Serina wonderland's Arc

Chapter 9 of 9

The pastry was delivered, but the bakery paid for it. Serina looked at the room around her. Flour dusted every surface. A crust of bread sat glued to the counter. Damp towels hung over the oven door. Cheshire's fever had eaten three days, and the shop showed each one. She could not bake a gift worthy of Cole in a place like this. She rolled up her sleeves. Cheshire sat on a flour sack, better now, watching. "It smells like sick in here," she said. "I know." Serina scrubbed the counter. The crust would not lift. Her arms shook. She had slept two hours in two nights. A pot she forgot began to smoke on the back burner. The bell rang. Rose stepped in, nose already lifting. "Butter's burning," she said. "Forty seconds gone." She crossed the room and pulled the pot off the flame before Serina turned around. "You don't have to," Serina said. "You just walked two streets and back." "You can't stand up." Rose set the pot in the sink. She looked at the towels, the crust, the flour on the floor. "This is my job now. Apprentice." Serina wanted to argue. She had built this shop with her own hands. She wiped every crumb herself. But her legs would not hold her, and the sink was full, and the counter was still dirty. She sat down on the sack beside Cheshire. "Tell me what to do," Serina said. "Sit." Rose tied an apron. "You sit. I clean." So Serina sat. She had never watched someone else work her kitchen. Rose scraped the crust with the flat of a knife, one long pull, and it came free. She swept the flour in three strokes. She wrung the towels and hung them by the window instead of the oven. Cheshire climbed off the sack and carried the small things Rose pointed to. A spoon. A bowl. The girl's stomach stayed quiet. She stayed. An hour passed. The counter shone. The floor was clean. The air smelled of soap and cold water, not sickness. Serina stood and touched the wood. It was hers again. "Now," Rose said. She set a bowl in front of Serina. Inside sat the last cloudberries, red and soft. "You bake. I watch." Serina looked at the fruit. For three years the cloudberry cream bun had fallen apart in her hands. She had always worked alone, tired, chasing it by herself. Now the kitchen was clean, and a fairy who could smell dough stood at her shoulder, and a girl who had nowhere else to be sat waiting to see. "It has to be the best thing I've ever made," Serina said. "It's for him." "Then don't do it alone," Rose said. Serina reached for the flour. Her hands were steady now. The shop was ready. She was ready. For the first time, she was not.