“Don’t worry,” Amy added, pouring a thimble of honey next to the bird. “He wakes up in an hour. That’s the rule of the Long Dozen. You buy twelve, you get one free. You buy thirteen from me, you get one strange .”

In a forgotten corner of the market, a girl named Amy doesn’t sell regular baker’s dozens (13 items). She sells a Long Dozen — which is exactly 14. But not just any fourteen.

“Amy’s Long Dozen: You’ve counted wrong your whole life, and that’s delightful.”

The customer peered at the pastries. Thirteen perfect, golden crescent rolls. And the fourteenth… was a tiny, warm, living sparrow, sleeping on a bed of thyme.

Amy tucked a wisp of flour-dusted hair behind her ear. “A regular dozen is twelve,” she said, sliding a tray across the counter. “A baker’s dozen is thirteen. But a longdozen ?” She smiled. “That’s mine.”