by Erin Johnson
He looked at me with such earnestness I could hardly meet his eyes. I looked all around for any escape. My eyes landed on Maple. I slid up to her and threw an arm over her shoulders.
“Oh darn.” I tried to grimace and look disappointed. “But Maple was just saying how much help she’ll need, getting the booth ready, selling the pastries, running the pie-eating contest—”
“The what?” Maple frowned at me.
“Maybe that’s a human thing, I’ll explain it. But all the more reason she needs me working the booth with her, right?” I flashed my eyes at her.
“Oh, yeah. Right.”
“So, I’m sorry. Bummer. But I won’t be able to study with you.” I pulled Maple to me like she was my conjoined twin, and kept my smile plastered on as I stared up at Hank. His head brushed the ceiling of the dark, small space. His flat eyes held none of their usual sparkle.
“Maple, will you excuse us a moment? I need a private word with Imogen.”
My arm tightened around her shoulders. She turned to me, her expression apologetic. I shook my head tightly, willing my thoughts telepathically into her head. Maple. Don’t leave me alone with him. Maple!
She inched away, and I knew I’d have to save myself. “I have to check on my cinnamon rolls!”
Maple peeled my arm from her shoulders. “I’ll check for you.” She gave my hand a little squeeze before slipping out of the dim alcove into the bright bakery. She cast an apologetic glance over her shoulder, then moved off to the ovens.
I folded my arms across my chest and stared at my feet, trying hard to ignore my closeness to Hank, the darkness of the space, and how he smelled like cloves. He took a step closer, and I backed into a shelf that dug into my lower back. Ow.
He reached an arm out, but stopped short of touching my elbow. “Imogen. You’re avoiding me.”
“What? No, I’m not. I’m….” I looked around for an escape.
He sighed. “I get it. I do. It’s a… complicated situation.”
Not that complicated. We almost kissed in a pantry, much like the alcove we’re currently in, then you did kiss me to save my life, then it was so nice we almost kissed again, but your fiancée showed up and reminded me that, oh yeah, you’re engaged. To a princess.
“But you’ve got to learn to use your magic.”
I finally looked up at him, standing so close, and I froze. His dark, thick brows pulled together, and he pressed his lips tight, and pulled them to the side. Stop. I willed myself to look away from his lips. “Look, I made it through the baking contest without magic, didn’t I? I’m doing fine.”
He scoffed. “Hardly.”
I frowned at him. “Hey.”
He sighed. “What I mean is, you hardly made it through without magic. You use magic all the time, you just don’t know how to control it. Besides, I’m not concerned about your baking, which is better than fine.”
My stomach fluttered at the compliment.
“It’s your safety. Nate almost….” He looked away and swallowed, his throat bobbing. He turned back to me, his eyes intense. “You need to be able to defend yourself.”
“I am learning, all right?” I lifted my brows and tried for confidence. “I’ve been reading books and studying on my own and—”
“And how’s that going?” He shook his head. “You’re talking to another swallow, you don’t think I tried that as a kid? It wasn’t until my mother realized what I was and found another swallow to teach me, that I was able to control my magic.”
He stepped closer and his warm hand slid gently around my elbow. “If something happened to you—”
“Princess!”
We both turned. Outside the alcove, the bakers all bowed and curtsied to the beautiful Princess Shaday and her handsome brother, Prince Roo. Decked out in the red and gold silks of the Fire Kingdom, they stood at the top of the stairs, glowing. Well, the beam of sunshine streaming in through the open second-story window onto their heads helped, but they shone on their own, too.
Hank dropped his arms to his sides and gave me a downcast look, before composing himself and striding out of the alcove to join his fiancée. I sighed as I watched him go.
“I was told I might find you here.” Princess Shaday had a deep, melodic voice, though her tone with Hank was the same as her tone with any of us. She was a tough cookie to read. “We are wanted for the meeting with the trade council.”
