Page 1 of Magic's Rise

LINES DRAWN

Another slice of apple pie slides in front of me, and I groan in protest. “You know I don’t have a wolf shifter’s metabolism like you, right?”

Ignoring my grumbles, Jesse nudges the utensils at my elbow closer. “Come on, I’ve seen you eat way more than this.”

With a deep breath, I straighten in my seat at his kitchen table. “What makes this one different from the four slices I already ate?”

A frown tugs at his lips. “Can’t tell you that. It will make you biased.”

My stomach stretches taut, ready to burst, but I gamely pick up my fork.

If someone had told me last week that I would get sick of pie, I would have stabbed them in their lying mouth. And I would have been wrong to do so.

Mrs. Smith had returned to crotchety good health with the announcement that she would be bringing a new creation to the table at the upcoming festival. Not to be outdone, the threat had launched my dear friend Jesse into a baking frenzy to further perfect his own recipe.

I had eagerly volunteered to be his guinea pig and now have delicious regrets.

Barron’s voice drifts from the front door. “Jesse, come help me with this garland.”

A thump follows the request, and Jesse lumbers out of the kitchen to go rescue his mate.

Jesse’s home is a hive of activity, with baking supplies fighting autumn decorations for space. Barron is determined to win the doorway contest, which apparently requires fall leaves and tiny gourds. Lots of them.

“What do you think of this variant, Rowe?” Jesse yells, the multi-tasking fiend.

Dutifully, I cut off the tip of the pie, the flaky, golden crust cracking beneath the tines of my fork. It smells like apples, cinnamon, and other spices I can’t identify. The apple pieces, layered with loving care, glisten with syrup.

My stomach rebels at the sight.

A deep breath brings honeyed sweetness into my mouth, and I force the bite in after it. The crust melts on my tongue, followed by the spice-filled, sweet tang of the fruit filling, and I swallow convulsively.

This is worse than the time Ros challenged me to eat the gravy in the mess hall where he used to live with his vampire brethren.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not usually a challenge to consume an entire pie in one sitting. Hell, Tris and I have had pie-eating contests in the past just for funsies. This is the third consecutive day of taste testing, though, and four more uncut pies sit on the counter, waiting for their turn with my tastebuds.

By this point, I am pie. Buttery crust seeps from my pores, and apples line my insides.

“Rowe?” Worry fills Jesse’s voice. “Is it not good?”

“I can’t do it.” A burp escapes as I push the plate as far away as the small table will allow. “I’ve hit the pie wall. If I eat any more, I’ll become a walking, talking apple crumble.”

“Crumble was yesterday. Today is lattice top.” Jesse reappears in the kitchen, a bright orange leaf stuck in his beard. “You can’t give up. The contest is in less than a week!”

“Sorry, but my tastebuds are tapping out.” I lean back in my chair and clutch my taut stomach. “It’s time to bring in my replacement.”

Mournful eyes turn toward the untouched pies. “But…”

“Let Barron take a turn.” I peer toward the front door, knowing Barron can hear us with his super wolf ears. “It’s his duty as your mate.”

Shaking his head, Jesse grabs a sponge to clean flour off the counter. “I love him, but the man thinks burnt toast with butter is fine cuisine.”

“Hey, don’t knock a good piece of charcoal.” Barron sweeps into the room and scoops up my plate of pie, taking a bite and moaning with appreciation. “This is better than your original recipe.”

Jesse’s shoulders slump with defeat. “That is the original recipe.”

Barron gives him a chagrined smile. “It’s still good.”

Knuckles rap against the front door, followed by Tris’s voice as he comes inside. “Did someone request a pickup?”

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