Chapter 8The gratifying aroma of brewing coffee, and what smelled like blueberry pancakes, greeted Zofia as she made her way down the flight of stairs the next morning. Zofia transvected through the dining room and into the kitchen. Landing gently in a ladder-backed chair, she hummed her euphoria. “Good morning, Tillie. That smells marvelous!”
“Morning, child,” Tillie said. She stood guard over the sizzling electric griddle where several puddles of pancakes browned and sent up heavenly scents. A spatula flipped one of the pancakes over, as if of its own accord. Either Tillie had magicked the spatula, or Biddle was wielding it. At the same moment, a jug of milk and carton of orange juice floated out of the refrigerator. That answered who had flipped the pancakes.
“Good morning, Biddle,” Z
