oatmeal. It was large enough to feed half a small city. Her cheeks were red with exertion; sweat beaded on her forehead and temples, plastering her hair to her skin in long yellow streaks. She bore more than a passing resemblance to Cassandra; in fact, she could have been Cassandra’s much older twin.
She stopped her stirring, opened the door to the furnace, then shot fire into it with a blast from her fingers. Satisfied as the flames inside climbed higher, she went back to her stirring as if nothing unusual had occurred.
I realized that for the Blackwoods, a family of magic practitioners, her actions might be quite normal indeed.
Girls not much younger than me rushed around the room, gathering pitchers and putting out covered platters and bowls. Three boys, ranging in age from about ten to fourteen, prowled around the longest table I’d ever seen, setting it with plates and silverware and glasses. A small girl, hardly older than six or seven, perched on one of the long benches ringing the table and stealthily reached under a covered bowl, getting her fingers smacked by a passing adult for her trouble. Adults and older teenagers gathered in small groups throughout the cavernous room, shouting to be heard over each other. A pre-teen boy and girl argued in a corner: “Did not!” “Did so!” “Not!” “Did!”
Then the boy held out his hands, palms facing the girl, and let loose a torrent of water. The girl stood there for a moment, gaping at him, and then did the same thing to him. The two of them stood dripping, their argument at a standstill, until another adult I didn’t recognize stormed over and swatted them both on the behind.
“No magic before breakfast!” she announced sternly, then marched off.
The boy and girl traded glares before stalking off in opposite directions.
For a second, the chaos seemed so intimidating, so completely unlike anything I was used to, that I almost turned and ran away. Only Logan’s appearance at my side, and the slight pressure from his strong fingers on my forearm, held me in place.
Just as I was trying to figure out a way to make a fast exit, I recognized someone sitting in an overstuffed chair in the middle of the room. A look of infinite patience crossed her face as a toddler tugged on her skirts, and another small girl placed a broken doll in her lap. The old woman picked up the doll and reattached its head to its body, passing one hand across the broken place and muttering under her breath. Then she handed it, whole and mended, back to its owner, who practically glowed with pleasure. Almost as if she could sense me looking at her, the woman saw me.
Mrs. Alice. A smile like the sunrise broke across her face, and she looked thrilled to see me. She was utterly at home in the midst of all the noise and frenetic activity.
I saw the chaos with new eyes. Mrs. Alice’s smile changed my surroundings, or at least my perception of them. All of the bustle and loudness wasn’t intimidating at all; rather, it was its own form of peace. Mrs. Alice was in her element because her family thrived around her, busy and loud and full of life and each other. There was no fear here, no threat of death and destruction. I leaned against Logan, realizing at last how much peace and safety had been missing from my life, even if it took a chaotic form.
“Come on,” said Cassandra, beckoning me to the long table. “If we wait on this lot to be ready to feed you, you’ll waste away to nothing.”
Ethan followed just behind me. He seemed unaffected by the noise and rush around us; it made me wonder how many times he’d been here before.
Bewildered by tiredness and hunger now instead of the household around me, I let Logan lead me to the long table. Ethan and Logan sat on either side of me while someone slid a plate of food under my nose. Apple cinnamon oatmeal, biscuits with gravy, fried sausages, and cheese almost overflowed the plate. If I ate all that, I wouldn’t be able to move for
She stopped her stirring, opened the door to the furnace, then shot fire into it with a blast from her fingers. Satisfied as the flames inside climbed higher, she went back to her stirring as if nothing unusual had occurred.
I realized that for the Blackwoods, a family of magic practitioners, her actions might be quite normal indeed.
Girls not much younger than me rushed around the room, gathering pitchers and putting out covered platters and bowls. Three boys, ranging in age from about ten to fourteen, prowled around the longest table I’d ever seen, setting it with plates and silverware and glasses. A small girl, hardly older than six or seven, perched on one of the long benches ringing the table and stealthily reached under a covered bowl, getting her fingers smacked by a passing adult for her trouble. Adults and older teenagers gathered in small groups throughout the cavernous room, shouting to be heard over each other. A pre-teen boy and girl argued in a corner: “Did not!” “Did so!” “Not!” “Did!”
Then the boy held out his hands, palms facing the girl, and let loose a torrent of water. The girl stood there for a moment, gaping at him, and then did the same thing to him. The two of them stood dripping, their argument at a standstill, until another adult I didn’t recognize stormed over and swatted them both on the behind.
“No magic before breakfast!” she announced sternly, then marched off.
The boy and girl traded glares before stalking off in opposite directions.
For a second, the chaos seemed so intimidating, so completely unlike anything I was used to, that I almost turned and ran away. Only Logan’s appearance at my side, and the slight pressure from his strong fingers on my forearm, held me in place.
Just as I was trying to figure out a way to make a fast exit, I recognized someone sitting in an overstuffed chair in the middle of the room. A look of infinite patience crossed her face as a toddler tugged on her skirts, and another small girl placed a broken doll in her lap. The old woman picked up the doll and reattached its head to its body, passing one hand across the broken place and muttering under her breath. Then she handed it, whole and mended, back to its owner, who practically glowed with pleasure. Almost as if she could sense me looking at her, the woman saw me.
Mrs. Alice. A smile like the sunrise broke across her face, and she looked thrilled to see me. She was utterly at home in the midst of all the noise and frenetic activity.
I saw the chaos with new eyes. Mrs. Alice’s smile changed my surroundings, or at least my perception of them. All of the bustle and loudness wasn’t intimidating at all; rather, it was its own form of peace. Mrs. Alice was in her element because her family thrived around her, busy and loud and full of life and each other. There was no fear here, no threat of death and destruction. I leaned against Logan, realizing at last how much peace and safety had been missing from my life, even if it took a chaotic form.
“Come on,” said Cassandra, beckoning me to the long table. “If we wait on this lot to be ready to feed you, you’ll waste away to nothing.”
Ethan followed just behind me. He seemed unaffected by the noise and rush around us; it made me wonder how many times he’d been here before.
Bewildered by tiredness and hunger now instead of the household around me, I let Logan lead me to the long table. Ethan and Logan sat on either side of me while someone slid a plate of food under my nose. Apple cinnamon oatmeal, biscuits with gravy, fried sausages, and cheese almost overflowed the plate. If I ate all that, I wouldn’t be able to move for
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