2007

She couldn’t think when the subject, or the room, had last actually been called “Home Economics”. Both had certainly undergone a lot of changes over time as people shied away from the rampant un-correctness of it being seen as a “girls only” subject involved with making your own clothes and feeding-and-cleaning-up-after somebody else, usually a husband. These days the class was called “Family and Consumer Science”, and was an elective, taught only for a quarter semester every year because its uptake was just so small. There were usually a few guys who got involved with it, seeing it as a gateway to some kind of career in food service management, and a few girls who either were already excellent cooks and felt like taking a class that would be no effort for easy credit.

“Mrs. B?” Brianna said, standing there and glancing around. The place was empty – there were normally no classes this early in the day. “Mrs. Baldwin?...”

No answer. Brianna was just turning to go when, in the middle of the room, between two of the stainless-steel cooking demo stations, a cloud of black smoke burst up from the floor. Out of it, a moment later, walked Mrs. Baldwin, fanning the air in front of her a little...

She was arguing with a werewolf about the price of saffron when the veiled woman wandered in.

Veils were presently having one of those small renaissances that the fashion features of bygone years sometimes experience, so the shoulder-length sweep of dark gauze by itself wasn’t enough to seriously distract Annabelle from the ongoing disagreement. She turned back to Harl and said, “Look, you can't expect to pay supermarket prices for this stuff, especially since this is not a supermarket! In case you haven't noticed. When you consider what my saffron goes through before it gets here – “

“I know what you say it goes through,” Harl said, leaning on his elbows on the counter and absently twirling one side of his mustache, “but the prices you’re discussing are insane! Only the fact that you're the extremely nice lady that I know you are – for a one-skinner – has kept me from complaining about the markup until now…”

Oh boy, Annabelle thought, here we go, the Witch With A Heart of Gold ploy. Why is it we’re all either Good Mommies or Crone Mothers and never anything in between? And next, I bet, comes the not-so-thinly-veiled request for a discount. How many seconds will it take?...