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On the corner of his lip was a dollop of toasted whipped cream. It mingled with hints of lemon custard, the taste sublime. It was the epitome of sweetness with a dash of zest. Battler wanted more, but the plate before him was bare, save for stray smears of cream, custard, and crumbs.
Yet, his smile was frozen on his face when he locked eyes with Beato. She hunched in the doorway, mouth agape, as if she had witnessed a murder more horrendous than she could conjure. She trembled so feverishly that her hair threatened to come undone. Heat flushed her cheeks, scorching them a red so scarlet that Battler thought her head was about to erupt from her shoulders.
“B-B-B-Baaattleeer,” Beato crooned, and she bunched the fabric of her dress in her white-knuckled hands, “what do you think you’re doing?”
He stumbled over his words, an awkward laugh escaping him. “B-Beato! Uh, w-well, sorry. What’s wrong? I mean, I found this empty plate and-”
“‘Empty!’” she barked, slamming her heels as she stormed toward him. Her fists swung by her sides, then swatted at his chest. She punctuated every word with a smack. “It’s empty because you ate what was on it!”
Battler seized her wrists. She struggled in his grasp and demanded her release, twisting her spine. He tried soothing her, searching for the right questions to ask. Beato wrenched herself away when his grip loosened, and she shot Battler with a look that could have killed a mere mortal. He raised his hands, but Beato slapped them aside. The sound of skin hitting skin echoed against the walls. The cutlery quaked, threatening to fall from their shelves, and the bowls in the cupboards inched closer to the edges.
He gasped. He rubbed his hand, crestfallen as Beato turned from him. His gaze drifted, the dull sting pulsing between his fingers.
On the table where Battler had discovered the tray, he recognized mixing bowls filled with leftover flour and sugar. Sliced lemons were on a cutting board, their skin peeled and tossed into a nearby trash can. The kitchen smelled as saccharine as Battler expected, noticing a small, yellow bowl with leftover custard, and a question sprung to life.
But Beato beat him to the punch. “You ate it, didn’t you? The last slice!”
“N-no, no!” He shook his head, but Beato scoffed and crossed her arms under her chest. Her nostrils flared as he tried defending himself. “When I came in here, there was nothing left to eat. I don’t know what slice you’re talking about.”
“Explain that!” She jabbed her finger at his mouth, her pointed nail slicing off the dollop. “See? It’s part of the lemon meringue pie I worked hard to make by myself from Ronove’s tutelage! And you just gobbled the last slice!”
He took a cautionary step back. He had been in his study reading when hunger roused him. In search of food, he naturally went into the kitchen and found no one present. His attention had first landed on the welcoming, fluffy whipped cream topped with hints of lemon custard on that specific tray.
But when he tried explaining himself, Beato raised her hand. “Come now, Battler. Do you think I was born yesterday? I caught you in the act.”
Raking his fingers through his hair, Battler heaved out a sigh. Beato’s stubborn streak was legendary, even among witches. She wasn’t one to abscond when boredom hit, unlike two particular voyagers. When she believed in her truth, it took an extraordinary effort to convince her otherwise.
And frowning at how her mouth quivered, Battler’s shoulders sagged. He offered his hands again, the gesture ignored by Beato. She gave him the cold shoulder, pivoting and letting her heels click louder against the tiles.
If she wanted him to say something, no corrections came to mind. Battler knew he was telling the truth, and yet, there seemed to be more. There was information he lacked, evident by the accumulation of sugary stains across the table. Even the mixing bowl with leftover batter seemed to provide a clue that he hadn’t considered.
Battler asked her if it had only been herself and Ronove.
She arched an eyebrow. “Hm? Well, the pie had five slices. I invited Gaap and my teacher as taste testers, so in total, we had four slices together.” Beato pressed her index fingers together, her lips pinched. “A-and I left to find you, but when I returned-” She leaned forward, gripping her hips. “-you already stuffed your face with slice number five.”
The opening revealed itself. Battler snapped his fingers, turning around the chessboard. “Hold on, Beato. You’re being blinded by anger and-” He grinned awkwardly as she growled. “-uh, you’re being very rational in your reasoning, I mean, but hear me out.”
He stepped toward her, noting she permitted his closeness. Battler held up four fingers, then lowered his pinky.
“So, you say you left to find me. That leaves three people alone with the pie. Couldn’t any of them have eaten it?”
“Not likely. Ronove, Gaap, and Teacher left to locate you, too.”
“Then, was it left in the open?”
She barked out a laugh. “Of course not. To ensure a certain gluttonous stake didn’t interfere, I placed the slice of pie in a barrier created with endless magic. Only those adept with that kind of magic-” She flicked his chin, smiling as he winced. “-like you can undo it.”
