Chase Maverick swore he could outbake Hemlockvale's reigning champion, and the whole valley heard him do it. Now he stood in his log cabin kitchen, staring at the one thing that could make a liar of him. His oven was dead. The old electric coils glowed orange for a second, then quit. He opened the door and poked the rack. Cold. His cake batter sat on the counter, ready, with nowhere to bake. His gray pitbull watched from the doorway. The dog tilted his head and gave a low, knowing grunt, as if to say the boast had finally caught up with him. "Don't start," Chase said. "I've got three days until the contest. I just need heat." The dog trotted onto the wide porch and barked once. Chase followed him out past the rocking chairs. The dog stood at the yard's edge, nose pointed at a huge flowering bush. Clusters of purple blossoms hung from it, each one shaped like a tiny dog. Chase had ignored that bush for years. Behind it, half swallowed by vines, sat a squat brick oven he'd forgotten he owned. "The old brickfire oven," Chase said. He grinned. "I can do this." He tore the vines loose and swept out the ash. Real bakers used wood fire, he told himself. Champions did. He stacked split logs inside and struck a match. The flame caught. Smoke curled up through the chimney, thick and sweet. Heat rolled off the bricks and warmed his face. For the first time all day, he felt invincible again. Then something dropped onto the roof of the cabin. Wings. Big ones. Chase looked up and froze. A red fox crouched on the shingles, but wings spread from its back like a dragon's. It fixed its eyes on the rising smoke and the batter bowl he'd carried outside. The creature dove. It snatched the bowl in its jaws and beat its wings hard. The pitbull launched after it, barking, jaws snapping at empty air. The fox climbed out of reach. Chase grabbed the only thing near, a split log, and hurled it. He missed. The fox banked over the trees and vanished with his batter. Chase stood in the smoke, breathing hard. The oven worked. That part was done. The bricks were hot and ready. But his batter was gone, and he had no eggs left, no flour, nothing to bake before the fire died. He looked at his dog. The dog looked back and whined. "Okay," Chase said. "So I've got an oven and nothing to put in it." He wiped soot from his goatee and stared at the empty counter through the open door. The fire crackled behind him, burning down a supply he could not waste. "Fine. Then I find more. Tonight."

Chase set off into the woods with his dog at his heels. The fire at home burned down by the minute. He had no batter and no idea where the winged fox had flown. But he knew one thing. If he found its nest, he might find his bowl. He scanned the trees for any sign of the thief. He pushed through brush until the ground opened onto a pond. The water sat dark and smooth. A few ducks glided across it. Fish leaped above the ripples and splashed back down. Chase crouched at the edge and watched for a red streak in the sky. Nothing. His dog lapped at the water, then lifted his head and stared past the far bank. A cluster of bluebirds burst from a low branch. They wheeled up all at once, panicked, and scattered over the pond. Something had spooked them. Chase followed their line of flight and saw it. The crimson fox cut above the treetops, batter bowl clamped in its jaws. The birds had flushed at its shadow. "There," Chase said. He ran. The fox dropped toward a giant tree on the slope above the pond. Its trunk twisted like a rope toward the sky. At its base, a stone arch framed a dark cave mouth. The fox folded its wings and slipped inside with the bowl. Chase stopped at the arch, breathing hard. He had found the nest. He grinned and stepped in. The cave smelled of smoke and rot. His eyes adjusted. On a ledge of roots and bone, the fox hunched over his bowl. It had already tipped the batter onto the stone and lapped most of it up. The bowl lay empty on its side. "No," Chase said. "Come on." The fox snarled and spread its wings wide. It lunged. Chase threw up his arm. Claws raked his sleeve and tore the cloth. He stumbled back toward the arch. The dog shot past him, barking, and snapped at the creature's tail. The fox shrieked and beat its wings. It swept over their heads and out the cave mouth, gone into the trees. Chase picked up the empty bowl. He turned it over. A thin smear of batter clung to the rim, dried and useless. He had chased the thief to its home and lost the batter for good. But he stood in the cave now, and he looked around it. Dried berries lay heaped in a corner. Cracked nuts. A clutch of pale eggs tucked into the roots. The fox had been stealing from the whole valley, not just from him. Chase crouched by the eggs and lifted one. It was warm and whole. "You took mine," he said. "I'll take yours." He loaded eggs and berries into his torn shirt. His batter was gone, but he walked out with ingredients. The fire might still be hot. He ran back down the slope toward home, his dog ahead of him, and the race against the dying flame began again.

Chase pushed back out through the cave mouth with eggs and berries bundled in his torn shirt. He grinned. Home was close, and the fire might still burn. But the slope split into three paths below the twisted tree, and the trees looked the same in every direction. He had come up from the pond. Now he could not find it. He turned in a slow circle. The ground gave him nothing. "This way," he said, and started downhill. He was always right. He kept moving. The path curled and dropped him into a hollow he did not know. No pond. No water. Just moss and stone. His dog whined and looked back the way they had come. Chase ignored him and pushed ahead. The eggs rolled against his chest. He was losing time, and he knew it. Then the brush ahead shook. A plump raccoon waddled out, striped tail dragging, and fixed Chase with a sour glare. It did not run. It planted itself on the trail and chattered, as if Chase had wandered into its kitchen uninvited. "Move," Chase said. The raccoon did not move. It turned and waddled off down a side trail, grumbling the whole way. Chase almost followed it out of spite. His dog barked once and trotted after the raccoon instead. "Fine. You win." Chase followed his dog. The raccoon led them along a low ridge. Water glinted through the trees ahead. The pond. Chase laughed. The grumpy little thief knew the woods better than he did. The raccoon vanished into a thornbush without a backward glance. Chase broke from the trees at the pond's edge and stopped cold. On the near bank sat a huge brown bear. Honey streaked its fur. It lay half asleep in the sun, right across the only clear path home. Its slow breath lifted its ribs. Chase froze. His arms were full of stolen eggs. He could smell the honey from where he stood. A bear between him and his fire was worse than any locked path. He edged left, hugging the water. Mud sucked at his boots. The bear cracked one eye. Chase held still. The bear yawned, rolled, and settled back down. Chase let his breath out and slipped past, step by careful step, until the slope cleared. Then he ran. He knew the pond now. He knew the way home. His cabin rose ahead through the trees, broad porch and rocking chairs waiting in the dusk. Smoke still curled thin from the chimney. The fire lived. Chase pounded up the porch steps and shoved the door open. He ran to the oven and threw the hatch wide. The coals glowed deep orange, low but alive. He had maybe one hour of heat left. One hour to crack the eggs, mash the berries, and bake a cake good enough to beat the champion. The clock had started, and he was out of batter twice over.