Chapter 4
Four
Maude’s cottage came into view at the end of a narrow road, its slanted roof and snarl of brambles giving it a lopsided, haphazard charm. The windows were dark, and the faint scent of damp earth hung in the air as she trudged up the uneven path.
The door creaked when it swung open, then slammed shut with a thud that echoed through the heavy stillness. Maude leaned back, chest tight, breath shallow.
She didn’t know how to do this—how to be normal. How to act like she wasn’t a walking disaster, barely holding it together since Bailey died. Not that she’d ever been good at normal; she wasn’t the “smile and roll with it” type. But before, at least, she’d been functional.
Now it felt like every decent part of her—the parts that kept Oli and Selene in her life, that kept Bailey’s shop running—was being buried alive beneath the suffocating weight of grief and rage.
Because she was angry. Angry that Bailey had the nerve to die.
Angry that he’d left her to deal with the flaming wreckage of their life.
Angry that every morning she had to drag herself out of bed and pretend she wasn’t gutted—pretend she wasn’t stitched together from the wrong pieces, trying to pass as the person she used to be.
But she wasn’t. Not anymore.
That person was gone. Just like him.
And all these changes…it was too much. Too fast.
Her gaze drifted across the house, catching on the faint glow of the protective lines carved into the walls.
More of Bailey’s runes.
He’d left them everywhere she might linger—etched into the beams above her bed, tucked into the doorframe at Oli’s house, scattered in quiet corners in town—as if he could still watch over her when he wasn’t there, guarding with the same steady care he’d once given her.
After Bailey had died, somehow the world had just…kept spinning. Shifting. It was almost like his death had been the catalyst, setting off a chain reaction of chaos. Part of her wondered if he was behind it somehow—like this was his big cosmic joke. “Change, Maude. Grow, Maude.”
But she wasn’t growing. She was drowning.
Maude scrubbed a hand down her face, muttering a curse under her breath.
“This is your fault, isn’t it?” she said, glancing toward the ceiling like Bailey might hang out there, waiting for her to notice.
“All these upheavals, all this…nonsense. You think this is what I needed? Because it’s not.
” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she hated herself for it.
With a shake of her head, she pushed off the door and trudged toward her bedroom.
Maude talked to Bailey a lot these days.
Too much, probably. It made her look mad—but she didn’t care.
The quiet got to her otherwise, and sometimes it felt like he could actually hear her.
Like if she said the right thing, he’d walk in from the back room, wipe his hands on his apron, and give her one of those looks that always felt like equal parts exasperation and fondness.
But he never did.
She flopped onto the bed with a groan, staring at the cracked ceiling above. “If you’re up there, Bailey, I hope you’re laughing. Because this? This is hell.”
The cottage creaked again, but this time, it almost felt like an answer.
She turned her head on the pillow, her gaze snagging on the stack of overdue bills teetering at the edge of her desk.
The sight made her stomach twist. With a long, slow sigh, she closed her eyes.
Maybe tonight’s madness would put a dent in some of those.
But even if it did, how was she supposed to cover next month’s bills on top of everything else she already owed?
A dull ache bloomed behind her eyes, and she cursed Oli under her breath for tampering with her headache potion. She could really use it right now.
Her teeth pressed into her bottom lip. Maybe he was right. Maybe if she wanted to keep Bailey’s shop—and his house—she’d have to adapt, bend with the times. But even the thought felt suffocating, like burying another piece of herself.
Like another death.
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she didn’t bother to wipe it away. When the groan of her bedroom door echoed softly, she kept her eyes shut. She didn’t need to open them. The runes carved into the cottage made sure only one other soul besides hers could enter uninvited.
Oli slid beneath the blanket without ceremony, his warmth pressing against her side. She hated how instantly it calmed her, as if his very existence were a weighted blanket draped over her frayed nerves.
“I’m sorry, Maude,” he said, voice softer than she was used to hearing. “I went overboard.”
She sighed, letting her head fall against his shoulder. “You’re just trying to help.”
He pulled her closer, tucking her under his arm and resting his chin on the top of her head. “You made a boatload of money tonight. If this keeps up, I’m going to start expecting you to buy my coffee every morning.”
Maude snorted. “Fine, but only if I get to hex anyone who cuts in line.”
