Lucky Rabbit

As Augustus had mentioned, it was getting late, and many of the shops they passed were obviously closing down for the night. Restaurants were still open and doing a brisk business, however, and as they drove by each one, the children’s gazes lingered longingly.

Finally, when it seemed like the growling of small stomachs would drown out the rattle of the wheels on the road, they came to a building that was shoehorned into a gap between two much larger ones. Pandy suspected there used to be a small courtyard or even an alley in the space, but this sprang up there instead, as such places inevitably did, and now it was simply part of the fabric of the neighborhood.

As they watched, a man and woman exchanged words with someone at the door, then turned and left, looking both disappointed and somewhat rebellious. They entered another building only half a block down though, so the inconvenience couldn’t have been too great.

“Is it closed?” Thaniel asked, his nose pressed against the window next to Geraldine’s. Their breath fogged the glass, and they had to keep wiping it clear, but neither was willing to give up their new hobby.

“Reserved,” Augustus said, the twinkle back in his eye. He opened the door and got out, holding up a hand to keep the children from pouring out after him like a tidal wave. Crossing to the shop, he rapped on the glass, and someone swept the curtain aside before throwing open the door.

“It’s about time,” an old man said, motioning for them to hurry. The younger man who’d spoken to the departed couple hovered behind him, looking anxious. Freed, the rest of the carriage’s passengers flowed out and into the building, and the carriage rolled off down the street the moment Pandy shut the door. She followed the children, and the tall younger man instantly closed the door behind the small group, then locked and bolted it for good measure, closing them into a cozy dining area that looked like any mom and pop cafe from Pandy’s world, except that there was no cash register.

“You’d think they’ve never seen a closed sign before,” the wrinkled man muttered, shaking his head. Sharp eyes took in his guests, and he motioned to the single large table that had been cobbled together out of three smaller ones. “Sit down where you want, and I’ll make the food.”

Thaniel and Geraldine were halfway out of their coats already, but they stopped and exchanged glances. “We thought we’d get to order what we want,” Thaniel said, obviously disappointed.

“Nope,” the older man said, already most of the way to the door leading out of the dining area. “You’ll get what I give you, and you’ll like it.”

As he disappeared, the younger man smiled apologetically. “You will, too,” he promised. “He can tell exactly what you need as soon as you walk in.” Motioning to himself, he added, “I’m Orin, and I’ll be your waiter. If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.”

The small group crowded around the trio of tables, finding that there was a chair and a place setting for each of them, including the animals. Orin didn’t even blink an eye as a cat and a capybara took their places at the table, just brought something that looked like a wooden booster seat to raise Miss Cupcakes up to her plate.

After taking their drink orders – various juices for the children, tea for Augustus and Pandy, and water for the furry members of the party – Orin followed the old man. As soon as they were alone, Augustus smiled around at everyone and said, “Mr. Rouse is a Nature mage with an elemental that is unique, at least so far as I know. It allows him to select the perfect meal for his customers. People actually come from all over to eat here, but he doesn’t allow reservations, so you usually just have to show up and hope there’s a table open.”

Pandy looked around. “But you said it was reserved tonight?”

Augustus grinned. “I know his granddaughter. She pulled some strings for me.”

Pandy felt the briefest flash of something she tentatively identified as jealousy before stuffing it back down where it belonged. Augustus had only known her for a few months, and he was almost thirty years old. If she was going to resent every female he ever mentioned, she would twist her insides into knots. And what if he also liked men? Did she have to worry about them, too? Nope, definitely not worth it.

“This is a nice place,” Thaniel said, looking around at the mismatched plates that decorated the walls. Pointing to one with a simple gold rim, he said, “I think that’s the same as the ones we had when I was little.”

Ignoring the fact that her friend was still little, Geraldine pointed to one painted with brightly colored blooms and said, “That’s just like the dishes Mama uses when special guests come over. I broke one once and I thought Mama would be really mad, but she just sent me to bed without dessert. She said she could tell I was already really sorry.”

