Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Just the thought of Malik with another woman made me green with envy and sad at the same time. I didn’t even want to imagine it, so I did my best to push it out of my mind.
Luckily, I was helped by the fact that the bakery started getting busy—even more busy than usual. Some of the customers were there to complain, as I had anticipated. I apologized profusely and explained that the lusty tarts had been a magical mistake. And to my surprise, most people really did seem willing to forgive me. Maybe it was because a lot of them were magic users themselves who had gotten spells wrong in the past.
The bigger surprise, though, was the number of customers who came in asking for more of the tarts or any pastry, really, that had the “lust spell” in it.
“You don’t know how rare it is to find a good aphrodisiac with no negative after effects,” one plain-spoken witch who had apparently really enjoyed the effects of the tarts told me. “Most of them leave you feeling hung-over something terrible the next day! Or they make your boobs swell up to the size of balloons and start shooting nectar. Or if you’re a man, your tallywhacker gets as big as a baseball bat and the cum shoots out like a fire hose!”
“Oh my,” I said blankly. “I had no idea.”
“It’s true.” She nodded. “So if you ever decide to make more of those tarts with the lust spell in them, let me know—I’d like to stock up!”
The only really negative reaction I got was, unsurprisingly, from the head of The Council of Wisdom when I went to The Red Lion to apologize.
“I want to take full responsibility and explain that none of what happened after you ate my pear tarts last night was in any way Goody Albright’s fault,” I said to the elder witches and warlocks who had assembled in the large dining room to have breakfast. Many of them looked out of sorts and grumpy—though there were a few who had a suspiciously satisfied glow.
“So it was you that made us all crazy!” A senior warlock with long gray hair and a bushy gray beard rose to speak. He was wearing a tall pointy hat and a cloak which made him look like a Lord of the Rings extra.
“Yes, sir. I’m so sorry,” I said contritely.
“Grand Wizard Henkleman, please—I can vouch for Celia,” Goody Albright said, stepping up. “I can promise you that she didn’t do this on purpose.”
But the elderly warlock was clearly not appeased.
“Young lady, this kind of thing is just unacceptable!” he exclaimed, shaking his long, crooked staff at me. “We members of The Council of Wisdom are too old to be staying up all night having sex parties! Why the chafing alone—”
“Now, Grand Wizard Henkleman, do we really want to go into details?” Goody Albright asked hastily.
From the coughing and clearing of throats in the room, it seemed no one really did. Still grumbling angrily and shaking his staff at me, the elderly warlock settled back into his seat.
“I’m so sorry,” I said again. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to take me up on this, but I’d like to offer all of you any pastry of your choice to try and help make up for the inconvenience. I promise none of them are bespelled in any way,” I added quickly.
“Celia is especially famous for her delicious cinnamon rolls and blueberry muffins,” Goody Albright said, backing me up.
I shot her a look filled with gratitude—it was nice of her not to be mad at me and to try and help me out.
“That’s what you said about her pear tarts—that they were famous!” Grand Wizard Henkleman groused. “And they kept us all up having carnal relations half the night!”
“Don’t you listen to him, young lady!” An older female witch tugged at my sleeve. Her tiny raisin eyes, set in a nest of wrinkles, twinkled with glee. “I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in two centuries,” she whispered to me when I leaned down to hear her. “Don’t you listen to Henkleman—he’s just mad that nobody wanted to have fun with him, so he had to make do with an old knothole in the wall!” Her voice dipped even lower. “I think he might have got a splinter in his peter—you know?
“Oh, um…” I had no idea what to do with this information, but luckily she didn’t wait for an answer.
“I’m sure your cinnamon rolls are delicious,” she went on, raising her voice so everyone could hear. “And I’d love to try one.”
“Thank you,” I said, smiling at her. “If you’d like to come over to The Lost Lamb, I’d be happy to give you one for free.”
“You bet I’ll come to your bakery!” she grinned at me. “We all will—won’t we?” she added, speaking to the rest of the room at large.