You can read the story so far from the beginning here

Hilary glared at Lord Peregrine. “You said that you wanted to be a lodger,” she said.

Lord Peregrine looked smug. “I didn’t say that precisely,” he said. “I asked if you wanted a lodger. And he’ll pay in proper money as well.”

Hilary’s eyes narrowed. “You may not have lied in the strict definition, but you mislead me.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Lord Peregrine smiled happily. “After all, you’ve stolen Bracken from me.”

Hilary sagged in her seat at the kitchen table. “I need another cup of tea.”

“I is getting it,” Bracken said, patting Hilary’s shoulder and turning to glare at Lord Peregrine. “Mistress is mortal. And I wished for a new situation with cookery before we was introduced.”

“And make another cup of Earl Grey tea for me,” Lord Peregrine said.

“Mistress Hilary asks nicely,” Bracken sniffed. “But I remember politeness.” She bustled around, filling the kettle and setting it on the stove.

“I suppose you still want to eat here,” Hilary said, glaring at Lord Peregrine.

“Well, of course,” Lord Peregrine said. “I shall eat here every evening, when I remember.” He smiled sweetly at Bracken as she slammed more biscuits onto the plate on the table and knocking crumbs everywhere. “Thank you.”

Bracken relaxed a little. “Tea will be soon,” she announced.

“What does ‘every evening when I remember’ mean?” Hilary asked. “Does that mean that you’ll be here every night or does it mean that you’ll turn up when you remember?”

“Don’t you need to prepare the casserole?” Lord Peregrine asked innocently.

Bracken placed a steaming cup of tea in front of Hilary. “I shall fetch the portions,” she said. “And this is as friend, not as a brownie.” She shot a dark look at Lord Peregrine and stalked into the roomy pantry.

“And this person could be here at any minute?” Hilary asked. Lord Peregrine spread his hands innocently and Hilary nearly growled.

“The casserole is here,” Bracken said, returning. “But the microwave is too small for all portions.”

Hilary shook her head. “Dinner will be a little later,” she said, taking a mouthful of the too hot tea and wincing. “You can wait!” she said, pointing at Lord Peregrine. “And so can this lodger.”

“His name is Tom,” Lord Peregrine said. “That’s Thomas Lowgill. He works in an office for buildings in Leeds and is a werewolf.”

For a moment, Hilary just stood, frozen and stunned. Lord Peregrine had invited a werewolf into her home? What was she going to do? How was she going to protect Bracken? And the meat part of the grocery bill was about to get a lot bigger. She swallowed as a chill ran through her. Could she safely refuse this? Lord Peregrine had been pleasant enough so far, and while he wasn’t happy about Bracken moving in, it could have been worse, but fae were unpredictable and he could make things very difficult for her if he chose. Breaking an agreement with the fae came with deeply unpleasant consequences. But this lodger was a werewolf! “Is it a good job?” Hilary found herself asking. “I mean, it must be a commute into Leeds from here.”

“It’s something that pays mortal money.” Lord Peregrine waved a dismissive hand and took another biscuit. “Your cooking is extremely pleasant.”

Hilary pursed her lips. “If you please,” she started with obvious sarcasm, “Wait here while I prepare dinner for you and this lodger.”

“And us!” Bracken added.

Hilary nodded. “Let’s get some potatoes in the oven to bake and then I’ll talk to you about gently reheating casseroles and stews without a microwave.

*****

Tom squared his shoulders before knocking on the battered kitchen door, as instructed. This place was a dump. He’d heard that the old witch had died and it had taken a while to find a successor, but he hadn’t realised things had become quite so bad. The door may be clean, but it was in desperate need of a coat of paint and the garden was a mess. He held up a hand against the door, willing himself to knock. As long as the roof was sound and he could sleep undisturbed, he could manage. It was more than he deserved, after all. He dragged together his courage and then knocked firmly. How bad could it be? Where else was a lone werewolf likely to get lodgings? Tom swallowed, the cold lump of nerves in his throat almost choking him. Lord Peregrine had got the lodgings, so they had to be at least as good as a doghouse – right? He heard footsteps approaching and forced a smile onto his face. He had to look non-threatening, after all.

The woman who opened the door wasn’t what he was expecting. He’d never met a witch but only heard about them and he didn’t expect to see one wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with a cat logo on it. She looked around his age, in the early forties, though the brown hair tied up in a ponytail didn’t have any grey in it. He held out a hand. “Hi, I’m Tom Lowgill. I believe you’re expecting me.”

