An Unexpected Topping
“Sage! That chair stack is about to—” The crash echoed through the pizzeria like a miniature avalanche, wooden chairs sprawling across the floor in a tangle of legs and dust. Gwen pressed her fingers to her temples. The evening rush had ended, but chaos still reigned supreme in the converted armoury. “Never mind.”
Marinara-stained fingers twisted in Sage’s apron as he ducked his head. “Sorry! I thought if I stacked them like the plates…” His words faded as he scrambled to right the fallen furniture.
“We stack plates because they’re round,” his twin announced to the ceiling as she smooshed the flour further into the flagstones. “Chairs are more… chair-shaped.”
“That’s not helpful,” Sage muttered.
“Is too!” The broom became a weapon as Sorrel pirouetted, forcing Gwen to snatch it mid-arc. “Gweeeeeeen!”
“Come on, the fireworks start soon. The faster we clean, the sooner we can go.”
“Fiiiiine.” The twins’ fight dispersed as quickly as it had begun, the siblings working together to move benches and chairs. She spun around, locating the next disaster.
“Pepper, the customers can’t see under the tables anymore. You can stop polishing them.”
The five-year-old’s head popped out from under a nearby table, staring up at her with the seriousness only a child could possess. “But what if they drop something and have to look for it? They should see their reflection, like in the knight’s shields!”
The logic was hard to argue with, especially when delivered with such earnest conviction. Gwen opened her mouth to try anyway, but movement from the kitchen caught her eye. “Bay! No floating the—” Too late. The stack of clean plates her youngest sibling had been eyeing rose into the air, wobbling as they drifted toward their shelf. Bay’s face scrunched up in concentration, tiny hands stretched out like she was conducting an orchestra.
“I got it!” the three-year-old declared, just as one plate decided to make a break for freedom. Gwen lunged, catching it before it could join the growing collection of casualties they kept in a box labelled ‘Future Mosaic Projects.’
“Thank you for helping,” Gwen said, carefully setting the plate in its proper place while keeping one eye on the rest of the floating stack. “But remember what happened with the soup bowls last week?”
Bay’s bottom lip trembled. “They wanted to swim…”
“And we had to mop the ceiling,” Gwen finished, ruffling the girl’s hair. The plates settled onto their shelf with only minimal rattling, leaving Bay beaming. “Maybe stick to the wooden boards for now—”
Metal clattered against stone.
Silence. The kind of silence that only spelled trouble in a house full of children. Gwen’s eyelids squeezed shut, counting. At “ten,” she looked up to see white powder floating through the kitchen doorway.
“I almost had it!” Thyme’s voice carried through the flour cloud. “Just like you did earlier, Gwen! The flip was perfect, but the landing was… um…”
“On the floor?” Gwen suggested, hurrying over. The scene that greeted her was exactly what she’d expected: Thyme standing in the epicentre of what looked like a flour explosion, one of their well-worn pizza pans rolling in lazy circles at his feet. The boy himself was white as a ghost, flour coating every inch of him. Even his eyelashes were dusted with it.
“I think I used too much flour,” he admitted, pawing at his apron. White clouds puffed up around him like an angry ghost.
The corner of Gwen’s mouth twitched, then her chest quivered, and suddenly she was doubled over, gasping between giggles. “At least you didn’t try it with actual dough.”
Thyme brightened. “Oh! That’s a good idea—”
“No!” Five voices chorused from the main room, followed by more laughter.
“All of you out of here. Thyme, go out back and shake off as much as you can. The rest of you—” Gwen’s breath caught. The flour had settled into delicate whorls across the flagstones, nature’s own recipe laid out before her. Weeks of frustrated experiments crystallised into sudden clarity.
The notebook was in her hands before she realised she’d reached for it, her flour-covered fingers leaving ghostly prints on its well-worn cover as she clutched it like a lifeline.
Spiral-kneaded dough, infused with rosemary oil during the second rise. Layer the herbs in a matching spiral pattern. Let the flavours build from the outside in…
Not all of Gwen’s recipes came from dreams; sometimes they were born from moments like this, when reality itself seemed just a little bit magical.
…stuff the crust with cheese and herbs…
“Gwen! Gwen!” Small hands tugged at her apron, leaving floury prints in their wake. “The fireworks are starting like yesterday!”
