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Gertrude nodded. “But of course. I was just heading back to my office. Come along.”

Reza stuck his hands in his pockets, walking abreast of Gertrude as she headed down the street back to her home guild.

“If I may be permitted a question myself: I didn’t know you made personal deliveries, Gertrude. Giuseppe must have quite the privilege to have baskets of baked goods delivered by the guild master of Mother Dough herself.”

Gertrude’s eyes crinkled when she smiled. There was a twinkle of something there, tinged with a drop of sadness.

“I try to do what I can for those of us in the Black Market who are — how to put it kindly? Those who have seen better times. Before you found him again, Jackson, poor Giuseppe had mostly survived on odd jobs and little favors. It wasn’t easy for him to find employment after — well, after the accident at the Halls of Making.”

As if the guilt wasn’t already tearing me up from the inside.

“A basket of bread from my kitchens means nothing to my bottom line at the end of all things. Some people are too proud to take money, but bread is fair game. Every bit helps, I suppose. If it means getting an unlucky soul back on his feet, then I’m more than happy to use my own feet to bring them a basket.”

Poor Giuseppe, indeed. I was a colossal piece of shit. My eyes fell on the ground, settling on the nearest pothole. Maybe if I stepped in, it would swallow me up and end my misery.

I didn’t think I’d find myself back at Mother Dough so soon, and this time with Reza Arshad, of all people. To his credit, he’d already stopped throwing me sharp looks not long after we’d left Giuseppe’s doorstep. Either that or he was too busy being enthralled by Gertrude’s story about her personal security system.

“You’ll meet one of them very soon, actually,” Gertrude said, leading us deeper into the spice-and-sugar scented halls of her guild. “Brutus is in charge of door duty today.”

“Brass guard dogs,” Reza said, a wistful hint in his voice. “I mean I knew they existed and I knew you employed a pack. I’ve just never met one.”

I tried to hide my smile from Reza. Gertrude Goodness employed sentient brass dogs to guard her office in place of an executive assistant. Maybe it was Reza’s professional curiosity that got him so excited, his work involving enforcement and security, after all. But I knew that he was a softie on the inside, just like the rest of us. He probably only wanted a chance to pet the brass dogs.

I sighed to myself, suddenly missing Xander. He was the first person to ever tell me about the Mother Dough dogs. We’d met a few of them during our various visits to Gertrude’s office. I twisted my fingers around the inside of my jeans pocket, wondering if Xander was okay. But no news was good news, and I was going to be home to see him very soon.

“And there he is,” Gertrude said, gesturing at the door to her office and the highly polished brass statue of a bulldog sitting by it.

The dog’s eyes narrowed at our approach, his little tail clunking against the tiled floor with stimulation. An odd sort of light sparked in his eyes when he focused on Gertrude, exactly like a dog recognizing his master. The excitement dropped each time he looked at me or Reza, his face scrunching into a menacing glower, a low, metallic growl in his throat.

“It’s quite all right, Brutus,” Gertrude said. “There’s no need for theatrics today. These are friends. This is Reza Arshad from SEER, and this is Jackson Pryde, the future master of the Halls of Making.”

That is, if the Halls of Making had any future to speak of. I gave the dog a little wave. Reza nodded politely, but I could tell from the straightness of his spine that he had something on his mind.

“Hello,” the brass dog growled begrudgingly.

“I’ve never met such a fine brass automaton before,” Reza said, his voice soft, almost reverent.

The dog sat up straighter, his chest puffed up, as if all Reza had said was, “Good boy.”

Gertrude chuckled. “I’ll ask, but only because you’re too shy to ask for yourself. Brutus, may Mr. Arshad pet you?”

“Well, if it’s absolutely necessary for the fulfillment of my duties,” the brass bulldog grumbled. “I suppose some petting won’t hurt. But only a little.”

Brutus could pretend this was unprofessional as much as he liked. His tiny tail was whacking against the floor at a record pace. If Reza had a tail, it would be wagging, too. He bent closer to the floor, reaching out gingerly to stroke the top of Brutus’s head. The dog leaned into his touch, eyes squeezed shut and tail going so fast it could have gouged a hole and dug straight through to the ground floor.

Gertrude smiled. “Jackson? You’re also welcome to ask Brutus for permission to pet.”

I stood back, watching the pair of them with my arms crossed. “I’m all right, actually. Very tempting, but I don’t want to ruin this moment for Reza. It’s kind of sweet.”

There would be other opportunities to pet the brass dog. We still had some business to attend to. We stepped into Gertrude’s office, the comforting scent of sweetness and baking bread more prominent here than anywhere else in the guild.