“I’m Hilary Marshaw,” she said, shaking his hand. “Come in.”

Tom stepped past her into the kitchen and blinked in the light, bright after the dim evening light outside. “Lord Peregrine,” he said with a small bow, then he frowned. “Bracken? What are you doing here?”

“I has found a new situation which suits me more better,” Bracken said. “I is cooking.”

“And my house is a lot cleaner for it,” Hilary said. “You can hang your coat up in the hall through there.” She stepped carefully between Tom and Bracken. “Would you like a cup of tea? Dinner is almost ready.”

“Sweat Equity!” Lord Peregrine exclaimed suddenly.

“What?” Tom asked confused. “Let me hang the coat up.” He looked at Hilary who seemed just as confused. “I would love a cuppa,” he said.

“It’s about the lodgings,” Lord Peregrine said when Tom returned. “I discussed the price with Hilary, but it seemed a little low.” He took another biscuit. “After all, if I am involved in the deal, it has to be fair.”

Tom raised a sceptical eyebrow. “I agree that the rent is cheap, especially if it includes evening meals,” he said. “But you know my situation. I can’t afford much.”

“But you work in buildings, don’t you?” Lord Peregrine said. “And this building has been neglected. I’m sure that you can help out with… things.” He waved a hand vaguely. “You know, with paint and nails and digging.”

Hilary looked carefully at Tom, then back to Lord Peregrine. “If you keep eating biscuits, you’ll spoil you’re appetite for dinner,” she said, refusing to commit to any home improvements.

“I shall make tea for Mr Tom,” Bracken said. “I remember how it is he likes it. I am very good at such things, and my cookery is much better.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Tom said. He watched Bracken carefully set his drink in front of him. “Are you another lodger?”

Bracken shook her head. “This is my new situation,” she said. “And I is most pleased with it.”

“Miss Hilary stole Bracken,” Lord Peregrine said, shooting her a dark look.

“Don’t be silly,” Hilary said. “Tom, why don’t you get your luggage and I’ll show you your room.

*****

Hilary paused in the hall outside the kitchen and allowed herself to sag for a brief moment. She’d managed to put a quick ward around Bracken’s room, and her own room was already well guarded, but she had a werewolf as a lodger and she didn’t know where to start. And even if he wasn’t a werewolf, he was tall, muscled and moved like he was extremely active. His piercing brown eyes seem to miss nothing and his cropped dark hair told her that she wasn’t dealing with the sort of easily distracted mutt that she’d faced in the past. She straightened and brushed off her jeans. She had to show a confident face in front of Bracken and she was damned if she was going to let Lord Peregrine see her rattled.

“Those potatoes are baking perfectly fine and well,” Bracken was saying as Hilary stepped into the kitchen. “Rubbed with oil and salt.” Bracken leaned in towards Lord Peregrine. “And fresh pepper, all spicy,” she added in a whisper.

“That sounds nice,” Tom said from behind Hilary, making her jump.

“Don’t worry,” Hilary said. “There’s plenty of chicken casserole to go with them.”

Tom slipped past her and looked around. “How can I help?”

“The garden is a disgrace,” Lord Peregrine said. “And I think that every door needs painting. I also think that the door to the main parlour sticks.”

“I work in estate management,” Tom said. “I don’t do the painting and weeding myself.”

Lord Peregrine waved that off. “You do things with buildings,” he said. “And Miss Hilary is teaching Bracken to cook and the food is simply wonderful. I shall be eating here every night when I remember.”

And that was Hilary’s other headache. She ignored Lord Peregrine but smiled professionally at Tom. “Why don’t you take a seat and Bracken can lay the table.”

Dinner went smoothly and Hilary was relieved when the main meal had been cleared away and an apple cake was placed on the table with a jug of thick cream. “It’s not fancy food,” she said. “But it will keep you going.” She cut into the cake. “You’ll have to give me an idea of what you like to eat.”

“I’m very easy going,” Tom said. “And not picky at all.”

“No werewolf is picky,” Bracken sniffed. “They eats like they are racing a wildfire.”

Tom winced. “Not all of us have bad manners,” he said. “But the food tonight was so good that it was all I could do not to lick the plate.”

Bracken frowned. “It is not the good manners to lick plates in this establishment,” she said seriously.

Tom fought back his smile. “Then I’ll be careful not to,” he said. “Even with food as good as that.”

Hilary felt a small glow at the praise. “You must tell me the favourite foods of your pack,” she said. “I want you to feel at home.” She felt a chill pass through the room and looked between Tom’s suddenly set expression and Lord Peregrine’s blank stare. “What? What did I say?”

