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"Morwen," said Telemain, "what's the magical ingredient in your gingerbread?"
He reached across the table and helped himself to a second piece.
Cimorene helped herself to sugar and stirred her tea.
Fiddlesticks hopped up on the table and directed a pointed look at the cream jug.
"There is no magical ingredient," Morwen said, "but thank you for the compliment." She moved the cream jug two inches to the right and gave Fiddlesticks a stern look.
The cat jumped down from the table, and Miss Eliza Tudor jumped up to take his place. Miss Eliza Tudor, however, had better manners than to stare at the cream jug.
Telemain blinked. "My question was not meant to convey compliments, although they are certainly deserved. You're the best cook I know, Morwen. But perhaps you misunderstood me. I want to know what sort of sorcery you use in your baking. I was reading the other day about magical practices in food preparation, and I find that the topic is much more interesting than I had supposed. The fallacy of my previous reasoning was to assume that just began a task is domestic, it must be dull. I see now that I was quite wrong to take that approach."
He reached for a third slice of gingerbread.
Morwen gave Telemain an approving look. "I'm glad to see you admitting an error of judgment," she commented. "I didn't think you had it in you."
"It wasn't an error of judgment," Telemain corrected. "It was an erroneous assumption."
Morwen's eyes glinted, but before she could reply, Cimorene intervened.
"Don't make Morwen go get a dictionary," she said cheerfully. "I like debating linguistics as much as the next person, but not while I'm eating. Besides, if you don't annoy her, Telemain, you might get a straight answer. I've been asking for her gingerbread recipe for years and she won't give it to me. She's told you more today about her cooking than she's ever let slip in as long as I've known her."
"All she said was that she doesn't use magic," Telemain protested, "and I find that hard to believe. Her gingerbread is too delicious to be non-magical."
"You will have to believe it," Morwen said. "There is not a spot of magic in the recipe. Just plain, good ingredients, which I will not share," she added, directing her comment at Cimorene, "even with my closest friends. A secret recipe is secret for a reason."
"Are you telling me you don't cook with magic at all?" Telemain demanded. "For a witch of your abilities, surely—"
"Ah," Morwen said. "Well. I do, on occasion, use magic in the kitchen. Just not in my gingerbread."
"When you say you use magic in the kitchen," Telemain persisted, "do you mean for tasks such as sweeping the floor or stirring a pot, or do you mean within the food itself? The difference is distinct and intriguing. Magical actions may be used when cooking, such as preparing self-kneading bread or self-seasoned soup, and then there are magical ingredient themselves. The second category is of most interest to me, in large part because I have largely ignored it before now."
"What sort of magical ingredients are you talking about?" Cimorene asked. "I've run into plenty of magical ingredients used in potions. Dragon scales and pixie dust and toadstools and—"
"Yes," Telemain said, "those are some of the obvious examples. There are also many magical recipes that call for quite ordinary ingredients which then blend together to create something magical once ensorcelled."
"Eye of newt and pewter powder and clover sap, for example," Cimorene said.
"Exactly." Telemain turned to Morwen. "So, which is it? Do you use nonmagical ingredients and ensorcell them, or do you use ingredients that possess inherent magic?"
"Well," Morwen said, "that would be telling."
Cimorene laughed and stood up. "We should have known she wouldn’t say," she remarked to Telemain. "I should leave before it gets dark. Thank you for the tea, Morwen."
Telemain wished Cimorene a courteous goodbye, but he did not budge from his seat even after Cimorene had left Morwen’s cottage.
Morwen moved around the kitchen, clearing dishes off the table and wiping up crumbs. Chaos sat up from the cushion where he had been napping, yawned, and stared in a pointed manner at Telemain. Still Telemain remained seated.
"If you won’t tell me about magic in cookery," he said, “can you tell me who will? Do you know of any other cooks in the Enchanted Forest I could consult? I only want to satisfy a few of the more pressing questions I have following my reading."
His tone was so plaintive that Morwen abandoned the sink, where she had been pumping water for washing the dishes. "Very well," she said, her tone exasperated. "I will tell you what you want to know—within reason, that is."
Telemain’s face lit up. "That is only fair. Thank you. I promise you, if I can return the favor in any way—"
"You can promise to stop badgering me," Morwen said, at her most strict. "Really, Telemain, I admire your pursuit of knowledge. A desire to learn is an admirable quality. But you must not assume that everyone and everything around you is a resource to be used at your whim."
"Why not?" the magician demanded.
Aunt Ophelia jumped off the windowsill and mewed loudly. Morwen raised her eyebrows and drew in a breath. "I believe you are right," she remarked to the cat. "If Telemain doesn’t know why other people do not always want to be treated as objective encyclopedic entities, he can find out that answer for himself."
Aunt Ophelia flicked her tail and sauntered over to the stove, where she began to wash himself. Frowning, Telemain looked from the cat to Morwen.
"Well then," Morwen said. "You were inquiring about magical and nonmagical ingredients. I told you the truth when I said that I don’t use magic in my gingerbread. My cider, however, is a different matter entirely. It starts with apples, but during the fermentation process, I make a few modifications. Come into my workroom and I will show you."
Still faintly frowning, Telemain followed Morwen into her workroom.
Chaos yawned once more and settled back into his cushion.
Miss Eliza Tudor minced her way across the counter and began to investigate the cream jug.