Mischievous Manor: A Humorous Romantic Fantasy by Lucia Ashta

Author:Lucia Ashta [Ashta, Lucia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-11-15T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It was nearly six-thirty, which had been the official dinnertime in Gawama Mama as long as Aunt Jowelle had been at the kitchen’s helm, and we hadn’t yet managed to get the electricity back on. Since we weren’t exactly certain what had caused the outage in the first place, other than a nebulous understanding that the house was feeling overpowered, and none of us Gawamas, nor Quade and Harlow, had a particular affinity for electricity, there was little we could do beyond call Danny to apply his handyman skills to the job.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Aunt Jowelle so flustered. Even when she’d been preparing to compete against Bab in the cook-off, and she’d fretted and worried and run around the kitchen gathering spatulas and ladles like her very existence depended on packing up every single possible tool she possessed, she hadn’t had such a wild streak in her eyes.

Once Nan and I’d tired of trying to revive both the crystal ball and the house, without so much as a spark from either to encourage us along, Nan had forgone her usual afternoon lie-down, and I’d pretended I hadn’t been dreaming of one, and we’d buckled down, pushed up our sleeves, and resolved to help Aunt Jowelle.

We all did.

Though Aunt Jowelle was nothing short of a culinary kickass goddess, and could complete every stage of her meals on her own—from growing and harvesting the vegetables to serving the most scrumptious combinations ever—she leaned on Gawama Mama’s assistance to feed so many of us. After the kids returned home from school, there’d only be a few hours for her to prepare a meal that clearly meant more to her than any other in recent memory. Instead of shooing us all away from the kitchen like usual, she’d accepted our help, which spoke strongly of her frenzied desperation on its own.

But Danny would have to wait until tomorrow, Aunt Jowelle insisted—even though a supporting beam in the den had cracked too. If he came over now, she’d end up inviting him to dinner, and who did we think she was, a mess hall cook? A restaurant chef? A carnival operator? If she’d wanted to run a damn diner she would’ve had one. She even said damn, a fact that shocked her sisters and me perhaps even more than discovering our deceased ancestor staring back at us through a dormant-for-decades crystal ball.

It was all hands on deck. And yes, it was true that Aunt Jowelle was cooking for a small horde of witches, wizards, and even creatures since she’d invited Mindy as well. But we all knew who all the fuss was about.

We were just exceedingly careful not to mention his name. If we hadn’t already guessed at it, we’d learned our lesson from when Darla had conversationally asked about Hale while she peeled potatoes. Aunt Jowelle had snapped at her, apologized immediately after, then cried, switching jerkily to chopping onions so she could pretend they were the reason for her abrupt tears.

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