The Baker on Chambers Street
by Danielle R. Morrison
part 1
After flinging the bag into the trash compactor, Aster rounded the corner out the back alley and onto Chambers Street. The surrounding shops already had their “Closed” signs hanging in the windows with the interior lights off. Unlike Aster, a human passerby couldn’t see inside.
Only one small bar at the end of the street remained open, the pop-punk band’s music echoing down the street, sound waves pulsating in the otherwise still air. While the bakery was closed to customers, the lights were still on so Melvin could work through the night until the morning managers arrived to take over, if they even came in at all.
Aster watched through the window as he pounded on a slab of dough and wiped his forehead on the washcloth he always kept draped over his shoulder.
A man stumbled by her, emerging from another alleyway as she walked past the bakery window. He was tall and clean-shaven, dressed in crisp black pants and a wrinkleless button-down shirt.
“’Scuse me, pretty girl.” He bumped into her.
She was barely impacted by his weight. “Watch it.”
It was strange, she noted, that he didn’t reek of alcohol. Often at this time of night, drunks staggered from the pub down Chambers Street, the stench of whiskey and bourbon hanging off their clothes and breath. This man, however, smelled lovely, like baking spices and leather.
“Can I have your name?” His polished shoe kicked the light post as he stumbled again.
Without making eye contact, she continued to walk. “No.”
“Your voice,” he said, “sounds beautiful and sweet. Just like you.”
As her arm swung back, he grabbed her wrist. His grip was tight, and he squeezed and spun her around to face him. Only a daemon like her would have the strength to do that.
He grabbed her other wrist. She pulled, trying to break his grip. “It’s time to come home now, Aster.”
She squatted and jumped, using both of her legs to kick him in the stomach. He barely flinched, but it was just enough for her to break away. She ran.
“Aster!” He yelled through gritted teeth.
Four men and two women appeared from the alleys and onto the street, all reaching to grab her. Their eyes followed her in the night as she swerved back and forth in the street, looking for a place to throw them off her trail.
A small woman came from her left. She wrapped her arms around Aster’s waist and swung a leg forward to trip her. The woman’s body pressed Aster’s into the cement.
“Gotcha,” the woman said, panting in her ear.
Aster squirmed under the woman’s weight. She tried to kick. Punch. Bite. But every inch of her body was trapped underneath her assailant.
“Never knew it would take so many to take me down,” she said. “Pathetic even, if you think about it.”
The man, who Aster realized was actually sober and had been pretending just to grab her attention, grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up to stand. As she stood, the others each held a firm grasp on one of her arms or legs.
“Nice to see you, too, pal.” She spat in his eye. He didn’t recoil.
Instead, he chuckled. “You’re a prisoner, not a friend.” He punched her in the stomach.
* * *
Closing time at the bakery was always the most peaceful part of Aster’s day. The smell of warm dark chocolate cupcakes rising in the oven wafted in the air as she opened the tub of vanilla buttercream. She took the pot of ganache off the warmer and leaned her head over it to breathe in the bittersweetness that reminded her of desserts from her old life. Desserts in the mortal realm were often sweet, while those who resided in the spirit realm preferred ones that were rich and dense.
As a child, she loved to sneak into the kitchen in the middle of the day when her family was asleep to steal chocolate cakes and cookies to her chambers. Getting a job in the bakery gave her a sentimental slice of her old life when she was homesick.
“Ready to close up?” Melvin asked as he twisted the front door lock. “Thank you for all your help today. I really appreciate you coming in early and staying late and all.” He was supposed to be the evening manager five nights a week but mostly worked six or seven days and nights when the other managers wouldn’t show up. His black chef coat often looked pristine when he arrived at the bakery, but he always left covered in flour and dried batter by the end of his shifts.
Aster closed the lid on the cinnamon cream cheese frosting and tossed it into the walk-in refrigerator. “I was just finishing up this batch.”
“I’ll take care of it since you’ve had a long day. But do you mind taking the trash on your way out?”
She chuckled. “Not as long a day as you. Don’t you have a family to get home to?”
He ran his frosting-covered fingers over his balding head. “I do, but I’m sure the wife has put the kids to bed by now, and she’s probably knocked out anyway.” His face looked sullen. “Have a good night. It’s supposed to be my weekend off, but I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow.” For the first time since she’d met him, Aster saw tears welling in the man’s eyes.
Before he could let them fall, Melvin walked back into the heart of the kitchen where the ovens were still warm from the afternoon’s baked goods. As his footsteps faded, Aster opened the door to the walk-in and shut it behind her. A burst of cold air sent a quick chill down her spine, but infernal energy warmed her quickly.
Now, it felt long overdue. Aster closed her eyes. She pressed her hands together and rubbed her palms until her hands felt as hot as the earth’s core. In her mind’s eye, she conjured a vision of an endless wave of dollars and coins in a bank vault that every time was spent, instantly reappeared. She then imagined Melvin and his wife in awe as they checked their bank account to see the climbing numbers that never fell when they paid a bill or made a purchase.
