Chapter 421 (1/2)

Ptolemy seemed to be in a daze as he was led back towards the baking area by Aratta, until the moment that a hand fell on his shoulder.

“Wait a moment.” The Ghosthound bodily spun Ptolemy around, his emerald eyes locking onto Ptolemy’s gaze, then holding it. Ptolemy felt something connected to his soul seem to tremble, and then still. Then, it was like a bucket of ice water was poured over him, and Ptolemy doubled over, gasping.

After several seconds of panting, Ptolemy struggled to straighten. That took a few more seconds, until he finally stood, his eyes squinting at the Ghosthound. Sometimes it was easy to forget that he was a normal man, especially recently, when he had been wearing his bone cloak. It was a cascading sheet of white around his body most of the time, that hid his form, and caused his passage to be marked by the soft and dangerous clicks of bone on bone.

But without the cloak, he was just a tall, athletic man. At least physically. But around him, there was always this air of… mystery was the wrong word, but rather… certainty. But what the Ghosthound was certain about… it was hard to tell.

Still, it was there in the green of his eyes, in the sharpness of his gaze, in the hardness of his jaw.

“What were you just doing?” The Ghosthound asked, still staring at Ptolemy intently.

“I….” Ptolemy gestured helplessly forward, towards the door to the basement, which was slightly ajar. “I was just following Aratta. She invited me to help her bake, so…”

The Ghosthound’s smile was razor sharp. “Well then, let’s go help, shall we?”

With the Ghosthound in the lead, the two of them descended into the basement. The staircase was surprisingly long, and the deeper they descended, the more the chill in the air grew, until Ptolemy wanted to shiver, even though outside, when he had been standing by the training area, the sun had been so warm that he had sweat a little without even moving.

At the bottom, there was another door, which was locked. The Ghosthound jiggled with the handle and then frowned. “Well, I suppose you were invited, so…”

With a dull cracking sound, the Ghosthound pulled the door off of its hinges, the stone portion of the wall around the deadbolt cracking and shattering. Then, in a surprising show of restraint, the Ghosthound set the door down gently to the side of the opening and walked through. Hesitant, Ptolemy followed.

Aratta looked up from her mixing bowl and smiled at the new arrivals. “Oh, you are just in time. Will you help me pour these muffins?”

Freezing, Ptolemy remained stuck there, standing, halfway between apologizing and agreeing to help. This… this was unusual, correct? They had just broken down the door and entered into the… kitchens? Without permission, just forcing themselves into the situation. In addition, what was that strange stupor that had brought Ptolemy here, and how had Aratta been leading him one moment, then deep down a staircase, behind a locked door, the next…?

Largely ignoring these questions, the Ghosthound nodded and walked over to Aratta’s side. As she turned away, reaching for a bowl to hand him, the Ghosthound aimed a glare at her back, full of a… something. There was a palpable weight to his gaze as if he was scouring her figure for something. He was searching for a target.

Ptolemy gulped at the boldness of his gaze. Then, from the back of Ptolemy’s mind, arose the possibility that he and the Ghosthound weren’t so different after all. Perhaps what the Ghosthound was looking for right now was her…

...her smile curving upwards, her body bending forwards in the sauna, reaching for his…

Then Aratta turned back, handing the Ghosthound the bowl, and immediately his expression was mild. As the Ghosthound turned around, he caught sight of Ptolemy and did a double take. Huffing with annoyance, the Ghosthound shook his head and began to carry the bowl over towards the baking containers, to prep the mixture to be thrown into the ovens.

Had the Ghosthound been able to read his mind…?

Ptolemy’s face went white. Had he been imagining himself with Aratta while the Ghosthound read his mind, or the Ghosthound himself…?

Trembling, Ptolemy stared at the floor while being handed a bowl by Aratta. Then the group continued to move in silence, just going about the task, largely ignoring each other. Each time they would run out of batter, Aratta seemed to produce more, so they were endlessly working, moving from one tray to the next, filling up more and more trays. Ptolemy couldn’t help but wonder how many people really lived in the village if they had this many muffin trays-