Chapter 7 #2
I considered his words carefully. Wasn’t that what I was supposed to be doing?
Learning about other types of magic, creatures, cultures?
Wasn’t a Hunter a new perspective? I was literally fated to be with a Hunter.
It was something I’d need to learn to live with, a topic I’d need to better understand in a personal way too.
“Do you think I’m a bad person because I’m a Hunter?” Silas asked quietly.
“No. Of course not.”
Silas just nodded. I remembered the word he had used.
Sacrifice. That was the right word. Seer Goddard had told me I was being selfish before, and maybe this was my moment to lean away from self-preservation and go out on a limb.
Was it selfish to say no? To turn away from something that made me uncomfortable, even if it was part of the island—and part of the man I was falling in love with?
“I’ll think about it,” I told Silas. “I’m open to it. Let’s talk about it later.”
“We can always go tonight,” Silas said. “After the full moon ceremony. We don’t have to stay out till dawn. Just a short trip after dark if you’re up for it.”
“Give me a little time to think about it,” I said. “I’ll let you know before tonight.”
Silas and I had some time to kill before the full moon ceremony with the gnomes, so I went home to Wisteria Cottage and collapsed on the bed. I was out before I could change out of my clothes.
I’d been up early and out all day, and it sounded like I’d be up late into the night. I was surprised I managed to fall asleep, considering how many cups of Gus’s enchanted coffee I’d consumed. But that was the magic of it, I supposed.
When I woke, it was around dinnertime. I found Millie in the kitchen, stirring a cast-iron pot of soup that smelled like heaven. Silas was nowhere to be found.
“Sit,” Millie said. “You’ll need something in your stomach before the full moon thing tonight.”
“You heard about that?” I sat at the table with a wry smile. “What do you think about it?”
“I spoke with Silas while you were sleeping. He had to run out and take care of a few things before he comes to collect you. As for what I think about it, I don’t have an opinion.”
“Can you teach me about your magic?” I blurted. “I’m trying to learn about different sorts of magic. That’s part of the reason I’m going tonight.”
“My magic? What magic?” At the stove, Millie stiffened. There was a dry humor to her voice. We both knew she had magic, but every time she used it, she seemed almost apologetic.
But like I’d told Gus this morning, Millie was also her own person, with her own ideals and beliefs and learnings, and an important part of the island.
“Why do you want to learn about my magic? I’m nobody important.”
“I beg to differ,” I said. “This place wouldn’t run without you. You’ve fed me, healed me, helped me, watched over me… believed in me. You’ve been my friend, which is probably the most magical thing of all.”
Millie turned toward me, smiled, then burst into tears.
She crossed the room and wrapped me in a tight hug.
“I love you too. And of course I’ll teach you about my magic, which totally doesn’t exist.” Millie swiped at her eyes discreetly with a flour-sack towel and returned to the stove.
She ladled soup into a bowl and handed it to me. “Eat first. Then we’ll talk.”
It didn’t take long to eat; I devoured her food in minutes. As soon as I’d wiped the last spot on my plate clean, Millie poured two cups of tea.
“If you want to understand my magic, let’s start with something small,” Millie offered. “Like this loaf of bread. You can help me whip it up. Start by weighing out sixty grams of butter.”
I took the apron Millie handed me and tied it around my waist. It took me forever to figure out how to work the wobbly little scale and slice the right amount of butter into a dish, but Millie waited patiently, never commenting on my colossally slow pace.
Once the butter was softened, Millie walked me through the next steps. I added a tablespoon of sugar, five hundred grams of bread flour, and a bit of salt. Millie didn’t even offer me a measurement for the salt, which drove me slightly nuts.
With my science-based educational background, I leaned more toward structure than intuition.
“A pinch of this” or “a touch of that” always made me wonder—whose pinch?
Silas’s pinch would be double mine because of his sheer hand size.
But Millie didn’t seem to mind the fluidity in these sorts of measurements; she seemed to thrive on it.
