The Seelie Recipe

By Bill Ricardi

An enchanting tale by one of fantasy's master storytellers, Bill Ricardi. Explore life's great recipe. Ingredients: Bravery, tenacity, magic, and a dash of love.
In the enchanted hills of rural New England, a reward awaits those who would take that one extra step and discover a world long forgotten about. Experience the wonders of the fae, and their subtle influence on Our Seelie Earth.
Olivia Mullins, a recent culinary school graduate from Vermont, risks everything she owns to buy a food truck and pursue her dream of creating lunchtime masterpieces using local ingredients. Her best customer is Red, a shy young artist with very particular tastes.
When their relationship starts to blossom outside of the world of food, Olivia discovers her new boyfriend's amazing secret. Can she handle the pressure of running her small business while exploring the mysteries of Red's fascinating, magical world?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bill Ricardi
• Release date: Jul 27, 2020

Book preview

The Seelie Recipe

By Bill Ricardi

Book 1 of Our Seelie Earth

Version 1.0: ‘Master’ - Copyright Bill Ricardi - 2020 - All Rights Reserved.

Reminder: Members of the Bill Ricardi fan club and mailing list get access to ‘Another Stupid Spell’ (and many other cool fantasy resources) for FREE. Full details on the benefits and how to join are at the back of the book.

---

Foreword

When I first started writing this novel, I had no idea that it would be such a lovely, emotional experience. I got to cover so many topics pertaining to magic, the fae, rural life, foxes, history, and cooking of course.

And to head off the question: Yes, the recipes are real. No, I don’t guarantee anything. Being a cook means taking risks, am I right?

Coming from other genres, I wasn’t sure that my concept of a subtle, magical tale of love in the modern age would be embraced by a whole new community. But fans expressed nothing but warmth and excitement at the concept. And their goodwill became the wind beneath my wings.

I want to thank all of my fans who made the leap from Panos or the Ihy Saga. You are the magic in my life. Welcome to my latest adventure.

Thanks to Katherine Kurtz, Neil Gaiman, and Danielle Steel, pioneers in their respective genres who inspired me to mix matters of the arcane with matters of the heart.

To Hayao Miyazaki, a master of his craft, and the inspiration for this humble tale of love and magic. Studio Ghibli lives forever in our hearts.

To Stephen King, creator of the ‘On Writing’ methodology; I wouldn’t be a professional author without your expert tutelage.

To everyone who helped out: From test readers, to superfans, to the industry professionals who make all of this possible: Thank you.

And finally, to my family. You’re the rock that I build every imaginary world upon. Without your support, I wouldn’t be here.

And to Rick and Loki… I love you both, but I’m hungry. How about I make us some dinner?

---

Preface

Magical things almost never happened on t he third day of the Vermont State Fair.

Oh, there might be an occasional interesting revelation, or a minor portent. But most of the major future-sight was reserved for the final weekend. After all, that’s when the out-of-state tourists rolled in… and with them, the money.

The old man sat at his heated fortune telling booth, adjacent to a little patchwork tent that would serve as his home for the next few days. He was diligently looking for ‘marks’. A mark was someone innocent. Someone easily parted from their filthy lucre. After many decades in the fortune telling business, the seer could spot them from a mile away.

Not that one, he was too dour.

Not her, she was on the prowl.

Not him, he was broke.

Then, he spotted her: A kindred spirit. She was skipping past, without a care in the world. Not necessarily a mark, but still a generous soul.

Would you like your fortune told, little fox?

The precious creature stopped. Her wispy brown hair floated in the cold Winter breeze, before settling on the shoulders of her robin-blue coat.

She giggled. I’m not a fox, you silly person!

The man was surprised by that reply. And surprise was a rare treasure, particularly at his age. He peered at the girl. Her physical body fell away from his mind’s eye, leaving only a rich, vibrant aura. Surely a fox. But also… not a fox. It was simply a puzzle of time, of intent. Of choice.

He bowed in his seat and offered an apology. Please forgive me, small princess. You are as pretty as the most regal of foxes.

The girl laughed and twirled in a little circle. I know!

He did his best to hide the smile that threatened to fracture his somber persona. He said, Allow me to tell your fortune, and that will make up for any slight on my part.

Ut-uh. I’m outta tickets.

No tickets. Not this time.

The girl hopped up and down in glee. She made her way over to the semi-enclosed structure and hauled herself up onto the padded chair. Yay!

He asked the all important question. And how old are you?

Seven.

His mind circled backwards around hers, seven times. Only when the fox caught his own tail did the truth become evident.

She was family. Or might be, in the future. It was a time when his own great haze began to obscure things. The sharpness of his mind would ebb, even as hers was coming into full zenith.

