The audacity.
The crowd chuckled, tension dissolving. Some even clapped him on the shoulder as though he’d saved their children from a burning building instead of actively participating in a magical crime scene.
Maude stalked closer, Grim digging his claws into her shoulder like he knew she needed restraining.
“Is this a joke to you?” she said when she reached him, lowenough that only he could hear.
Wesley’s smile didn’t falter. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Leftovers from the party last night,” he said lightly. “It went well, in case you were wondering.”
Her mouth pressed into a line.
“If you do not want them to panic,” he went on, still smiling for the crowd, “you have to act like everything’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.”
“Of course it’s not,” he murmured, flashing another grin at a passing couple who blushed under his attention. “But they don’t need to know that.”
Before she could retort, the crowd shifted. Someone else had arrived.
Two figures in dull gray coats, marked with the sigil of the town magistrates, strode toward the shop with the air of bureaucrats who thought a clipboard could solve anything. One of them, a sharp-nosed alderman she vaguely recognized from Bailey’s old disputes about licensing fees—Veyne, possibly—squinted at the fused building.
“What in the Saints’ names is this?” he demanded, pulling a ledger from his satchel. His companion scribbled furiously beside him. “Unregistered alterations? Structural instability? A hazard to public safety.” His gaze snapped to Maude. “Miss Harrow, this wouldn’t be your doing, would it?”
Wesley beat her to it. “Not at all,” he said smoothly, “just a minor magical hiccup. Contained, as you can see. Nothing unsafe—our customers are as happy and healthy as ever.”
The inspector’s brow furrowed. “Still, it’s highly irregular?—”
“Absolutely,” Wesley cut in, nodding sympathetically, as if the man’s words pained him. “We’ll file the proper reports today. Safety’s our priority, I assure you. In the meantime, we’re keeping everything under strict control.”
Maude bristled, heat flooding her chest.
We?
The alderman hesitated, visibly soothed by Wesley’s easycadence, before harrumphing and snapping his ledger shut. “Very well. But mark me—if the building isn’t stabilized by Samhain, we condemn it. Both of you. Shops shuttered, goods seized, property razed if necessary.” His hawk’s gaze flicked between them, settling a heartbeat longer on Maude. “One month. Not a day more.”
The words landed like a curse, final and cold.
“Of course,” Wesley said warmly, shaking his hand like they’d just sealed a lucrative deal.
Maude wanted to hex them both into oblivion.
Of course the magistrates would listen to him. Men like Wesley were made for this kind of thing—charming, steady-voiced. Men like Bailey.
She used to try to be that sort of person too—smiling at festivals, pouring cider at market fairs, pretending the chatter didn’t make her skin itch. Bailey had always made it look easy; people wanted to love him. When he died, she stopped pretending, and the town had stopped pretending with her. They’d let her drift to the edges, easier to pity than to include, easier still to dislike. Every town needed someone to whisper about, and she’d made the mistake of being convenient.
When the inspectors departed, the crowd dispersed in fits and starts—still buzzing, but calmer now, the sting of panic dulled. Some chuckled as they wandered off, already spinning the story for neighbors: The fused shop. The witch and the baker. Condemned by Samhain if they don’t fix it.
Brilliant. Exactly the kind of notoriety she’d spent her entire life avoiding.
The door groaned like a dying man as Maude shoved it open. Inside, the scent hit her immediately: lavender and sage locked in a death match with buttercream and yeast, the air thick enough tochoke on. The shelves sagged under their mismatched burdens, like even the wood knew it wasn’t built for this kind of nonsense.
She didn’t know why it still surprised her. Every time she walked in, some stubborn corner of her brain seemed to expect order—as if the universe might have tidied itself up overnight out of pity. Ridiculous. Nothing in here was getting fixed without her. Still, she couldn’t quite believe it. Couldn’t quite accept that this catastrophe was hers now.
Her abomination.
Grim hopped down from her shoulder, tail lashing as he stalked across the fused counter, pausing to sniff a frosted cupcake that had sprouted beside her jar of powdered bone ash.
With a disdainful hiss, he leapt down and disappeared into the shadows.Sensible.