Hank and Shaday bowed stiffly to each other. I leaned my head against the white stucco wall and watched them leave. It didn’t matter that Hank’s dad, the king, had arranged his marriage to Shaday and that he barely knew her. It didn’t matter that he and I had a deep and magical connection that went beyond the sparks of two swallows gravitating toward each other. Shaday and Hank had about as much chemistry as a cake with too much baking soda. Ba-dum tshh! Thanks folks, I’ll be here all week. Bad baking joke—it makes a cake flat, just like the interactions between Hank and Shaday—but they’d be married.
And even if he didn’t marry her, Hank was a prince, and I was definitely not a princess. Which made him off-limits, and made the two of us working magic together a bad idea.
At least the carnival would get me out of the palace for a week.
2
The Tent
“Sam, that’s amazing!” I clasped my hands together and bounced on my toes.
Sam continued to wave one hand through the air as if he were conducting a symphony, while he paused with the other to push his glasses up his nose. He smiled at me, his milky blue eyes bright. As he swept his hands through the air, our baking booth came together.
Long branches floated into place, twisting themselves into the grassy ground to stand upright like poles. Then the thick white canvas fluttered in overhead and dropped into place, creating a peaked tent with an open front. The sides flapped in the salty sea breeze.
Sam hummed in his surprisingly low voice as pastel-colored bunting strung itself across the top of the open side, and a long wooden table appeared, topped with three-tiered cake stands and vintage leather suitcases lined with pink cloth to use as displays.
A banner floated into place, announcing in blue and gold lettering, “The Royal Bakery Booth” and a chalkboard with a list of items for sale and prices swung into place, hanging from one of the poles.
Sam let his arms drop, and shrugged. “Well, it’sss not perfect, but hopefully—”
“It’s beautiful!” I pulled Maple and Sam into a hug.
Maple peeked around me. “Sam, you have such a good eye for design.”
Sam ducked his head to hide his blush, what little of a chin he had completely disappearing.
“What is it with you lot and baking in tents?” Iggy guttered in a glass-enclosed lantern at my feet. “Shall we see if the oven is up to standard?”
“Is anything up to your standards?” I ducked to lift the lantern and a couple of my library books I’d brought along to study during the slow times. The four of us stepped under the colorful bunting into the tent. Right behind the long wooden table stood a tall stone wood-fire oven. As I opened the glass door on the lantern and coaxed Iggy out, I noticed the logs already in the oven and piled at its base. I turned to Sam, a wide grin on my face.
“Sam! You even remembered that Iggy loves linden branches.” I turned from Sam to my flame. “Iggy, wasn’t that thoughtful?”
Sam ducked his head and rubbed the back of his beet-red neck. “It wasss nothing. I wasss out ssslithering in the foressst and sssaw sssome.”
Iggy nestled into the oven, munching on one of the branches, which crackled and glowed. “Well, I don’t know how he carried a pile of logs back without arms, but I’ll take it.”
I tilted my head to the side and gave him a be polite look.
He shrugged, but peeked around the side of the oven, a log still hanging out of his mouth. “Thanks, Sam—logs are delicious.”
While Sam busied himself in the back of the tent arranging the pantry, Maple and I worked up front, spreadi
ng out a linen tablecloth and arranging another table to be our workstation for baking.
“Have you heard from Wool?” We pulled the ends of the tablecloth taut.
Maple stared at her hands as she smoothed the cloth. “No.” She pulled her lips to the side and sighed. “I’m sure he’s busy.”
I made a sympathetic noise. “I’m sure.” Maple kept her eyes down. “Hey, why don’t you write him?”
She glanced up, her eyes wide, then looked back at her hands as she arranged the various display trays. “I couldn’t.”
I unpacked some boxes of rolling pins, measuring cups, and other utensils. “Why not? You’re a strong, independent woman.”
She sniffed. “Ha.”
“What? You are!” I opened my mouth wide in mock surprise. “Unless… it’s because you can’t read and write?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Hilarious.”
I grinned. “Well, think about it. I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.”
She didn’t say anything, but that wasn’t a hard no. We worked for a few moments in silence, and my thoughts wandered back to the palace.
