The worn cover creaked softly as I opened it to the tracking tart and traced each ingredient with my finger. I frowned. Every ingredient had been correct. I checked again, then a third time. The recipe remained stubbornly unchanged. And yet, something had clearly gone wrong.
I sighed and rubbed my temple. “I don’t understand,” I murmured as I glanced back at the page. “Enchanted recipes are precise. If something went wrong, there should be a reason.”
“Did we pick the wrong berries?” Gabe offered softly. “Or perhaps we missed a step.”
I shook my head. “I’ve baked this recipe dozens of times.” Yet no matter how many times I reviewed the instructions, I found nothing.
My fingers stilled against the page as a sudden thought tugged unexpectedly at my attention. If the ingredients and method were correct, then perhaps the error lay in the tart’s required price. My resistance to the magic before acquiescing had been the unusual part of a familiar routine; perhaps the magic wasn’t right since I had been unwilling to pay the price.
I glanced uncertainly towards Grandmother, who appeared to be mulling the problem over. Understanding settled across her pensive expression as an idea seemed to occur to her.
She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should try testing the spell one last time.” Before either of us could object, she pointed her cane towards the door. “Gabe, walk outside.”
His brow furrowed, and though he seemed reluctant to volunteer himself as the test subject, he headed for the door.I followed him, curious despite myself. If the spell truly was malfunctioning, observing it firsthand might reveal clues the recipe book could not.
We stepped outside into the moonlit clearing. The rain had finally ceased, leaving droplets glittering upon every branch and blade of grass. The forest looked entirely transformed beneath the silver glow, as though the storm had washed the world clean.
Grandmother hobbled after us to the doorway while Nutmeg immediately darted outside, clearly delighted by the prospect of an experiment. “Try leaving again,” she instructed Gabe.
Gabe obediently nodded and headed towards the trees. At first nothing happened. His stride remained steady as he walked ten paces, twenty, and then thirty. I began to wonder whether the problem had somehow resolved itself when he suddenly slowed. His shoulders stiffened as he took another faltering step, then another, before finally stopping altogether.
Even from a distance I could sense his confusion. “Is something wrong?” I asked.
“It’s as it was before,” he said.
He took another hesitant step and immediately clenched and unclenched his hands in a movement that reminded me of someone struggling to remember an important thought, or resisting a powerful urge. He stood there for several moments before, with a heavy sigh, he turned around and walked back.
I did my best to ignore Grandmother’s growing triumphant grin. “What happened?” I asked Gabe.
Gabe rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s difficult to explain.” He searched for the words. “Have you ever forgotten something important and been unable to think about anything else until you remembered? It was as though that feeling was becoming stronger and stronger the farther I walked.” He glanced back towards the trees. “Almost as though…I was leaving something behind.”
The words unsettled me for reasons I couldn’t explain, a feeling that deepened when Grandmother suddenly straightened and pointed her cane towards me. “Now you try.”
I blinked. “Me?”
“If we’re experimenting, we should be thorough.”
By the mischievous glint that had suddenly appeared in her eyes, I suspected her reasoning extended beyond mere thoroughness. I sighed but complied. The moment I began walking towards the trees, a strange restlessness stirred within me, the unmistakable sensation that something was missing.
The feeling sharpened the farther I drew from the bakery, growing taut, like a string about to break. The moment I reached the same place Gabe had stopped, it grew too unbearable to continue. I struggled to breathe as though the air had grown thin, feeling that taking a single step farther might cause me to faint.
I turned around almost without thinking and the feeling eased the moment I started back. By the time I reached the bakery once more, it had vanished entirely. Numbly I reentered the bakery, my mind too full of what was happening to more than dimly register Gabe helping Grandmother back into her chair and tucking a quilt over her lap.
Grandmother nodded to herself, knowing without my explanation that my experience mirrored Gabe’s. “That was quite enlightening. Do you better understand the spell you created, Cecelia?”
I shook my head—more in denial of a knowledge that seemed to be trying to capture my attention, but which I refused to acknowledge.
Nutmeg gave an impatient spark, as though she sensed my conclusion and disapproved of my aversion. In a sudden burst into motion, the ember sprite darted between us, glowingbrighter than usual. She tugged at Gabe’s sleeve, then flew over to grab the hem of my skirt before trying to pull me forward.
“What are you trying to show us, Nutmeg?” I asked. Though by her behavior, she seemed to have her own wild theories that I would certainly disagree with.
She chirped impatiently and continued darting between us, as though following an invisible thread. She glowed brighter each time she crossed the space separating us, as though attempting to show us something obvious.
Nutmeg chirped louder at our continued puzzlement and once again flew between us. This time I paid closer attention. The farther apart Gabe and I stood, the brighter she glowed; the closer together we moved, the dimmer she became, as though whatever tension she sensed was easing.
Across the hearth, Gabe watched Nutmeg’s exchange with growing concern. “I truly am sorry,” he said. “If this happened because I wanted to help or distracted you while baking?—”
“That’s not what she’s trying to tell us.” A faint unease stirred my heart as an uncomfortable possibility occurred to me.