Abbington hadn’t said much during the carriage ride, as usual when anyone other than one of his close friends was around, but now he motioned toward a small clay plate with a single blue flower painted in the middle. “Th’slike m’mum’s,” he said. “‘Ceptna brok’n.”

Augustus smiled. “That’s another peculiarity of this shop. No matter who comes here, they find a dish just like the ones they grew up with.” Gesturing to a matte black one with a shiny obsidian branch embossed on it, he said, “I’m fairly certain those were custom made for my family, but here one is.”

Everyone turned to look at Pandy, and she, in turn, examined the dishes on the walls. Each one was firmly attached to the wall with four metal clips that didn’t look like they would be easy to open or remove. Most of the plates were made of porcelain, but some were clay, like Abbington’s, and a few were made of wood or metal. None were paper or plastic, like the ones Pandy had used. Few of her foster families had trusted her with breakable things, and none of the ones who had stood out in her memory… except for one.

“There,” she said, and something in her voice must have told Augustus this meant more to her than she let on, because rather than turning to look where she was pointing, he shifted to watch her face instead. “I didn’t have parents,” she told them quietly, and even the children turned to look at her. Pandy kept her gaze locked on the small pink plate with a white cartoon rabbit painted in the middle. She didn’t want to see their expressions.

“Where I come from, if you don’t have any family who… who wants you, then you get moved around. The government pays people to let you live in their house, but nobody wants kids who are too much trouble, so I moved around. A lot. There was a family with an old grandma who stayed home all day. I was old enough that I could help her with some things, and she liked me, so they kept me, even though I was always causing problems. She gave me a plate just like that. She told me it had been hers when she was a little girl. When she died, they didn’t need me any more, so they sent me away, and they wouldn’t let me keep it.”

They claimed she was a thief, in fact, and used the chipped little plate as an excuse to go through her things. One of the other girls took the few pieces of good clothing Pandy had managed to gather, most of which had also been given to her by their grandmother. Grandma Caroline. Pandy hadn’t bothered to remember most of the names, but she would never forget that one. Thinking about the slightly daft old woman, she felt a sudden deep regret, and a sense of loss she hadn’t been allowed to feel at the time. Grandma Caroline wasn’t her grandmother, after all, but she might well have been the only person in that world who ever really cared about Pandy.

Her eyes were burning, and when she reached up to rub at them, Pandy found that her hands came away wet, and then she was crying – deep, tearing sobs that sounded like a cough and a scream got together to make their own special form of music. All around her, chairs scraped, and even though Pandy couldn’t see through the tears, she could feel the arms that wrapped around her. Long, strong ones that went all the way around, small ones that threatened to choke her with their fierce love, and two pairs of tentative ones, uncertain but determined to offer whatever comfort they could.

“I don’t… know why… I’m crying,” she choked out, trying to surreptitiously wipe her nose with her sleeve, just like Thaniel always did. Since when had she even been able to cry? Why did it have to start now?

“That’s all right, we do,” Augustus murmured in her ear, and Thaniel’s arms tightened even more. A piece of cloth that smelled like the chancellor was pushed into her hand, and she scrubbed ineffectually at her face, no doubt smearing Empress Glory’s handiwork. It would return the next time she shifted, but still…

Something about that thought struck Pandy as funny, and a moment later she was laughing almost as hard as she’d been crying. Her sobs turned into hiccuping laughs, and soon the children were laughing with her. “You look so funny,” Thaniel told her, a little finger trailing down her cheek.

“I bet I do,” she giggled, remembering the artfully disheveled actresses from movies and videos, with perfectly smeared lipstick and trailing mascara. Pandy didn’t cry often, because crying never solved anything – it just made your head hurt and stuffed up your nose. But when she did give in, she wasn’t a pretty crier.

Soft, damp fabric touched her cheek as Augustus began to smooth away the remnants of her crying jag. She looked up, seeing his look of concentration as he drew the handkerchief along beneath her eyes, then down her cheeks. Without a word, he cleaned her up, then pressed a single kiss to her hot forehead. A hand cupped her cheek, calluses rough against her skin, and he started to speak, but was interrupted by the sound of a door opening.