“What?” Gwen blinked, surprised, turning to the window. The sky had deepened to the rich blue of twilight, and the first stars were appearing. “Already?”
But of course it was time—the sounds from the town square were growing louder as people gathered for the display.
“Can we go? Pleeeeaaaaaaaaase? We’re so almost done, and Sage promised to carry Bay, and Sorrel says she knows a shortcut, but she always says that, and—”
“Alright, alright!” Gwen laughed, tucking her notebook away. The recipe could wait. “Let me just check the ovens are off.”
By the time she returned to the main room, her siblings had arranged themselves by the door with varying degrees of patience. Sorrel was practically vibrating with energy, while Sage had already hoisted Bay onto his shoulders, where she was playing with his hair.
“Got everything? Good. Let’s go.” Her siblings tumbled through the doorway like flour from a split sack. The key clicked in the lock as laughter and music drifted down the cobbled street. Gwen’s hands ghosted over small shoulders and backs, guiding her flock through the sea of festival-goers toward the ancient oak where their parents’ silhouettes waited, backlit by the deepening twilight. Gathered around them, huddled for warmth, was the rest of their pack, vibrating with excitement as they waited.
“There’s my little troublemakers,” Dad said, catching Bay as she launched herself from Sage’s shoulders. “Another flour explosion?”
“Thyme was trying to flip the dough,” Gwen explained, reaching up to brush some remaining powder from her brother’s hair. “Like the street performers.”
Her mother’s laugh was warm and knowing. “Just like someone else I remember at that age. Though as I recall, you managed to get dough stuck to the ceiling.”
“That was different,” Gwen protested. “I was trying to—” She broke off as the first fireworks burst overhead, drawing gasps. This year’s apprentice wizard had clearly been practicing. Dragons of light soared between the stars, dissolving into showers of sparkling butterflies. Flowers bloomed in the night sky, their petals drifting down like glowing snow before vanishing just above the crowd.
More followed: ones that bloomed like roses and smelled of summer gardens, green spirals that twisted into the shapes of dancing dragons, gold sparkles that hung in the air long enough to form constellations before fading away.
A streak of purple-black sliced through the air, jarring against the gentle dance of the other fireworks. Where they painted graceful parabolas across the stars, this one carved a violent path through the air, its trajectory carrying it beyond the town’s border into the shadowed fields.
Her feet registered the tremor first—a gentle buzz that crept up through her boots and settled in her marrow. Her siblings’ upturned faces remained bathed in golden light, their expressions rapt with wonder at the spectacle above. Around her, the crowd swayed and gasped at the display, none showing any sign they’d noticed the aberrant firework.
Another tremor, stronger this time, and the world shifted. For a heartbeat, Gwen wasn’t in the town square anymore. She was somewhere dark, somewhere that smelled of smoke and cinnamon. A face flashed before her eyes—beautiful but wrong somehow, twisted in pain or fury or both. Golden eyes that weren’t human, skin that seemed to glow from within…
Reality snapped back like a broken spell. Gwen’s throat constricted around shallow breaths while her fingers sought her temple, where someone else’s pain lingered.
This wasn’t a pizza recipe. For the first time in her life, Gwen’s gift had shown her something else.
***
Gwen began counting heads, scanning the crowd for her siblings. One, two, three… there was Mint, bouncing on her toes to get a better view. Four, five… the twins stood together, Sage’s hand on Sorrel’s shoulder. Six, seven, eight… the Three C’s were actually behaving for once, their faces upturned in wonder. Nine… Pepper was trying to sell someone a sweetroll even now. Ten… Thyme was sketching the fireworks in a notebook. Eleven… Bay was safely in their mother’s arms, tiny hands reaching for the sparkles in the sky.
All safe. All here.
She caught her mother’s eye and pointed towards the pizzeria, mouthing ‘recipe’ before rushing off. They were used enough to her running off to record new ideas that they wouldn’t worry.
As soon as she was clear of the crowd, Gwen broke into a run. She wove through the narrow streets, muscle memory guiding her feet around the familiar obstacles: Old Man Cooper’s perpetually crooked cart, the loose paving stone outside the chandler’s shop, the corner where water always pooled after rain. The sounds of celebration faded behind her, replaced by the whisper of wind through empty alleyways and the occasional startled cat.
