Protected by Stone (A Paranormal Romance Novel) (12 page)

“I—bwah—I'm just making breakfast!” Stunned, I darted a sideways look at Junlit. He was gone, vanished.

Grault looked around, spotting the stove and the smoke. “You're doing what?”

“Pancakes.”

His eyebrows flew to his hairline. “Sorry?”

Holding the spatula like a shield, I jerked my head at the one sizzling in the pan. I feared, even with what little I knew about cooking, that its bottom was turning black. “Pancakes,” I said again, more confident. “I was making everyone pancakes for breakfast.”

I followed his gaze when it went to the stack of papers on the counter.

“I discovered those this morning,” I said, finding myself calm enough to scoop the thick pancake out. Sliding it onto a big platter I'd dug out, I added more batter to replace it. “You did want me to start acting like the caretaker today, right? That's why you left those for me?”

Grault was perplexed. When he looked at me, it was as if it took him a second to focus and truly spot me. “Yes... that's correct.” Rubbing his chin, he bent low to squint at the cherry glow of the stove's door. “I smelled smoke. I had an awful thought that somehow the place had caught fire.”

“Nope,” I chuckled, watching bubbles form on the new pancake. I hoped that this one would be edible. “Just me. To be fair, leaving me to do all this
was
potentially hazardous.”

I was hoping to make him smile. Seeing the tension drift from his shoulders was close enough. I noticed he was wearing the same coat again. It was all I'd seen him in.

Well, that and nothing.
The memory of our garden encounter made me blush.

“Why pancakes?” he asked, standing beside me in a mere two steps.

Staring down at the frying pan, I flipped the pancake. It looked much better than the first. “I thought I could make a lot of them easily. Your chore list there, I mean, it has specific things for each guest. That's a bit unrealistic.”

“It's what Tessa would do.”

“Fine,” I said, my tone hotter than the burning logs. “But I'm not Tessa. So everyone gets pancakes today.”

I saw him spread his lips, on the verge of speaking. Then, as if my stare stopped him, he didn't finish.

For a while, we stood in that smothering kitchen heat without a word. I had the platter stacked high when Grault finally walked towards the door. “Maybe they'll like pancakes.”

Is he being smug, or is that a vote of confidence?
I couldn't ask. He waltzed from view a moment later.

Inhaling into my belly, I pulled the pan from the stove. Junlit emerged through the wall above the sink, making me drop the tool into the basin loudly. “Gah! Don't do that!”

“What, why?” he asked, genuinely seeming boggled.

My fingers dug into the sweater over my chest. “You could have given me a heart attack! Where did you go off to?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I got a little nervous when Grault came in yelling. I don't like when people yell, remember?”

Pushing my hair from my forehead, I puffed out a quick breath. “Yes, yes. Well, never mind. Can you do me a favor?”

Junlit managed to look entirely uninterested. “What's that?”

Hoisting the pancake tray, I moved to the doorway. “Could you go start letting the guests know I made breakfast? I'm not sure they're ready for me to go knocking on their doors yet.”

“Oh, no, there's no need for that,” he said sweetly.

“I—there's not?”

“No no,” Junlit laughed. “They've been waiting out in the dining hall for a bit. I believe they smelled breakfast and came down with expectations.”

Slowly, my eyes widened. “They're out there
waiting
for me?”

“Mmhmm. For ten minutes now.”

I said no more, I was already moving. With my goal to get off on the right foot, I hurried out to the dining room with the giant platter of pancakes. My mind was focused entirely on breakfast.

It was all too easy to forget the question I'd left unanswered with Junlit that morning.

Why would Grault have cared about the windows being open?

––––––––

T
he guests were not impressed by my pancakes. Granted, I knew they weren't the
best
pancakes (I'd winged the recipe entirely) but I didn't think that was reason enough to turn their noses up.

The creatures, revenants as Junlit had called them, were sitting on both lengths of the dining room table. Such a variety of shapes, colors and sizes, it was strange to see them arranged so close.

For every guest that stared questioningly at the meal, there was one who dared to nibble. For every one of those, there was a guest who spit it back out.

