Clove Bakshi's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Clove fell asleep with flour still under his fingernails and woke inside a dream that wasn't his. A tall figure in an icy dress stood over him, her claws clicking like beetles. She wanted him to spoil the bread. Salt in the sugar. Mold in the proofing box. Burn the second oven. Clove shook his head. His mother had made him soup once, when she didn't have to. He wasn't going to ruin her shop. "No," he said. He felt his pointed ears go hot. "I won't." The fay's smile stretched too wide. Her long fingers brushed his cheek, cold as river stone. "Then we will remind you what we are," she whispered. "Sweet boy. Stubborn boy. You will wish you had listened." The dream broke like glass. Clove sat up gasping. Gray morning light leaked through his window. On his pillow, inches from his face, lay a cut branch of dusky thorns crowned with dark purple flowers. A drop of blood beaded on his thumb where a thorn had pricked him in his sleep. The threat was in the room with him now.