Good will did very little to improve her skills in the kitchen, Lily found after puttering around for five minutes. She wasn’t used to cooking and the only guidance she had to go by was a vague recollection of eating raw dough with her grandmother in her last visit.

She tapped the spoon against the flour container. How much flour did she need again?

“I see you were waiting on me,” said her grandma, entering the kitchen just as the pondered whether to add more flour or more egg.

“Oh, hey. Not on purpose, but I’ve realized I don’t remember how to make this as well as I thought.” Lily turned to shoot her grandma a quick smile, but the expression wilted in her lips. Furrowed brows didn’t belong with Mackenna and the odd expression sent yet another thrill along her already frayed nerves. “Is everything okay, Grandma?”

“I can’t seem to find my blouse. The red one. I truly wanted to wear it today.”

“That’s not too bad.” She finally chose to add another egg and hope for the grub she had prepared to improve. “Do you want me to help you look for it?”

A moment of silence followed and it made Lily glance at Mackenna once again. There was a thoughtful look in those blue eyes, but then she noticed her looking and shook it off, offering a tight smile instead.

“No, I think not. I’m sure it’ll just appear when we least expect it. But let me help you. It looks like those pancakes could use it.”

Lily made room and Mackenna took charge of the kitchen. It was easier that way, letting her give instructions and explain how to do it properly. Her expertise even salvaged Lily’s disaster and by the time they had anything like dough going on, the both of them had flour in their hair and were laughing, the tiredness of the previous night and the weirdness of the morning all but forgotten.

“Now that looks more tasty, doesn’t it?” Mackenna gave one last twist of the spoon and contemplated their work. “We only need add the yeast and we will be done.”

Lily reached behind to the counter, to the spot where she had placed all the ingredients, and froze. It wasn’t there. There was milk and flour and eggs, and even the cinnamon she had pulled out just in case, but no yeast.

She swallowed, her throat dry.

“I… It’s not there. But I took it out,” she said.

Mackenna didn’t try to convince her otherwise. She dusted off her hands, went to the right cabinet and looked inside.

“Well. We seem to have run out of yeast.”

“I know that’s not true, Grandma. I took it, I put it on the table. It was there when we began cooking.”

“It’s not there now, dear, and there’s no use in crying over what was.” Mackenna’s tone was kind, but the words had trouble coming out of her mouth. They felt wrong. Like her mind was on something else and she had to force herself to focus on calming a recalcitrant child from a spooky dream.

“It was there!” Lily insisted, feeling more and more like that recalcitrant child and unable to care. She had other things to worry about. Like her grandmother growing dopplegangers, spoons hopping out of boxes and yeast disappearing in thin air.

“Yes, dear. But it is not; not anymore.”

“How can you be so—?”

Mackenna took a deep breath. “It’s alright, dear. I’m sure we only misplaced it while preparing the dough. Why don’t you walk to the store and buy some more? It should be faster than trying to find it, and I will clean the mess we have made meanwhile.”

Lily choked on air and felt like a fool for it. They were little things, all of them. Easily explained away by pranksters and misplaced items. But there were so many odd little things, coming so fast one after the other, that she felt a wave of vertigo wash over her.

She had to grip the counter not to fall.

Is this what Mom felt like? Like she was one step away from falling down the rabbit hole? Is this the reason she’s obsessed with order now?

She might be onto something.

“Okay,” she said when the room stopped spinning. “I will go.”

Fresh air might do her some good.

She felt Mackenna’s eyes on her back as she left, making every effort not to run. Running away from a homey kitchen wasn’t normal, and normal was what she needed right then.

The path toward the village proper took her by the sterling silver knife planted to prevent summer storms and she looked the other way, relishing the view of the river instead. The surface was still like a mirror and it reflected the gray overcast sky, blurring the horizon line and calming her own thoughts.

A flicker of movement caught her eye when she had nearly reached the road: a woman knelt by the shore, her head bent over her task, and a flash of red cloth fluttered underwater.

Lily frowned. Is she… washing? Is that even allowed?

As if sensing her lingering gaze, the woman lifted her eyes and stared at Lily. A shiver ran down her spine in spite of the distance and she quickened her pace, hunching her shoulders against an invisible cold breeze.

There had been madness in that stare. The sort brought on only by grief and pain.