The group split apart, and Pandy realized that it wasn’t only the human members of the group who had gathered to comfort her. Brook’s head was resting on her knee, the heavy weight of it soothing, and even Miss Cupcakes had approached, walking right across the table to sit in front of Pandy. No doubt there would be hair on her plate, but she couldn’t bring herself to care as the cat stood and stretched, deigning to just barely brush her warm fur against Pandy’s hand as she turned and sauntered back to her place beside Geraldine.

Orin carried in a tray of beverages, setting each one down in front of the person who’d asked for it. When he got to Pandy, he placed a glass of water beside her teacup. While he was leaning over to put down the water, he murmured, “It takes some people that way. Do you need anything?”

Pandy shook her head, her face growing hot all over again, this time with embarrassment. Orin just gave her a reassuring smile and straightened, looking around at his guests. “My grandfather says you’ll eat family style, sharing a meal, so we’ll be starting with fresh-baked rolls with hand-churned sweetbutter-”

Abbington perked up at this, and it was easy to see who each item was meant for as Orin brought them out. Brook got a watercress salad with water chestnuts, while Miss Cupcakes got a tender chicken pâté that could be eaten alone or spread on the rolls. Thaniel had a rich, creamy potato soup Pandy had never seen him eat before, but which he said Marta made every winter, and was one of his mother’s favorite dishes. Geraldine’s was something very much like lemon sorbet, made from a fruit her mother grew in their conservatory, while Augustus had simple but delicious chicken, roasted with herbs that filled the restaurant with their scent.

Mr. Rouse himself brought out the final dish – a creamy brown pie that Pandy instantly recognized. It was impossible, though. Peanut butter was a staple of childhood, but since coming to this world, she hadn’t seen or tasted anything that was even vaguely similar. Yet here it was, and even the chef looked vaguely bemused as he placed it in front of her and began to cut into it. The familiar smell rose to Pandy’s nose, and she felt her eyes begin to prickle again.

“It’s not often I’m stumped,” Mr. Rouse told her as he slid the first slice onto Pandy’s plate. “I had to find a very particular legume, then roast them, grind them up, and make a sort of very smooth paste before I could make this. I have to say it’s one of the most unique things I’ve ever prepared, and I do believe I’ll be keeping some of those legumes around so I can make it for myself. Delicious. May I ask what it’s called?”

Pandy had already taken the first bite, and she absolutely couldn’t force herself to eat faster just so she could answer. The old man didn’t seem to be in a hurry, though, waiting patiently until she finally managed to swallow. “It’s peanut-butter pie,” she told him, her voice just a bit rough. “My… A woman I once knew used to make it for everyone’s birthdays.”

Including Pandy’s. It was the only time someone had truly seemed happy to celebrate with her, and she remembered the toothless smile the old woman had given a young Pandora S. Boxx as she slid the candle-bedecked pie in front of her. Was that the time Grandma Caroline had baked her dentures into the pie? It almost had to be, but Pandy only remembered the sweet, decadent flavor and rich creaminess of the confection.

“Pea-nut butter,” Mr. Rouse said, rolling the name around in his mouth thoughtfully. “I understand the butter part. It was very like that. But perhaps not pea-nut. I’ll think about it. But I have a tradition here.” He reached behind him, and Orin put something in his hand, which the old man then placed in front of Pandy. It was the little pink plate, and up close, she could see that there was a tiny chip out of the edge, just above the rabbit’s right ear, exactly where Pandy remembered it.

“When someone teaches me a new recipe, they get to keep their plate,” he told her, and Pandy bit down a protest that she hadn’t taught him anything. That had been done by some elemental, using magic that should have been impossible, but apparently wasn’t. If it meant she got that plate, he could believe whatever he wanted.

“Thank you,” she said, and wiped her eyes with a soggy handkerchief while shoveling another bite of pie into her mouth.

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