there, with nothing from my old life. I didn’t even remember their faces, only their voices.
The girl’s hand trembled. She hadn’t expected my most cherished memory to begin with such brutal pain. But often, the brightest light is born of the deepest shadows.
I smiled, squeezing her hand as she lived my memory for the first time.
Nyla had opened the bakery door. Without a word, she knelt before me.
She had always understood me without needing words.
I had clung to her with all my strength, and Nyla had accepted the embrace, her fingers gently brushing my hair.
“I’ve always counted only on myself, just like you. But now, you’ll have us too.” Her voice had rung like milk and honey in my ears.
That was also the day I tasted my very first pastry: a cinnamon roll shaped like a tree. That day, my hollow, gray heart had blossomed into color. And Aignan, grumbling as always, had curled up beside me at night, keeping my trembling body warm in the hay.
That day, I had known love. A true home. A family that cherished me. A family that would never abandon me. A warmth strong enough to withstand even the fiercest storm.
A single tear slipped beneath the vendor’s mask.
“Thank you,” she whispered, pulling back her hand. “I’ll cherish your memory. You’ve paid the price.”
I frowned as the memory faded. I recalled something of Nyla and Aignan, but all that remained was a deep, comforting love, a warmth in my chest. And a taste…
a hint of melting butter mingled with caramel sweetness, like the tenderness of flaky pastry dissolving on the tongue.
Unlike anything I had ever tasted, yet utterly divine.
Only then did I notice the charm was still in my palm.
“Seems like you’ve caught some attention with your curse, Confectioner,” said the girl, tilting her head toward a commotion in the distance.
I turned, and my blood froze. Sorcerers masked in black and red had spotted me. Their bodies angled toward me, and they advanced. I tightened my grip on my broom, slipping the charm into my pocket. With a snap of her fingers, the girl conjured a gust of wind, shoving the masked sorcerers back.
“Thank you!” I yelled, darting away.
I slipped between stalls, my cape snagging on trinkets and hooks. I tore it off, leaving it behind, my glowing skin and hair flying free. Murmurs erupted behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to know the sorcerers were giving chase.
I darted into an alley, only to realize it was a dead end too late. The masked sorcerers closed in.
“By order of the illustrious Wish Witch, the great Zelda,” one rasped, “you cannot remain in service to the Mist Sorcerer. Serve her under an eternal contract… or perish.”
I glared, raising my broom like a sword. “Over my dead body.”
Who did this Zelda think she was, imagining I’d just roll over?
She had already sent a Category Eight Cursed into Arawn’s domain, and now her lackeys!
Maybe I was only a confectioner, but I wouldn’t go down without a fight.
I tightened my grip, closed my eyes, and prayed that… something… anything… would happen.
Silence.
Still nothing.
Why wasn’t this damned broom working?
“She thinks she’s a witch?” one of them sneered, dragging claws across the alley wall, the screech making my skin crawl.
“Come on, broom! Do something!” I shouted, shaking it frantically.
Of course, Arawn hadn’t left me any blasted instruction manual! For all I knew, it was just… a normal broom.
The nearest sorcerer reached for me. His twisted fingers stretched with a bone-cracking snap. His skin split like cracked porcelain, his arm warping, writhing, eyes glowing yellow, sprouting across his flesh.
The pressure of his magic coiled around me like invisible claws. A brutal tug yanked me forward. My heart thundered. Arawn had said something, hadn’t he? Always phrase commands positively. I drew in a sharp breath.
“I order you to fly and get us out of here alive!”
The broom shot forward. I was yanked skyward, nearly thrown off. I clung on, straddling the broom and shrieking in panic as it zigzagged through the market, barely dodging the masked sorcerers.
“BUT STABILIZE!” I screamed.
I tore through the air above the stalls, skimming rooftops under the astonished stares of merchants and buyers. Some gaped at my disastrous flying. Others, at my curse. Others still, at the three sorcerers pursuing me like liquid shadows.
But they weren’t the only threat. To my left, an entire cliffside of the mountain crumbled, sealing a cavern from which creatures poured, tearing through everything in their path.
“Cursed… here? What on earth happened?”
The broom shuddered beneath my hesitation. I tugged on it, trying to climb higher.
“Looks like you just can’t help getting into trouble.” Arawn’s voice cut straight through my panic. He flew beside me, antlers on his back, his cloak transformed into gray wings of mist.
“YOU HAVE TO HELP ME! I CAN’T CONTROL THIS THING!”