I panted, clutching my side as I pressed my back into the parking garage wall. I stared down at the bloody gash across my forearm. Dark veins branched from the cut.
My head spun. I was infected. I studied the progression of the dark veins. Veining became obvious in Stage Two? Stage Three?
“Éclairs.”
“Angel food cake,” I counter, crossing my arms and staring my little sister down. “We haven’t had that in forever.”
“Well why don’t we just do both?” Sophie flips through Mom’s gigantic recipe book. “If we make them at the same time, it’ll be really quick.”
I contemplate that. She has a point.
Every year, I tell myself I’m never baking for the fair again. It always ends in disaster. When I tried making a gingerbread house, the walls wouldn’t hold together and the roof caved in. I struggled on, until Mama paid me to give up on it. Another time, I made pies.
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I slipped my left foot into one high heel, hopping on the other while I swung out an arm to grab my purse, steadied myself, and wrenched open the door. Thirteen minutes to get to the subway, seven minutes to my stop, six minutes to get coffee, and four minutes to run to work. Perfect.
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I remember my first glimpse of her in early July. She peeked in the window of my bakery as I went about my opening routine. I may never forget the morning sun shining on her platinum hair, surrounding her with a luminous halo.
She next brightened the door of Bob’s House of the Rising Bun…
“So, Aedan, I’d like you to take care of the place today. This will be an opportunity to get your feet wet managing the business.”
“What?” I glanced up from my phone, sipping my rapidly-melting milkshake. Uncle Johnny didn’t usually bother me on my lunch break.
He sighed. He looked frazzled, and his white hair stuck out at odd angles.
“This is not what a raspberry donut should look like.” Maroon batter oozes all over my flour-dusted fingers and plops onto the kitchen floor. I grimace. “At least, not Grandma’s. Hers are perfection.”
Mossy’s tiny dragon wings shudder as he scratches at the deep pink goo clinging to his snout. He yelps and steps
“Mom, do you know how to make a burrito?”
“Old Earth foods are under heading six on the Nutritionator,” I muttered as I held up my hand massager to the light. Yep. Little tooth marks lined the pinky finger. I shook my head in confusion. While I’d noticed scrapes on my hair-styler that morning, I’d thought they were scuff marks
I just needed two more minutes!
“Come on!” I whispered to my masterpiece. Four minutes left on the clock for the challenge. Once my timer beeped, I’d have just enough time to plate it for presentation to Chef Gordy Lynn.
I quadruple-checked everything was ready on the nearby counter. I couldn’t afford any mistakes.
Since the last thing I needed was to draw negative attention to myself while visiting my girlfriend’s family, of course my brother had to knock over a decorative vase.
I stared down at the ceramic shards and uttered a Motervian curse.
Jorgaa knelt and dipped a blue finger into the scattered powder.
Everyone knows you’re supposed to exchange sweets with loved ones on Valentine’s Day.
What no one had ever specified—probably for lack of a reason—was that those sweets probably shouldn’t be sentient.
My bad.
“Broomsticks and baubles!” I stood in the middle of the kitchen of my magical boarding school,
Lunar New Year was the best time to uncover secrets. Adon leaned on his broom and listened to firecrackers sputter in the courtyard. At midnight, the fireworks should cover any noise he made breaking into the inner sanctum.
That was the difficulty in sneaking further into the assassin-spy’s compound.
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