The numbness was already beginning to return, allowing me to manage a breathless nod…though the gesture felt like a lie. Whether it was the lingering wonder or the returning emptiness that unsettled me more, I couldn’t decide.
The confusion clouding my heart must have reached him through the enchantment. His expression softened. “I’m sorry, I’m sure it’s overwhelming.”
“I don’t know how you can bear feeling this way all the time.”
As lovely as wonder had been, it felt far too fragile. The moment it entered my grasp, I became aware it could be snatched away…only this time I would know what had been lost. Future sunrises would be forever diminished by comparison, reminding me of what I no longer possessed. Part of me almost wished I had never experienced that fleeting awe at all.
I glanced towards Gabe and found him watching me with unmistakable sadness. I folded my arms across my chest, as though the gesture could protect the secrets he’d undoubtedly already glimpsed. “Did you feel that?”
He immediately looked away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. Your regret is your own.”
Regret…was that what this feeling was? Yet another uncomfortable emotion that felt too high a price for this morning’s fleeting wonder, proving exactly why I had sacrificed them in the first place.
“May I ask a question?” Gabe’s voice was soft.
I cleared my throat. “Of course. Was your bed uncomfortable? Did you need more blankets?”
He smiled gently. “The bed is just right. Do you mind telling me why the magic requires you to give up your emotions?” I felt tension through the bond, as though he wasn’t sure how I would react.
“Oh.” I paused to collect my thoughts. Giving to the magic was such a normal part of my daily life that I rarely thought about the moment I’d made that life-changing decision. I drew a slow breath.
“I’m not sure I can answer thewhy, exactly. But it’s an exchange: magic for our confections in exchange for something from ourselves. I was six years old when my parents died of a tropical fever. That’s when I came to live with Grandmother, and she began teaching me to bake. Not the magical recipes, of course. Just the basics of measuring and stirring and choosing the best ingredients. I think she was more proud than I was when I baked my first batch of cookies unassisted.”
“I’m sure they were delicious,” Gabe interjected.
I shrugged. “I doubt it. But as I kept practicing, I learned more and more. I also noticed Grandmother weakening after each of her special treats were baked. One day she told me about her own deal—the slow giving bits of her health to the magic in return for the ability to bake what people needed.”
Gabe shifted, turning to face me more fully as he listened.
“Naturally, I was horrified and wanted her to stop. But a magical contract cannot be broken. If she simply stopped baking, there would be other consequences. Plus, she felt a responsibility to keep providing what the villagers at our various locations needed.”
I paused, trying to recreate my memories in my mind. Over the years they’d begun to grow fuzzy as the emotions faded out of them.
“But her health was fading quickly, too quickly. I knew she couldn’t continue on much longer or there would be nothing left for her to give. I also knew she would never let me take her place. So one night, I woke up from a nightmare and realized that Grandmother was asleep, and this was my chance. I tiptoed into the kitchen and unlocked the cabinet where the cookbook was. I didn’t really know what to do, but I put my hand on the book and whispered that I wanted to make a deal like my grandmother had.”
Gabe was sitting up straight now, and the bond pulsed with sympathy and horror. I tried to ignore them as I continued.
“I didn’t see or hear anything, but all of a sudden I knew the magic was there, listening. And then, in my mind, I was presented with choices. I could follow in Grandmother’s footsteps and offer my health. I could give up my ability to talk, slowly growing silent. Or I could give my emotions. I saw what each of those outcomes would be like and realized that without my emotions, the pain of my parents’ loss and the sorrow of watching Grandmother suffer would abate. It hardly seemed like a sacrifice to give up something that was more pain than pleasure.”
“But what happens when you run out of emotions?” Gabe wondered.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. So far there is always something more the magic can take.”
“That must be difficult,” he murmured.
I gave a mirthless laugh. “It’s the easiest part of my life.”
“Don’t you ever wonder what you would be like if this had never happened?”
“On occasion,” I admitted. “But it’s no use pining for something that can’t be. And living without emotions makes life much more simple.”
Gabe sat quietly, gazing with unseeing eyes at the sunrise. My emotions might be practically nonexistent, but his were stormy and tangled. I shifted uncomfortably. We needed to break this spell as quickly as possible.
The resolve must have reached him, because after a brief hesitation he nodded in silent agreement. The shared understanding eased some of the tension knotting my chest.
I wanted nothing more than to go downstairs, search through my recipe book, and bake a solution to this inconvenient problem so Gabe and his meddlesome emotions could leave my life forever.
Instead, he became distracted by the maps crowding the room, covering nearly every available surface. Some hung upon the walls like artwork, while others rested atop desks, shelves, and tables; a few were even stacked in careful piles across the floor.