“What do you think the chances are that Wiley hasn’t burned down the royal bakery at this point?” I set out a glass jar containing wooden spoons and whisks.
Maple grinned. “He has to actually be in the bakery to burn it down. He’s probably still sleeping, and will be late as usual.” Maple kept her eyes on her work, folding and refolding striped towels. She let out a heavy sigh and tossed a towel in a crumpled heap. “You know, would it kill him to be on time and bake? Am I asking so much?” She shook her head and pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Did I do something to make him hate me?”
“Nope. He was like that with Nan at first, too. She just didn’t put up with any guff.” Iggy peeked out of the oven, gnawing a linden log.
“How did she handle him?” I rested a hand on my hip.
Iggy grinned. “She said if he was going to act like a child, she’d treat him like one.” He chuckled. “When he was late, she docked his pay, and when he mouthed off, she’d put a binding spell on him and make him sit in ‘time-out’ in the hallway for ages. Oh, oh!”
Maple and I exchanged a look as Iggy burst into a fit of giggles. My flame was not prone to giggling.
“And one time, during the love festival week, she told him he was to be the centerpiece for the dessert buffet, with all the cakes and cookies served off his lounging body. He was looking forward to it, boasting about all the women he’d get once they saw his ‘bod.’ But what he didn’t realize was, it was for the Aged Witches and Wizards early bird social.”
Iggy cackled and wiped tears from his eyes, the little droplets sizzling. “He lay there on that table for three hours, in broad daylight, in nothing but his boxers, as little old ladies and old guys with hairy ears picked pastries off his chest.” Iggy shook his head, devolving into laughter.
I chuckled with him until he let out a wistful sigh. “I miss that woman.”
“Aw.” I tilted my head to the side. “I’m sorry, Iggy. Hey, we’re still going to do that Night of the Dead ceremony, right?”
He looked up and nodded. “Don’t forget to get that list of things I gave you.”
I nodded. In a few days, people would visit the graveyard to honor their loved ones. The ground in the graveyard had a special enchantment over it. Any loved ones buried there who had passed in the last year would return as spirits at midnight, giving the ones they left behind a chance to say goodbye. He’d asked me to go with him to visit Nan.
“I look forward to meeting her.”
“I’m just not as good as her,” Maple muttered.
“What?” I turned to my friend and put a hand on her shoulder. “Where’d that come from?”
Maple huffed and threw her hands in the air. “Come on. I have no idea what I’m doing. I can bake, yeah, but I’ve never been in charge of anything. Wiley might be the most vocal about it, but none of the others listen to me either. And why would they? They’ve probably been baking longer than I’ve been alive.” She sunk down onto a wooden stool.
I pulled one up beside her. “You started a week ago.” I put an arm around her shoulders. “Everything takes time to learn, right? By the time you’re Nan’s age you’ll be crusty and tough, too.”
“Just like old bread,” Iggy added.
“Exactly. There goes Maple, the crusty old bread woman, people will say. And her even crustier friend.”
Maple chuckled, and I gave her shoulders a little shake. “Honestly, Maple, you’re amazing. I knew from the start of that competition you’d win—or at least deserved to. I didn’t account for all the murdering and cheating.”
Maple’s lips tugged to the side, though she kept her eyes on the ground.
“You’re smart and you just have to show them your personality—how much you know, how sweet and caring you are. You don’t have to do it like Nan did. You’ll find your own style.”
Maple nodded.
“But you’re only going to find your style and give them the chance to love you if you’re actually, you know, in the bakery.”
She glanced my way. “Prince Harry said he wanted me to—”
“You know Prince Harry would be fine with you delegating out the actual running of the booth.” I gestured at the organized chaos all around us. Though our tent was pretty much done, scores of booths and tents were being erected.
The sounds of hammers and saws, many of which worked away magically on their own, filled the air. Men and women called directions to each other, and poles and wooden planks flew through the air to become part of booths, a Ferris wheel, and stages. “You’re the royal baker. You should be in the bakery, not out here avoiding your problems.”
