Dad had promised her breakfast. He said he'd come right down and make it but that was fifteen minutes ago and she could still hear the shower running. What did grown-ups do in the shower, anyway? Nothing good, she was sure. There wasn't even a plug to cover the hole, and you couldn't float a rubber duck without at least a puddle.
She pushed herself off the sofa and stood. She could make her own breakfast. She'd seen Davy make it often enough. She pushed a chair to the cupboard and climbed up. You put six spoons of coffee in the funnel, filled the jar below with water and switched it on. Easy.
While the coffee brewed, she moved the chair and reached for two slices of bread to make toast. Here she found a problem. The toaster didn't work. She tried pulling out the plug and putting it in again, tried pulling down both levers, tried adding two more slices in case it had to be balanced before it worked. Still nothing. Lucy bit her lip, wondering what she was doing wrong. There'd be no soldiers with her boiled egg if she couldn't make toast. Should she call someone? She'd promised not to call Davy.
She could call someone else.
She took a deep breath and let her mind go blank, her eyes glowing with a soft amber light as she reached though the aether for a connection. Expressing the desire for someone to help her cook breakfast – someone other than Davy – she felt a presence. Her shriek of delight was enough to lure it back to the house and manifest in the kitchen as a flickering spirit, an lady who looked an awful lot like a Disney princess with eyes of flickering firelight.
“Hello, precious.” Its voice crackled like kindling at the bottom of an Inquisitor's pyre.
“Hello.” Lucy ignored the smoke from the coffee pot and pointed to the toaster. “Will you help me make breakfast?”