“I don’t have a pack,” Tom said. He stood slowly. “Please excuse me, but I’ve had a long day. I think that I should head to bed.”

It was barely six o’clock at night, but Hilary said nothing as Tom quietly left the kitchen. For a moment she sat motionless then turned on Lord Peregrine. “You brought a Lone Wolf into my home?” she snarled. “You brought in a Lone Wolf?! What were you thinking?”

“You’re strong enough to contain him,” Lord Peregrine said, taking a sip of his Earl Grey. “Bracken, cut me a piece of cake.” He darted a quick look at Hilary’s furious expression. “Please.”

Bracken shifted nervously from foot to foot. “Should you like some cake also?” she asked Hilary.

Hilary stood slowly, grasping the back of her chair so hard that her knuckles turned white. “I can protect myself from an attack that I see coming,” she said. “I’m no warrior, though, and I’m no expert on werewolves. You have left Bracken and I extremely vulnerable.”

“Not all Lone Wolves go mad and attack everyone around them.” Lord Peregrine added a generous amount of cream to the cake that Bracken placed in front of him. He glanced quickly at Hilary then smiled at Bracken. “Thank you.”

“If anything happens to Bracken and I then the blood will be on your hands,” Hilary warned.

“Don’t be silly,” Lord Peregrine said. “Tom is a good wolf and you are perfectly safe. I won’t let anything happen to either of you. Your cooking is a revelation and I won’t risk losing it.” He took a forkful of the cake with cream and sighed with pleasure. “This cake is truly splendid.”

Hilary hoped that it choked him.

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

“This is too much” Bracken wailed. “This is too many for the work I do.” She grabbed a cloth and started polishing the already immaculate sink.

Hilary shook her head. “The clothes aren’t even new,” she said. “It’s just the basics. You need to keep yourself warm.”

“And I has a bed!” Bracken added, moving on to the taps. “With blankets! I am used to sleeping at the hearth.”

“Those were the terms,” Hilary said helplessly. “A safe place to eat, your food and drink, a glass of milk…”

“And you pour it fresh every morning for me!” Bracken interrupted. She rinsed out the cloth and started wiping down the gleaming doors of the under sink cupboard.

“A coin at Christmas and I insisted on clothes for your back and time off on Sunday,” Hilary continued.

 “It is a very rich wage.” Bracken wrung out the cloth and rinsed it again. “There is much to do to earn it.”

“Brownies feel that they must give value for money, or the deal is unequal.” Lord Peregrine appeared at Hilary’s side. She jumped.

“Bracken, we need to understand the value we each bring,” Hilary said, ignoring Lord Peregrine. “Having you here as company is a…” she searched for the right words. “It’s a comfort to me. It makes me feel better. And I’m enjoying teaching you to cook, so it’s no hardship.”

A sliver of tension eased from Bracken. “That is a kind reassurance,” she murmured, pausing. “But the clothes are so fine.”

“Your work has value,” Hilary said.

“I must work so hard and I has no rest for these clothes.” Bracken was almost sobbing. She looked around frantically. “I can clean out the cupboards.”

Hilary scrabbled for ideas. “Before you start that, why don’t we sit down and talk about it.” She lowered herself into a kitchen chair. “You ask for food, don’t you?” she said. “And I worry that you’re not eating enough.”

“The food is splendid, more than I is used to,” Bracken wiped a stray tear from her eye and shuffled into a chair across from Hilary.

Hilary frowned and turned to Lord Peregrine. “Exactly how much did you pay this poor thing and how are her expectations so low?”

Lord Peregrine shrugged. “She owed duty as part of the court.” He looked away from Hilary’s dark expression. “And I haven’t interacted with brownies for centuries, so we worked from books.”

Hilary closed her eyes for a moment. “If you were mortal, and part of the human world, I would need to pay you the minimum legal wage,” she told Bracken. “That’s £12.21 per hour right now. I looked it up. I don’t know how many hours you’ve done already, but I’m sure that I owe you money if we stick to that.”

Bracken looked appalled. “I can’t work for money,” she said. “Nots like that! I is a proper brownie and I know my station.”

“I heard rumours of a family of brownies who ran a cleaning company,” Hilary said. “I’m not sure of the details but they cleaned only the most expensive places and they were raking in money. They were worth a fortune.”

Bracken hunched over. “But I is all alone,” she said. “And I wish to learn the cooking.”