Maple gasped, and Iggy barked out a laugh. The two of them exchanged looks.
“What?” I shoved my hands to my hips. “What?”
Iggy smirked. “Something about the kettle calling the cauldron black.”
I frowned.
Maple chuckled. “Oh, come on. You’re just out here to avoid Prince Harry.”
My mouth dropped open, and I searched for the words. “No. No.” I shook my head harder. Maybe that would convince them. “I’m out here to… support you, my friend.” I swept a hand toward Maple before crossing my arms tightly across my chest.
Maple swallowed, then looked at Iggy and they both burst into laughter.
I glared at them. “Yeah, super funny, laugh it up.”
A loud crack made us all jump and look up. A long shadow stood out against the bright sunlight filtering in through the tent fabric. Another loud crack sounded, followed by shouting, a woman’s scream, and the shadow—what looked like a tent pole, thick as a tree—fell toward us, growing larger.
I had only enough time to scream and raise my arms above my head before the pole crashed into our tent. I fell forward off my stool under the heavy tent canvas.
I lay there, stunned and breathing heavily. Finally, I sat up and raised my arms over my head, creating a pocket of air.
“Maple? Iggy? Sam?” Frantically I crawled under the canvas. It felt as if I were lost in a cloud, nothing but white fabric all around me, and too heavy to stand under. “Maple?”
I found her trembling hands and pulled her into a hug.
“What happened?” Her blond hair lay over her face like a mop.
“Something fell on our tent. Let’s find Iggy and Sam.”
As we crawled on, calling for our friends, the fabric suddenly lifted from us, revealing a stranger in our tent. He stood with his massively muscled arms overhead, bracing up the enormous tent pole. He grunted under the strain, the veins in his neck popping. Sweat beaded on his red forehead and dripped onto his enormous curled handlebar mustache. “Any time now, fellas,” he shouted.
“Ready!” came a yell from outside. “Heave! Heave!”
The treelike tent pole lifted and the shadow retreated, leaving the man with his arms overhead supporting the heavy
tent fabric. He looked my way and we stared at each other for a long moment. “Your hair, it’s red. You look just like—”
I lifted a hand to my lopsided bun. I was sure my hair looked wild, but it seemed an odd thing to notice at a time like this.
He shook himself, sweat dripping into his eyes. “Just like you were almost crushed by a tent.”
I gave a slow nod, not sure what to make of that. Then I noticed the stone oven, still intact, and rushed to the arched opening.
“Iggy? Iggy! Are you okay?”
“Well, aside from almost being smothered by some reckless carnies, yes. I suppose I’m okay.” He frowned at me.
I tilted my head to the side and pressed a hand to my racing heart. “I wish I could hug you, grouchy little flame.”
“If you’re going to talk cutesy to me, I’m putting myself out.”
I grinned at him, but turned at a cry from Maple. I pushed my way through the fabric toward the sound of her voice. She kneeled next to Sam, who lay prone on the ground. “He’s unconscious!”
I dashed to her side and helped her roll him onto his back. Cracks spiderwebbed one of his glasses lenses. My heart stopped. I held a hand over his nose. “He’s breathing.”
Maple’s blue eyes grew larger. “We need a medic.”
“Call a medic!” the stranger holding our tent up bellowed. “And bring the barnacle-loving tools in here, for great ocean’s sake!”
Moments later the tent fabric lifted all around us and I stood, taking a deep breath of the fresher, cooler air. A shorter man rushed in, his round straw hat with a red ribbon band sitting askew on his head. He looked wildly about, hammers, rope and a saw hovering magically around his head. “Get to it, tools,” he commanded, and the things flew off and began repairing our crushed tent poles.
“Our friend’s hurt.” I pointed to Sam, still on the ground with Maple beside him.
“Already called the medic, little lady.”
With the tent fabric magically supported and the tent being repaired, the muscled man let his tattooed arms drop, and moved to Sam. He put two fingers to his throat and looked his head over. “Your friend will be all right.” He stood and moved to me. “My guess is the canvas caught him.”