Her hand dropped to her belt, finding the familiar wooden handle of her pizza axe. The specialized tool wasn’t exactly a weapon—its edge was deliberately dull, designed for cleanly separating slices without scratching their precious metal pans—but its weight was reassuring. She’d used it often enough to clear fallen branches from their delivery routes or prop open stubborn windows. Tonight, she suspected it might serve a different purpose.
The buildings thinned out as she reached the edge of town, giving way to scattered farmhouses and open fields. Another purple flash illuminated the night sky, closer now, definitely more spell than firework. The magic felt raw, uncontrolled—like watching someone try to contain an ocean in a teacup. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t part of the festival’s planned entertainment.
The cobblestones gave way to packed earth, then to grass that caught at her ankles. She hitched up her skirts, cursing the decision to choose large pockets over practicality (you could fit far more pockets in a skirt these days!). The thunder of her footsteps seemed to echo the pounding of her heart, each breath burning in her lungs. But she couldn’t slow down. That vision…
Thank the gods everyone was at the festival. The thought hit her as she crested a small rise and saw what remained of the Thomson’s storage barn. Or rather, what didn’t remain of it. Where the weathered building had stood that morning now lay a smoking crater. Glowing embers drifted through the air like lazy fireflies, casting an ethereal light over the scene. And there, in the centre of the crater, lay a small figure.
“Oh gods,” Gwen muttered, already scrambling down the steep slope. Her boots slipped on loose earth, sending small avalanches of dirt tumbling down. “Please be alive, please be alive…”
The words died in her throat as she got closer. The figure was humanoid, yes, but… wrong. Patterns like scales shimmered across exposed skin, catching the light of the drifting sparks. Steam rose from the body in waves, and as Gwen watched, a tendril of smoke curled up from between sharp-nailed fingers.
The figure’s head snapped up at her approach. Gwen found herself staring into eyes that glowed like molten gold, set in a face that was beautiful in the way that lightning was beautiful – wild and dangerous and not meant for mortal understanding. Lips pulled back from teeth that were definitely sharper than any human’s had a right to be, and a hiss like steam escaping a kettle filled the air.
But Gwen had spent years feeding the alley cats that kept the mice away from her flour stores. She knew a defensive display when she saw one.
“It’s alright,” she said, keeping her voice low and steady, the same tone she used when Bay had nightmares. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to help.”
The woman made a clicking sound deep in her throat, trying to push herself away. Her movements were uncoordinated, as if she wasn’t quite sure how her limbs worked. She winced with each attempt, her face contorting in pain or frustration – Gwen couldn’t tell which.
“You’re hurt,” Gwen said, taking another careful step forward. The heat coming from the woman was intense now, like standing too close to the pizza oven. “Or… something’s wrong, at least. Please, let me help you.”
Another hiss, weaker this time. The woman tried to rise and immediately collapsed, her legs folding beneath her like wet parchment. The markings on her skin flared, casting shadows across her face. Goosebumps covered her scaled flesh despite the heat radiating from within.
Gwen swallowed hard at the sight of those inhuman markings rippling across trembling limbs. The woman’s shoulders hunched inward with each shiver, her strange golden eyes dulled with pain.
“Let me help you,” she said, closing the distance between them. “You’re hurt, and it’s not safe to stay here. People will come to investigate soon.” She knelt beside the woman, shrugging off her cloak. “I’m going to put this around you, alright?”
Her skin burned hot against Gwen’s hands as she carefully draped the cloak around trembling shoulders. The woman was shaking violently now, each tremor seeming to make the strange markings pulse brighter beneath her scaled skin. Shock, maybe? Gwen had seen it before in people who’d burned themselves in her kitchen, but this seemed different, more intense. Could whatever she was even go into shock? The heat radiating from her body was unlike anything Gwen had ever felt, more like touching the stones of a baker’s oven than human flesh.
“I know you’re scared,” Gwen continued. “But I promise I’m trying to help. I have a safe place we can go, where you can rest and heal.” She paused, then added, “I make pizza. Food.”
The stranger’s hiss faltered, became something more like a confused chirp, followed by a string of sounds emerged that might have been speech, but weren’t in any language Gwen had ever heard. They ended in a frustrated growl as the stranger slumped back to the ground.
“We need to get you somewhere safe. Warm. I’m going to pick you up now, alright?” Gwen waited a moment, giving them time to protest. When no objection came, she slipped one arm under their knees and the other behind their shoulders.
