My God.
You’ve got to find her. Get her name. Why aren’t you moving…
As Nightmare prattles off, something inside my chest shifts. It isn’t rage. It isn’t hunger.
It’s peace.
And I’m such an idiot. I didn’t get her name.
That’s what I’ve been telling you,it snarls.
Wait. She was going to the bakery.
Run, you moron. Run and find her.
My heartbeat thunders in my chest as I stride down the street, reach the bakery and yank open the door. “Where is she?” I demand.
Two people sitting at a table and a woman behind the cash register stare at me blankly.
The woman in red sneakers is nowhere to be found. “Oh, um, sorry. Wrong bakery.”
I shut the door and slink back outside. My shoulders slump. She’s gone.
That’s when Nightmare pipes up.Not if I have anything to say about it.
Chelsea
Ican’t shake the feeling of that man’s magic. My hand is still cold where we touched, like his power branded me.
Don’t be ridiculous, Chelsea. That man didn’t brand you.
But it lingers—that deadly cold threading through my veins, like it’s familiar. Even now my magic bubbles, trying to reach back toward it. Which is ridiculous because my magic has never wanted anything.
I rub my arms, trying to ease the prickly sensation that clings to every part of me. Time to focus on the task ahead.
The bakery is out of cinnamon rolls—which is stupid as the place is called The Cinnamon Roll.
How can they be out when I need them so badly?
Deciding I need a real weapon against my aunt Ovie so she’ll have no choice but to cancel the ball—and seeing as how I’moutof said weapons—I head home.
The next day when I arrive at Ovie’s house armed with gingerbread demons—yes, my cookies still came out stupid—the door opens before I have a chance to knock.
A headful of clipped gray hair appears, and my uncle smiles down at me. “Chelsea, what a surprise. You here to see your aunt?”
My uncle Charlie’s eyes glint with curiosity that makes my stomach feel like there’s a bunch of eels swimming around in it.
I take a step back. “Yes, I am.”
“I’m just going out—business across the barrier.”
“Business?”
He clears his throat, looks from side to side. “Trading.”
Right.
“Anyway, your aunt’s in the kitchen.”
