Page 31 of The Thirteenth Child
My stomach rumbled and I flipped back over, pushing myself to my feet. I stretched, marveling at the giant expanse of free time laid out before me. The afternoon sparkled with dizzying potential.
“I’ll make lunch,” I decided aloud, swiping up the book and heading down the hill to my cottage. “Then weed the garden, and perhaps take a walk, and I will not look at a single book.”
As I swung open the door of the cottage, I hummed a little tune, not realizing what it was—the birthday song Bertie used to serenade me with every year—until I spotted the cake on the worktable.
It was a decadent tower of lavender frosting, colored sugar crystals, and edible violets. A tiny forest of golden candles—thirteen exactly—sprang from its top and lit magically as I stepped inside.
I approached the cake curiously; I didn’t notice my godfather sitting in the armchair, warming himself by the fire, until he cleared his throat.
“Happy birthday, Hazel.”
Chapter 12
“Merrick,” I said, startled byhis presence. “You’re back.”
He smiled as if it had been only hours since he’d last seen me, as if an entire year had not passed. “I am. Just in time to celebrate.”
“I finished the books,” I said in a rush, eager to show him I’d done as he’d asked. “All of them. Just as you wanted me to.”
“Excellent,” he said, sweeping from the armchair. It was much too small for him, and his body creaked upon straightening. “Shall we have cake?”
“Cake?” I echoed with surprise. I assumed he had come back to talk about my studies, about all the things I’d learned and done.
He nodded, seemingly unaware of my confusion. “Yes. And then we’ll be off.”
“Off?”
He smiled with amusement, eyes crinkling at my befuddlement. “You’re repeating everything I say, Hazel.”
He pulled my plate from the shelf and, upon realizing there wasonly the one, snapped his fingers and another appeared, complete with utensils.
“I suppose I must be out of practice. I’ve been here for a whole year with only plants to talk to.” I felt the edge in my voice, but Merrick didn’t seem to notice.
“The garden, yes! I was very impressed by how large it’s grown.” He picked up a knife but paused before the first cut. “You’ll want to blow out the candles, yes? I’m told that’s the usual tradition.”
Irritation flickering in my middle, I crossed to the worktable and extinguished all thirteen in one breath. “Where are we going?” I persisted, but was forced into accepting the plate he pushed my way. He’d made me a sponge cake, soaked in cherry compote.
“Eat,” he insisted, taking a bite himself. “It’s quite good, though the cherries seem a surprise with that lavender icing. Should it have been pink? It should be pink,” he decided, and with another snap, the cake changed hue.
“You said we were going to be off,” I said, my mouth half full. Like his cake the year before, it was too sweet. “Where are we going?”
He blinked, only now acknowledging my questions. “To your house, of course.”
“My house?” I was beginning to feel like a parrot. “I’m going home?”
He nodded.
“You’re sending me back?” I asked, the alarm spiking through me every bit as sharp as the scalpels I practiced with. I’d done everything he’d asked of me, hadn’t I? I scrunched my face, wondering what I’d done wrong.
Merrick frowned. “Sending you back? No, no, no. Not there. I’m taking you home. To your home. Your new home,” he clarified, most unhelpfully.
“I thoughtthiswas my home.” I gestured about the cabin.
“For a time,” he allowed. “I needed to make sure you had a place you could concentrate. Learn what you needed to. Study without distraction.”
“And?”
“And you have,” he said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “You’ve studied. You’ve grown. And now it’s time for the work to begin. After cake, of course.”