The stranger was surprisingly light in her arms, barely heavier than a sack of flour. But she was also decidedly unhappy about being carried, twisting and making those strange clicking sounds that somehow managed to convey profound indignation despite not being actual words.
“I know, I know. Nobody likes being carried. But unless you’ve figured out how to work those legs in the last five minutes, this is the best option we’ve got.”
Climbing out of the crater one-handed while carrying a semi-cooperative stranger was… interesting. By the time Gwen reached the top, her arms were trembling and sweat plastered her hair to her forehead. But she’d carried sacks of flour heavier than this, and those sacks hadn’t been injured and afraid.
As she reached the top of the crater, Gwen spotted torchlight in the distance – people coming to investigate the disturbance, no doubt. The woman in her arms went rigid, her golden eyes fixing on the approaching lights with unmistakable terror.
“Right then,” Gwen muttered, turning away from the torches and shifting her hold on the woman. “Looks like we’re taking the scenic route.” It would mean an extra twenty minutes of walking, but better that than trying to explain why she was carrying a naked woman who occasionally smoked.
And so Gwen picked her way through the darkened fields, careful to stay in the shadows of the hedgerows. The woman in her arms made occasional clicks, softer now, almost questioning. Her golden eyes never left Gwen’s face, as if she were trying to solve a particularly complex puzzle.
“I’m Gwen, by the way,” she said, ducking under a low-hanging branch. “I run the pizzeria in town – the old armoury building? Though I suppose that doesn’t mean much to you if you’re not from around here.” She kept talking, letting her voice fill the silence as she navigated the familiar paths. “I’ve got eleven siblings – gods, I hope they’re all behaving themselves at the festival. Though knowing my lot, Pepper’s probably tried to sell half the crowd some experimental topping by now…”
The woman made a sound that might have been a snort, though it was hard to tell. Her shivering had lessened somewhat, but she still felt unnaturally hot against Gwen’s chest. The markings on her skin pulsed faintly in the darkness, creating patterns that reminded Gwen of the way heat rippled above her pizza oven.
A sudden burst of purple light in the sky made them both flinch. The woman’s fingers – tipped with what looked suspiciously like claws – dug into Gwen’s shoulder as she tried to make herself smaller.
“None of that now,” Gwen said firmly, loosening the woman’s grip before she drew blood. “Whatever’s going on, you’re under my protection, alright?”
The woman relaxed slightly at that, though her eyes remained fixed on the sky. More strange lights were appearing now, weaving between the regular fireworks like searching fingers. Something about their movement made Gwen’s skin crawl.
She quickened her pace, no longer caring if the motion jostled her passenger. The back entrance to the pizzeria wasn’t far now—just past the town wall and through the small cluster of houses that surrounded the old armoury. The woman in her arms had gone very still, her breathing shallow and rapid.
“Almost there,” Gwen promised, though she wasn’t entirely sure what ‘there’ would mean in this situation. She couldn’t exactly hide a mysterious, possibly magical woman in her pizzeria forever. But she’d figure that out later—right now, she just needed to get them both somewhere safe.
***
Getting through the back door of The Full Plate while carrying an injured woman proved more challenging than Gwen had anticipated. The woman—who still hadn’t spoken a word of any recognizable language—seemed determined to make the process as difficult as possible, twisting and hissing at every movement. Gwen fumbled with her keys one-handed, trying to keep her grip on both her passenger and the ring of ancient iron keys that always seemed to tangle themselves into impossible knots.
“Almost there,” she muttered, more to herself than her increasingly agitated companion. The lock finally clicked, and Gwen shouldered the heavy door open, wincing at the familiar creak of hinges that desperately needed oiling. The sound seemed to startle the woman, who jerked violently in Gwen’s arms—and promptly tumbled to the floor in an ungraceful heap of limbs and borrowed cloak.
Instead of trying to stand, the woman scrambled backward on all fours, golden eyes darting around the kitchen. Her movements were still uncoordinated, as if she wasn’t quite sure how her body worked, but fear seemed to lend her speed. She disappeared under one of the prep tables, pressing herself against the wall and pulling the cloak tighter around herself. The strange markings on her skin pulsed faster, casting shifting shadows across the polished metal of the table legs.
Right. Baby steps.
Gwen carefully closed the door, making sure to move slowly and telegraph each action. The woman’s eyes tracked her every movement, unblinking and intense. Steam rose from where her hands gripped the cloak, and Gwen made a mental note to check the fabric for scorch marks later.