"I see a strong young woman. She has many trials and choices ahead of her. But because she has a will of ironwood, she commands the yellow ribbon. It will be her choice. She can live in the world of her father, and of her father’s father. Or she can reach beyond the veil and enter the worlds Unseelie and Seelie alike."

The girl bounced in her chair, excited. I love ribbons.

"I know. When the time comes, you must decide: Curiosity or fear? Bravery or comfort? One path leads to the everyday. The other… it leads to the fox."

She gave the old man a powerful little snort. She said, "No mister, I like bears. Foxes are tiny and silly."

That made him smile, breaking character entirely. As you say.

Hey, isn’t telling me the future kinda like cheating?

His smile turned sad. His next words were barely a whisper, That’s okay, little one. Neither of us will remember when the time comes.

From somewhere up the main thoroughfare, an authoritative voice called out, Olivia! Oli-bear. Come on sweetie, we’re heading up to see the snow sculptures.

The seven year old hopped out of her chair. She said, Gotta go mister. Thanks fer the future!

The old man nodded. He watched in silence as the tyke skipped away.

A gentle voice roused him from his trance. Róka? Love, are you alright? Who was that?

Nobody, dearest one. Nobody at all.

---

Chapter 1

–

Mom’s Apple Pie Filling

5 apples

4 tablespoons butter

2 teaspoons cinnamon

1 teaspoon allspice

½ teaspoon nutmeg

2 tablespoons water

1 tablespoon spiced rum

2 tablespoons corn flour

Heat up the big pan. Peel, core, and chop apples. Melt butter and spices over medium heat. Add apples, water, sugar, and rum. Stir well, cover, and cook for 5 minutes, stirring every 90 seconds. Uncover and remove from heat. Sprinkle in corn flour and stir juices to top to thicken. Great in pie. Perfect on ice cream!

–

Olivia Mullins rapped her wooden meat tenderizer sharply against the kitchen table. She announced, I call this family meeting to order. I’d like to note for the record; everyone was right on time. Good for you.

Her parents just stared at her. She picked up her pen and wrote something in a large, five-subject notebook:

‘ Attendees are surly. Caffeine?’

She cleared her throat and asked, Can I offer either of you some coffee before we get started?

Olivia’s mom just shook her head. Mom was in her mid forties, but didn’t look a day over thirty-eight. She was smaller and a bit slimmer than her daughter, but didn’t have Olivia’s muscle tone. The one thing that they did share was a head of straight, mousy brown hair.

That’s a ‘no’ from Margerie. Larry?

Dad scowled. If Olivia didn’t know him better, she might have been intimidated. Her father was a gentle giant of a man. The muscular farmer stood around six feet and three inches tall, garbed in stereotypical blue overalls. Despite his age and the ‘Mullins family curse’ of male pattern baldness, he still had a full head of black hair, parted right down the middle.

Oli-bear. Did you just call me ‘Larry’?

Olivia sighed. She made another note:

‘Attempts at professional familiarity - rebuffed.’

Mom asked, Sweetie, what are you scribbling in your pad there?

Minutes. This is the official record of our meeting.

Dad rumbled, "Well ya got about ten ‘minutes’ before I gotta milk the cows. Get on with it?"

Olivia said, quite reasonably, I respect the plight of the Vermont dairy farmer. That’s actually why we’re here. I’m going to enact a plan that will save this family tens of thousands of dollars.

That captured her parents’ attention. Olivia knew that the farm had been in the family since the Great New England Hurricane of 1938. Dad’s grandfather bought the property to help an old friend recover from the devastation. Over the last eighty years, the farm had always been a break-even proposition.

Dad pointed at the purple folder in the center of the dinner table. So, pyramid scheme?

Mom’s guess didn’t inspire much confidence either. I was gonna guess a Ponzi scheme. Olivia’s crafty like that.

Olivia rolled her eyes. She scribbled another note:

‘Sarcasm mistaken for wit.’

Then she said, Go ahead and open it up. I think you’ll find the numbers are quite solid.

Despite her confident exterior, she felt like there was a hot brick lodged deep in her belly. This was the moment of truth. Either her parents would accept the logic and foresight of her plan, or…

Dad practically snarled his single word answer, No.

Mom was in complete agreement with her husband, for once, No way, Jose.

Now Mother, Father. If you look at the five year projections, you’ll see tha-

Dad cut her off mid-sentence. You aren’t skippin’ college. We had a deal.

Her heart sank. She said, I understand. But I know what I want to do with my life now, and I don’t need a four year degree for it.

Mom tossed the purple folder in Olivia’s general direction. She said, Medicine. Computer science. That’s what you put on every college application that we sent out. And that’s why we’re letting you live under our roof.

