Page 2 of Sugar & Sorcery
I wasn’t listening anymore. All that mattered was that little grimoire in her hands. Its caramel-and-amber cover was smooth and shiny. I shivered, my heart beating louder than a whisk stiffening egg whites. My name was engraved on it in gold letters.
“For me?!”I leaped forward, grabbed it, and held it tight, nose buried in the smell of leather.
“I know my departure is sudden. But I’ve taught you more than you think.”
I opened it. The pages stuck a little. Every confectioner had a grimoire bound to their soul. And today, I would finally know what kind of confectioner I would become. Nyla wove courage and strength into her pastries. One bite and the impossible felt like just another challenge to beat. What was lost could be found again. Her grimoire and her gift were strong and unshakable, just like her.
But me… my smile faded as I found the pages blank.
Nyla let out a chuckle—a rare thing since she was always as cold as winter. “You thought it would be that easy? The writings of a grimoire reveal themselves as you learn, as you find your own path. Grimoires are as fickle as ovens. What you master and what you need will appear at the right time. Take care of it. A confectioner is nothing without their grimoire.”
I hugged it even tighter to my chest. No matter how much effort it would take, one day, I would become like Nyla.
She straightened and gave my head a gentle pat. Her eyes swept over the rows of jars filled with violet candies, then upto the dried herbs hanging above the anis kitchen counter as though she was memorizing the place one last time. My heart clenched even tighter.
“And if anyone ever dares to tell you a woman’s heart is weaker, show them your middle finger.”
I laughed. Nyla had traveled far beyond our flavorless little village, and she was one of the only female confectioners out there! A loud thud made me jump. My grimoire slipped from my hands and landed on the floor with a muffledflap. A horn had pierced the rosewood door. The frame creaked as it opened sideways, the shop bell giving a feeble jingle.
“I can’t let you make the worst mistake of your life!” bellowed Aignan—our tiny black lamb—twisting like an angry worm as he tried to yank free his one and only goat horn.
Nyla sighed and walked over to help dislodge him. He’d left a small hole in the door, but nothing a little royal icing couldn’t patch up.
“You have to stay here and watch over Lempicka.”
“I’d rather be cursed twice over! She has no survival instincts. Bandaged fingers, burnt sugar everywhere. She’s a walking disaster times ten!” the talking lamb huffed, his tail flicking in irritation. “If I weren’t here, she would’ve set the shop on fire by now.”
“Hey,” I protested, my cheeks burning as I hurried to hide my bandaged hands behind my back.
It wasn’tthatoften... Really. But clearly, winning him over with meringues and French toast hadn’t been enough to lower his guard.
“That’s enough,” Nyla cut in, swinging her large linen travel bag over one shoulder. “Lempicka, you’ll run the shop while I’m gone.”
I nodded quickly.
“You know how I feel about sorcerers,” Aignan bellowed, but Nyla was already through the door, not sparing him a glance. “Hey! Are you even listening?”
The crisp air stung my cheeks as I followed her outside, my ballet flats tapping clumsily on the cobblestones. The village held its breath. Behind timbered walls, curtains shifted. Whispers drifted in the breeze.
“She’s leaving us. Maybe she’ll take that cursed black lamb with her.”
“What’s going to happen to the pastry shop now? That girl can barely hold a spoon.”
“Well, at least she’s not rude. The other one, though... Always thought she was better than the rest of us. A woman confectioner, such a ridiculous idea. No wonder she’s not married.”
My fingers curled into my apron. Meanwhile, Nyla fastened her bag to her horse with a fluid motion, too smooth, too practiced, like she’d rehearsed this moment a hundred times. She didn’t react to the murmurs. Or maybe she just didn’t care.
But me? Every word clung to my skin like thistles.
“I’m going to miss you.” The words slipped out. Fragile. Like spun sugar.
She leaned down to press a quick kiss to my forehead. Her face remained still, like she’d already packed her emotions along with the rest of her things. “You’ll be fine.”
“Unless the Cursed show up,” Aignan muttered behind me, glaring toward the edge of the village like dark magic might be lurking just past the narrow streets.
“They won’t come,” deadpanned Nyla. “Not here.”
I squinted. Sorcerers protected villages in exchange for outrageous prices, that much I knew. But Aignan… he was a cursed creature too, wasn’t he?
