Page 30 of Whisked Away
Alex shifts beside me, her posture just a little stiffer than before. She’s not afraid of him, but I can tell—she’s thrown. Unsettled. Her fingers tighten around the edge of her notebook, her smile polite but faltering at the edges.
She doesn’t know what she did wrong.
“Alex has a call with her editor she needs to make. Right?”My voice is casual. It’s taking everything I’ve got to keep it that way.
She blinks, still half-distracted by Dean’s grating presence. “Oh—yeah, I do.”
“You don’t want to be late.”
She glances between us, that keen journalist’s intuition clearly picking up on the undercurrent of tension. For a terrifying moment, I think she might press further. But then she nods and wipes her flour-dusted hands on her apron. “Right. I should get going. See you tomorrow, Ethan.”
“Tomorrow.”
As soon as she’s out the door, the temperature drops several degrees, the air turning crisp, charged. Dean’s magic brushes against my skin, controlled but unmistakable—a quiet reminder that, if it ever came down to it, he could snuff mine out like a candle. That he’s stronger. That he’s the one keeping me here, and not the other way around.
He doesn’t speak right away. He doesn’t have to. The silence says enough.
I wipe my hands on a towel, keeping my movements easy, casual. If he wants to make a point, I won’t be the one to invite it.
“This has gone on long enough,” Dean finally says. His voice is quiet but sharp as a blade. “Every day she stays increases the risk.”
“She’s not a threat?—”
“No?” He steps closer, magical energy rolling off him in waves. Sometimes I forget that beneath his leather jacket and stern demeanor, Dean is one of the most powerful warlocks in the country. It’s no accident he was chosen as my keeper. “You didn’t think Sarah was a threat either, and look how that turned out.”
I flinch. “That was different.”
“Was it?” His dark eyes bore into mine. “You know what happens if you slip up again. You know what those secure pocket communities really are.”
“Locked-down facilities,” I mutter, but even saying the words makes my skin crawl. I’d heard whispers about those places—magical beings trapped behind wards so strong they could barely access their own power. No visitors, no freedom, no chance for a normal life. The Whisk might be my cage, but at least it’s one that feels normal. One where I can still create, still make others happy, still feel some sense of purpose.
“No.” The word cracks like a whip. “They’re prisons, Hart. Places where your entire life is managed, twenty-four hours a day. You can forget baking. Forget having any semblance of a normal life.” He pauses, letting that sink in. “I chose to allow you to come to Magnolia Cove because I foolishly believe some people deserve second chances. Don’t make me regret that.”
I study the man before me—powerful enough to make most magical beings tremble, yet here he is in a sleepy coastal town, supposedly choosing an easy post, a quiet life. But then he took me on, and suddenly, his workload wasn’t so easy anymore.
I don’t know why he did it. Maybe he saw it as a challenge. Maybe it was a test—for both of us. Either way, we’ve been stuck with each other ever since.
He’s the reason I’m here. The reason I was allowed to open a bakery. The reason Magnolia Cove’s magical marketing got approved, even though it could have backfired. Hell, he even let Alex stay when he could have forced her out on day one.
For all his gruffness, for all the resentment I harbor at being watched, I owe him my freedom. Such as it is. The Council had wanted me locked away immediately after the Sarah incident. Dean was the one who suggested MagnoliaCove instead, who volunteered to keep me in check, to be powerful enough to stop me if needed.
And because of that, I got a chance to build something here—to be more than just my mistakes. To knead dough beside Zoe at sunrise, to watch the town square light up with lanterns on festival nights, to be part of something real. I love this town. I love these people. And the last thing I want is to hurt them.
“I understand,” I say finally.
Dean nods once, then turns to leave. At the door, he pauses. “End this, Hart. Before I have to.”
After he’s gone, I sink onto a stool, head in my hands. The kitchen feels cold, despite the residual warmth from the ovens. All my dreams of making a name for myself in the culinary world, of proving I’m more than just my magic—they seem to mock me now.
The truth is, I’m not just hiding magic from Alex. I’m hiding from myself. From the reality that I’ll never be normal, never be safe, never be someone who can love freely without fear of destroying everything around them.
I let myself remember the warmth of Alex’s touch, the light in her eyes when she tastes something I’ve made, the way she makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, I could be worthy of love. Even if I know it’s just another beautiful illusion.
Alex
Zoe drops a pan of freshly baked bread loaves onto the counter, then places her hands on her hips and surveys their golden crusts. A smile slips across her face. For someone who is new to baking, she definitely loves it, and despite her playfulness, she takes her job seriously.
It’s my last day working at the Whisk, and I can’t help the melancholy twinge in me at the thought of not showing up again Monday morning, not donning an apron and pulling eggs from the fridge, not greeting the regular customers, not avoiding my actual job.