Gertrude Goodness took her place behind her desk, then motioned for us to sit opposite her in a pair of plush armchairs. I sighed in relief as I sank into one of them. Everything about Mother Dough was just so damn cozy.

“Now,” she said, folding her hands on the table. “Tell me everything.”

And so I did, recounting all the details yet another time. It all slid out of me so easily, Gertrude and her grandmotherly glow, the fresh cups of tea that she magically conjured for each of us. But I managed to stop my story just short of telling her about Hecate and what she knew. There was far too much gravity in revealing the true identity of Madame Catherine Grayhaven to someone outside of our circle of friends.

Preston, Beatrice, Niko, Sedgewick, they all knew about Hecate. Three of them had been there with me and Xander when we retrieved her severed hand of glory, the reason Madame Cathee had appeared at the Grayhaven gala with an injured arm. They were ready to receive the burden of knowing that one of the greatest arcane minds of our time had secretly been an actual goddess all along.

And Reza, again, had proven himself a friend and ally despite our differences. Reza deserved to know. I finished my story. Gertrude reached for her tea, taking a slow, thoughtful sip. Reza was once again either too polite or too shy to drink from his own cup.

Personally I was too polite and too shy to ask for something colder. All the talking back home, at Giuseppe’s, and again here at Gertrude’s was bound to make me so thirsty. A hot beverage wasn’t really going to do it. I licked my lips and waited for her to respond.

She set her teacup down on its saucer with a clink. Gertrude Goodness nudged her tiny glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“You are both aware that my office is also my test kitchen, yes? It’s where I experiment with new recipes to distribute throughout the Mother Dough network. My office is very much my own version of an artificer’s workshop.”

I couldn’t control my face and stop my forehead from wrinkling. “That’s a great analogy. I admit, I’m not exactly sure what that has to do with Xander and the arcane engine.”

“Look around,” she said, motioning with one hand. “Tell me what your artificer’s eyes can see.”

I did as she asked, then shrugged. What was I looking for? Her rustic desk that looked like it simultaneously belonged in a home office and a living room, the stack of mixing bowls decorated with patterns of berries and slices of fruit? Did she mean that big copper thing in the back?

“Your oven?” I guessed. “I mean, it’s very pretty. Kind of vintage, if you ask me. Interesting that it doesn’t get too hot in your office because of it, actually, but I’m still not sure where we’re going with this.”

“Then you see for yourself,” Gertrude said, smiling. “Your parents could fashion wonders with their hands.”

I blinked hard, staring at her face, and then back at the copper oven. “Wait. Sorry. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen this thing in your office. Are you saying my mom and dad built this for you?”

She sat higher, grinning even wider. “A paid commission, mind you. A custom enchanted oven designed for the master of Mother Dough by two of the Black Market’s finest artificers.”

It was stupid to get choked up over this, but I couldn’t help getting a little emotional. I held back my tears, channeling the sadness into gladness as I studied the oven more closely. Reza finally took a sip from his teacup, maybe as a way to quietly give me my moment.

Yes. I could see it now. Its exterior had been expressly crafted to resemble one of those old-timey wood-fired ovens, the kind with a grate and a long, extravagant stovepipe. Mom and Dad had worked harder on its insides, somehow regulating the amount of heat it radiated from its surface while still enabling it to bake evenly on the inside.

No wonder Gertrude Goodness made such delicious creations. Even her oven had a little touch of magic to it. Artificing magic, too, of all things.

If I squinted a bit and unfocused my eyes just enough, I could even imagine Dad standing over the thing, scratching the back of his head. Mom stood on the opposite side with a clipboard, batting his hands away from reaching into the oven’s blazing grate. I chuckled, only a little embarrassed when it came out sounding like a pinched sniffle.

“This was a really awesome surprise, Gertrude.” I ran a finger under my eye, just to make sure I wasn’t spilling tears in her office like a baby.

“And here I thought you knew. Ah, well, a delightful surprise it is, then.” She strode over to the oven, patting it like a favorite pet. A mundane stove of this design would have burned her hand. “My point, Jackson, is that your parents were professionals to a T. I’ve used this oven for nigh on a decade and it hasn’t once broken down on me.”

The sensation in my chest was like melting chocolate, this stirring pride and longing I felt for Mom and Dad. It wasn’t hard to feel pride for the Prydes. “The Crucible, I’ve come to call it. Anything I put into it goes through a trial by fire, and no matter how bizarre a combination, it still comes out tasting delicious. Not necessarily marketable, mind you, but still perfectly delicious. Your parents were miracle workers.”

She strode back toward her desk, stepping around it to take both of my hands in hers. So soft and warm, warmer even from contact with the oven. Gertrude stared hard into my eyes.

