It’s funny the way my shoulders immediately relax hearing that. Just saying it out loud, giving some of that burden to someone else who says they can help. Wow.
“Fine,” I tell him. “Okay.”
“What should we do first?” he asks. “Is there like some kind of magic book or a spell you do to figure out how to fix these things?”
I bite my lip, my eyebrows raised in spite of myself.
“I really wish that were the case,” I reply, then take another slow sip of my hot cocoa. It’s lukewarm now. Well past magma mode. “As far as I know, we don’t have any kind of grimoire. That’s what it’s called, by the way, a spellbook. My friend in Texas was lucky enough to find one, but really it’s just us four and our grandma that knew anything about it, and I don’t think our grandmother would want us to bother her with this. I have a feeling she wants us to figure it out on our own.”
“She did leave us a scrapbook. I found it and it had a recipe for bread, of all the things. A strange recipe for bread made in a cast iron pan. Had something to do with Nonna. Had something to do with the last hurricane that nearly hit. But it doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well,” Caleb says, standing up. He puts his hands on his hips. “Just so happens I have a cast iron pan. Just so happens I really like bread. Who doesn’t like bread?”
Thunder rolls again. Further away now, quieter. But the sound of waves lashing the shoreline is still loud.
“Let’s make some bread,” he says.
I nod because what else are we going to do? Besides bread never hurt anybody. Well, that’s not true. I suppose gluten is its own form of evil magic. It’s one I’m willing to take a risk on at this point in my life.
I stand up too, still clutching my hot cocoa mug like it’s a lifeline, and Gunner rolls over onto his side, stretching his legs long out, half asleep.
Caleb follows my gaze to the sleeping dog.
“I still can’t believe he talks.”
“Yeah, it gets some getting used to,” I tell him. “It surprised me at first. Grandma had a familiar that was a cat, but he didn’t like to talk to us very much.”
“That makes me wonder… the ferret? Oatmeal?” Caleb asks.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “That’s Posey’s familiar.”
“The bird?” he asks.
“Yep, Fig is Rose’s familiar, too.”
“Umm, what about Hazel? She didn’t have any animals with her.”
I cringe. “It’s a sore subject,” I tell him. “Hazel’s magic is different than ours. It’s less settled. She didn’t get a familiar when she came of age. It’s about 16, by the way, for witches. So she takes it pretty personally. I think it’s one of the reasons she left. We all did our best to make her feel like it wasn’t a problem.”
“But hey,” Caleb says, “you don’t have to talk about it. Let’s just make the bread, yeah?”
“You know what, that sounds pretty good,” I tell him.
Before long we’ve got the ingredients assembled. It’s a pretty easy recipe to remember. Helps that all I do all day is remember and make up recipes. Caleb’s uncle’s cast iron pan is well seasoned, though we make sure to coat it with a generous amount of avocado oil before letting the bread rise in it.
Once the dough is shaped with a damp towel over it, we lean against the flour dusted countertop and look at each other.
“How long do you think it needs to rise?” he asks. “I might make Thai food, but I have to say I really don’t make bread from scratch very often.”
“Listen, I’m impressed you had yeast in the house,” I tell him.
“I had no idea it was in the fridge,” Caleb admits. “I think it has been here since my uncle.”
“Well, it’ll keep for a while in the fridge.” I shrug.
“It’s definitely fine,” he tells me, “and if not we’ve got your magical remedies. The eye of newt or whatever.”
I laugh at that. “As far as I know, I don’t have a remedy for food poisoning, but I think we’re safe.”
