Chapter 27
Magic listens to the heart, not the mind. But when the heart wavers—when emotions stray from the spell’s source—it fractures.
LEMPICKA
Astorm had crashed over the manor in the mist, drowning everything beneath sheets of pounding rain.
The giant leaf I was using as an umbrella slipped from my hands, flying off on the wind like a rebellious bird. In hindsight, going out to gather golden apples in the middle of a thunderstorm had been an objectively terrible idea.
“No, no, no, this isn’t happening! What is—”
Dozens of papers shot straight toward me like a swarm of wasps, merging into a swollen, furious mass pouring out of the forest. My hair bristled, and I bolted for the manor, my apron of apples bouncing against my hips with every stride.
“THE DOOR! OPEN THE DOOR, OR I’M ABOUT TO END UP AS PAPER-MASHED-PIE!” I screamed at my companions, who had had the good sense to stay warm and cozy by the fire crackling beside the cauldrons.
The kitchen door swung open just in time. I hurled myself inside, spun on my heel, and slammed it shut. It caught on one torn corner of the paper-creature, which shrieked in a piercing wail. A gust of sheets slipped in under the frame, tickling my ankles. One sliced clean across my calf.
I lost my footing, one shoe sliding on a loose sheet, and the rest of me went with it. My backside hit the floor. I probably looked like some soaked, abandoned pastry left out in monsoon season—painful to look at, even worse to move.
The papers hovered above me, ready to turn me into a library dessert, until one of them settled neatly in my palm.
“Sugar…” muttered éclair, dressed in a flour-streaked apron, kneading a dough so packed with charcoal pigment it had turned black.
Chouquette plunged one tail into her throat—or rather, her apparently bottomless void—and pulled out a towel, which she handed me. She’d finally figured out what those were for.
“Thanks.” I blotted my face dry. “And you’re right, éclair, water is sugar’s mortal enemy,” I hissed between my teeth, unfolding the paper.
It whimpered, black letters dancing across it, ringed with red burns as if seared by hot iron.
The Grand Harvest Ball will take place this Saturday, the first day of winter. Invitation for the Mist Sorcerer and a plus-one. Return the invitation by tomorrow evening. A simple signature will suffice. The Wish Witch.
The witch hadn’t even mentioned my name, as though I were nothing more than some cursed decorative accessory. I folded the letter neatly and held it out to the swarm of waiting papers. They fused again into a jittering ball.
I raised a brow. “You want me to sign?”
The mass bobbed. I sighed, pushed myself upright, and grabbed a tray of steaming madeleines.
“You came all this way… Might as well not leave on an empty stomach.”
The papers dove in, pecking greedily. I flipped absently through my grimoire, side-eyeing the mountain of dirty dishes beside me. As usual, I’d overcompensated for my frustration. Pastries piled haphazardly on every available surface.
The one good thing was that I’d created enough magical recipes to fill whole pages of the grimoire—one to soothe headaches, one for funerals, one for inner peace… But it remained desperately blank when it came to broken hearts. No more tasks to offer. No more recipes to write.
“Honestly, I think Arawn and this book have a lot in common. Silent when you need them to talk, cryptic, and infuriatingly masculine.”
I snapped the grimoire shut, a puff of dust shooting straight into éclair’s face. He dropped his spatula, clearly realizing my mood was… let’s say, anything but sweet, and that suggesting another batch would be a death sentence.
I’d finally reached the page with the recipe for my essence, but I knew better than anyone not to attempt it now. I’d only end up baking something bitter and broken—just like my heart. I slammed my fists against the table, sugar blocks cracking beneath my palms.
“Love hurts sometimes, but I’d rather feel that than nothing at all! At least I have a reason to get up every morning. My heart beats. That’s proof of strength, isn’t it?”
They all stared at me as if I’d sprouted a second head. Even éclair’s tiny mushrooms looked puzzled. Chouquette puffed up her tails in disapproval. Aignan, for once, didn’t even have the energy to mock Arawn. He simply curled into a ball in his basket.
“I just wish he’d stop avoiding me,” I muttered, twisting the ring around my finger mechanically.
We hadn’t spoken since the festival, where he’d oh-so-cowardly abandoned me on that turret. I only wanted things back the way they were, when I could hope in silence without feeling like a complete fool.
There was a knock on the window. Yeun, in his faerie form, huddled beneath the downy feathers of his ostrich. I opened it, letting him flutter inside.
“This storm is unbearable! Master really needs to learn to control his emotions. At this rate, we’re all going to drown. And will-o’-the-wisps hate the rain!” Yeun complained, shivering. “You don’t happen to have something comforting to nibble on?”
I waved vaguely toward the pastry mountain beside me, where the paper swarm was buzzing, sampling each one. If only I had an appetite too. Yeun lost a flicker of flame.
“Zelda must be starving them. They’re not really bad,” I told Yeun, seizing the chance to talk to someone who would actually answer me. “Arawn doesn’t need to take it so hard. I’m the one who should have the broken heart, not him.”
Aignan leaped to his hooves, nearly toppling a hanging cauldron.
“That’s it! I told you not to get attached to that sorcerer!
And now I’m sleep-deprived from all your lovesick whining.
I’m going to challenge him to a duel, lamb-style.
” He marched decisively toward the door.
“Horn to horn, him and me. Even if I have no chance, pray that cursed stag dragon doesn’t fry me on the spot, or my ghost will haunt you till the end of time. ”
“Aignan, I never—”
Too late. He slammed the door behind him, muttering insults on his way out.
“Don’t worry.” Yeun perched on my shoulder. “Master won’t hurt him. He’s far too busy sinking into his own tragedy. You’re probably the first person to ever confess love to him.”
I sighed, cupping Yeun in my hands. His warmth was a small comfort against the storm raging in my chest.
“No one’s ever confessed to me, and I’m certain it wouldn’t make me want to unleash a hurricane. I’d have been flattered. Happy, even.”
“You’re the best thing that’s happened to him in a long time, and that’s the problem. Nobody wants to be forced to choose between loving someone and dooming them, or letting them go and dooming yourself.”
“I hate that I don’t hate him,” I whispered with a bitter smile. “I always knew Nyla was right. Men are a waste of time.”
“You just drew the worst card possible,” Yeun replied with a sly smile.
I burst into laughter. Strangely, badmouthing Arawn with Yeun made me feel better. But then I jumped when Aignan’s horn knocked against the window. He shoved his head inside, dripping wet.
“Hey! The ostrich laid a blue egg! And of course, I’m the one stuck handling everything here! Now, where is that grumpy bird? Sorcerer! Stop hiding and fight me!”
I tightened the ribbons of my apron and summoned a paper with a flick of my hand. I couldn’t keep running anymore, not from my responsibilities, not from my anger. I would believe in my own strength.
“I’ll keep an eye on Aignan… just in case,” Yeun said, flitting toward the window.
I signed my name, pressing my forehead to the sheet. “I’ll be there, witch. I’ll break my curse. I won’t let anyone underestimate me again.”
The other papers clung to my arms, my shoulders, brushed my cheeks like timid wings.
I smiled. “Come back any time, if your heart is still hungry.”
A light seeped from their edges. The seared red of the seal was no longer raw, but like a scar closed over. And in a gust, the papers whirled out through the window.