Wintersmith

There's some casserole downstairs, and you haven't eaten since breakfast, said her Third Thoughts. You'll feel better after you've eaten something.

How can I eat stew when people are looking at watercolors? How dare he look at watercolors!

But her Third Thoughts were right—not that this made things any better. If you're going to be angry and miserable, you might as well be so on a full stomach. She went downstairs and found the casserole in the oven. It smelled good. Nothing but the best for dear ol' Mum.

She opened the cutlery drawer for a spoon. The drawer stuck. She rattled it, pulled at it, and swore a few times, but it stayed stuck.

"Oh, yes, go ahead," said a voice behind her. "See how much help that is. Don't be sensible and stick your hand under the top and carefully free up the stuck item. Oh no. Rattle and curse, that's the way!"

Tiffany turned.

There was a skinny, tired-looking woman standing by the kitchen table. She seemed to be wearing a sheet draped around her and was smoking a cigarette. Tiffany had never seen a woman smoke a cigarette before, but especially never a cigarette that burned with a fat red flame and gave off sparks.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in Mrs. Ogg's kitchen?" Tiffany said sharply.

This time it was the woman who looked surprised.

"You can hear me?" she said. "And see me?"

"Yes!" Tiffany snarled. "And this is a food preparation area, you know!"

"You're not supposed to be able to see me!"

"Well, I'm looking at you!"

"Hold on a minute," said the woman, frowning at Tiffany. "You're not just a human, are you…?" She squinted oddly for a moment and then said, "Oh, you're her. Am I right? The new Summer?"

"Never mind me, who are you?" said Tiffany. "And it was only one dance!"

"Anoia, Goddess of Things That Get Stuck in Drawers," said the woman. "Pleased to meet you." She took another puff at the flaming cigarette, and there were more sparks. Some of them dropped on the floor but didn't seem to do any damage.

"There's a goddess just for that?" said Tiffany.

"Well, I find lost corkscrews and things that roll under furniture," said Anoia offhandedly. "Sometimes things that get lost under sofa cushions, too. They want me to do stuck zippers, and I'm thinking about that. But mostly I manifest whensoever people rattle stuck drawers and call upon the gods." She puffed on her cigarette. "Got any tea?"

"But I didn't call on anyone!"

"You did," said Anoia, blowing more sparks. "You cussed. Sooner or later, every curse is a prayer." She waved the hand that wasn't holding the cigarette and something in the drawer went pling. "It'll be all right now. It was the egg slicer. Everyone has one, and no one knows why. Did anyone in the world ever knowingly go out one day and buy an egg slicer? I don't think so."

Tiffany tried the drawer. It slid out easily.

"About that tea?" said Anoia, sitting down.

Tiffany put the kettle on. "You know about me?" she asked.

"Oh, yes," said Anoia. "It's been quite some time since a god fell in love with a mortal. Everyone wants to see how it turns out."

"Fell in love?"

"Oh, yes."

"And you mean the gods are watching?"

"Well, of course," said Anoia. "Most of the big ones don't do anything else these days! But I'm supposed to do zippers, oh yes, and my hands get very stiff in this weather!"

Tiffany glanced at the ceiling, which was now full of smoke.

"They're watching all the time?" she said, aghast.

"I heard you're getting more interest than the war in Klatchistan, and that was pretty popular," said Anoia, holding out her red hands. "Look, chilblains. Not that they care, of course."

"Even when I'm having a…wash?" said Tiffany.

The goddess laughed nastily. "Yes. And they can see in the dark, too. Best not to think about it."

Tiffany looked up at the ceiling again. She had been hoping for a bath tonight.

"I'll try not to," she said darkly, and added: "Is it…hard, being a goddess?"

"It has its good days," said Anoia. She stood with her cigarette arm cupped at the elbow by her other hand, holding the flaming, sparking thing close to her face. Now she took a sharp pull, raised her head, and blew a cloud of smoke out to join the smog on the ceiling. Sparks fell out of it like rain. "I haven't been doing drawers long. I used to be a volcano goddess."

"Really?" said Tiffany. "I'd never have guessed."

"Oh, yes. It was good work, apart from the screaming," said Anoia, and then added in a bitter tone of voice: "Ha! And the god of storms was always raining on my lava. That's men for you, dear. They rain on your lava."

"And look at watercolors," said Tiffany.

Anoia's eyes narrowed. "Someone else's watercolors?"

"Yes!"

"Men! They're all the same," said Anoia. "Take my advice, dear, and show Mr. Wintersmith the door. He's only an elemental, after all."

Tiffany glanced at the door.