“You’re safe here,” Gwen said, keeping her voice low and gentle. She stayed by the door, giving the woman space. “This is my kitchen. My home. No one will hurt you.” She gestured around at the familiar space—the worn wooden prep tables, the gleaming metal ovens, the racks of herbs drying from the ceiling beams. “See? Just a kitchen. Nothing scary.”
The woman made a sound that might have been a scoff, if scoffs could contain quite so many clicking consonants. Her eyes fixed on something behind Gwen, and she pressed herself further into the corner.
“Gwen?” a small voice piped up. “Why are you talking to the table?”
Gwen whirled around to find Pepper standing in the doorway that led to the main dining room, clutching her favourite stuffed dragon to her chest. The five-year-old was still wearing her festival dress, though it now sported several suspicious stains that suggested she’d been sampling the day’s special toppings.
“Pepper! What are you—how did you—” Gwen stopped, took a breath, and tried again. “Shouldn’t you be at the festival with everyone else?”
Pepper shrugged, bouncing on her toes. “I saw you running away, and you had your ‘I had a dream’ face on. Last time you had that face, you invented pizza! So I followed you.” She peered around Gwen’s legs, dark eyes widening. “Oh! Hello! Why are you under the table?”
Before Gwen could stop her, Pepper had darted forward and dropped to her knees, crawling under the table with the strange woman. Gwen froze, waiting for disaster, but the woman didn’t attack or try to flee. Instead, she tilted her head, studying Pepper with an expression that reminded Gwen of the way their cat watched butterflies—fascinated, but unsure whether to chase or ignore them.
“I’m Pepper!” the girl announced, settling cross-legged on the floor as if having conversations with strange women under kitchen tables was perfectly normal. “Your eyes are pretty. They look like the honey Papa puts in his tea. Are you a fairy? Mama says fairies aren’t real, but she also says dragons aren’t real, and I know that’s not true because I saw one in a book once.”
The woman blinked, then made a series of sounds that might have been laughter, if laughter could sound like water hitting hot stones. She uncurled slightly, the death grip on the cloak loosening.
“See?” Pepper continued, holding up her stuffed dragon. “This is Mr. Scales. He’s my best friend. Well, after my siblings. And Gwen. And the cat. And maybe the baker’s son, but only when he shares his cookies.” She thrust the toy forward. “Do you want to hold him? He’s very soft.”
The woman reached out hesitantly, running one clawed finger along the toy’s plush wing. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, and Gwen felt something in her chest loosen. Anyone who could be that careful with a child’s beloved toy couldn’t be entirely dangerous.
“It’s alright,” Gwen said, slowly lowering herself to sit cross-legged near the table. “You can come out. We won’t hurt you.” She gestured to herself. “I’m Gwen.” She pointed to her sister. “And that’s my sister Pepper.”
The woman looked between them, then opened her mouth and produced a sound that seemed to contain far more syllables than any word had a right to. It rolled and clicked and hissed, like someone had tried to turn a thunderstorm into speech.
“Um,” Gwen said. “Could you… say that again? Maybe slower?”
The woman repeated the sound, marginally slower but no more pronounceable. Gwen tried to copy it and produced something that sounded like she was choking on a fish bone.
Pepper giggled and tried too, managing an impressive series of sounds that bore absolutely no resemblance to what the woman had said. The woman’s markings flared, and she made that steamy laughing sound again.
“Ugh,” she said suddenly, in perfectly clear if oddly accented Common. “You shall call me Emmie, then, so I don’t have to hear that butchering again. Humans.” She wrinkled her nose as if the word itself tasted strange.
“Emmie,” Gwen repeated, relieved to have something she could actually pronounce. “Would you like to come out from under there? It can’t be comfortable.”
Emmie considered this, head tilted to one side. Then, with movements that were somehow both graceful and completely wrong, she emerged from under the table. Instead of standing normally, she seemed to flow upward, her joints bending in ways that made Gwen’s own bones ache in sympathy.
“Here,” Gwen said, pulling out one of the chairs. “You can sit—”
But Emmie was already moving, hauling herself onto the chair in a way that looked more like climbing a tree than sitting down. She ended up perched on the seat, feet tucked under her and hands gripping the edge of the table. Her nostrils flared as she sniffed the air.