Only Junlit, as well as the little orange revenant who I remembered was named Vibbs, were doing me the favor of digging in.

“Excuse me, Farra,” said a creature who resembled a large, pale insect. It had four chubby arms with an abundance of fingers at the end of each. Just looking at it made me queasy. What a shame that it was one of the few with a discernible mouth that moved as it spoke.

Controlling myself, I put on a giant smile. “Ah, yes?”

“Could it be we might get some coffee in here? It's been ages, Tessa used to have it for us every morning.” He wobbled as he talked. I found myself praying the chair wouldn't break under him.

“Sure, sure,” I said, waving my hands up and down. “Um, does anyone else... need anything?”

As the cries went up, I knew I shouldn't have asked.

Frantically, I tried to listen to them all. It was an impossible task, but still, I tried. I caught fragments of requests, things like 'cake' and 'fish' and 'marigold tea' (did such a thing exist?)

“Oh yes, marigold tea,” many of them agreed. They
really
wanted me to know they craved it.

Tugging my hair back, I spun and vanished into the kitchen. It was as good a place to escape as any, I thought.
Well, except for the damn heat in here from this wood stove.

Exploring the larder, the pantry, I knew I couldn't fulfill all the orders. By the time I'd even figured out how to work the french-press to make coffee, my jaw was aching from clenched teeth.

Why couldn't they just like the pancakes?
I thought furiously.

While the coffee brewed, the scent burning my nose, I stared around the kitchen. It was getting late into the morning, maybe the guests would give up and go away before I came back.

Thinking of Grault, of his lack of joy at my performance so far, I sighed. He made me want to do something very foreign to me.

He made me want to prove him wrong.

Leaning into the main hall, I could hear the guests mumbling to each other nearby. I knew I couldn't give them everything they'd asked for, the house was bare of inventory.

But, if one more thing was possible, that'd make it clear I was putting in the effort.

Wouldn't it?

Waving my hand over my face, sweltering, I eyed the window over the sink. That was when I recalled Junlit's warning.

So what if Grault wouldn't like it. He won't even know. I just want some air in here.

Pushing on the glass, it took me a minute to find the crank. When I did, though, the crisp morning air was glorious. Sunlight poured into the room, turning the floors white.

Inhaling deep, I pushed my head outside. The window faced the backyard, showing me a beautiful, if somewhat wild, green field. In the distance, I saw the sapphire glint of a big lake. Everything was cupped by large trees and the rolling hills.

It was picturesque.

But it was what I saw when I looked down that set my heart soaring. There, growing in a carpet left untended, were a number of flowers. Among them, the yellow, thick tops of what I was sure were marigolds.

Laughing in surprise, I stretched out the window until my stomach hung over.
I'll have to hop out to get them.
So without another thought, I did. I climbed out onto the thick, damp flower bed and snatched up an armful of the plants.

Being outside felt wonderful. Away from the smokey kitchen, the dim hallways, the complaining guests... I was tempted to run out into the field and never turn back.

With a heaving sigh, I pushed the flowers through the window above me. It was chest height, an easy challenge to beat.

Back in the kitchen, I regretfully closed the window.
I'll ask Grault about the windows later.
For now, I had a task to complete.

I'd never made tea from anything but bags. Still, I reasoned it was just hot water.

It took no time for the pan to boil on the stove. Rinsing the marigolds, I tore them up and dropped them in. It was only then, staring down at the flowers bobbing in the pot, that I felt truly stupid.

This can't be how it's made.

Steeling my nerves, I decided I was going to give it to them anyway. If it was bad, well, they could tell me how it was done.

Tessa had numerous containers in the cupboards. I emptied the 'tea' into an actual teapot, a pretty thing all blue and white. The coffee was left in the press, I didn't want to risk getting more grinds in it by pouring it out.

With a tray stacked in all the essentials I could think of, I held my breath and entered the dining room.

Against all logic, the tenants were there. They looked up when I appeared, all eyes or non-eyes fixed on me.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I placed the tray in the center of the table. “Uh, there you go. Coffee and tea.”