“She will go mad if she doesn’t have work,” Lord Peregrine slid gracefully into the chair next to Hilary. “That’s what drove her to leave. She wanted to learn more than I could teach.”

Bracken looked at Hilary beseechingly. “Please, do not pay those wages,” she begged. “I work for food and drink and a place to sleep.”

Hilary tried to work the angles. “If people think that you’re not being paid, I could be in trouble with the police.” She watched Bracken’s eyes widen in horror. “In fact, I could go to prison.”

“Really?” Lord Peregrine asked.

Hilary nodded. “There are all sorts of subtleties,” she said. “And I’ll be honest, no-one is likely to investigate unless a report is made to the police.” She paused dramatically. “But what if someone sees you in bad clothes and looking hungry. They may ask the police to talk to me, even though we are both doing are best.”

“We mustn’t do that!” Bracken cried.

“So you need to have proper clothes and decent food,” Hilary said. “And I have to be able to show that you have a bed.”

“But that is such a rich wage,” Bracken whispered.

Lord Peregrine held up a hand. “Please allow me to conduct this negotiation,” he said. “I’m sure that I can work something out.”

“Will it be fair?” Hilary asked. “I’ve heard all about fae bargains.”

Lord Peregrine looked hurt. “This is a member of my court,” he huffed. “Of course it will be fair on her.” He shifted. “And it will be fair to you as well,” he added begrudgingly. “You are too useful at the moment for me to risk annoying.”

“I’m relieved,” Hilary said.

Lord Peregrine turned his considerable attention to Bracken. “How many hours does it take to keep this cottage clean?”

Bracken waved an airy hand. “I is skilled as a brownie,” she said confidently. “I is competent and I is organised. This stays tiptop clean with perhaps one hour each day.”

“Only an hour?” Hilary said sceptically.

“It took me a few hours to bring up to my decent standard,” Bracken admitted. “Of course, you don’t know the brownie way and your towels were folded all incorrectly.”

“So you should get at least as much food and drink, with clothes, that come to £12.21,” Lord Peregrine said. “That’s every day.”

Bracken looked alarmed. “But I also is getting teaching,” she said. “And kindness. There is a cost and more than £12.21.”

“Miss Hilary has already stated her enjoyment of teaching,” Lord Peregrine said. He turned to Hilary. “May I have as many receipts for your grocery shopping as you have, plus the receipt for the clothes.”

Hilary dug in her pockets and rummaged in her purse and bag and produced a handful of paper slips. “These are the receipts that I have. The tags are still on the clothes. They’re only from the charity shop.”

“They is good clothes with nothing wrong with them,” Bracken said indignantly. “They do not even need a mending.”

“But their cost is known,” Lord Peregrine said.

*****

The debate was on. Hilary eased out of the chair and filled the kettle at the shining sink, guiltily wiping up any water splashes before sliding the kettle onto the wood stove. She really needed a cup of tea right now.

“But that is a proportionate,” Bracken said. “I did not eat the whole pan of the stew.”

Hilary rinsed the teapot with hot water from the tap and dropped in two Yorkshire Tea teabags. This discussion looked like it could go on for some time. She pulled out three mugs from the cupboard and the pen and pad of paper she used for shopping lists.

“Thank you,” Lord Peregrine said, taking the pen and paper. “Okay, looking on the internet…”

“This is complicated and right,” Bracken said.

“This jar of paprika has 50 grams.” Lord Peregrine frowned. “What are grams?”

Hilary pulled the biscuit tin from the shelf. “There are about twenty five grams to each ounce, if you are converting a recipe,” she said. “It’s close enough.”

Lord Peregrine’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm. Well, we shall see.”

Hilary pulled out the milk from the fridge. Bracken usually had a strong cup of tea with a glass of milk on the side. She glanced at the two fae creatures bent over her kitchen table. It sounded more complicated than an international trade agreement.

“And according to this on the internet, there are four tablespoons of paprika per ounce,” Lord Peregrine said.

Hilary shook her head and piled gingersnaps onto a side plate which she slid between the negotiators, next to the paper. The kettle was starting to bubble and she dropped a single Earl Grey teabag into one of the mugs.

“But it was no tablespoons!” Bracken insisted. “I made most careful notes. It was one teaspoon for the pan with the other rich spices.”

“It sounds delicious,” Lord Peregrine said with a trace of envy in his voice. He glanced up at Hilary as she placed the sugar bowl in front of him. “Will there be any spare for dinner tonight?”

