There’s a number of exclamations elsewhere in the kitchens and several more witches and warlocks crowd to the doorway.
“You must take her round things from the oven, or they’ll set on fire,” I say urgently.
Instead they do nothing, other than more cries which involve me killing the human.
I have done no such thing. Kaitlyn is warm in my arms, her lips and cheeks pink. I’d like her to open her eyes, but I’ve seen this before when I was a young Bluecap, and it only takes one moment of distraction where your prey ends up slightly catatonic with a small venom overload.
My sweet mate will be conscious again soon, but the people in the kitchens don’t seem to know it.
The scent of the cooked round things fills the room. I know from all my watching this is the time they need to be removed, but I don’t want to leave Kaitlyn.
Except if she finds out I let her rounds, the ones I helped with this morning, spoil, she might not let me mate her again.
A spike of terror races through me at the thought. My spicket has been nothing but a nuisance since I started watching her, and I’m not going to let it down. Mating must continue. My Kaitlyn must be happy.
I stand, lifting Kaitlyn onto my shoulder as there’s a gasp from the assembly. I’m not leaving her where they can touch her. I approach the ovens, but I’m going to need both hands free to operate them. So, I place her gently on the table where we prepared rounds. It’s a little dusty, but I’d rather she was in view at all times.
I open the ovens, revelling in the blast of heat, and using the flat boards from earlier, I scoop up the rounds, now a darker brown colour, and put them wherever there is room. The entire place is filled with all the rounds we made. I even have to place some around my mate. But as she loves them, I don’t think she will mind.
Finally, all the baked items are out of the oven. I turn to my audience with a snarl.
“The rounds are out of the ovens,” I growl. “As my mate wished.”
And Kaitlyn sits up suddenly with a gasp of breath.
“Linton,” she says, blinking rapidly at everything. “What is going on?”
“I have your rounds. They did not burn. And everyone thinks I killed you.”
KAITLYN
Linton has been banished from the kitchen. Or rather,his help is no longer needed, so it means he has to haunt the stairwell outside, peeping in occasionally because no matter what the weird skeletal monks said, he will not leave me.
For monks, they have surprisingly little staying power because they gave up within half a day and allowed him to lurk on the understanding he wouldn’t enter the kitchens and would provide some unspecified labour after I’d finished for the day.
I have to say, waking up surrounded by bread buns perched literally on every available surface was one of the weirdest things which has happened to me, both in the Yeavering and back beyond the veil.
Well, not the weirdest thing. The weirdest thing is Linton, but the sight of his concerned face, which broke into the biggest of smiles the second he saw me, was one of the best things I’ve seen in my life.
How did my creepy mothman make my heart pound and my head spin in this way?
And boy, did he get me into so much trouble with the rest of the kitchen staff, who genuinely thought he had killed me.Now they’re avoiding me like the plague. Which, given how they accepted his presence yesterday, is not amusing me in the slightest.
Further, the baked goods I’m producing are going down an absolute storm. Everyone wants more. So, they’re happy to accept what I can provide, but they are not prepared to accept my mothman.
Linton does not deserve such treatment just because he is different. Everyone has their differences. So many creatures eat different things, behave in different ways, and yet, when they’re needed, or they can be used, all of that is forgotten and they become wanted.
One of the more senior members of the kitchen staff elbows me as I make my way through the narrow passage which splits the prep kitchen from the main kitchen.
“Do you mind?” I say, knowing she’s doing this because we’re out of sight of Linton.
“I don’t mind, monster lover,” she spits. “Do you?”
“Yes, I do mind. Linton is not a monster, and if you took the time to get to know him, you’d realise that,” I respond.
“I have no desire to be his next victim or his lunch,” she retorts.
“And yet, there was a time in the Yeavering when Blucaps were wanted and their diet was offered willingly.”