Slowly opening her eyes to readjust to the bright walk-in lights, Aster placed her burning hands onto the center of her forehead. She felt them begin to cool as the visions faded from her mind and into reality.
Using her daemonic powers to help someone with no offering or reward was out of the ordinary. But in Aster’s quest to understand humanity, she decided that those who truly deserve the help shouldn’t need to give her anything as payment. They already didn’t have enough as it was.
* * *
“You’re not Maylikal!” the freckled-face teenager shouted. He frantically shuffled through a shabby camouflage binder, sheets of crumpled white paper tearing from the silver rings and flying into the air.
“A child has summoned me for help,” her father had said to her as his body began to materialize out of the spirit realm. “But I want you to try. I trust you.” When Aster was a young daemon, her father wanted to keep her name a secret from humans’ summoning. It was for her own protection until she grew a little older. But with a clap and push of his hands, he stopped his transition and transferred the energy to her.
As she gazed upon the boy, who looked no older than fourteen, she stood with her back straight, chin tilted up, and shoulders back, a powerful stance she watched her father do to exude confidence.
“I must have done the evocation wrong,” he said, tossing the binder outside his circle of black salt he had made to protect himself from unwanted entities, like her.
“No, you did it right,” she said. “I am just better to suit your needs.”
“Well, do you like red wine and chocolate cupcakes? The cake was left over from my school lunch, but the wine is from my parent’s fridge. It was an offering for Maylikal, but I guess you can have it.”
“I love both wine and chocolate. Thank you for the thoughtful offering in exchange for my services.” In truth, she had never tasted such human delicacies, but many of the other daemons seemed to enjoy the treats.
Aster took the plastic cup from the black satin-covered table and tipped the liquid down her throat. The taste reminded her of tobacco, leather, and dried cherries and instantly dried the saliva in her mouth. She unwrapped the paper from the chocolate cupcake and took a big bite, the sweetness of the cake melting into the bitter ganache from the center on her tongue. It was heavenly.
“What have you summoned me for?” she asked in between coughs from her dry mouth.
“I need help getting a job.” His shoulders slumped, glasses sliding down his nose.
She took another sip of wine. “But why? You’re a child.”
“Barely.”
Aster shook her head as she took another bite of cake. “I can sure try.”
The boy’s face instantly changed from defeat to elation. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
While she chewed and savored the treat, she thought about how to best go about working around his age. “Would you like me to get you a job babysitting?” She paused, anticipating a response. “I’m sure there’s kids in your neighborhood.”
“They don’t really make a lot of money.” He placed his head in the palm of his hand. “I need a lot of money.”
Aster put the cup back down on the table. “Why do you need a lot of money?”
He sighed as he moved his binder back towards him to absentmindedly flip through the pages. “I overheard my parents talking about the holidays coming up. I wasn’t supposed to hear them.” He stopped on a page and fumbled with the bent corner. “They want to give my sister and me presents this year, but they’re scared of losing our house.”
As his voice got quieter, Aster bent down on a knee to be at his eye level. This gesture was uncustomary, but Aster felt was necessary. “I am so sorry.”
Tears glistened in his eyes behind his glasses. “The pandemic was really hard on us. My mom got laid off and can’t find work, and my dad is always at work and barely comes home to see us anymore.” He used the sleeve of his flannel shirt to wipe his cheeks. “I just want them to not worry about money anymore.”
Aster relaxed her mind’s eye and let his emotions flood to her. She felt everything he was feeling: anxiety, depression, embarrassment, guilt. The emotions were overwhelming her as they intensified, filling every sense of her body and mind. How could a human, who’s weaker than a daemon, survive feelings all these things at once?
Once the snot began to drip out his nose, he pushed himself up. “I can give you more things in exchange for your help if the wine and chocolate aren’t enough.” He leapt out of his circle of protection and ran to his bookcase. “I have comic books that’ll be worth a lot someday. Video game consoles.” He was on the verge of shouting. “Art pieces hanging downstairs that my parents won’t notice missing. I have a smart TV right there, too. What can I give you for your help?”
As he rummaged through his bedroom and named more things he could give her, she reached out to grab his arm in an uncustomary gesture of empathy. Upon her touch, he collapsed. The lamp on his nightstand shook as the ground rumbled.
“Do you want my soul? I’ll give it to you.”
Aster narrowed her eyes but kept her voice steady. “Please don’t give me all your things. And I don’t want your soul. That isn’t necessary.”
He kept his head down, speaking to the carpet. “I know a daemon’s help comes with a price. I read I can sell my soul if you need me to.”
“A terrible misconception that isn’t true.”
“But I am prepared to give it to you. I summoned Maylikal knowing that could be his price.”
Aster shook her head. “No daemon wants human souls, I promise. But are there no other adults who can help your family? This burden shouldn’t be yours to bear as a child.”
The boy shook his head. “I’ve already learned. Unless you have money yourself, you don’t get much out of this world.” His glasses fell to the floor. “People don’t like to help other people like that. Only at a price we can’t pay.”
* * *
Copyright © 2022 by Danielle R. Morrison