“The brilliance runs in your blood. The Prydes didn’t make mistakes. The Prydes don’t make mistakes. And that means you, Jackson. There was no problem with the arcane engine then, I’m sure of it. None of your parents’ making, that is. And there shouldn’t have been a problem with it now.”

Reza rose slowly from his armchair. “But what you’re suggesting is sabotage.”

Gertrude drew back her hands, releasing mine. I missed the warmth of her touch immediately. Maybe I missed my parents too much.

“That is exactly what I am suggesting. Don’t take my word for it, but I’ve known Giuseppe for years. You knew him for a time back in the days of the old guild as well. The man does not have a spiteful bone in his body. Incredibly competent, too. No. This was no accident. Gentlemen, I would look beyond your circle for signs of a saboteur. How lucky that you have SEER’s very best man on your team.”

“Lucky indeed,” Reza mumbled under his breath. “Thank you for your time. And the tea. It was delicious.”

We finally left Gertrude to the privacy of her office, but not before she managed to ply us with an unreasonable supply of gift cards, valid at all Mother Dough-accredited outlets. I was a little embarrassed to accept them, especially after already being such an imposition on her day, but Gertrude insisted.

Reza, for whatever reason, was far less resistant to the idea. He definitely deserved them for putting up with me. But that didn’t stop him from giving me withering, judgmental looks the entire walk back from Mother Dough to Mystery Row. Every few steps, I found myself muttering, “Sorry, Reza,” or “Cut it out, Reza,” as though that would ease the tension.

As we turned down my street, Reza spoke up at last.

“Are you satisfied now? Did you hear what Gertrude said? Even she believes this has nothing to do with the artificers. I don’t feel right complimenting you right now because I’m so annoyed, but you didn’t do anything wrong. Neither did your parents, and especially Giuseppe, who didn’t deserve any of this.”

I sighed, kicking at a loose pebble on the cobblestones, scuffing the bottom of my shoe. No wonder the boots of hovering were in such a shabby state. “You’re right. I owe Giuseppe an apology — and maybe a gift.”

Reza chuckled. “Try a fruit basket. The man’s got more bread than he knows what to do with.”

I pushed open the door to the Pryde House, greeted instantly by the delicious, savory scent of freshly cooked chicken noodle soup. As we passed through the foyer, I was surprised to find Preston, Beatrice, and Niko all gathered in the living room.

Reza, naturally, made a beeline for Niko. The two bumped foreheads in one of Niko’s usual restrained displays of affection. Beatrice, however, was far less welcoming. She rose to her feet, arms crossed, and shook her head.

“Honestly, Jackson. It doesn’t feel right for you to be out and about when Xander is still in this condition.”

I stopped in my tracks, a bit taken aback by her bluntness. Then again, Beatrice Rex had never been known for her subtlety.

“B, I’m a little hurt that you’d say that. I’m trying to figure out what happened — whose fault this was. There’s nothing I can do to help by just staying here.”

She sniffed, but said nothing. Preston wrung his hands nervously. I could tell by the worried look on his face that he didn’t want to add anything more, but the words were struggling to escape his mouth.

“Sorry, buddy, but I think Beatrice is right. If Sedgewick ever got hurt, I’d be too scared to leave his side.”

Niko scoffed. “You guys are being way too judgmental about this. Jackson’s right. Sure, the instinct might be to stay and wait, but someone did this to Xander. If I were in Jack’s position, I’d probably do the same thing.”

Reza, mercifully, said nothing, though he did give Niko a hard, narrow-eyed look. I shot Niko a grateful smile.

“And? Did you figure out who did this?” Beatrice asked.

I bit my bottom lip in frustration. “No, not exactly. I’m still confused about everything. I’m doing my best, Beatrice. This is how I’m processing it. The machine that killed my parents almost killed my fiancé. Whoever’s responsible needs to be stopped before they can hurt anyone else.”

Beatrice smoothed the hem of her skirt as she sat back down on the couch. She was still frowning, but the lines of anger in her face had softened slightly. She wouldn’t apologize — not just yet — but I could tell she understood.

Preston got up from the couch, slinging one large arm around my shoulders in a comforting gesture. He squeezed me tightly. “We’ll figure something out. Don’t worry about it for now. We’re not trying to attack you, Jack. The only point we’re trying to make is that Xander might want to see you when he wakes up.”

I sighed, feeling a bit deflated, but still grateful for Preston’s support — grateful for everyone’s support, really.

“You’re right, Pres. I’m here now, and all we can do is wait.”

Sedgewick’s voice called from the top of the stairs. “He’s awake, Jack. Xander’s awake!”