“No fish?” asked a wiggly purple thing.

“No. No fish,” I sad flatly. “Just... here, just drink this for now.”

With obvious doubt, they grabbed cups, sharing them around. Some chose the tar-black coffee, others the tea that worried me so. When the one who'd requested it (a blueish, humanoid-thing with hints of a female shape) tipped the pot, I saw a large chunk of flower enter her cup.

My heart jumped into my throat.

Amazingly, she drank it down without question. They all did, seeming just as shocked as I at their reactions. “Oh,” she said softly, turning her strange white eyes to me. “It's good!”

I didn't believe it until the others were nodding. Some happily, others begrudgingly. “Different,” the pale-insect said, “but yes, good.”

“Very fresh!”

“Sort of grassy.”

The flurry of comments was confusing, but I was sure of one thing.
They really do like it. It's flowers boiled in water, from a weed filled bed, and they like it.
Maybe I'd been over-thinking things.

“Coffee could be better,” Junlit said, dipping his whole head into the cup.

The rest of them nodded sagely, but my mood was too good to be broken by such a critique.

I did it, I actually did something right.

I prayed it was a sign of more to come.

****

I
n the end, I threw away many a pancake that day. I'm not ashamed to say I finished off one or two, myself, that had clearly not even been touched.

I'd owned a dishwasher most of my adult life. Seeing that I had to do it all by hand, here, was annoying.
It's not so hard, at least. It's something I can figure out, it's just labor.

The plates, left to drip in a large strainer, looked clean enough in my opinion. Drying my hands on my pants, I flipped open the stack of chores to see what was next.

Most everything required a tool of some kind. Exploring the house, I found a small closet under the stairs. It was packed with buckets, brooms, and a rather beaten up mop.

Reaching up in the dark space, I yanked hard on the handle of the broom.
Come on, just...
Grunting hard, I braced my foot on what I thought was the floor. With one, victorious pull, I felt my prize come free.

My proud smile didn't last long.

Brown as mud, a number of spiders (I certainly couldn't count them) rained down on me. Screaming, I tried to back up, only to find my foot stuffed in a bucket.

The crash of every tool, as well as my own body, echoed through the halls. Plastic buckets spun across the floor, and I threw the mop like it was a weapon at the closet. “Ugh! Oh gosh! No no no!”

Scrambling into the shadows, the spiders vanished quickly. I couldn't win. Seeing them or losing sight, both results were awful.

These damn dark places, I can't tell where, or what, or... or anything.

Tugging myself free, I looked over the wide room of stairs. The dimness lived here, extending from floor to ceiling. The thick glass was useless at allowing in the sun.

My eyes fell across the way, landing firmly on the strings of bulbs. I knew what needed to be done, what had to trump every other scheduled thing Grault had listed for me in his neat writing.

I needed to get the lights on.

Brushing cobwebs off of my hair, shivering at the imagined sensation of crawly legs, I scurried up to my bedroom. With Tessa's lantern in tow, I set about exploring the way the lights were strung.

They just hang here, not even plugged in. Is there even electricity running through this place?

It was a real revelation. The wood stove was one thing, but this... Rubbing my chin, I strolled down to Tessa's study. It didn't feel like it belonged to me anymore than it had yesterday.

Setting the lantern on the desk, I peered at the tall walls of books. It was clear my grandmother had loved reading, the first thing I thought we had in common.

Well,
I mulled to myself as I looked up at the eerie painting,
that, and our looks.
It was hard not to stare at the portrait. Tessa really did look like me, from her pink nose to the sideways smile.

It was an astounding piece of art. The dog sitting beside her looked so real, its snout gleaming wetly. Reaching out, I resisted the urge to brush my fingers over the material.
It's too irreplaceable to mess with.

Turning, I started browsing the thick tomes. Denying the idea of magic or mystical things seemed useless. There was a chance, I figured, that Tessa kept books I might find useful.
Maybe something about turning on those lights.

Coughing at the dust, I lost track of time. Eventually, I had stacks of books piled all around me. Yawning, I rubbed my arm over my eyes. “This isn't going so well,” I said out loud.