Kerka's Book (3 page)

A pan of cooling buns rested on an iron trivet by the gargoyle sugar bowl and the elf. Another pan
cooled on the stove. The fresh buns filled the room with a delicious aroma, and my teeth ached to bite into them.

“That was dazzling, Kerka!” Aunt Tuula exclaimed. She stood between the stove and the island, holding an icing dispenser.

“Thank you.” I beamed with pride as I perched on a stool. The Kalis dance was the
only
dance I was better at than Rona, probably because it required as much speed and power as it did grace.

“You've been practicing.” Aunt Tuula finished spooning icing into the dispenser tube and capped it with a nozzle.

“Every day,” I said. I didn't tell Aunt Tuula that I wanted to be the best Kalis dancer ever in the Pax Lineage of fairy godmothers.

“It makes up for soccer a little,” I added. “Still, I'll need to work on the soccer drills inside on my own. Maybe I'll stay after practice next week.”

“That would probably help.” Upending the icing tube, Aunt Tuula pushed the plunger and drew icing crosses on top of the buns. “Just don't practice in the living room.”

I laughed out loud. I imagined a soccer ball bombing one of her antiques, then rebounding off the walls from one rare object to another until nothing
was left but piles of broken glass, bent metal, and splintered wood.

“No soccer practice in the living room,” I said, faking a gravely serious face and placing my hand over my heart.

“Thank you.” Aunt Tuula's eyes twinkled as she turned to stir a pot of cider heating on the stove. “I may have another, less destructive solution.”

“What?” I asked, growing serious for real. “Is there an indoor soccer field in New York?”

“No, but there's a handball court in the basement of this building,” Aunt Tuula explained. “I'm sure we can use it in the afternoon, when most of the resident handball players are at work or taking their children to piano lessons or having afternoon tea at the café.”

“That would be great! I'll practice at midnight if I have to!” I said.

“Hopefully it will not come to that,” Aunt Tuula replied. She took a sip of cider, savored the flavor, and frowned. “Almost, but not quite right,” she muttered. Setting the wooden spoon on a shiny silver spoon rest, she opened a bag of spices and added a few pinches to the steaming pot.

“There's almost nothing better than hot spiced cider on a cold January day,” Aunt Tuula said as she continued stirring.

“What
is
better?” I asked.

“Hot chocolate with nutmeg and marshmallows, or French vanilla tea with sugar and cream,” Aunt Tuula replied. She looked at me over her shoulder with an impish grin. “It depends on the day or the mood or both.”

“Why is today a hot-cider day?” I was genuinely curious and very interested.

“Because hot cider with cinnamon tastes wonderful with warm hot cross buns,” Aunt Tuula said. “A famous chef in Paris gave me this recipe. He told me I was the only person he had ever given the recipe to.”

The individual mounds of dough had fused together during baking. Using a spatula, Aunt Tuula separated a square bun from the others in the pan, lifted it out, and put it on a plate, which she handed to me.

I bit into the warm bread. “This is incredible!”

Grinning, Aunt Tuula sampled a bun and nodded with approval. “Perfect! I'm so pleased when my creations turn out right. They don't always.”
She lifted out a third bun and put it on the maple-leaf dish.

There was no need for a third plate unless we were expecting a third person. “Is Rona coming home early after all?” I asked.

“No, I'm afraid not.” Aunt Tuula sighed. I could tell she was both happy and sad about my sister's success with the ballet, like me.

I frowned, puzzled. “Then who gets the third bun?”

“The kitchen elf,” Aunt Tuula answered. “You should know from Britta that it's wise to stay on good terms with elves. They can be such stinkers when they think they've been wronged.”

Britta was my mother's name. “Of course, Aiti told us,” I agreed. “But it was just a part of the sto ries; I didn't know that elves were still here, in the waking world.”

My sisters and I had fallen asleep many nights listening to my parents tell us folktales. Many of the stories were about elves. Guardians of their homes, elves bring good fortune and health to the people who live or work within the same walls, but only if the elves are treated with respect. Disaster befalls anyone who fails to repay an elf's favor or takes
an elf's gifts for granted. Santa Claus, the most famous elf of all time, is a perfect example. Children think he won't bring presents if they're naughty. My father said that Santa rarely withheld gifts, and then only in the worst cases.

“I've never seen an elf here myself, but I know they are around,” Aunt Tuula went on. “They stick to themselves for the most part, even in Aventurine, but your great-great-grandmother Elsa met an elf. She said he was quite unpleasant.”

