Page 35 of Sugar & Sorcery
Chouquette rolled onto her side and let out another small burp, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. I couldn’t help but smile. Arawn crouched and pulled something from the pile.
“She came to fetch this for you.”
He tossed a grimoire into the air. I caught it just in time. That worn cover, its dog-eared pages. My grimoire! My heart leaped.
I looked down at Chouquette. “You knew how much this meant to me? Thank you, Chouquette!”
The little creature chirped, her cheeks flushing the faintest pink. I hugged her tight.
Arawn cleared his throat. “You’re welcome.”
“Oh, um… yes, thank you,” I stammered, only then realizing he had partly returned it to me. “You’re not as terrible as I thought.”
Silence. I bit my lip, realizing my mistake a second too late. The shadow of his monstrous past flickered in the room, but he only stared at me, amused.
“Not as terrible? How flattering. I don’t know what’s worse: your pitiful opinion of me, or how quickly I managed to raise it.”
I swallowed hard, desperate to change the subject. My eyes darted around the room. A dark wooden desk with an inkwell black as night. A window without glass. Ordinary objects piled into clutter that still seemed to pulse with magic.
“Is this your study? I saw you had confectioners’ grimoires. I could borrow one to?—”
“They’re useless. You shouldn’t compare yourself. I hope you’re not afraid of heights.”
“What? Why would I be?—”
“Because this might be… unpleasant.”
“Wait, I don’t think?—”
Arawn snapped his fingers. A broom, harmless until then in a corner of the room, sprang to life and shot straight at me like a missile. I had no time to scream. In a blink, I was yanked off the floor and hurled through the window, clinging to the broom handle for dear life.
My companions latched onto me. The wind shrieked in my ears, whipping my face, while my hair tangled into a wild storm. We tore through the mist, and with a violent jolt, the broom dove straight for the ground.
Our screams were swallowed by the wind, and then we crashed into the kitchen. I rolled across the floorboards, leaving behind a sugary trail. I had Nyla’s grimoire clutched against me like a makeshift shield. The broom, meanwhile, settled calmly into a corner, upright and proud, as if it had done absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.
It was official. I hated flying.
13
It is said that the Cursed unconsciously cling to the memory of the first pastry they ever tasted or the last one they savored, as if a single confection could rekindle what they had lost.
LEMPICKA
The kitchen shuddered and turned toward the east.
Shards of stone broke loose from the manor’s ceiling, crumbling down in a fine dust. Under the milky pink of the sky, a new page of my grimoire wrote itself.
A brand-new recipe:
Snow Rings, or Friendship Rings (also known as Yeun’s Rousquilles).
Tender, sugared circles, golden and powdered, crafted to shield against the cold. They symbolize the warmth of friendship, a reminder that even in the heart of the harshest winter, we are never truly alone.
For the very first time, my grimoire was speaking to me.
“You saw that!” I cried, clutching the grimoire to my chest in a tiny euphoric dance.
I expected cheers, or at least a round of applause, from my companions. Instead, it was the dusty little mirror in the corner of the kitchen that answered.