Battler rubbed his jaw, clicking his tongue. It was a sound argument. Beato’s magic was impressive, earning the awe of witches and deities from near and afar. The endless magic inspired both respect and fear within other powerful beings, forcing them to bow or endure her wrathful retribution.
Yet, as Battler ruminated, her endless magic was inherent. It had been passed down to her. Beato had once been a student, a thousand years ago. And although Battler had mastered her brand of magic, understanding the depths and intricacies of her sorcery, he gasped.
“Beato! There’s another culprit! The real one!” He clutched her shoulders, his tone grave. “She must’ve returned to undo the spell. She can use endless magic, too, just like you and I. Think, Beato. She was also in the kitchen with you. There’s a chance she returned to eat it while you were under the pretense that everyone went looking for me.”
She blinked, a guttural hum escaping her. Beato looked at him, to the tray, and then, she stared at the door. Battler could have sworn he heard the rotating gears in her head, chugging along the rusted cogs.
And suddenly, indignation inflamed her. Her entire body became as stiff as a burning plank of wood. Heat radiated from the confines of her dress, bursting outward to turn her skin a shade of crimson. Her mouth worked, Battler watching the curses forming on her lips, but no sound emerged, only to howl her fury.
“Teacher! It must have been her! Oh, that conniving hag, I saw her scurrying down another hall just before I decided to go to the kitchen! And she had covered her mouth like she was stifling gas!” Beato stomped and unleashed her rage, her sneer stretching into her thin cheeks. She flexed her bony fingers and bent her back to the point where someone would have believed it would snap in half. “Teeeacher! You can run, but you can’t hide! You’ll pay for defying…”
She trailed off. Her glance flicked to him. Battler smiled as their eyes connected. Beato rubbed her hands together, appearing to remember she had just accused him of the theft. She slowly rose, as if she was a doll controlled by a child’s hand. He snickered as she idly toyed with a loose curl of hair, pouting in a way that dissuaded him from enacting a punishment of his own.
“S-sorry, Battler. I overreacted,” she mumbled, and she batted her long, dark eyelashes. “Can you forgive meee? It was an honest mistake. You know my temper can flare when I’m pissed.”
He cupped her clasped hands, chuckling. “It’s okay, Beato, but why were you that upset? It’s just a pie. I mean, hey, I know you’ve been working hard to bake and cook on your own.”
Beato shifted in place. She peered at Battler, knitting her brows. She visibly cooled, her radiating heat dispersing like steam.
“I…” Her cheeks flushed a soft, pleasantly pink hue. “I wanted you to eat it in front of me and see how you’d react.”
He almost bit down on his tongue. She had already revealed she had gone to locate him. Naturally, her intention was to show off her honeyed handiwork to her husband. Beato wanted to witness Battler eating and savoring her pie, which she must have poured her heart into perfecting. And going by that simple dollop, it would’ve been marvelous for Beato to enjoy his face lighting up under the enchanting relish of her delicious treat.
But as she sighed, Battler smiled and asked, “Well, isn’t there a way you can bring back its original form?”
Beato snapped to attention, brighter than any star. She extended her hand to the tray. Her eyes gleamed, twinkling like sapphires as she spoke a familiar incantation.
“Come, come, try to remember. Lemon custard and whipped cream, a golden brown base, you were going to fill my husband’s stomach and win over his heart. Let us bask in your sweetness once more.”
Golden butterflies gathered out of thin air. Battler leaned into Beato, wreathing his arm around her waist. They watched, following the trickling dust left in the wake of their fluttering wings. The pie reformed, topped with that delicious whipped cream, the tips toasted to perfection. A slice was missing, though Battler realized it was purposeful for him to take in the interior, the lemon custard filling just waiting for Battler to stick in a fork.
But as he reached for a utensil, he grunted. More pies appeared. Lemon meringue pie after lemon meringue pie filled the table. Their aroma was intoxicatingly sweet, almost dizzying him. Battler aimed a shaky finger at them, asking Beato if she had baked all of them.
A wolfish grin crossed Beato’s face. “I baked one, and one is all I need. I can resurrect my pies as many times as I want.”
Beads of sweat dampened Battler’s brow. “Uh, r-right, and I know you wanted me to have a slice, not an army of pies.”
But Beato’s smirk insisted otherwise. She snapped her fingers, and the kitchen door slammed shut. A jingle echoed, implying she had locked it. Battler groaned, backing up to the wall as Beato snatched the first pie, cackling.
“Come on, come on, Battler! I know you’re hungry!” she jeered, tearing out the first of many slices. “You know the old saying! The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach! And it doesn’t have to be through gouging!”
“B-Beato! I can’t-! That’s way too much! Beatooo!”
Although Battler howled when Beato shoveled the slice into his mouth, they laughed, though Battler’s amusement was muffled through cream and custard. And as he thoroughly tasted the creamy treat, he beamed at Beato, her bliss and smiling face worth more than anything in the world, even a stomachache.