“Hel, I don’t think this bread has a message in it,” Sam managed, the bread’s magic leaving her feeling overwarm. It was a ward. She knew it like she knew her own name, even if she couldn’t explain why. “I think he’s trying to protect the Auclairs from the Beast.” Which, given that Clotilde might very well be the Beast, was ironic, to say the least. “With . . . bread?” Hel demanded incredulously. But the old man scowled, crossing the distance to rap Sam on the head with his cane. “Ow!” Hel’s revolver was in her hand in a second. “Try that again.” “Foolish girl! None of that, not out here,” the
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