Page 41 of Potions & Prejudice
My hands twisted together as I watched Draven and Elm far in the distance. I had an idea. One that was either brilliant or would end in complete disaster.
Eighteen
DRAVEN
“Do we have to worry about food poisoning?” Edgar pointed his tail toward the mini meat pie Elm was biting into, which was almost bigger than the dragon. “I heard that if food is left out at a certain temperature, bacteria multiplies.”
“Don’t dragons eat raw meat?” Georgie asked as Edgar flew next to us while we walked through the market.
“That’s a fair point.”
I bit into my own meat pie, the savory flavor of beef, onion, and flaky pie crust mingling together.
Georgie’s eyes widened at a stand far in the distance with a mannequin wearing a sparkling pink dress that was form-fitting and long-sleeved with a high neckline.
“Can we go there?” Georgie pointed to the dress, sunlight glinting off the fabric.
“I can’t,” I said. “I need to get back to the tavern.”
Her face fell. “Right.”
I put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure Edgar can take you. Or Elm.”
“Oh yes.” Elm finished his last bite and wiped his hands together. “I’ve got an excellent eye for fashion.”
My friend was feeling better today and got an earful from me about missing the game night.
“Or Edgar can go?” I suggested as Georgie made a face.
“Do I have to try a dress on?” Edgar asked with his wide orange eyes. “Because I don’t think they make those for dragons.”
“Just forget it,” Georgie mumbled, wandering over to a candle stand. Candles of all sizes stood on the edge, each one with a label saying both the scent and its magical properties.
“You know, I think she wants to spend time with you.” Elm nodded toward my sister, who was bending down to smell a candle.
“She hates me,” I said. “And I don’t blame her. I don’t know what to do to make her happy. I thought Edgar would cheer her up, but she seems ambivalent to him.”
“Hey!” Edgar said. “I can hear, you know.”
Elm clapped a hand on my shoulder. “She doesn’t hate you. I just think she doesn’t know how to relate to you.”
“And I definitely don’t know how to relate to her.”
A chilly breeze blew past us, fluttering tablecloths and awnings hanging over some of the stands.
“Maybe she just needs a woman’s touch.” I looked down to see Morty Hallow standing next to me, her gray corkscrew hair falling in perfect spirals and brushing her shoulders, her deep umber skin smooth and wrinkle-free despite her age of seventy years.
The older witch had just retired from running her tea shop, which she’d passed on to her niece.
I cocked a brow. “It’s not nice to eavesdrop, Morty.”
She fluttered a hand in the air. “You were talking so loudly. It wasn’t exactly difficult.”
Elm grinned. “Hi Morty.”
She pointed a long purple nail at him. “I’m still upset you never visited my tea shop for one of my matchmaking events.”
“Well, I wasn’t ready to be matched,” Elm said simply.