“Of course,” Hilary said, adding the milk jug and a glass of milk in front of Bracken. Using a milk jug instead of just pouring straight from the supermarket container only added to washing up as far as she was concerned, but it kept Bracken happy.

“Does it count as continuing in the cooking if the stew is just on the cooking stove without any stirring or additions?” Bracken said as she frowned down at the sprawling calculations on the pad.

“And how many teaspoons to a tablespoon?” Lord Peregrine tapped the pen on the table. “Thank you,” he sighed as Hilary placed the steaming mug of Earl Grey in front of him. “And you have provided biscuits.”

“I also worked on those,” Bracken said anxiously. “I is learning all different cooking.”

Lord Peregrine bit into a gingersnap with a satisfying crunch. “This is delicious!” Bracken beamed with pride.

“You are going to drive yourselves mad if you try and work out the costs of herbs and spices,” Hilary said. “And it’s three teaspoons per tablespoon, so 24 teaspoons in one of those small jars which sounds pretty implausible to me. Why not assume 50p for herbs, spices, oil, salt and that sort of thing.” She placed the teapot and mugs for her and Bracken on the table. “It’s a fae trap, if you ask me. You can chase down tiny amounts to smaller and smaller quantities, but all that will do is fill paper with calculations.” She poured a generous splash of milk into her own mug. “I think that it’s reasonable to assign a cost per day for food. Sometimes the actual cost of the food will be more and sometimes it will be less, but it will work out around the same amount over time.”

Lord Peregrine looked thoughtful. “You are correct. I could feel myself being consumed by the question.”

“What is a fae trap?” Bracken asked.

Lord Peregrine sagged a little. “Fae can get caught up in smaller and smaller details, arguing about tinier and tinier fragments, like the cost of a teaspoon of paprika, when it’s not important.” He smiled wryly at Hilary. “That’s when a pet human is useful and can pull us out of a spiral.”

“I’m not anyone’s pet human,” Hilary said tartly. “And between the food and clothes, I’m sure that I’m still underpaying Bracken.”

“If she was human, you would be right,” Lord Peregrine said. He looked thoughtfully at Bracken. “But this is an unusual situation.” He added several heaped spoons of sugar to the mug in front of him. “As your lord, I declare that the deal is fair,” he said firmly. “You will work for Miss Hilary for at least one hour per day and in return receive food, lodging, clothing deemed appropriate by Miss Hilary, a coin at Christmas and instruction in cookery. If there are any changes then I shall investigate before approving them.”

“And the glass of milk?” Bracken asked nervously.

“Included in the clause concerning food,” Lord Peregrine said loftily.

“I’m glad that it’s sorted out,” Hilary said. She walked over to the freezer. “We spent yesterday stocking the freezer with all sorts of meals. Would you like to try one? I feel like the chicken and mushroom casserole.”

Bracken nodded with enthusiasm. “That is wonderfully peppery, and much flavour.”

“I would be thrilled to join,” Lord Peregrine said. “And you must take out extra for your lodger.”

Hilary looked at Lord Peregrine with suspicion. “I already said that you could stay for dinner,” she said. “And the meals are frozen in portions. I can just take out three packages.” Her heart sank as she saw the mischief dancing in Lord Peregrine’s eyes. “What have I missed?”

“I asked you to take a lodger,” Lord Peregrine said. “But I never said it was me. You had better take out five portions of the delicious chicken and mushroom casserole. Tom has a large appetite.”

“Who is Tom?” Hilary asked, bewildered.

“Tom is your new lodger.” Lord Peregrine took another biscuit and leaned back in his chair. “And he will be here any minute now.”

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

Hilary paused. There was a presence in the room. She felt for a sense of what it could be, but there was nothing obvious and nothing malevolent. She returned to peeling her carrot. “They say you should just scrub carrots, but these are old and robust and I think I’ll take the time to peel them,” she said and felt that presence take notice.

There was a lull with the hiss of the peeler over the fresh, vivid carrot mingling with the quiet chuckle of the wood stove. Hilary finished peeling the handful of carrots. “The farm shop had some good veggies today,” she said. There was no response from the presence. “But I wondered how many were genuinely home-grown and how many were brought in and put in rustic baskets to look right.” She kept her knives sharp and the carrot sliced easily. “But these are lovely and fresh. They feel like they came out of the ground this morning.” She took her time, trying to get a sense of what was present and where it was hiding, but it was distressingly vague. “So I guess the carrots might be local.” She slid the chopped carrots into a bowl, popping one last chunk into her mouth for the sweet crunch before reaching for the sweet potato. “But they must have flown this in. They don’t grow sweet potatoes in Yorkshire.” Hilary reached for the peeler. “I don’t usually bother with sweet potatoes, but this looked so fresh.”

