Daisy Duke's Arc

Chapter 14 of 22

The next morning broke Daisy in two. The floor breathed for its dream while the counter filled with customers. She fed the sleeper first, lowering a bound cream into the seam. But the line grew while she knelt. By the time she stood, three people had left. She could not crouch at the crack and work the counter at once. Each morning one line collapsed. Feed the floor, lose the crowd. Serve the crowd, wake the floor. "You're running two shops with one pair of hands," Skeeter said. Her ex leaned in the doorway, cane tapping a lazy beat. The crystal-boned dancer had a way of naming her trouble before she could. "A cook who serves two masters serves neither breakfast." "I know," Daisy snapped. "Tell me something useful." His emerald eye flicked to the sealed crack. "The floor eats on a schedule. So build a servant that keeps the schedule." He tapped once, hard. "A hungry clock feeds a hungry guest." Daisy stared at him. Then she understood. She did not need two hands. She needed a machine that fed the floor while she worked. Something that measured the dream and dropped it on time. She cleared the back bench and built through the afternoon. She salvaged an old timepiece, a glass hopper, and a row of colored cups. She rigged a lever to tip one cup each hour. Into the cups she loaded her bound cream, plus a scoop of sea-salt ice that carried a briny sweetness. She anchored each batch to the same flavor the floor craved, the long sleep no one leaves. The clock face ticked. The hopper glowed with pale crumbs. At dawn she set the feeder over the crack and threw the lever. She held her breath. The clock ticked toward the hour. The floor stirred, breathing faster, hungry. Then the lever tipped. A cup poured bound cream into the seam. The breathing slowed. The boards settled. The clock ticked on toward the next feeding. Daisy laughed and turned to her counter. The line had already formed. She served every customer without kneeling once. Coins piled up. The floor stayed quiet, fed by the clock on its own schedule. For the first time, Pluto's ran as one shop instead of two. "You freed your hands," Skeeter said. He watched the feeder tick. "Now the house has a heartbeat that isn't yours." Daisy wiped flour on her overalls and grinned. Her bread crossed to the waking world without crumbling. Her customers came back. The feeder handled the floor. She could finally bake enough to think about a real storefront out there, in the waking streets. Then the feeder clicked. A cup tipped early, out of turn. Cream dripped into the seam before the hour. The clock hands trembled and sped up. The floor breathed once, sharp and pleased. The machine was feeding faster than she had set it. And whatever slept below was learning to ask for more.