“Oh, gosh!”

Pamela was very disappointed to have missed the birdseed blizzard. She had returned from school to find the others talking about it in Gabriel’s kitchen.

“Well, it proves one thing,” said Somes.

“What’s that?” asked Gabriel.

“You can be dumb and still be dangerous. What if that robin wished to be ten stories tall and went on a rampage across the city, crushing buildings under its feet like King Kong or something?”

“It only wished for birdseed,” said Abby. “That’s pretty logical for a bird.”

“Yeah, but remember those robins in Aviopolis?” said Pamela. “Corax made them his jailers; they controlled all the locks and cages. They liked being more powerful than the other birds. Snitcher perched on Corax’s shoulder and repeated his commands.”

“For sure,” said Gabriel. “Snitcher is no ordinary robin.”

“So why do you think he’s hanging around your house?” asked Somes.

Nobody had an answer for this.

Abby stroked Paladin, who was perched on Gabriel’s shoulder. “Any ideas, you beautiful bird?”

The raven bowed to her, dipping his beak low and extending one foot, but he did not speak.

Abby frowned. “Gabriel, why won’t Paladin talk to me?”

“He’s just shy,” Gabriel explained.

“He speaks French to your aunt,” Pamela reminded Gabriel. “But she’s kind of a weird bird herself.”

Abby turned to the raven. “But you know me, Paladin.”

He nuzzled her cheek with his beak to show that he didn’t mean to offend her. Abby gave a sigh. “It’s my birthday in a week, and the only thing I really, really, really want is—”

“I know,” Pamela said.

“Me too,” added Somes. “You want to be a raven’s amicus.”

“Exactly!” Abby cried. “I want a raven friend like Paladin, a friend who understands my deepest thoughts. And I want to fly.”

“Yeah. Flying,” agreed Somes. “Every time my dad loses his temper, I could just step outside with my raven and take off.”

“Tell the story again, Gabriel. How did you find Paladin?” asked Pamela.

“I heard his thoughts in my head,” Gabriel explained. “Just talking. I couldn’t see him. For a while, I knew someone or something was near. And then the night that his mother was killed by valravens, I found him on my windowsill, shaking, and that’s when he asked me a riddle.”

Abby turned bleakly to Paladin. “How can I find a raven, Paladin?”

The raven stared off for a moment, then turned to Gabriel.

“He said it’s like making friends,” explained Gabriel. “You can’t predict when you’ll meet one; it just happens. My dad said it runs in our family.”

Abby looked downcast. “In other words, there’s no chance it’ll happen to me.”

“No chance for me, either,” said Somes glumly.

“Or me,” said Pamela. “Hey, speaking of your dad, Gabriel, he started to tell me something weird this morning….”

“What?”

“He said your stove would cook me oatmeal if I asked it. Then my mom came in, and he stopped talking.”

Gabriel turned to the antique iron stove. It was an odd contraption with curved legs, a broad black surface, and six circular lids. The front had cream-colored hatches, dials, and a row of four black holes above them. “Weird,” he said. “My aunt never told me it could cook by itself. Sometimes it does make strange knocking noises, and she tells it to be quiet. I always thought she was just kidding around.”

“What if we could get it to cook for us?” said Abby.

Gabriel peered at the griddle, squeezed the knobs, and twisted the bar that opened the oven hatch. “Hello,” he said.

The contraption remained silent.

“I like custard,” said Somes. “Hey, Stove, make custard!”

“Yeah, can you make custard, Stovie?” said Abby.

Gabriel raised one of the griddle hatches and talked into it. “Hi in there? Make custard!”

Pamela, who had been watching her friends’ efforts with impatience, finally shook her head. “You’re doing it all wrong.”

“Really?” Somes replied. “How many stoves have you talked to?”

“For your information, I’ve talked to a writing desk.”

