“Unfortunately for both of us, it looks very real,” he said as his eyes flicked to the cauldron-mixer hybrid.
Curiosity—or stupidity—drove him closer. He peered inside the warped contraption, his brow furrowing as he noticed the sheen on the potion. It had an almost living quality, the same shimmering film that now coated the walls, the counters, and every horrifyingly fused object in what used to be their separate stores.
Realization flickered across his face, and he spun toward her, his expression a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “What exactly were you trying to do here? Open a portal to hell?”
Maude rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Hell is more organized than this.”
He looked at her like she had grown two heads.
She sighed. “It’s just a miscast spell. I can fix it.”
“Fix it?” Wesley snapped. “Do you know how long it takes to laminate dough? Of course you don’t.” His muttering picked upas his gaze swept the carnage. “Weeks of work—profit margins shot to hell…” He cut himself off with another exhale, shaking his head.
After a beat, he turned and walked out, jaw tight. Maude hesitated, then followed—only to have her breath catch in her throat the moment she stepped outside.
She looked across the street to where Wesley’s shop used to be. An empty lot. Not a single trace ofSugar High Bakeryremained—no pink awning, no sign, not even a crumb. Just vacant air, as if the place had never existed at all.
Her stomach twisted.How in the hell did this happen?
She turned back to the building behind her. The fusion she’d seen inside hadn’t been an illusion. It was an abomination. Half Sugar High Bakery, half Elixir Emporium—the left side gleamed with his obnoxious pastel colors and giant, swirling lollipops in the window, while the right side stayed dark and familiar, jars of dried herbs and faintly glowing vials still intact. The dividing line wasn’t even clean—it was jagged and haphazard, as if the building itself couldn’t decide which identity to commit to.
“Must’ve been a powerful spell,” Wesley said, his tone clipped as he stared at the monstrosity.
Maude sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Or a stupid one. I must’ve botched one of Bailey’s runes.”
“Bailey?” Wesley turned to her, his brow furrowed. “Does he work for you? Maybe he can help us out.”
“Baileyis dead.”
He flinched, his face paling. “Shit. Sorry.”
The reaction was everything she’d wanted—to unnerve him, to make him feel bad. And it worked. But the way his expression twisted with genuine shame hit harder than she expected, knocking the satisfaction clean out of her.
“It’s fine,” she muttered, looking away. “Forget it.”
For once, Wesley didn’t argue. He just nodded, then turned suddenly and strode for the narrow stairway that climbed the building’s side. Maude stiffened, realizing with a startwhat he was doing—checking his apartment. Hishome. The thought struck her sideways. She’d never thought of it that way before, and the realization unsettled something deep in her.
A window screeched open above. “Still intact!” Wesley called down. “Well… mostly. Pantry’s sprouting loaves like weeds, and one of your potion jars has claimed my nightstand, but the bed survived.”
Her breath left her in a shaky rush. Saints, she really had gone too far. She hadn’t meant to ruin his life—just rattle it a little—maybe drive his business off Blightbend Way and into Market Square where he belonged—not wreck the place he lived. Watching him lean out that window, hair rumpled, voice still light despite everything, guilt pooled low in her chest.
She folded her arms, forcing her expression into something neutral until he disappeared back inside. Moments later he came down the steps, jaw set tighter than before, hands shoved into his pockets as he took his place beside her again, surveying the cursed storefront.
“So, what do we do?” he asked, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.
“Wedo nothing. You sit there, look pretty, and in an hour, you’ll be back to clogging arteries and handing out early-onset diabetes like it’s your life’s purpose.”
Wesley cocked a brow. “You think I’m pretty?”
“Shut up and let me work.”
Five
It did not take an hour.
In fact, several had passed, and all Maude had to show for it was a sheen of sweat dripping down her forehead.
She leaned over the cauldron-mixer abomination, her jaw clenched as she stirred furiously. Why wasn’t this working? She’d tried everything—isolating the original hex’s core signature and identifying the threads of intent laced within it. But when she tried to reverse the flow of energy, the spell simply absorbed her counter-charm, reinforcing itself instead of breaking down.