There was a rattle of rain on the window. “It’s a wonderful vegetable for soup,” Hilary said, dropping the parings into the scraps bucket. “It’s sweet, but not too sweet, with a full flavor that will absorb the other flavors and amplify them, and it has just the right amount of starch.” The sweet potato crunched as she diced it up. “I don’t have to cut it up fancy,” she added. “It’s just for soup so I need it small rather than neat.” She could feel the presence edging closer. “I’d share a taste, but you can’t eat it raw.” She added the softer orange chunks to the brightness of the carrot. “Now for the parsnips.”

The wind moaned through the chimney and Hilary could feel the presence slowly getting closer as she worked. “I’ve got the soda bread I made at lunchtime on the counter. That will be perfect with a nice bowl of soup. Practically anything can go into soup.” She made short work of peeling the parsnips. “But not everything should go into a soup. At least, not all piled in together. You have to balance the ingredients for a good soup.” The parsnips were thick and sturdy and crisp under the knife. “These must be local and I think they’ve had the frost on them. That makes parsnips sweeter. They used to make them into cakes during the war.” Hilary added the diced parsnips to the bowl.

The presence was definitely intrigued and as its interest grew, the presence was stronger and behind Hilary and to the left, near the cellar door. Hilary pulled over two large onions. “These are country onions if ever I saw them,” she said. “The carrots, sweet potato and parsnips are all sweet. You need to balance that. I don’t think onions are sour or bitter, but they’re sort of anti-sweet.” She could feel the amusement from the presence. “They have a flavor all of their own.” She wrinkled her nose as she started peeling them. “I shall be crying by the end of it, I can tell. These are massive.”

The presence was drawing nearer, still invisible, but stronger than ever as it watched Hilary struggle with the onions. “I should have worn goggles,” she said, wiping her watering eyes with the back of her hand. “Or held a bit of bread in my mouth.” She tipped the first chopped onion into the bowl with the other vegetables. “I’m going to be a wreck by the time I finish this. But the stronger they are, the better the flavor. I’m not going for a delicate soup here. I want something to stick to my ribs.” Blinking through the tears, Hilary roughly chopped the second onion and added the final vegetable to the bowl. “Right, that’s the veggies done.”

She stood gracefully and filled a kettle at the deep, porcelain sink, carefully not turning around towards the presence. “If I was any sort of cook, I’d have home-made stock, but I’m not so it’s stock cubes and hot water.” She placed the kettle on the stove and set a large pan next to it. “People say you can make great stock from peelings, but what with storing and straining and messing around, I’d rather buy something from the supermarket.” She felt the question coming from beside her. “I’ll let the kettle boil and add the stock cubes later. Let’s get the vegetables cooking first.”

A generous splash of canola oil was added to the pan. “People think that a soup can be made with dumping ingredients in water, but you get a better result if you take a few moments to soften the veggies first.” Hilary eyed the oil and, as it was flowing freely, tipped the bowl of chopped vegetables into the pan. The hissing sizzle made the presence jump back for a moment and then lean forward. “Besides, a decent oil will make the flavorings stick.” Hilary grabbed a wooden spoon and gave the pan a quick stir. “You need a little oil to bring the taste out.” She carefully didn’t look at the presence. “How do you feel about garlic?”

“I likes it,” a small soft voice said. “I likes it plenty.”

Hilary reached for the garlic powder. “Then I’ll add plenty. It’ll add a nice contrast to the parsnips and sweet potato.” She stirred the pan again and added generous shakes of garlic powder. “I like chopped or crushed garlic for a stir fry or a stew, but garlic powder sticks better and flavors more in a soup or a dressing.” She stirred the garlic through, enjoying the scented steam from the pan as the vegetables and garlic mingled. “And spices. Do you like spices?”

“That’s rich and rare, mistress,” the voice said softly.

Hilary risked a quick glance. Standing next to her at the stove was a small human-like creature, about the size of an eight year old child, with lumpy features smeared with dirt and a torn, sack like dress. Her hair was tangled and her feet were bare but she peered, intrigued, at the pan. “What should I call you?” Hilary asked.

“I is Bracken, in general,” she said. “Are you going to use pepper?”

