Page 6 of Sugar, Spice, and Magical Midlife

“Wow.” Bob shook his head. “She’s really got your guts twisted around the meat grinder, doesn’t she?”

I leaned on my desk, hanging my head in my hands as bile rose into the back of my throat. “You can stop with the visuals, Bob.”

Bob nodded toward the box. “If you’re not going to eat them, you’d better hide them.”

My nostrils flared and my beast roared to life, clawing at my insides. “Lenny wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t put it past him.” Bob snorted, a maggot popping out of his nose with the motion.

I gaped at Bob, wondering what offense I’d committed in my past life to have been cursed a clairvoyant. “That chicken-shit knows I’d kick his ass.” Speaking of the little weasel, Lenny was late to work, as usual. Those damn cemetery plots weren’t going to sell themselves. Not that I needed the money, but I at least needed to give off the impression that I had a successful business. I made a mental note to actively look for Lenny’s replacement.

Low moans filtered into the room from the air ducts. My newest clients were waking up. Just great. One electrocution and another food poisoning. Both stunk to high heaven. I sure as hell hoped they didn’t stick around like Butchered Bob.

“Your new clients are calling you,” Bob said with a smirk.

“They’re always calling me.” I rolled my eyes, shooing Bob like a stray dog. “Go on. Get out. Keep your maggots away from my breakfast.”

Ric

I RETURNED FROM MYundertaking in an even more foul mood than before. My foolish client who’d electrocuted herself by blow-dryer refused to accept her fate. She kept nagging me to jump-start her heart, even though all her organs looked like fried lumps of coal.

The food poisoning wasn’t much better. How was he supposed to know that eating undercooked chicken that sat outall night would kill him? Some people were too stupid to live. I only wished they didn’t have to die around me.

They followed me around the better part of the morning, pleading with me to resuscitate their decomposing bodies. I was a mortician, not Frankenstein.

It was almost lunch by the time I’d finished embalming, and I was starving. That’s when I remembered I hadn’t eaten midmorning breakfast. I washed up and hurried up the stairs toward my office, mouth watering while I eagerly anticipated those gooey cinnamon buns. They would hold me over until my daily delivery arrived at noon. Today was Friday, which meant Chinese: four orders of Mongolian beef, three plates of sweet-n-sour pork, two bowls each of wonton soup and fried rice, plus ten spareribs and twelve egg rolls. And those were just the appetizers.

Unfortunately, my species had a ravenous appetite. Luckily, I had a sarcophagus full of treasure and a secret Swiss bank account. I didn’t need to work to feed myself. I had enough gold to last a thousand years. The undertaking business was just a way to pass the time, and it made a good storefront to conceal my underground tomb.

After I reached the top of the stairs, I tiptoed past Lenny’s office, and not just because I didn’t want to talk to the blistering bat boil, but because I needed to make sure Lenny was working and not fooling around. Considering the guy was paid solely on commission, I would’ve thought he’d work harder.

My nostrils flared when I saw the trail of crumbs leading from my office to Lenny’s. Anger shot through me like a bolt of magic, and the beast inside me roared to break free.

No! The little bastard knows better.

But even as I tried to convince myself Lenny wasn’t that stupid, the evidence was clear. I followed the trail to the waste basket by my desk. Inside was the empty pastry box that onceheld the orange-glazed cinnamon roll. I never even got a taste! Then I checked the larger box and four of the cinnamon rolls were missing.

Lenny! You are so dead!

Without waiting for an invite, I burst into Lenny’s office, not surprised to find him with his eyes closed, tilted back in his reclining chair. Legs strewn across the desk and head angled toward the ceiling, he let out a big, greasy fart and then continued to noisily snore.

Covering my nose with a curse, I kicked Lenny’s feet off the desk. Lenny fell backward with a scream, arms and legs flailing like a newborn infant. “Granny, I told you not to touch it!”

What Merlin’s madness was this? Granny was touching what? Never mind. I didn’t want to know.

I glared down at Lenny. “You awake now?”

Lenny slowly nodded, gaping up at me like he’d been struck with the Idiotica Curse.

“Hey, did you eat my cinnamon rolls?”

“What?” Rolling onto his side, Lenny swatted crumbs off his shirt while averting his gaze. “No!”

Slowly counting to ten in an attempt to control the beast inside me, I impatiently tapped my foot. “You have icing on your chin.”

Lenny sat up on his knees, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “Sorry, my gram didn’t feed me breakfast.”

“How old are you, Lenny?” I clenched my hands into fists, repressing the urge to unsheathe my claws.

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