Mary Smith and The Three-Headed Dog

7. The Perfect Pancake

"I heard you've been running around asking questions...very curious inquiries you have. Would you like to discuss them over a cup of Verites Serum?"

--- Professor Quirrell?

Chapter 7: The Perfect Pancake

My head was killing me but everything else felt absolutely perfect. I was warm, snuggly, and my face tickled. Someone was breathing on my face. I opened my eyes. They took me a while to focus, but when they did, it was to meet a pair of squinty blue eyes staring at me. I gasped and jerked upright in bed. Whose bed was this? Where was I? "Who are you?"

"There you are, Seamus," a woman with a laundry basket and a funny accent came into the room. "Don't scare the poor girl. Go fetch your dirty linens so that I can wash them."

"Yes Mum," the boy nodded and hurried out of the room without a look back.

The older woman smiled after him before coming in the room. She was a stout and muscular woman with wild curling mahogany hair. "I see you're up. How are you feeling?" Her tone was brisk but kind all the same.

"I'm fine," I answered with some hesitation. "Who are you?"

With a smile she set down the basket and sat at the edge of the bed. "I'm your cousin dear. Well, your cousin-in-law twice removed but those are just technicalities. Family is family I always say."

My head still held remnants of an ache I knew all too well. It was always after one of my accidents. "What happened?"

"Your magic went off on a bit of a tangent last night. You passed out before you did any real damage but for safety's sake, we moved you out into the guest house. Just until you get your magic in order. It wouldn't do for you to destroy the only home we have." She laughed and gave my leg a pat. "Now if you're up for it, I want you cleaned up in time for breakfast in thirty minutes. The washroom is the last door on the right at the end of the hall. I'm going back to the main house to get this laundry done."

She didn't wait for me to say anything. She just bustled off and left me to do as she instructed. If I had any reason to think so, I could swear she looked like she was running from me. But that made no sense. None what-so-ever.

My backpack was sitting beside the bed. I climbed down, grabbed it, and head down the hall to the hall to the bathroom. It was where she said it would be. It looked plain and hastily put together. There was some generic bar of soap from a brand I didn't recognize lying in the soap dish, venetians on the window, and a clear shower curtain. The curtain smelled of fresh cheap plastic, like it had just been taken out of the packaging and hung up moments before I got there. It was now that I realized I hadn't packed a washcloth. You always forget something...

...thank god it wasn't my tooth brush.

I made sure the door was locked in case that creepy boy from before decided to pay me another visit, and stripped to get in. I leaned over to turn on the water knobs. Instantly, freezing jets of water sprayed me and the rest of the bathroom floor. The showerhead knob had already been turned and it twisted on its own. I hurried to turn the water back off before the floor got any more wet than it already was. I was going to be in trouble now.

After a complicated time wrestling the showerhead and trying my best to get clean without making a bigger mess, I changed clothes. My favorite "What Would Jesus Do?" T-shirt and a pair of frayed shorts that used to be pants but my mom cut off into shorts to be frugal. I got my shirt two years ago. It was my first ever gift for no reason from my mom and the cotton was starting to wear thin. The color was fading too. The purple was starting to look gray and the little Jesus' halo had disappeared into it. But a good shirt was still a good shirt.

I was reminded of the huge puddle I'd left when I felt my socks getting wet. I used my towel to mop up most of it but things were still damp...like the ceiling.

The entire guesthouse looked pretty plain, lacking in any real decoration or warmth. The walls were bare and white, the furniture all mismatched as if they were leftovers. I followed the little cobblestone path leading to the main house. I could tell from the noise inside and the smell of food that this was a far warmer place- homier. I could smell fresh biscuits and sausage- AND PANCAKES! I love pancakes. I sped up my walk through the open patio door, into the living room. There, a large man in dirty jeans and lots of flannel was spinning around with the boy from before hoisted over his shoulder.

"I'm getting dizzy, Dad!"

"I believe that's the point, kid!" He replied with a loud bark of a laugh. They looked so happy. Is that what a parent and child were supposed to look like? Laughing, spinning, participating in activities that could result in brain damage? "Well there you are. A far sight better without all the vomit." The large man had stopped mid spin to smile at me.

"Vomit sir?"

"Hush up, Husband," the woman from before, my so-and-so cousin Mrs. Finnigan snapped with a plate in her hand. "Don't bother her with that."

"Bother me with what?" What was I missing? My voice was so tiny they went on speaking without answering me. It was very possible they hadn't heard me. It happens a lot, even when I think I'm speaking up. I find I'm fairly easy to ignore.

"Just come and eat already. I've told you boys about horsing around in my Livingroom," she warned, shaking the plate in her fist then disappearing into the dining room again.

"Yes, Wife."

"Yes, mum."

"Come along girl," Mr. Finnigan waved. "You are hungry, aren't you? You look it. Little slip of a thing."

I didn't bother to respond. I just followed after him. The dining room table was set. A large stack of pancakes sat in the middle, syrup to the side, butter and bacon and sausage and orange juice. My stomach growled at the sight of it all. And to my embarrassment, they all laughed. I sat and Mrs. Finnigan put two pancakes on my plate, some bacon, and a sausage link. "How about you see what you can do with that before we give you anymore," smiled before serving her son and her husband.

I stared at it all at first. It simply looked too good to eat. Like the food in the commercials. "It's not burnt," I mumbled to myself. My mother always blackened one or both sides of the pancake or over crisped the bacon. It was an unspoken rule that she no longer cook sausage after the last fiasco with the burning oven mitt. The other three had tucked into their meals. I should probably start eating soon before it gets cold.

I bowed my head over my plate and clasped my hands, reciting a prayer in my mind that I knew too well over the years. I thanked God for the food, promised him I wouldn't be a glutton and reach for seconds, and finally prayed that this wasn't some twisted version of Hansel and Gretel where the witch only cooked to fatten the children up to eat for dinner. When I looked up from my prayer to tuck in, the other three were staring at me with the oddest expressions on their faces.

"What are you doing?" their son asked with a look on his face one would give dirt on their shoe.

My voice was raspy with lack of use. "Praying."

"To who?"

Mrs. Finnigan cleared her throat. "That'll be enough of that Seamus. Eat your food," she ordered with a swift cuff to the back of his head. They went back to eating but I could tell they had their eyes peeled for anything else I might do that would be out of place to them. I had to remember that witches didn't pray or go to church.

And now I was a witch, so I suppose I didn't anymore either.

After breakfast Mrs. Finnigan gave a quick tour of the house before jetting me right back to the guest house. "I want you to feel completely at home here. This will be like your own little home. And if you ever need anything, we're right down the path," she said with what looked like a guilty smile. I didn't know what she had to feel guilty about. I just smiled back.

"Yes, ma'am."

She giggled at my accent again like she had been all of breakfast whenever I spoke. "Precious," she muttered to herself before leaving me there alone. I couldn't have known it at the time but I wouldn't be spending much of any time outside the guest house.