Only Somes laughed when she said this. That was because Abby and Gabriel knew that what Pamela said was quite true. The Finley house contained at least one other odd piece of furniture. It was a black writing desk with front legs carved like the talons of a bird. When no one was looking, the desk moved from room to room, evading discovery. The word ASK was inscribed on its polished lid, and if you asked it a question, it might reveal a remarkable answer. Mr. Finley used the desk to hide valuable information, but it was a very elusive, disagreeable piece of furniture, and Gabriel and Abby had once risked great injury trying to get it to reveal its contents.

Quite by accident, Pamela had discovered that the desk was fond of music. She was practicing her violin one evening, and it scurried up the stairs to her room and began dancing on its taloned feet. It was particularly fond of jigs and other Irish tunes.

Pamela explained all this to Somes, but he remained skeptical.

“Can we try talking to it respectfully?” she asked.

“You mean like calling it Mr. Stove?” said Somes.

“Maybe it’s a Mrs.,” added Gabriel.

“Or a Ms.,” said Abby.

“You’re being silly,” Pamela replied. She kneeled before the stove, pulled the oven hatch open, and spoke in a whisper. “Hello. Please, would you be willing to make us some custard? We would all really appreciate it.”

There was a loud clatter. A metal arm holding a wire whisk emerged from one of the recessed holes; it stretched, as if stiff from years of inactivity. Then it knocked sharply on the other holes, as if to wake them up.

A second arm with pinchers extended toward the pantry cupboard. A third one reached across the room for a mixing bowl. In a flash, the arms began pouring salt and sugar. The whisking arm cracked the eggs and whisked them into a froth with dizzying speed. A small pot heated the milk in seconds, and the mixture was ready in another blink. One arm presented a mug of warm custard to Pamela.

She took a sip and uttered a gasp. “Oh, wow!” she said. “That’s so good!”

Another mechanical arm swiftly delivered mugs to Gabriel, Abby, and Somes.

“Yum!” said Somes. “I’m eating here tonight.”

“I wish my sister could make this,” said Abby. “She’s a good cook, but this is awesome.”

Suddenly, a voice called down the staircase. “I smell custard!”

The arms from the stove shot back into their holes, leaving the whisk flipping through the air. It landed in Pamela’s open hand.

Trudy entered the kitchen. She dipped her finger in the custard pot, licked it, then frowned.

“Wonderful, quite wonderful.”

To everyone’s surprise, a sweet, regretful look appeared on her face. “I used to make desserts, long ago,” she said. “Pastries, cakes, custard, and chocolate. Chocolate cookies, chocolate cakes and candies.” She sighed. “Not many people know that chocolate is very bitter to the tongue. It’s unpleasant until you mix it with sugar and a pinch of salt….You might say that chocolate is like love that way.”

This odd remark surprised them all, but none more than Pamela. “Mom?” she said. “What are you talking about?”

“Love can be a bitter thing,” Trudy continued. “It breaks hearts all the time. Think of all the sad songs there are about love. Love is only sweet when it’s combined with other things—trust, affection, compassion, and forgiveness.”

Gabriel had never heard Trudy say anything so thoughtful or tender. He wondered if she was sick.

“Tell me, who cooked this heavenly custard?” she asked.

Gabriel decided to tell her the truth. “Actually,” he said, “the stove made it.”

Trudy’s eyes sharpened into needles. “Pardon me? What on earth are you talking about?”

Gabriel shrank back as she glared at him.

Abby rushed to defend him. “Mrs. Baskin, Gabriel was about to explain that this stove is very good for making custard, and Pamela got it to work for us.”

“Pamela? Oh, you mean she cooked it? Well, of course, I’m not surprised.” Trudy sniffed. “Another fine cook in the family!”

She took one more sip of custard. “It’s time for me to make dinner, so I’d appreciate it if you would all vacate the premises.”

Gabriel took Paladin upon his shoulder. He was about to lead his friends to his room when Somes pointed to the window. “Look!”

They all turned and saw the silhouette of a robin on the windowsill.

Quickly, they scrambled after it into the backyard.