“Done,” Oli said, squeezing her shoulder. “But if you do, at least make it something funny.”
Maude shook her head, the tension in her chest easing just a little more.
“You’re keeping the shop,” Oli said firmly. “Whatever it takes, we’ll figure it out.”
Oliver had offered more times than Maude could count to help pay off her bills or fix up the house, but she refused every time. Too proud to accept his charity, just like Bailey had been. It was a stubborn streak she’d inherited, and if anything, she clung to it tighter now than ever.
“What about the bakery boy?”
“What about the bakery bastard?”
Oli burst out laughing. “He’s nice, Maude. And his business is booming. Maybe do a Blightbend Way collaboration? You know, join forces, pool your talents. I’m sure he’d be up for it.”
Maude turned her head to glare at him. “I see right through you, Oliver Hale. You want him. Let me guess—granting him that loan and loitering around my shop, hoping to catch his eye, hasn’t worked yet?”
Oli gasped. “Excuse me, I do not want him. He’s just nice. Full stop. Besides, he’s clearly not my type.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.”
Oli settled back into the pillows. “Just think about it.”
Maude didn’t respond, only stared at the ceiling, listening to his breathing slow until he started snoring.
Her mind raced. Oli was right about one thing—the bakery bastard’s business was booming.
His frosted monstrosities were scaring away her customers and turning Blightbend Way into a twee tourist trap.
Maude didn’t need to “evolve” or “adapt to the times.” No, what she needed to do was destroy him.
Wipe that smug, flour-dusted grin off his stupid, perfect face.
She smiled to herself, nudging closer to Oli as a calm settled over her. For the first time in weeks, she drifted off peacefully, dreaming of all the ways she could ruin him.
By the time the first light of dawn filtered through the crooked blinds of the Elixir Emporium, Maude’s plan had crystallized into something deliciously wicked. As she wiped down the counters and rearranged jars of herbs, she turned the details over in her mind like a well-rehearsed script.
A spell—small, subtle, unassuming.
It wouldn’t hurt anyone. Not permanently, at least. Just enough to nudge Wesley’s bakery toward sabotage. The kind that would make customers wrinkle their noses and second-guess every bite.
She smirked, reaching for a bundle of dried mugwort and twisting the brittle stems in her hands. Slow and steady—that was the beauty of it. His business would crumble bit by bit until he had no choice but to pack up and leave Blightbend Way for good.
On the worktable before her, Bailey’s old parchment lay pinned beneath a pestle, the half-finished scrawl catching the lanternlight. She traced the final, broken sigil with the edge of her nail, humming under her breath.
“Well,” she muttered, “you won’t mind if I finish it for you.”
She’d seen him cast something similar once—a curse disguised as decay.
A whisper of entropy, nothing more. Maude spread the ingredients across the counter, lining them up in neat little rows: ironvine, blackthorn bark, sprigs of rosemary, bloodroot, yarrow, moondust caps—and the shadowbell flowers, their petals still dark with dew. Those were his. The foundation.
The bones of the spell.
Then came her touches: a touch of nightshade to lure in the rats, belladonna to soften the wood, and just a drop of myrrh oil for that lingering note of decay. It was the kind of thing Bailey would have called “quiet sabotage.”
Steam rose in thin, silvery ribbons as Maude measured each ingredient with a practiced hand.
She crushed the yarrow between her palms, the scent sharp and clean, then scattered the shadowbell petals across the surface.
The potion caught instantly, shimmering like liquid dusk.
Leaning over the parchment, she copied Bailey’s runes along the rim of the cauldron, her chalk strokes clean but impatient.
The last line—unfinished in his hand—she filled herself, twisting the rune just slightly, the way she imagined he would’ve.
Her own flourish. Her own proof that she could do this too.
Maude could already picture the bakery bastard trying to fix the “mysterious” problems, blissfully unaware of the spell weaving itself into his walls. The thought made her lips curl into a smile—one that grew wider as she ground a handful of herbs into powder.
She paused, glancing out the window as the square stirred, the faint sounds of carts creaking and vendors setting up for the day reaching her ears. Her smile didn’t falter as she muttered to herself, “Good luck baking your way out of this, Wesley.”
Revenge, she decided, smelled faintly of smoke and resin, with just a hint of malicious glee.