“What is that smell?” she demanded, turning her head to track some scent Gwen couldn’t detect. “It’s… it’s…” Her stomach chose that moment to emit a loud growl, and Emmie actually jumped, nearly falling off the chair. She glared down at her own stomach, poking it accusingly with one long finger. “Silence! I had sheep not three days past. That should be sufficient.”
“A… sheep?” Gwen asked weakly, deciding not to ask exactly how recently ‘recently’ was, or whether Emmie meant lamb or… something else entirely.
“Yes, a sheep,” Emmie said impatiently, still poking at her stomach as if scolding it. “Though it was rather small. And tough. The shepherd really should feed them better.”
Pepper giggled. “You’re silly! Sheep are for wool, not eating! Unless they’re lambs, but those are babies.”
“Everything is for eating if you’re hungry enough,” Emmie declared with the air of someone stating an obvious universal truth.
Right. Time to change the subject before Pepper started asking exactly how one went about eating an entire sheep.
“You know what?” Gwen said brightly, already backing toward the ovens. “I think I know exactly what you need. Just… stay there. With Pepper. I’ll be right back.”
An idea struck Gwen. The new recipe she’d been contemplating earlier… perhaps it wasn’t just random inspiration after all.
The dough was already prepared; she always kept some ready during festival days. Working quickly, she stretched it into shape, muscle memory taking over as she listened to the conversation behind her.
“What’s that?” Emmie was asking.
“It’s a thumb war!” Pepper explained. “See, you put your hand like this… no, the other way… there! Now we try to catch each other’s thumb.”
“This seems pointless.”
“It’s fun! Come on, I’ll show you…”
Gwen smiled to herself as she spread the sauce—her own recipe, heavy on the garlic and herbs. The toppings came next: thin slices of spiced lamb (not an entire sheep, thank you very much), roasted peppers, fresh basil, and a generous sprinkle of her special blend of cheeses, made from all four farms in town. Into the oven it went, and she turned back to check on her guests just in time to see Pepper throw her arms up in victory.
“I won!” the girl crowed.
Emmie snorted—and a small jet of flame shot from her nostrils, briefly illuminating her face with an orange glow.
Gwen froze. Fire. Actual fire. From a person’s nose. There was only one kind of creature that could do that while wearing a human form, and if the stories were true…
“Do it again!” Pepper demanded, completely unfazed by the display of impossible physics. “That was amazing!”
Emmie looked pleased at the praise and obliged, producing another small burst of flame. Pepper clapped in delight, and Emmie’s markings glowed brighter, pulsing in what Gwen was beginning to recognize as pleasure.
Gwen watched as her baby sister coaxed more and more elaborate fire tricks from their guest, who seemed to be enjoying herself despite her obvious exhaustion. If Emmie truly was what Gwen suspected… well, if she’d wanted to hurt them, she’d had plenty of opportunities. And she was so gentle with Pepper, careful to keep the flames small and controlled despite the girl’s increasingly enthusiastic requests for “bigger! More sparkly!”
Decision made, Gwen turned back to check on the pizza. The smell of baking bread and melting cheese filled the kitchen, and she heard Emmie’s stomach growl again, followed by more indignant muttering.
“Almost ready,” Gwen called over her shoulder. “Just a few more minutes.”
“What is it?” Emmie asked, sniffing the air again. “It smells… different. Good different.”
“It’s pizza!” Pepper announced proudly. “Gwen invented it! Well, she dreamed it, which is like inventing but while you’re sleeping. She has lots of dreams about food. Once she dreamed about putting pineapple on pizza and everyone said it was weird but it’s actually really good and—”
“Pepper,” Gwen interrupted gently, “breathe.”
The timer chimed, and Gwen carefully removed the pizza from the oven. The crust was perfectly golden, the cheese bubbling and brown in spots. She slid it onto a wooden board and turned to find both Emmie and Pepper watching her intently, though with very different expressions. Pepper looked excited, bouncing in her seat. Emmie looked… hungry. Very hungry.
“Here we are,” Gwen said, setting the board on the table. “Careful, it’s hot.”
Emmie’s nostrils flared again, and she leaned forward, studying the pizza with an intensity that would have been worrying if Gwen hadn’t seen that exact same expression on countless faces before. There was something deeply satisfying about watching someone experience pizza for the first time.
