“I summoned you.” There was no response beyond a decisive nod. Clem’s answering nod was less certain. “…How?”
“When you made the cookies, of course.” The woman lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “It was the magical sugar.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It’s the secret ingredient.”
Clem stared blankly until realization dawned. “The secret ingredient,” she repeated. “You mean the Secret Santa gift?” She stared at it where it sat open on the counter. The strange woman followed her gaze, clucking her tongue in disapproval when she saw it had been left open on the counter.
“You really should be more careful with this.” She admonished. She picked up the lid and gently set it on the canister. Clem wasn’t sure how she felt about this stranger touching her things, but she could not seem to make herself move. Once the sugar was safely covered, the woman turned back to face Clem. “Where were we? Oh, right. I’m the cookie you made.”
And there it was: confirmation that this woman, beautiful though she may be, was totally off her rocker. Clem considered her options. She could call the police, but something kept her from reaching for her phone. Sure, the woman might be disconnected from reality, but she didn’t seem to be dangerous. So that left finding out where she lived, then helping her get there. Clem sighed as her hopes of relaxing on the couch slipped away.
“So,” she said, trying to make her voice lighter than she felt. “You’re a cookie?” She was proud that she had barely stumbled over that. “Wow. That must be a very interesting life.”
The stranger’s eyes lit with humor. “You don’t believe me.”
“Of course I do!” Clem’s voice was far too high.
“Clementine.” The woman’s voice was indulgent. “Just look at the cookie sheet.” She gestured to the pan, where sure enough the cookie Clem had so lovingly designed was no longer visible. Clem’s stomach jumped, but she made herself stay calm. Just because a cookie was missing from a pan didn’t mean anything. The woman could very well have eaten it.
Something clicked in Clem’s mind.
“Wait. What?”
The woman had said her name, but Clem was positive she hadn’t introduced herself. Besides, she never called herselfClementine, not unless she couldn’t avoid it. She took a step back. “How do you know my name?”
The woman twisted her hands behind her back, a look of innocence overtook her features. “Oh, well, that’s part of the magic.”
The sigh that left Clem was heavy. All she had wanted was to sit on her couch and drink some wine and maybe watch a competitive baking show. Was that too much to ask after the day she’d had?
Apparently it was.
Instead of a clean kitchen and couch time, Clem was faced with a strange woman claiming to use magic. Maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s insanity.
Although — Clem had to admit the fact that this woman knew her name had thrown her. More likely was that she heard one of Clem’s friends saying goodbye earlier. Regardless, Clem decided she needed wine to deal with all this.
“Hey, before we go any further with this, why don’t you come and sit at this table here while I get myself something to drink.” She pointed at the dining table that had been shoved in the corner of the room the apartment pamphlet had generously called “open concept.” It was easy to have an open concept when the entire unit was less than 700 square feet.
The woman looked at the dark wood of the table, then back up to Clem, who had to resist the urge to shift from foot to foot under her gaze. Then the woman nodded and moved toward the table. She brushed against Clem as she passed, sending a jolt of electricity through her even as she enveloped Clem with the aroma of cookies.
Yeah, Clem definitely needed that wine.
She waited for the stranger to seat herself at the table, then moved into the kitchen.
“Okay, you know my name, because ofmagic.What’s your name?” Clem asked over her shoulder. She wasn’t sure she wanted to turn her back on this strange person claiming to be a cookie come to life. The woman could not expect her to believe that wild statement about being acookie come to life.
“Hazelnut Frostington, but you may call me Hazel.” She dipped her head in an affectation of a bow.
“I’m sorry.” Now Clem turned around. This woman was decidedly unserious, and Clem felt better facing that head on. “Come again?”
“Hazel - short for Hazelnut?” Hazel’s warm brown eyes were impossibly big. Her mouth had settled into a pout that kept pulling Clem’s attention. Clem caught herself staring and bit her own lip as she tore her gaze away.
“Sure. ButFrostington?What kind of a name is that?” She shook her head. “You sound like you’re trying to be one of Santa’s elves.”
“I beg your pardon?” Hazel jumped up from her seat, offense radiating off her in waves. Clem took a step back and put her hands up in defense.
“Was that the wrong thing to say?”
