Pete stepped into the kitchen, holding an arm out as if to shield her as she followed. When she saw the state of disarray her beloved bakery lay in, you could bet your sweet blood pudding Destiny wasn’t the one who needed protection. She’d never been so livid in her entire existence.
Not a single tool, pan, or pot remained on the shelves. Everything she owned lay busted on the floor. The intruder had turned circular cake pans into smushed ovals, shattered her tablet screen, and broken her laptop into three pieces.
They’d swiped the beautiful cakes Pete had decorated off the table, and now all his work lay in colorful blobs on the floor, and…Oh, lovely.The sheet cake had a butt print right in the center of the psychedelic swirls.
But that wasn’t even the worst of it.
Her gaze landed on the wide-open door to the walk-in fridge, and her breath caught. Her throat thickened as she stepped over the butt cake, a sense of dread settling in her stomach like a two-pound fruitcake.
“Oh, please no.” She took two cautious steps forward and froze. All two-weeks’ worth of angel food cakes—the very things that kept the demons of New Orleans at bay—lay crumbled on the floor. Whoever broke in had mashed the light, airy cakes into nearly nothing and poured vegetable oil and vinegar over the mess, making certain they were inedible.
“I didn’t see anyone in the shop, and the front door is still locked. They must have run out the back.” Pete rested a hand on the small of her back. “Oh, damn. Are those…”
“All that was left of the angel food cakes? Yeah. And with my magic bound, I can’t make more. I don’t…” She turned in a circle, taking in the messy scene, and a sob rolled up from her chest. Pressure built in her eyes, and she pressed her hands to her cheeks as the tears rolled down.
“I’m done. It’s over.” She sniffled and sobbed again, half from distress and the other half from the sheer anger burning in her veins.
“Hey, don’t say that. We’ll figure this out.” He rubbed her back, and she shrugged away.
“Please, I can’t handle one of your peppy pep talks right now. As soon as Gabriela finds out, she’ll send another angel to swoop in and take over, and I’ll be kicked to the curb. And not even a pretty Garden District curb. No, I’ll land in a puddle of pee on Bourbon Street outside a seedy strip club at three A.M.”
He had the nerve to laugh. “Well, that sounds awful.”
“It isn’t funny, Pete.”
“No, you’re right.” He raised his hands. “What happened isn’t funny, but we can fix it. Your boss doesn’t need to know.”
“I have to take care of the demons. It’s my job to keep the balance.” She gasped. “‘Balance dies. Destiny is awry.’ What if the prophecy really is about me…about the balance here in New Orleans, and not in the fae realm?”
He frowned. “I don’t think fae gods would concern themselves with angel problems.”
“No, I guess not. This…” She exhaled and gestured to the mess. “This is personal. Someone sabotaged me. Why would they…?” The anger sparking in her chest turned into a raging fire as the realization sank in.
She clenched her teeth, grinding them until her jaw ached. “Gabriela did this.”
Pete’s frown deepened, and he righted a toppled shelving unit, scooting it back into place. “Do angels commit sabotage? That sounds like it would be very against the rules.”
“It is, but Gabriela has been out to get me since my first screwup. The only reason I haven’t been wasting away in the repository for centuries is that Michelle wouldn’t let her send me there.”
He picked up a pan and tried to bend it back into shape. “I don’t know. A demon seems the more likely culprit.”
“I heard feathers. Wings rustling. Demon wings are leathery, not feathery.” She tapped her tablet screen, waking it up so she could send her boss a scathing email. She’d CC Michelle, too, just to be certain the higher ups knew. “She’s making sure she never has to deal with me again. Dammit.” She couldn’t see anything on the shattered screen. “I need to get my phone.”
“Hold on. Let’s think about this.” He picked up a baking sheet and set it on the shelf. “Wouldn’t it be easier for Gabriela just to reject your miracle requests? Why would she go to all this trouble?”
“Because she’s extra like that.” Destiny crossed her arms, digging in her heels, but Pete did have a point. Gabriela rarely left her office.
“It wasn’t an angel,” a tiny, disembodied voice said.
Destiny snapped her gaze in the direction of the sound. Her industrial stand mixer, too bulky and heavy for the culprit to knock over, stood in the corner. She marched toward it, and two teensy hands gripped the edge of the icing vat before a blob of green frosting with big black eyes peered over it.
“Gremlin!” She lunged toward the mixer, flipping the switch to turn it on high and backpedaling as quickly as her feet would take her, which was, apparently, too quick.
Her heel landed on a rolling pin, and her leg slipped out from under her. She stumbled, her attempt to catch herself on the edge of the table only making matters worse.
Her hand landed in a smear of frosting and slipped across the surface. Her head smacked the edge, and she bounced off, careening backward and landing in a mound of smashed cake.
The nasty little gremlin grunted and squealed as he went round and round in the mixer. Frosting flew from the bowl, inertia forcing the creature higher and higher up the edges until he sailed across the room and hit the wall with athunk. He made anerrrrrsound as he slid to the floor, and Destiny sat up, clutching her aching head.