“You eat it with your hands,” Pepper explained, already reaching for a slice. “Like this!” She demonstrated, managing to get sauce on her chin in the process.
Emmie watched carefully, then mimicked the motion. She lifted the slice to her nose, inhaling deeply, then took a careful bite. Her eyes widened, glowing brighter, and her markings pulsed with that now-familiar pleasure pattern.
“This,” she declared after swallowing, “is acceptable tribute.”
“Tribute?” Gwen asked, but Emmie was already taking another bite, larger this time, and didn’t seem inclined to explain.
Pepper giggled. “You eat like my brother Bay! He always gets sauce everywhere too.”
Indeed, Emmie’s table manners left something to be desired, but Gwen couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when their strange guest was clearly enjoying the food so much. She’d already finished her first slice and was reaching for another, movements more confident now.
“Slow down,” Gwen advised. “It’s not going anywhere.”
Emmie paused, slice halfway to her mouth. “Promise?”
Something in her voice—a hint of uncertainty, of past hunger—made Gwen’s heart ache.
“Promise,” she said firmly. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”
Emmie nodded solemnly and took a slightly smaller bite. Her eyes never left the pizza, as if she was afraid it might disappear if she looked away too long.
Gwen pulled up a chair and took a slice for herself, watching as Pepper chattered away about everything and nothing. The girl had sauce on her dress now, but that was hardly unusual. What was unusual was the way Emmie listened, head tilted, occasionally asking questions that revealed just how little she knew about human life.
“But why do you need so many siblings?” she asked after Pepper finished listing all eleven of them.
“Because they’re fun!” Pepper said, as if this was obvious. “Except when they steal my toys. Or when Sorrel puts frogs in my bed. Or when—”
“I think that’s enough pizza for tonight,” Gwen interrupted, noting the way Emmie’s eyes were starting to droop despite her obvious attempts to stay alert. “It’s getting late, and—”
A distant boom made them all jump. Emmie’s markings flared bright, and she half-rose from her chair, looking ready to bolt.
“Just fireworks,” Gwen said quickly. “From the festival. Nothing to worry about.”
But Emmie’s eyes were fixed on the window, where more purple lights were beginning to appear among the regular festival displays. Her shoulders tensed, and steam rose from where her hands gripped the table edge.
“They’re looking for me,” she whispered, and for the first time, Gwen heard real fear in her voice.
“Who’s looking?” Pepper asked, but Gwen was already moving.
“Pepper, go upstairs and get the spare blankets from the linen closet. The soft ones.” She waited until her sister had disappeared through the door before turning to Emmie. “You can stay here tonight. We’ll figure everything else out in the morning.”
Emmie’s eyes snapped to her face. “You would… shelter me? These are dangerous pursuants. They give no mercy.”
“Of course.” Gwen began gathering the dishes, more to have something to do with her hands than out of any real need for tidiness. “You’re hurt, you’re tired, and someone’s after you. That’s all I need to know right now.”
“But you don’t know what I am.”
Gwen thought about the fire, the scales, the way Emmie moved like her body was the wrong shape. She thought about the stories her grandmother used to tell, about creatures of magic and power who sometimes walked among humans.
“I know you’re someone who needed help,” she said finally. “And I know you’ve been nothing but gentle with my sister, even when you were scared and hurting. That’s enough for me.”
Emmie stared at her for a long moment, golden eyes unblinking. Then she nodded, once, a gesture that somehow contained volumes of meaning that Gwen couldn’t quite grasp.
“I accept your hospitality,” Emmie said formally. “And I will not bring harm to your nest or your hatchlings.”
“My… what?”
But Pepper had returned, arms full of blankets, and Emmie was already moving to help her arrange them into what looked less like a bed and more like… well, a nest.
Gwen watched them work, Pepper chattering away about the proper arrangement of pillows while Emmie listened with surprising patience. Outside, the festival continued, fireworks painting the sky in bursts of color. But here in her kitchen, surrounded by the smell of pizza and the sound of her sister’s laughter, Gwen felt something settle into place. Like the last ingredient in a perfect recipe, or the final piece of a puzzle she hadn’t known she was solving.
Whatever tomorrow brought—and she had a feeling it would bring plenty—they would deal with it then. For now, that was enough.
She turned to bank the ovens for the night, already planning tomorrow’s menu. Something told her they were going to need a lot more pizza.