“I’m going to add pepper, of course,” Hilary said. “And there’s salt in the stock cubes. But it needs a little more. Parsnips always drink up the warmer spices so I’m adding cumin and turmeric, and plenty of them.” She pulled the jars from spice rack. “The farm shop didn’t sell these, and they’re not from Yorkshire.” She strewed the spices thickly over the vegetables and stirred again before putting the spices back. “And a dash of chili powder.” Hilary added the spice sparingly. “I’m not so keen on chili, but it adds a little spark.” The heat of the pan and the juices of the vegetables released the fragrance of the spices and the aroma drifted around the room. Hilary breathed in deeply, enjoying the exotic scents now filling her plain Yorkshire kitchen before adding a final grind of warm black pepper. She glanced quickly at Bracken before looking back at the pan. “You don’t see many brownies around.”

Bracken shifted nervously. “I isn’t happy in my position,” she said primly. “I seeking a different place.”

“I don’t know if I could pay you enough,” Hilary said. She crossed the kitchen to the row of cupboards. “Or I’d be happy to take you in.”

“You has a pleasant establishment,” Bracken said. “I is not looking for top wages as I is learning to cook.”

Hilary pulled out the jar of lentils. “Well, there’s no rush for you to leave,” she said, dumping a large scoop of red lentils into the pan and stirring vigorously. “Most people say that you should add the lentils after the stock, but I think it helps get the flavors into the lentils if you stir them in the oil. It helps the spices and garlic powder to stick.”

“My wages is a safe place to sleep, my foods and drink and a glass of milk every day,” Bracken said. She took a deep breath at her own daring. “And a coin at Christmas.”

“Hmmm.” Hilary kept stirring, turning the lentils through the softening vegetables and spice filled oil. “I could pay that,” she said. “And clothes for your back, just to be decent, and time off on Sunday.”

“That is a big wage and hard to earn,” Bracken said nervously.

“I’ll want you to keep the cottage clean,” Hilary said. “And some help with the baking.”

“I does learn to cook well, mistress,” Bracken said earnestly.

“Now it’s time for the water and stock cubes,” Hilary said. The kettle on the top of the stove was steaming and hissed and spat wildly as Hilary added it to the pan followed by two stock cubes. “And some herbs.” She smiled at Bracken. “These are from Yorkshire and I know that because I grew them myself.” She added a good sprinkling of dried parsley, oregano and coriander. “Spices go in with oil but dried herbs go in with water.” She gave a final stir, scraping across the bottom of the pan to dislodge the stuck lentils and then slid a lid on top. “Now it needs to simmer for a while.” She pulled the pan to the edge of the hotplate. “Would you like a cup of tea? Or would you prefer milk?” she asked.

Before Bracken could answer, there was a loud banging, a heavy fist thumping hard into the door. Bracken started. “That may be my former position,” she whispered.

Hilary looked down at the creature. Unlovely as she was, there was a sweetness about her and it seemed wrong that she should be flinching. “Stay there, Bracken,” she said and unlocked the door. “Who’s there?”

“You have something of mine!” an imperious voice rang out.

Hilary opened the door. Standing outside, tousled by the evening breeze, was something that looked like a man. He was tall and lean, looming over her, and his shoulder length dark hair was blowing around his thin face. Bright blue eyes bored into her. “You have something of mine,” he snapped.

“I have a guest,” Hilary said, “With all that entails.”

“You are new to this cottage and this domain,” the stranger said. “You don’t understand the ways of this place. Return my property or face consequences.”

“I is seeking a new situation,” Bracken squeaked from behind Hilary. “There is cooking in this place.”

“That’s enough!” He strode forward and there was a flash as he hit something invisible but entirely solid and collapsed.

“This is Rowan Cottage and it’s always been a witch’s cottage,” Hilary said, leaning forward. “Do you think anyone else could live here? And I do not tolerate any of the Fair Folk striding in without invitation.” She turned to Bracken. “What should I call him.”

“He is called Lord Peregrine by the Shadow Folk,” Bracken said nervously. “That is how I addresses him.”

Lord Peregrine staggered shakily to his feet. “You are a hag?”

“That’s rather a personal question,” Hilary said absently as she concentrated. A glowing light slid around the door frame and encircled Lord Peregrine. “I prefer the term Wise Woman. And Bracken stays with me now.” She could feel the tension leave Bracken but didn’t look around as she held the enchantment.

Lord Peregrine glowered. “You compel me,” he snarled.

“Just a little,” Hilary said. “I want to be clear. You do not come after me, not now in my own place or at any other time.”

“But you have something of mine,” Lord Peregrine grumbled.

