Serina wonderland's Arc

Chapter 6 of 9

The hedgehog pastry cooled on the rack. Serina wrapped it in wax paper and tied it with twine. She meant to walk it to the blue door before her nerve broke. Then the bell over her door rattled, and Cheshire stumbled in. The girl's lips were gray. Her bare feet slapped the tile. She held the doorframe to stay upright. The pink dress hung damp on her shoulders. Serina had given her half a loaf once and a coin yesterday. Now the girl was here shaking, and the wrapped gift sat on the counter like it did not matter at all. "Cheshire." Serina came around the counter fast. She pressed a hand to the girl's forehead. Hot. Too hot. "How long have you been like this?" "Since the rain," Cheshire said. "Roof leaks. Over the corner I sleep in." "Why didn't you come sooner?" "Stomach was quiet there." Cheshire looked at the floor. "Then it wasn't." Serina lifted her onto the flour sack by the wall, the same sack a woman had once cried on. She fetched a clean towel and dried the girl's hair. She poured warm milk from the pan on the stove and wrapped Cheshire's hands around the mug. The wrapped pastry sat on the counter. The blue door was two streets away. Cole was waiting, or maybe not waiting, but expecting her. She had promised she would come today with something she baked herself. Cheshire's teeth clicked on the rim of the mug. "Drink slow," Serina said. She looked at the door. She looked at the child. There was no choice, only the shape of one. She untied her apron and folded it over Cheshire's legs. She stoked the oven and pulled a chair close so the heat reached the girl's feet. She cut a slice of the Sunday Loaf and set it on a plate. Cheshire ate two bites and closed her eyes. "I'll sleep here," Cheshire mumbled. "Just tonight." "You'll sleep here as long as you need," Serina said. She stepped to the counter. The hedgehog in wax paper looked smaller than it had that morning. She untied the twine and set the pastry in the glass case, under the cloth, where it would keep till tomorrow. Then she wrote three lines on a paper scrap. Had to stay. A child is sick at the bakery. I'll come when she's warm. She folded the note. She stepped to the doorway and looked across the lane at the faded pink sign of the abandoned shop where Cheshire slept. Empty windows. Wet awning. No one to carry a note two streets for her. She closed the door. She sat on the floor beside the flour sack and listened to Cheshire breathe. The gift would wait. Cole would wait, or he would not. Tonight the child came first, and the note in her pocket stayed unsent.