best baker The Nut had ever seen in almost one hundred and
fifty years of operation. That, in itself, was a kind of magic—because more than
one Device had ruled those same kitchens before her.
“Come on, they’re still warm.” The scones would stay warm
for as long as she desired, but there was no call to point it out. Ball knew it
as well as she did.
Vetiver nudged him to the side with her hip and led the way
deeper into the house. The enormous kitchen was dimly lit by an overhead
chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, shining over a small, sixties-era
café dinette. She set two plates, one for her and one for Ball, laid his scones
out nicely for him—he was tall enough that he could eat from the table without
the use of a chair, though no doubt if it had served him to pull back a chair
and use it, he would have done so—and took from the bag her own dinner, wrapped
in wax cloth. A huge pumpkin and raisin muffin roughly half the size of her
plate, the second one she’d eaten today. Soft and sweet, dense and sticky, it
was her favorite autumn delicacy.
The two dined in comfortable silence, listening to the wind
muttering in the trees that surrounded the house and its grounds. The scent of
nutmeg and pumpkin mingled with the savory aroma of Ball’s meal reminded her of
years past. Good years, all of them. But how many were left? The world was
getting smaller every day. There were too many people and not enough space for
them all, especially not here on this very special island. The Merrymint of her
ancestors’ childhood years was gone. In the place of forests, meadows and parks
there now bloomed allotment housing and luxury condominiums.
It wasn’t easy, being what she was, doing all that she had
to do, with so many curious eyes upon her. Strangers, newcomers, who didn’t
understand why the Device family was so well respected in the community. City
folk, her granny had called them. They had started filling the empty spaces of
land during her childhood, so Granny had understood them better than Vetiver
ever could. City folk—people who had no respect for the mystical purpose of the
land on which they planted their plain, pillbox houses and two-car garages.
Vetiver knew it would only get worse with each passing
season. She owned less than twenty acres of precious land now. The house sat at
the front edge of the plot, and it stretched out behind like a mighty arm,
shielding the island from trespassers. Much of the property had been portioned
off in her lifetime by her mother, who couldn’t afford the taxes that kept
skyrocketing higher each year. Eventually, Vetiver would have to sell some of
the land too. Maybe. Probably. It was how the new world worked. Her family
might be one of the originals in this country, but that legacy meant
diddly-squat when the taxman came calling.
“Things could be a lot worse, right Ball?” she asked aloud,
knowing her companion would have intuited her thoughts just as he had hundreds
of other Device women over his preternatural lifetime. “They may call me a
witch but they don’t believe it. It’s just a word to them. An insult. We know
differently, and I’m better at finding money than Mom was.” She winked at him
and he smiled his toothsome grin, already finished with his dinner. “Still,
it’s not money that’s the problem these days, is it?’ She absently fingered a
long, twisting lock of nearly black hair. “I could own half the island and
there would still be overcrowding. I could stop wearing the piercings, the
morbid clothes, the heavy eyeliner, but with so many new residents, someone is
still bound to notice the really weird stuff and that would make my life
hell. Better they just think I wear tri-colored contacts and enjoy the grungy
emo look. Bah.”
Ball shook his head, trod over to his water dish and took a
deep draught. He didn’t drink like a dog. He didn’t use his tongue to lap up
the liquid. Rather, he lowered his muzzle into the bowl and drew
fifty years of operation. That, in itself, was a kind of magic—because more than
one Device had ruled those same kitchens before her.
“Come on, they’re still warm.” The scones would stay warm
for as long as she desired, but there was no call to point it out. Ball knew it
as well as she did.
Vetiver nudged him to the side with her hip and led the way
deeper into the house. The enormous kitchen was dimly lit by an overhead
chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, shining over a small, sixties-era
café dinette. She set two plates, one for her and one for Ball, laid his scones
out nicely for him—he was tall enough that he could eat from the table without
the use of a chair, though no doubt if it had served him to pull back a chair
and use it, he would have done so—and took from the bag her own dinner, wrapped
in wax cloth. A huge pumpkin and raisin muffin roughly half the size of her
plate, the second one she’d eaten today. Soft and sweet, dense and sticky, it
was her favorite autumn delicacy.
The two dined in comfortable silence, listening to the wind
muttering in the trees that surrounded the house and its grounds. The scent of
nutmeg and pumpkin mingled with the savory aroma of Ball’s meal reminded her of
years past. Good years, all of them. But how many were left? The world was
getting smaller every day. There were too many people and not enough space for
them all, especially not here on this very special island. The Merrymint of her
ancestors’ childhood years was gone. In the place of forests, meadows and parks
there now bloomed allotment housing and luxury condominiums.
It wasn’t easy, being what she was, doing all that she had
to do, with so many curious eyes upon her. Strangers, newcomers, who didn’t
understand why the Device family was so well respected in the community. City
folk, her granny had called them. They had started filling the empty spaces of
land during her childhood, so Granny had understood them better than Vetiver
ever could. City folk—people who had no respect for the mystical purpose of the
land on which they planted their plain, pillbox houses and two-car garages.
Vetiver knew it would only get worse with each passing
season. She owned less than twenty acres of precious land now. The house sat at
the front edge of the plot, and it stretched out behind like a mighty arm,
shielding the island from trespassers. Much of the property had been portioned
off in her lifetime by her mother, who couldn’t afford the taxes that kept
skyrocketing higher each year. Eventually, Vetiver would have to sell some of
the land too. Maybe. Probably. It was how the new world worked. Her family
might be one of the originals in this country, but that legacy meant
diddly-squat when the taxman came calling.
“Things could be a lot worse, right Ball?” she asked aloud,
knowing her companion would have intuited her thoughts just as he had hundreds
of other Device women over his preternatural lifetime. “They may call me a
witch but they don’t believe it. It’s just a word to them. An insult. We know
differently, and I’m better at finding money than Mom was.” She winked at him
and he smiled his toothsome grin, already finished with his dinner. “Still,
it’s not money that’s the problem these days, is it?’ She absently fingered a
long, twisting lock of nearly black hair. “I could own half the island and
there would still be overcrowding. I could stop wearing the piercings, the
morbid clothes, the heavy eyeliner, but with so many new residents, someone is
still bound to notice the really weird stuff and that would make my life
hell. Better they just think I wear tri-colored contacts and enjoy the grungy
emo look. Bah.”
Ball shook his head, trod over to his water dish and took a
deep draught. He didn’t drink like a dog. He didn’t use his tongue to lap up
the liquid. Rather, he lowered his muzzle into the bowl and drew
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