“I has taken a new situation,” Bracken said, her voice trembling a little at her audacity in speaking. “As there is cooking here.”

Lord Peregrine looked over to the stove. “I can tell,” he said. “I still want compensation.”

“Compensation for a choice that wasn’t yours to make?” Hilary asked, raising an eyebrow. “Enter this night and be welcome this night.” The light around the door faded. “Come in and we can discuss terms.”

Lord Peregrine stepped warily into the shabby kitchen. “This has changed since I was last here.”

Hilary carefully grabbed the kettle with a potholder and refilled it. “When was that?” she asked. She set the kettle back on the center of the stove and then lifted the lid on the soup. The warm aroma that was already filling the room intensified. “You have to keep stirring this,” Hilary told Bracken. “Or the lentils stick to the bottom. Would you please help?”

“Yes, mistress,” Bracken said shyly and took the wooden spoon. It was a stretch for her until Hilary brought over a stool for Bracken to stand on. “Thank you, mistress.” She shot a scared, defiant look at Lord Peregrine. “I is cooking.”

“Those spices from distant lands and roots from the local fields make an unexpected blend,” Lord Peregrine murmured.

“Please take a seat,” Hilary said, waving a hand towards the long kitchen table. “You know that you cannot ask much. Bracken has her own mind.”

Lord Peregrine sank into a kitchen chair, his eyes fixed on the pan of soup. “If I can eat a bowl of soup, fresh and hot at this table, then I will be satisfied,” he said.

Hilary thought for a moment. “That’s agreeable,” she said. “Please keep stirring the soup, Bracken, and I’ll set the table.” She pulled bowls and plates from the cupboards. “I didn’t realize that there were the Fair Ones so local,” she said. She rinsed the earthenware teapot with hot water at the sink and set it on the counter next to the stove. “I knew that there were strong currents of power here, but it’s unexpected to have two guests, especially so soon after I moved here.”

“There are not many of us,” Lord Peregrine said, licking his lips as he kept his gaze on the soup. “And we struggle on with so many mortals.”

Hilary placed the bread on the table with the bread knife and pulled the butter from the fridge. She glanced at Lord Peregrine. Underneath his haughty bravado there was a weariness in him. She had felt the twisting of the currents when she first moved in, and now she could see that there was more work than she had expected. “I’m blessed by your presence,” she said.

Lord Peregrine’s thin lips twisted briefly in amusement. “These spices are costly. I have never scented such richness.”

“They’re not so expensive now,” Hilary said, pouring water from the boiling kettle over the black tea in the teapot. Are the vegetables soft, Bracken?”

“Yes, mistress,” Bracken said eagerly.

“Good, that means that it’s ready to eat.” Hilary smiled at the small creature. “Please sit at the table while I finish the meal.”

It took a few minutes to blend the soup and ladle generous helpings into the bowls, sprinkling with a little fresh parsley. The inexpensive, quick meal that Hilary had planned was obviously a feast for her guests and it felt humbling. She cut half a dozen slices from the loaf and sat down with her own bowl of soup. “Please eat,” she said. “There are more helpings in the pan if you’re hungry enough.” She poured tea into the mugs. “Help yourself to sugar.”

 The guests fell hungrily on the food, and all was quiet apart from the scrap of spoons, the murmur of the wood stove and the howl of the rising wind outside the cottage. Hilary found herself relaxing as the warmth from the spices filled her with each savory mouthful. The kitchen filled with contentment.

Lord Peregrine sighed, pushing away the faint remnants of his third bowl of soup and thickly buttering another slice of bread. “You are indeed a Wise Woman,” he said. “And I could use your aid with the currents of power that are so tangled at the moment.” He took a large bite of bread and butter. “But first I must ask you, now that you have Bracken here. Do you have room for a paying lodger?”

Hilary thought for a moment. It would be madness to invite one of the Fair Folk to live with her, especially as there was so much work to be done, and that was on top of her mundane work that paid the bills. But as the contentment in the kitchen wrapped around her with the scent of the soup, she sighed. The cottage was filled with empty rooms and the loneliness since she moved here was starting to bite. She watched Lord Peregrine carefully wiping the bread around his bowl to pick up the last traces of the soup. And it was such a pleasure to cook for appreciative appetites. “I will happily accept you as a paying lodger for now,” she said. “We can work out the details in the morning.” She stood and started collecting the bowls. “Tonight we have apple cake and cream for desert.” And the warmth of the kitchen seemed almost overflowing.

Also submitted to Royal Road