Olivia squirmed in her high backed wooden chair. She admitted, That’s what I thought I wanted a couple of months ago. Before…

Dad picked up the sentence where his daughter trailed off, Before that damned kid. What’s-his-name.

Mom’s voice was filled with disapproval as she said, Stan.

Her dad pointed at his wife and nodded, Yeah that’s him. The bum.

Olivia protested, Hey! He’s just between bands right now. And yes, he approved of my plan. Stan supports me and my decisions.

Her mother was making an effort to remain calm. Oli-bear, sweetie. Amherst College wants to cover over half your costs. It’s a great school.

As is the School of Culinary Excellence, Mom. I thought that a pair of Vermont dairy farmers would appreciate my interest in food culture.

Mom sounded exasperated. Listen. We know you’re a good cook, dear. You don’t have anything to prove to us.

Olivia said, "But I have something to prove to myself, mom. This is more than a passing fad, I swear it. I’m going to be a professional chef!"

Her father said, flatly, Fine. When you movin’ out?

The brick in Olivia’s stomach turned into a block of solid ice. She asked, What do you mean?

He insisted, "Deal was you go to college, we pay fer yer school an’ room. That ain’t college."

Mom tried to play peacemaker, but it was clear that she was in agreement with her husband. She said, Sweetie, we can’t make you go to a good school. But we made it clear six months ago: It’s our way or the freeway. Maybe you should do a year at CCV to complete some core courses, get some credits? That will keep you local and on the right track.

Dad said, Maybe. But Amherst won’t wait forever.

Olivia didn’t want to hear about half-measures. CCV was a community college. And that wasn’t even on her list of backup-backup plans.

Banishing her fear for the moment, she banged the meat tenderizer against the kitchen table and insisted, Order, order. This meeting was just to inform you both about my course of action. I’ll enter your objections in the minutes, but I’m afraid I also need to note your combative tone in the official record.

That was when she got sent to her room.

Over the next couple of hours, she could hear her parents cooling off. It was uncharacteristic of her workaholic dad to take a break during the day. And yet after he returned from milking the Holsteins, she heard his heavy boots stomping downstairs towards his workshop. The buzz of a table saw followed soon after.

Her mother baked, of course. Olivia imagined that far too many pies were being made for three people.

…or perhaps for two.

As she lay in her bed, Olivia had to consider that possibility. Though she thought that she stated her case quite well, and though she stood on the strength of her convictions, she had to admit: Her parents had every right to kick her out of the house. Just a few months ago, she agreed to the college deal. And now she was willingly breaking it.

For Stan. There was no way that she was moving out of state and leaving him behind. He was a true artist, and a pure soul! He taught Olivia to follow her dreams, and not to conform to expectations or societal norms. And, of course, he loved her. They would be together forever.

A brisk rapping on the bedroom door snapped Olivia out of her somewhat teary contemplation. Her mother cracked the door open and said, Dear, come join us in the kitchen. We’re ready to discuss what happens next.

She shivered. That sounded somewhat ominous.

The scent of apple and blueberry hung thick in the air as Olivia walked into the kitchen and took a seat opposite her parents. By her expert estimation, Mom completed two pies before Dad managed to stop her anger-baking.

It was her mother who laid down the law as soon as she was certain that she had her daughter’s attention. She said, "Oli-bear, we got to talking. And we came to the conclusion that you’re an adult, so you can do whatever you wanna. With your own money and in your own place, of course."

Olivia’s bottom lip quivered. She tried to catch her father’s gaze, but the man was staring at the fishing-themed calendar stuck to the refrigerator. That was probably for the best; any hint of disappointment would have her crying like a baby. She knew from experience that her tears would set him off, and then they would have to postpone their meeting until everyone stopped bawling.

Mom tapped the table gently to get her attention back. She continued, So we came up with three options. You go to college like you promised. You move out and do whatever the heck you want. Or there’s the guest cabin.

"G-guest cabin? Where the uncles and aunties stay whenever they visit?"

Arms folded across his chest, and still not daring to meet his daughter’s gaze, Dad rumbled, The one on the back ten acres, yeah. But there’s rules.

Mom took over when emotion started to creep into her husband’s voice, Lots of rules. The most important one is that you live there rent free, but if you give up on your plans you gotta go to college or pay us for all the back rent. You’ll need to get at least a part time job, because you’re paying for groceries and utilities. And you cover whatever the tuition is at that cooking school of yours.

Her father interjected, No boys, no overnight guests. Not on my dime. You do what you want, just not on my property.

Olivia was starting to get the picture. This wasn’t an exile.