Page 16 of Sugar, Spice, and Magical Midlife

When smoke continued to pour from the oven, I swore. With a flick of my wand, I pulled out a blackened little ball that reeked of burned cinnamon.

“Puffy!” Ethyl screeched, fluttering into the room, a mop in one hand and suds in her disheveled hair. No doubt a floor-cleaning spell had gone wrong. “Are you okay?”

When Puffy reappeared, his eyes wide and watery, Ethyl cradled her naughty lizard in her arms, kissing the top of his head.

I let out an impatient huff of air. “Next time that dragon burns a coffee cake, he’s banned from the bakery.”

Ethyl turned to me with a pout. “He didn’t mean it.”

I refrained from rolling my eyes. “Ethyl, if you can’t control your dragon, you’re going to have to leave him at home.”

Ethyl’s lip hung so low, it was in danger of scraping the floor. “It was an accident. He was napping.”

Clucking my tongue, I zapped away the smoke and inspected the oven, scowling at the white pile of goo that looked like giant bird droppings on the bottom. “There’s dragon doo in my oven!”

“Oh, Puffy. Bad dragon!” Ethyl wagged a finger in her dragon’s face. “You know you’re not supposed to make doo doo in Aunt Luci’s oven.”

When the dragon let out a wail that sounded like a dying bird in heat, Ethyl cuddled him closer, plastering kisses all over his face.

“Oh, don’t cry, baby,” she cooed. “Mommy’s sorry.” She turned to me with an accusatory glare while pinching Puffy’s scaly cheeks. “How can you be mad at that face?”

The dragon looked up at me with luminous eyes. I wasn’t fooled. I saw the mischief brewing beneath his lavender gaze. “He’s manipulating you.”

Ethyl stumbled back as if she’d been struck by a verbal spear. “Not my sweet baby.”

The dragon chuckled before disappearing in a poof of smoke.

I gave my assistant a dark look. “Why can’t you be a normal witch and get a cat?”

When Ethyl opened up her arms, I felt the displaced air of Puffy’s wings beating down on my head before I heard him hit a rafter with a squeal.

Ethyl winced, scanning the ceiling for her dragon. “Because I’m not a normal witch. It’s my pixie blood. You know how much we pixies love dragons.”

Grumbling under my breath, I grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and a roll of paper towels, shoving them in Ethyl’s arms. “Here. Clean up the mess.”

“With paper towels?” Ethyl made a face when she took the cleaning products. “Gross. Why not just use a spell?”

“Because the last time you used a spell to clean up dragon crap, it was dripping from the ceiling.” I fought hard to get that image of dragon droppings dripping into my chocolate cake batter out of my mind.

“It was a slip of the tongue,” Ethyl pleaded, her wings snapping open and buzzing faster than a hummingbird on crack as she tried to hand the cleaning supplies back to me. “I’ll be more careful this time.”

“I know.” I pushed the supplies back against Ethyl’s chest. “Because you’re using paper towels and disinfectant.”

“Luci,” Ethyl groaned, “you know I love you like a sister, but you really need to get—”

“I know, I know.” I shushed my assistant. “But I’m not falling into the sack with him on the first date.” I froze like a gnome in headlights as the familiar rumble of a truck engine sounded in the distance. “Oh, Merlin’s dirty butt plug! He’s here early.” I hadn’t frosted the cake yet. “How do I look?”

Ethyl gave me the once-over. “Like a goddess.”

“Really?”

“Who’s been dragged through Hades,” she added wryly.

My ego fizzled like a sour love potion. “Jeez, thanks.”

Ethyl waved away my concern. “He obviously doesn’t mind your disheveled look, or he wouldn’t have asked you out.”

I held up a silencing hand. “You can stop talking now.”

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