“Why was he unpleasant?” I asked.

“Well, the story goes that Elsa had a terrible fight with her sister, Marjo,” Aunt Tuula explained. “They stayed angry for so long, Elsa couldn't remember why they had argued, but it was over something silly—like missing socks. The elf demanded that Elsa conduct herself as a proper member of the Pax Lineage and make peace with Marjo so he could get some sleep.”

I mulled that over for a moment, then asked, “Why couldn't the elf sleep?”

Aunt Tuula paused to look me in the eye. “It is said that our family's destinies and the fate of elves are intertwined.”

“Seriously?” I asked.

Aunt Tuula chuckled. “It's what my aiti always
said. The theory has never been proved, but it hasn't been disproved, either.”

“If Grandmother believed it, then I do, too,” I said.

“You'll have an elf in your kitchen someday, whether you can see it or not. We all do,” Aunt Tuula added. “They prefer kitchens.”

I nodded. “That's where the goodies are,” I said, taking another bite of my bun.

“That's it exactly.” Aunt Tuula cast a fond glance at the elf figurine on the leaf. “I suspect
this
little guy comes to life and snitches treats and makes tea at night when no one is up and about to see.”

I sat up straighter. “Is that why Aiti never washed the dessert plates until morning? So the elf in the kitchen tapestry could have the crumbs and the pieces Rona never finished?”

“That or she was just tired from being a mother of three energetic girls.” Aunt Tuula pulled a yellow sunflower pot holder off a hook. “Britta bought the tapestry that hangs in your living room when she was twenty, shortly after we became fairy godmothers. It always looked to me as if it had been woven in Aventurine, or at least by someone who had been there.”

I nodded. Over the years, I had spent hours staring at the woven picture of the elf sleeping under
a toadstool surrounded by ladybugs, butterflies, flowers, and ferns. I was constantly spotting tiny things I hadn't seen before. I wondered if anyone was leaving cake and cookie crumbs for the elf now that my mother was gone. Maybe when my grandmother came over, she would tell Biba.

I changed the subject. “Where did Great-Great-Grandmother Elsa meet the elf?”

“In Aventurine,” Aunt Tuula said as she brushed crumbs off the countertop.

My aunt's reluctance to talk about the fairy world had been as frustrating as my messing up in soccer practice. Now that the topic had been broached, I quickly asked another question.

“Did
you
go to Aventurine?” I nibbled the last piece of my hot cross bun.

“Of course,” Aunt Tuula admitted. “Every girl from a fairy godmother lineage goes to Aventurine at least once when she's young, and a few go many times. It's where we learn our craft and gain the wisdom to do our jobs.”

“Do you ever go back to visit once you are a full-fledged fairy godmother?”

“No, never,” Aunt Tuula said with a shake of her head. “Grown-ups cannot go except under very special circumstances.”

“What kind of special circumstances?” I couldn't stand the thought of never seeing fairies again or of being barred from their lands. I hadn't had an amazing adventure of my own yet or learned enough about magic.

“The thing about very special circumstances, Kerka,” Aunt Tuula explained, “is that you don't know they're very special circumstances until they happen.”

“I hope they happen to me a lot,” I said.

Aunt Tuula sensed my dismay. “It doesn't seem like it now, perhaps, but you won't miss Aventurine as much when you're grown up.” She paused, sipping her cider and staring past me with a faraway look.

Shaking off the moment, Aunt Tuula continued. “Our lives progress through a series of phases, and we're usually ready to leave the old phase behind when it's time to move on to the next.”

“Like when
I
become a fairy godmother?” I asked.

“Yes, like that.” Aunt Tuula wrapped the pot holder around the handle of the cider pot. Gripping the handle with two hands, she carefully poured the hot amber liquid into two mugs. “But before you can be a fairy godmother, you have to be a fairy-godmother-in-the-making.”

I paid attention to my aunt, but Queen Patchouli had told Birdie and me the same thing the week before.

“The fairies in Aventurine teach fairy-godmothers-in-the-making everything they need to know to use their gifts for good in the real world.” Aunt Tuula dropped a cinnamon stick into each mug. “But not every girl who enters Aventurine becomes a fairy godmother.”

I knew that girls could fail. Queen Patchouli had warned Birdie that her future as a fairy godmother depended on the outcome of her quest. And Birdie's mom had given up trying to be a fairy godmother when she was only a little older than us. I remembered the Willowood fairy queen's words:
“There are things you have to learn to become a fairy godmother. Things about yourself, other people, the way the world can be changed.”