The Witch's Candelabra

Chapter 7 - Beneath the Surface

Braids:

I stood there, eyeing a beaker of water placed delicately on the kitchen counter. Exactly one cup, perfect. I raised myself from its level, one hand on my hip, the other crooked and pressed up to my mouth. The question lingered—would it be cookies or a cake for Damian? He struck me as more of a cookies kind of guy. I sighed and poured the water into the mix I'd prepared earlier, stirring it by hand.

That afternoon, I planned to surprise him with these treats. If he doubted my culinary skills, I had to prove him wrong. After all, what other reason could there be for my extensive collection of spices? Baking had always been my way of covering up my secret. He would be no challenge.

Each time I baked, I had to make up for the spices used somehow. I needed all the spices I bought for my spells, so how did I also afford to use them for cooking? Spells, of course! Once all the ingredients were in the mixing bowl, I sprinkled some enhanced, magically burnt cinnamon into the candelabra. Then, I continued to hand-stir vigorously, and the dough gradually increased in quantity. I placed the dough in a round pan and instead of putting it in the oven, I employed a spell to ignite my hand and set the cake ablaze. The flame burned blue for a moment, soaking into the cake somehow. Then, it was fully absorbed, and the delightful aroma of freshly baked cake filled the air. The surface of the cake appeared crisp and golden brown. I smiled and nodded with pride at my success.

Soon, there was a knock at the door. I hurried out of the kitchen, wiping my flaming hands on my soft linen black skirt until they appeared normal again. With a smile on my face and my best shine in my eye, I opened the door and let Damian in.

"Hello, Braids. I hope your afternoon is going well," he greeted me, tapping his hat politely before removing it and placing it, along with his jacket, on a coat rack. I led him to the living room, where I had already arranged the tea cups and only needed to fetch the steaming pot of tea sitting on the wood-burning stove in the kitchen.

Damian took a seat on one of the two couches, which faced each other. His eyes remained fixed on mine, and a bright smile adorned his face. "So, welcome to my little home," I said, injecting mock enthusiasm as I poured the scalding tea for both of us.

"I hope I don't trouble you with this visit."

"What is your name again, sir?" I pretended not to know.

"My name is Damian."

"And what do you do for a living?" I said as I left the room to bring the cake. In the kitchen, I held my hand over the circular cake. At that moment, eight even slices appeared, perfectly cut from the center.

"I'm a pianist for the local philharmonic. We have big concerts a few times a year, but most of the time I play smaller gigs in town to pick up some extra money. It's not easy to make a living as a musician, you know. Must be interesting working in the pawn shop, seeing all kinds of interesting things come through here."

"No, it's really not. Just a bunch of annoying customers buying junk from a junk shop. Asking me dumb questions. The best is when they just browse quietly, or just buy something and get out."

"Oh wow, this is amazing," he said, tasting the cake. "Did you bake this yourself?"

"Yes, I like to bake."

"I see."

There was an awkward pause.

"So, what do you do for a living?" Damian returned the question.

"I work in my father's shop..."

"Right." Damian looked down at his tea and stirred it. "Anyway, what I actually came here to tell you about was a bit of family history. I came in here the other day looking for a candelabra. My grandmother's. She passed away some years ago, and upon her death, my mother wanted nothing to do with her and threw away all her stuff, and pawned some of the others. I was only a small child then, but I remember a lot about my grandmother and that her candelabra was very special to her. It is, therefore, very special to me, and I have come seeking it all around this city and the general cities around our village."