Gretchen quirked an eyebrow as she took a sip of tea. With her new enterprise she was more inclined to stop by in the mornings to share a cup of coffee with the troll than to fritter away afternoons drinking ale. There were only so many hours in the day, and she had to keep her inventory up to scratch to keep up in the city. But there were several occasions where she’d tiptoed past a snoring Nora in the taproom to sit with Jurgen in the kitchen.
“So how are the preparations coming along? I’m sure the baron’s household is in a flap?”
“His lordship has really gotten himself into a pickle this year. Was running his mouth in the city and has agreed to host some fancy party at the estate to pay homage to the year’s bounty.” Nora’s lip curled as she stirred sugar into her cup. “So not only is everyone trying to organize a county fair, they’re preparing for the gentry to arrive. Poor souls won’t have any time to enjoy the festivities. Would serve him right if his sheets are itchy and meals are bland for a few months.”
Gretchen let out a low whistle. “Well, I can’t say I’d blame them. And I’m guessing you’re off the hook?”
“He hardly has any need of hexes during a grand soiree.” She waved her hand. “That’ll come after. Once they’ve traded insults over one too many brandies.”
Gretchen smirked. Nora had been in the baron’s employ for a few years. If she wasn’t careful, he’d have nobody left to curse soon.
“But enough of that.” Nora took a last gulp of tea and set her cup back on the tray. “I must make a move if I want to miss the birds flitting around at dusk.”
Gretchen saw her out and waved as she took off neatly from her garden and into the air. She scowled at her own broom before trotting over to her pumpkin patch where she gave the big guy a knock, her ear pressed to its side to check the sound.
Not as plump as Mildred’s, eh? Well, she could do something about that.
Chapter 2
“Discreet, I said!” She thumped her desk beside the spell book, and the letters on the page jittered. “Nora can’t suspect anything!”
The words on the page swirled, and the letters rearranged themselves. Gretchen squinted at the page and rubbed her chin.
“That could work…”
Committing the spell to memory, she slammed the book shut before returning it to her stash spot underneath the floorboards. She tottered to the kitchen and unlocked her reinforced pantry door. As it swung open, a flurry of activity scuttled across the floor as light reached the darkened corners, and Gretchen stamped her foot for good measure.
“You can count yourselves lucky I haven't had time to cook up some poison. If I could trust Mulligan to keep his nose out of the jerky, you’d all be cat treats by now.”
She shuffled in under bundles of dried herbs hanging from the low ceiling and followed her nose to the right ingredients. The small cupboard was getting crowded, and if things kept looking up, she’d need to think seriously about having a cellar dug out the back to house her growing collection. Rounding up a few stoppered jars and sprigs from various bundles, she climbed out of the pantry and held back a sneeze. Mulligan’s scruffy head poked around the corner, and Gretchen held a finger up in warning.
“No, you don't, fleabag. I’ve got things just as I like them in there, and I won’t have you trashing it.”
Mulligan glared and dropped to his haunches as Gretchen emptied her hands and locked up behind her.
“Never you mind. I stopped by the butchers today for those gizzards you like.” She untied her pouch and reached in shoulder deep to retrieve the waxed paper package. Mulligan’s nose twitched, and he scampered to his dish as she bent to empty the stinking contents into it.
“Now,” she set the paper aside and held hands to her hips. “A quick brew before dinner and a good night's sleep before Jurgen gets here. Plumper, indeed! The only thing Mildred has that’s plumper than mine is her rear end.”
Gretchen chortled as she crumbled herbs and seeds into her mortar and a scant few drops from the bottles. From the doses prescribed she’d likely have a lot left over, but she could think of a few customers who would jump at the chance to make some of their appendages bigger, if only for a few hours. She pounded the mixture into a thick paste, all the while muttering incantations with half-lidded eyes. The recipe called for a moderate amount of heat, so Gretchen fetched down one of her smallest cauldrons and added just a little boiled water from the kettle. After stirring in the mixture, she hung it on the far side of the fire to warm slowly and refilled the kettle to lie in wait with a cup of tea. When she sat herself in front of the fire to keep her eye on the brew, a thump on the door almost ended with a lap full of scorching liquid. She set the cup on the mantle with a grumble and reefed the door open with a glare.
A young woman, gentry by the look of her tailored dress, stood on her porch with a satin scarf wrapped around her head. Gretchen blinked and shook her head, but the apparition failed to dissolve as expected.
“Oh, thank goodness,” the visitor said holding a hand to her forehead. “I thought perhaps you weren’t home. I desperately need help.”
Gretchen looked her up and down from the satin slippers to the jewels she wore in her ears. A carriage with a two-horse team stood in the lane, and Gretchen wondered at not having heard them arrive.
“I think you’re looking for the Fairy Godmother. She
