The Demon in the Pastry Shop

65: There Will No Longer Be Cupcakes for Just Anyone

It was dark inside, all except for the translucent glass on the door which was half obscured by the Porcupine Demon's leg as he held it shut. Kit couldn't breathe. There was no choice but to press her limbs into the sides of the oven, her hands atop the coils.

She climbed into the box on her own. The Porcupine Demon offered her the chance to choose her own position rather than being picked up and crammed in whatever which way she first fit. Kit swallowed and crawled inside, pretending she was simply cleaning the oven after a cake-tastrophe. Her cheeks grew hot as her knees curled up into her chest and she turned toward the door which shut as soon as her feet were inside.

All the screaming in the world wouldn't get that demon to open the oven door again; at least she could die with the comfort that having a voice couldn't set her free. As Kit fluttered her eyelids closed and pretended not to anticipate the coils around her to start burning, she unbuttoned her pajama shirt in the hopes of lying it on the coils beneath her to keep the heat at bay for precious seconds only to quickly discover there wasn't room to move beyond a momentary shift in her position.

So she waited, crouched in the oven, for the heat to come. She didn't know if it would. She thought she might hear some indication of the oven turning on, some electric whirl but there was nothing. Then again, Kit didn't know the sounds of her mothers' appliances well.

She laughed thinly through her nose, the air stuffy and hot. It was a little funny, after all. The Collector wanted her because her muteness was rare and special. If she could speak again, she wouldn't be nearly as valuable. If she could speak again, Jude and Silus wouldn't have gone through all this on her behalf. She was prized in a way she never was before. Here she had been, regretting the loss and desperately trying to slide into the shape of her past.

Kit fit into her past about as well as she fit in this oven.

She gasped on the humid air. Was it getting hotter? She couldn't tell. Her knees and bare hands pressed to the coils and she could've sworn they were warm. Her eyes begged at the tinted window.

No. She couldn't do that. She couldn't think and think and think and think on her death. She wouldn't do that. Kit bit down hard on her lip to stay her trembling jaw. She imagined herself baking a cake. The batter into the pans and she was the cake in the oven. It wasn't scary, it was exciting. What kind of cake would she be when she emerged? Changed from sloppy, wet batter into a light, airy confection.

The coils should've heated to something noticeable by now. Kit shook her head. She wasn't ready to give herself hope.

What cake would she be? She always thought she had the personality of a decorative cupcake, a whole tray for a wedding with a little piece that everyone would enjoy and appreciate. She didn't feel like she was a cupcake for everyone anymore. No, she was one cake now, and anyone that wanted a slice could have one if they asked nice -and only if they asked nice.

Something light, something elegant with a halo of powdered sugar on top. And a chocolate layer so thick Lovell wouldn't even be able to think about coming near her again.

The oven wasn't hot. Kit dared to peer out of the window. The demon still guarded her. Perhaps Lovell just wanted her out of the way. Maybe they couldn't turn the oven on. Her neck ached from the broken angle the oven ceiling kept it at. She squinted her eyes shut while her heart thudded hopefully against its cage.

Marble cake. A vanilla and chocolate swirl. Chocolate frosting like a protective barrier. White sugar dusting to make it pretty.

From outside, Kit caught a thump sound and the Porcupine Demon moved away from the window. The light shone across Kit's face for a moment of freedom and she twisted her shoulders to take her chance. She pressed her hands to the door and pushed.

Someone covered the window again. The strength in Kit's arms wilted in her skin. They could have been waiting to turn it on until now, until she had sweat a bit on her own.

The door dropped down and Jude peered into the box where she was wound tightly and fearfully. His squinty eyes drooped at the edges, like a petal burdened with dew. He held out his hand to her and gave an encouraging but somber smile.

"Come on out, Kit. You don't belong in that box."