comfort-food calories with her. Today’s target was the Original Pancake House.
Our accommodating waitress set plates in front of Clara and me. “Dutch Apple Baby,” she said. “We split it back in the kitchen.”
“Thank you,” I said automatically, leaning over to breathe in the sweet scent of cinnamon and Granny Smiths, all baked into the top of a fluffy pancake. I couldn’t imagine making it through even half of what was on my plate; I was pleased Clara had agreed to split the awesome indulgence.
“And the Works for you,” the waitress said, beginning to offload plates in front of Gran. One dish held a mountain of scrambled eggs crowned by the cheddar cheese Gran had added to the order. A continent of hash browns balanced out the platter, plump shreds of potato glistening beneath a crispy brown crust. A smaller plate held three of the meatiest strips of bacon I’d ever seen, centered between a trio of sausages and three patties that fragrantly broadcast their sage and fennel spices. Gran had debated between the breakfast meats for long enough that she’d decided to get all three.
And then, there were the pancakes that the restaurant was known for. A tower of five plate-sized rounds groaned beneath a scoop of melting butter. Powdered sugar and an entire gallon of fresh strawberries—deep red despite the November date—rounded out the dish.
“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked.
“Some blueberry syrup please,” Gran said. And she held up the pitcher of maple that already rested on the table. “And we’ll need more of this, dear.”
The waitress was too well-trained to react, but I’m sure she wondered if Gran was putting her on. I hastened to add, “And some more hot water for my tea, when you get a chance.”
The woman shook her head as she hurried back to the kitchen. Gran devoted her energy to constructing a perfect bite, balancing egg and potato with a chunk of sausage. Clara and I had a much easier time, digging in to the sweet confection we were pleased to call brunch.
Gran then demanded that Clara and I fill her in on the entire Samhain working. She fussed over me, and she fretted about the state of David’s ribs. She exclaimed about how well the aventurine crystal had worked for her, when I’d charged the stone to help heal her lungs from double pneumonia. She clicked her tongue about Cassie, nodding knowingly when I said Zach had urged her into a healing sleep.
“Enough!” Clara said after swallowing a cinnamon-laced forkful of pancake. “We have to talk about something else.” She rounded on me. “Have you settled on a wedding date yet?”
“Mabon,” I said. “The autumn equinox next year.”
“So long!” Gran almost covered her surprise by spearing a monster strawberry.
“The magicarium will be well-settled by then. This year’s students will be wrapping up their studies, and we won’t be dealing with new ones yet. And the equinox coincides with a full moon. David and I are facing enough criticism from Hecate’s Court. The least we can do is choose an auspicious day to make our wedding official.”
Clara nodded contentedly. “I’m so pleased you’re considering the astrological implications. I’ll draw up a complete chart for you. You want to pay particular attention to your rising sign and the position of Venus.”
As a witch, I was fully aware of the natural world around me—the phases of the moon, the passing of the seasons. But Clara went a whole lot further into astrology than I did. She charted just about everything, and the vast amount of her star-reading added up to gibberish in my book. Tension screwed its hooks into my shoulders. A dozen different arguments fought to come front and center on my tongue. I wanted Clara to know that she made me embarrassed to be a witch, embarrassed to be her daughter.
But then I remembered David’s suggestion. I heard his calm voice at the back of my mind, and I mimicked the words he’d given me,
Our accommodating waitress set plates in front of Clara and me. “Dutch Apple Baby,” she said. “We split it back in the kitchen.”
“Thank you,” I said automatically, leaning over to breathe in the sweet scent of cinnamon and Granny Smiths, all baked into the top of a fluffy pancake. I couldn’t imagine making it through even half of what was on my plate; I was pleased Clara had agreed to split the awesome indulgence.
“And the Works for you,” the waitress said, beginning to offload plates in front of Gran. One dish held a mountain of scrambled eggs crowned by the cheddar cheese Gran had added to the order. A continent of hash browns balanced out the platter, plump shreds of potato glistening beneath a crispy brown crust. A smaller plate held three of the meatiest strips of bacon I’d ever seen, centered between a trio of sausages and three patties that fragrantly broadcast their sage and fennel spices. Gran had debated between the breakfast meats for long enough that she’d decided to get all three.
And then, there were the pancakes that the restaurant was known for. A tower of five plate-sized rounds groaned beneath a scoop of melting butter. Powdered sugar and an entire gallon of fresh strawberries—deep red despite the November date—rounded out the dish.
“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked.
“Some blueberry syrup please,” Gran said. And she held up the pitcher of maple that already rested on the table. “And we’ll need more of this, dear.”
The waitress was too well-trained to react, but I’m sure she wondered if Gran was putting her on. I hastened to add, “And some more hot water for my tea, when you get a chance.”
The woman shook her head as she hurried back to the kitchen. Gran devoted her energy to constructing a perfect bite, balancing egg and potato with a chunk of sausage. Clara and I had a much easier time, digging in to the sweet confection we were pleased to call brunch.
Gran then demanded that Clara and I fill her in on the entire Samhain working. She fussed over me, and she fretted about the state of David’s ribs. She exclaimed about how well the aventurine crystal had worked for her, when I’d charged the stone to help heal her lungs from double pneumonia. She clicked her tongue about Cassie, nodding knowingly when I said Zach had urged her into a healing sleep.
“Enough!” Clara said after swallowing a cinnamon-laced forkful of pancake. “We have to talk about something else.” She rounded on me. “Have you settled on a wedding date yet?”
“Mabon,” I said. “The autumn equinox next year.”
“So long!” Gran almost covered her surprise by spearing a monster strawberry.
“The magicarium will be well-settled by then. This year’s students will be wrapping up their studies, and we won’t be dealing with new ones yet. And the equinox coincides with a full moon. David and I are facing enough criticism from Hecate’s Court. The least we can do is choose an auspicious day to make our wedding official.”
Clara nodded contentedly. “I’m so pleased you’re considering the astrological implications. I’ll draw up a complete chart for you. You want to pay particular attention to your rising sign and the position of Venus.”
As a witch, I was fully aware of the natural world around me—the phases of the moon, the passing of the seasons. But Clara went a whole lot further into astrology than I did. She charted just about everything, and the vast amount of her star-reading added up to gibberish in my book. Tension screwed its hooks into my shoulders. A dozen different arguments fought to come front and center on my tongue. I wanted Clara to know that she made me embarrassed to be a witch, embarrassed to be her daughter.
But then I remembered David’s suggestion. I heard his calm voice at the back of my mind, and I mimicked the words he’d given me,
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