Sympathy for the Demons (Promised to the Demons #1) - Lidiya Foxglove Page 0,5
minutes or so. I turned it out onto a dish towel and sprinkled it with cinnamon. By now it was Mrs. Franch’s tea time so I cut the cake into squares and made us each a cup of tea.
Every day, she put her sewing down when I brought her a pastry, and her face lit up. I knew that otherwise, her day was full of tedious work and grievance. When Mr. Franch died, his income went with him, and he hadn’t left much. Just this house, an inherited family home that fell into more disrepair every year. No one invited Mother to any parties or dances or teas anymore. Her magical skills were not respected. All she could do to make money was to sew protection spells into baby clothes and baby blankets and things like that. I felt quite awful for her, because she didn’t seem as contented with small things as I was, but was always upset at someone or other.
“Oh, Jenny! That smells divine! A honey cake?”
“It’s bizcochos borrachos,” I said. “It was in the Spanish cookbook. It used the oranges and honey we have, so I hope it’s good.”
“Ohh, a new recipe.” She slowly ate a few bites. “It’s very sweet but they honey and orange and cinnamon are such a pure sort of taste…that somehow it isn’t cloying. You are too sweet yourself, my little Jenny.”
At this time of day I was her companion, her beloved daughter. I wish I could say that I felt like I really filled the void of the tragic death of the real Jenny, but I was never able to forget that I was a familiar and didn’t quite fit this life. I identified very much with house pets. House cats seemed pretty happy, and so was I, but I imagined they also looked at the windows and felt a deep yearning sometimes. When Mother had a house cat she used to suddenly run around and let out a wail. I would nod at her with understanding.
“I heard voices in the street earlier that seemed to linger,” Mother said. “Was it Mrs. Solano? Was it Miss Stanton?”
“It was just some kids,” I said.
“But they didn’t hear you, did they?”
“Of course not.” She seemed to get more paranoid with every year, too. I really wasn’t sure if people shunned her because she was paranoid, or she was paranoid because people shunned her. It was hard to say when St. Augustine was such a tiny, old-fashioned town with a strict hierarchy.
She picked up the town newspaper. “Mrs. Solano is hosting her thirtieth annual Halloween party. Of course she hasn’t invited me in years. Not since Adam died, of course, and I guess she figured I can’t afford clothes for a costume ball anymore. That woman just assumes I wouldn’t be able to manage. I do have things I can sell.”
I hated it when I had to steer her away from grievances, but I was good at it. “These baby booties you’re making are too cute! I love this purple color. It’s not your usual.”
“I love this soft yarn,” Mother said gently, petting the booties.
I picked them up and slipped my fingers in them and kicked them like feet. “I bet it’s a cute baby too.”
“This baby isn’t born yet, but I’m sure she will be just precious. Oh, Jenny, is there more of this cake? It’s really very good. It has a perfect fall taste. Mrs. Amici’s orange trees fruit so early, I wonder what spells she uses…”
When I had spent some time with her and the cake was done, I went back to the kitchen and started a fish stew for dinner, and then I cleaned up all the dishes, scrubbing and scrubbing and bringing in a bucket from the well. Then I had a little time to read in the garden again before the sun went down. We always had secondhand books floating around that Mom picked up in the shop in town, and many of them were human books from the Fixed Plane about the dazzling lives of normal humans. They had technology that did astounding things, and they had wild romances, and they went on vacations to other countries. I would read until it was too dark, and then I would go inside and sweep and dust, and that was how every day went, and how every day had been, for the last twenty years.
Once in a while, but not very often, I noticed that I was a