Chapter 44
FORTY-FOUR
DAHLIA
“The defense may now present.”
Dahlia stood, smoothing her hands down her simple dress—professional, appropriate for a council chamber, but with sensible flats underneath because she’d learned her lesson about heels and long days. Cal rose with her, a silent wall of support at her side.
“Esteemed Council, I am Dahlia Moon, owner of Honey & Hex Bakery in Haven Shores. I am here as a witness and researcher, not as a party to this dispute—though I should note that my bakery sits on the very land Mr. Ironwood claims as his own.”
The lion representative’s eyebrows rose. “You have a personal stake in the outcome.”
“I do. Which is why I’ve been meticulous in my research.” Dahlia opened her first folder. “Mr. Ironwood presented survey maps as evidence of the original boundary. But surveys can be redrawn. Paper can be altered. The magical boundary markers cannot.”
She laid out photographs of the ancient stones that marked the true territorial lines—carved with runes, saturated with generations of magical energy. The markers told a different story than Magnus’s documents. A story of boundaries that ran where they’d run for centuries, nowhere near Main Street.
“These markers predate any paper records,” Dahlia continued. “They were set by the original settlers of both sleuths, charged with magic that cannot be falsified. And they directly contradict every survey Mr. Ironwood has presented.”
Magnus’s expression didn’t change, but his shoulders had gone rigid. One of his attorneys leaned over to whisper urgently in his ear.
“Furthermore,” Dahlia pressed on, “I’ve discovered discrepancies in the historical records themselves.
Documents that were clearly altered—pages with different aging patterns, ink compositions that don’t match their supposed dates of origin.
” She presented her findings, each piece of evidence building on the last. “Someone has been systematically falsifying the boundary records for decades.”
The witch elder leaned forward, interest sharpening her weathered features. “You’re suggesting fraud?”
“I’m not suggesting anything.” Dahlia met the elder’s gaze. “I’m presenting evidence. But I’ve also brought something that might help clarify matters.”
She bent to retrieve the pastry box at her feet.
The truth tarts gleamed under the chamber’s lights—golden pastry, glistening fruit, impossibly perfect.
Dahlia had baked them before dawn after Cal had fallen asleep, channeling all her surge-amplified magic into the dough.
These weren’t the gentle truth-nudging pastries she sometimes sold to couples working through conflicts. These were different entirely.
These would compel absolute honesty. No lies. No evasions. No carefully crafted half-truths.
“In the interest of transparency,” Dahlia said, “I’ve prepared truth tarts for all parties. Myself included.” She took one from the box and bit into it, the magic singing through her blood. “I have nothing to hide. Does everyone else?”
The wolf representative’s lips curved slightly. “That’s an unusual approach.”
“These proceedings are warded against lies,” Dahlia acknowledged.
“But wards can be resisted. My pastries cannot.” She offered the box to the council first. Each representative took a tart, examined it with professional interest, and ate.
The witch elder’s eyes widened slightly as the magic took hold.
“Well.” The elder dabbed her lips with a napkin. “That’s certainly... potent.”
Cal took his without hesitation, catching Dahlia’s eye as he bit into the flaky pastry. Trust, in that glance. Complete and unwavering.
Magnus’s witnesses shifted uncomfortably. One of them—a grizzled bear with nervous eyes—was sweating.
“The witnesses should also partake,” Dahlia said mildly. “Unless there’s a reason they’d prefer not to?”
“This is absurd.” Magnus’s voice was cold. “We’re not required to submit to magical compulsion—”
“The claimant will eat the tart,” the wolf representative interrupted. “As will his witnesses. Truth serves justice. Refusal will be noted in the record.”
For a long moment, Magnus didn’t move. Then he reached out and took a tart, biting into it with deliberate aggression. His witnesses followed suit, the sweating bear’s hands trembling as he brought the pastry to his lips.
Dahlia watched the magic take hold. Watched Magnus’s jaw clench as he fought the compulsion—and failed. His will was strong, but her magic was stronger. The surge had amplified everything.
“Now,” she said softly. “Let’s hear the truth about those surveys.”