“Now you take your sourdough starter.” Millie held up a clear glass container. “When it looks kind of bubbly like this, it means it’s ready to bake.”
“What do you mean, kind of bubbly?” I peered into the jar. It looked more like a squelchy science experiment than something you’d want to eat. “That’s not very specific.”
“You get to know your starter,” Millie said. “It’s a living thing, kind of. I mean, it’s not going to start talking to you, even if it does have a name. Mine is named Doughlores after my childhood doll, Dolores.”
“You refer to your starter by an actual name?”
“Everybody does. One of my friends named hers Gus because it’s cranky and finicky.”
“Gus, like after Lily’s assistant?”
“You got it.”
“How does this mess get bubbly?”
“I don’t need to go into the science of sourdough starters.
That could take a year in and of itself.
Just know it’s affected by temperature, feeding schedule, humidity, the draft through your window…
even the microbiomes on your hand. Every starter is different.
Even if I gave you some of mine, it’d change once it was yours, to become something unique. ”
“I’m not loving this,” I admitted. “I prefer rules and structure.”
“Well, this is a beautiful blend of both. You’ll get the hang of it in due time. It’s like magic. You can’t explain it to someone who’s never felt it. And once you feel it, it starts to make sense.”
“I never thought I’d get a magic lesson in the kitchen,” I said. “Especially one involving sourdough.”
“To be honest, I never thought I’d be giving one,” Millie said with a chuckle. “Also, take what I say with a big pinch of salt, the very biggest pinch you can imagine. I’m not exactly qualified to teach the Fae Queen anything about magic.”
“On the contrary, I think this is the most I’ve learned about it in a long time. You’ve helped me more than Seer Goddard.”
“He’ll come around; I’m sure of it. You’re doing all the right things—just keep being yourself.”
“That’s what people keep telling me.” I sighed. “I know it’s been a short time, but I’m getting anxious to start learning and practicing. This feels like wasted time. I don’t know what else to do while I wait.”
“Then there’s nothing more to do,” Millie said simply, as if that ended the discussion. “There you go. Now just chuck it all together and mix it up.”
“Chuck it all together,” I muttered under my breath, searching the counter for some kind of recipe. There wasn’t one. No written instructions, no spell, no help at all.
I did my best to “chuck it all together” and began kneading the dough.
“Too sticky,” Millie observed. “Add a pinch of flour.”
I groaned.
Millie gave a soft laugh. “Just a little, whatever little means to you. Add more as needed. You’ll know when it’s right.”
I kept kneading, and eventually, I felt it. The dough grew smooth and elastic. I held it up and saw light filter through it, like a windowpane, just like Millie had told me would happen. I looked up, feeling nearly as proud as the day I’d graduated medical school.
“You feel it,” Millie said. It wasn’t a question.
“I mean, I’m no expert baker, but I see what you mean.”
“It’s a lot like magic,” Millie reiterated.
“It’s hard to explain. You must tinker with it, spend time learning it.
Watch and listen, instead of forcing it to do something.
No matter how much you want a watery sourdough starter to rise, it’s not going to obey.
You need to be patient and work on its time. But when you get it, you get it.”
“Seems like endless amounts of work and stress and confusion for a loaf of bread.”
“To a certain degree, but it becomes significantly easier over time. You memorize the spells—or recipes, in my case—and start to improvise. A pinch here, a touch there. Work with it until it’s smooth.”
“What sort of magic powder do you put in there that helps me sleep like a baby and feel like a million bucks, even after I’ve been physically wrecked?”
Millie winked. “A little bit of love.”
“I don’t buy it.”
Millie laughed. “Well, let’s just say that’s for me to know and you to figure out.”
I hesitated, studied Millie for a beat. “That doesn’t really answer my question.”
“I know,” she said. “That’s sort of the point. Magic is unique to every individual, and in time, you will discover how to infuse yourself into your own magic, and that’s when you’ll really become unstoppable.”