Page 89 of Sugar & Sorcery
Even if it meant losing her.
Even if it meant renouncing the fragile thread of humanity I had barely begun to hope for.
I rose in a single movement. “I will face her.”
“Face her? Who? Miss Lempicka?” Yeun gaped.
“Who would have thought she would be my most formidable adversary? She’ll hate me when I tell her the truth. But honestly, that might not be the worst thing.”
Yeun choked, clutching his collar as though he had swallowed wrong. “You are the strangest being I have ever met, sir. It’s almost as if you enjoy your own misery.”
A dry laugh slipped past my lips. “Perhaps I do. After all, I don’t deserve her love. The least I can do is make sure my selfishness doesn’t destroy her.”
“And how do you intend to do that?”
“She must know about Nyla.”
29
There is no bond more absolute than the one that ties a confectioner to her sorcerer. A sorcerer has only one confectioner who resonates perfectly with his magic, and no other could ever fill that flawless echo.
LEMPICKA
My pastry never had the chance to reach the windowsill.
It crashed on the floor, right where Arawn stood outside. In all his splendor, or rather, in all his decrepitude. He looked like he’d walked backward through a bramble bush, his horns bent back like blades, and judging by the shadows gouging under his eyes, he’d spent his nights concocting some diabolical plan.
And despite all that, the ring on my finger vibrated as quickly as my heartbeat. I hated it and immediately forced down that stupid reaction.
“Good morning.” But as I glanced at the window, I frowned. Was it already dusk? Where had the day gone?
“It’s a wretched morning,” Arawn replied, his voice biting like a winter wind.
Ah. At least he was as lost as I was.
He stepped over the ledge and entered the kitchen. “I have to tell you something.”
He had barely opened his mouth when a bucket of water shot through the air, hurled straight from Chouquette’s throat. Arawn raised his hand, and the bucket instantly twisted into a winged mouse that escaped in a shriek of metal. Naturally, Chouquette darted after it. Meanwhile, the spider-plant that had sprouted from Éclair’s arms transformed into an apron embroidered with his name—enough to bring tears to his eyes.
“I should have told you earlier, but your curse made things complicated…” Arawn continued, his gaze fixed on me. “Humans react unpredictably to emotions that run too strong, and I couldn’t risk compromising our pact.”
I untied my apron, my fingers stiff, and tossed it onto the table. Thunder growled above us, splinters of wood falling in a fine rain between two warped beams. Air gusted through the same fissure.
“What is that supposed to mean? If you have something to say, say it. Don’t look for excuses. Don’t blame me or my condition.”
A thin smile brushed his lips. “You’re right. My apologies. You are a far better human than I will ever be.”
And now he was apologizing? Goose bumps crawled up my arms. He was even more threatening when he tried to be civilized.
He raised a hand toward the ceiling. The boards groaned. One by one, nails sprang loose. The wood heaved, pulsing like a heart under strain. The kitchen trembled. I clutched the edge of the counter.
“Arawn, what are you doing?!”
“Get out of here,” he ordered. “You have company, Sugarplum. It’s time you’re introduced.”
The last plank flew free, revealing the shadow of an attic above our heads. And in that in-between space, curled behind a pipe, hovered a translucent silhouette with crimson eyes. A Spirit, with the curves of a woman.
I took a step forward. “So… she was the one watching me?”
