Page 26 of Midwinter Wiles & Valerian Dreams
Suds tower out of the sink, cascading onto the floor in thick, frothy waves. I used only a bit of soap, like Daria said, I swear! This pixie-strengthened stuff is even stronger than she told me. It’s madness!
The bubbles are multiplying, spreading like a sentient force, creeping outward on a mission to fill the entire kitchen. This soap is taking over the world!
I have to control it.
Panicking, I grab the extendable water hose over the dish station. I’ll rinse them away before anyone sees. Wash them down the drain before they completely consume me. I can’t let Daria see me causing any more disasters.
Aiming at the worst of the towering suds, I squeeze the hand grip. Water sprays in a strong shower that knocks the top of the tower right off.
Yes!
Now I just have to rinse it all down the floor drain.
Wait…No!
Instead of disappearing, the sudsclimb higher.They rise from the floor like a tidal wave of frothing foam, and now water is sloshing at my feet too, sending mountains of bubbles gliding across the kitchen floor.
“Why are yougrowing?!” I yelp, spraying more water in a desperate attempt to contain the chaos. The more I spray, the more the suds grow. They’re over my head, blocking my way out of this corner entirely. It’sinsanity.
“Val?” Sharp alarm fills Daria’s voice, hailing from somewhere beyond the pillars of foam. “What happened?”
“Nothing!Nothing!I’ve almost got it cleaned up, don’t worry!” I aim the water hose at the towering wall of bubbles, trying to carve a path.
It’s a mistake.
Suddenly, there's the unmistakablesplatof water hitting skin.
Daria shrieks.
I whip the hose in the opposite direction, but now water catches the edge of the stove. Something goes up in a furioushiss, and new shouts from the cook join Daria’s sputtering yells.
In a final, desperate move, I yank the hose toward me—better to drench myself.
But no one warned me a soap-slicked tile floor is adrowningdeath trap!
Someone should warn people about that!
My feet betray me, each choosing its own direction, making disastrously opposite choices. I go down in an agonizing split.The sound of my trousers ripping up the middle tears through the kitchen. Cold water floods my underthings.
Just as I think things cannotpossiblyget worse, the poor, abused hose still clenched in my grip gives up supporting my weight. It wrenches free from the wall with an ear-splittingscreechof metal.
There might be more shouts from the kitchen. I wouldn’t know. The geyser of water exploding from the wall drowns everything out.
Carrying the last of the freshly cleaned pots back inside the now suds-free kitchen, I nearly crash into Lark. He stands in front of the dish sink, surveying the damage and looking far too amused.
“So, did you pull when you should’ve twisted?” His arch smile is all dimples and trouble.
“Something like that.”
I’m sure he’s already heard the whole story. I’m sureeveryonehas heard the story of the hopeless new girl who flooded the inn with dishwater. Mine will be a cautionary tale retold over ale and laughter.
“Come to see my humiliation for yourself? Witness my firing?” I ask.
“Nope. Here to help.”
He lifts a hand, and for the first time, I notice the toolkit he’s holding.
After Daria got the water shut off, I peeled myself off the floor, along with my dignity and very wet, very exposed underpants. I braced myself for Daria’s wrath. From the red in her face, I expected her to yell or even strike me. Instead, she took one longlook at my bedraggled state—my ruined trousers, my trembling lip—and simply ordered me to go change.
