Page 6 of Whisked Away
Dean finishes his coffee, tosses the cup in the trash, and chews on a toothpick until everyone’s gone. With a sigh, I exchange a look with Zoe before removing my apron and walking around the counter.
“Something I can help you with?”
Dean rolls the toothpick back and forth like he’s attempting to grate on every single one of my nerves. He’s a smashing success, as always. “Dropping by for my monthly check-in.”
His voice is gritty. It’s a wonder people trust him any more than me. Though, he’s a warlock—one of the most important members of magical society, since they create the wards that keep humans from noticing magic in pocket towns like Magnolia Cove. And they have the magic to stop monsters. Like me.
“Here I am.”
“It’s the Lunar Occultation tonight. Shop’s open anyway, I notice.”
I struggle against grinding my teeth. “And everything is going normally, isn’t it?”
“Fine, fine.” He takes the toothpick out of his mouth, snaps it, and tosses it aside. Then he drags a rolled-up magazine from his back pocket. “Have you seen this?”
It hits the table with a slap, the garish colors glaring up at me. My neck heats as a copy of this month’sFoodie Frenzyunfurls, the rainbow-colored pastry clashing against the warm tones of my bakery.
Yes, I’d seen that embarrassing article. I knew the woman who wrote the piece would focus most on the magic-infused marketing. I didn’t realize she’d Photoshop the images until they looked like a circus spectacle.
We needed a gimmick to draw tourists to the island. Themile stretch of sandy beach wouldn’t do it when there were far better and more accessible shores on the mainland. Visitors funded the local economy, and smart marketing brought more of them to our town.
So why not lead with the truth? The baked goodsweremagic-infused—not to change their flavor or texture, but to leave the person eating them feeling satisfied, peaceful.
Most of the island’s foods were similarly touched with magic.
Dean had disapproved of the ploy when I started the bakery. But who would believe the magic was real? No one, especially thanks to the wards that kept any humans from seeing Magnolia Cove’s reality—kept them from remembering anything other than the good feelings when they left our shore.
I hadn’t realized I’d turned my baking—my one pride—into a joke.
I shove the magazine aside. “It’s an article. The council approved this.”
“I don’t like the wordmagicshowing up next toMagnolia Coveso much.” Before I can reply, he continues, “The entire warlock and witches’ council doesn’t like it.”
I deeply regret already taking off my apron—I could have used the excuse of removing it to hide my reaction. “They approved my petition. Besides, the article is already out there.”
He steps closer to me, his black boots out of place in the bakery or on the island itself. But he’s Dean Markham—he gets away with whatever he wants.
“Should I remind you,” he whispers, “about the cost and time of having to do the repair work when our magic ends up out there?”
I could take this man in a fight. For all his muscles and sharp looks, he’s better with words and magic. I’m no warlock—my body doesn’t possess magic I can infuse into spells,making me a demigod like Dean. But it possesses an inhuman amount of brute strength and fighting intuition. My fingers curl, but I force them to straighten.
I can’t risk everything I’ve built here over Dean.
And if I screw up, they won’t just kick me off the island—they’ll throw me into a real prison pocket community. A place with no way out, where rule-breaking magic users are locked away for life. Magnolia Cove might have its limits, but at least here, I can still breathe.
Dean’s right, anyway. I burned my shot in the human world. Fell in love. Had my heart broken. And in the aftermath, let too many people see too much of the magical world.
Witches and warlocks had to clean up behind me.
Now, all I have to do is survive twelve more months of good behavior, and I’ll finally be able to shake free of Dean as my parole officer. Maybe in another five years, they’ll even let me take a few short trips off the island.
A man can dream.
Until then, I haveThe Whimsical Whisk. And I won’t risk it for anything.
“I get it.” My voice is steady, but it takes effort. “This article is probably a good thing, anyway. It makes magic seem comical. Besides, Foodie Frenzy? No one takes it seriously.”
Dean grunts but doesn’t argue. Instead, he rolls the magazine up again, then pulls a folded envelope free that's been folded into thirds and shoves it at me.
