Page 24 of Minions and Magic
“Piffle is already here decorating,” he added. “I’m gonna be minding the door most of the time, so make sure you save a plate for me.”
My eyes widened. “Of gnome food? Slugs, turnips, bread, and sour cherry pie?”
His face settled into a thoughtful expression. “Never had slugs before. I like eel, though and I’m assuming it’s similar? I’d be willing to give it a try.”
Okay. Mental note: shark shifters like eel, and aren’t adverse to trying unusual foods. “I’ll put a few aside for you to try,” I told him as I pulled my cart through the doorway.
Piffle was putting red pointed birthday hats on tables, her blonde braids nearly brushing the ground as she walked. The tables were set near a seven-foot pile of fake granite rocks, the dinosaur waterfall spewing neon blue water in the background.
Gnomes were famous for their gardening abilities. Flowers. Vegetables. They were especially good at growing root vegetables. I could get all sorts of heirloom varieties of veggies with flavor profiles absent in a world of supermarket foods. When I’d been told the birthday party was going to be here, I’d been surprised. Artificial turf, concrete rocks and animals, and plastic flora surrounded us. I guess the appeal was the game itself. Gnomes loved to play, and they had been able to talk about nothing but this party for over a month now. None of them had ever played putt-putt before, making this party just as much about the new game as it was Gronk’s birthday celebration.
“Here?” I asked Piffle as I pulled a set of chafing dishes from the cart.
“The buffet goes on this table,” she replied, braids bouncing as she trotted over to a long, low table.
I bent to put the chafing dishes down. The tallest gnomes were barely above my knee, although the tall pointed hats many of them liked to wear put them closer to my hip. Just as the food was tailored to their tastes, these tables were set for their height. Which meant I was probably going to need a chiropractor when I was done with this party. Or a massage.
My imagination was suddenly filled with visions of Xavier and naked massage. Both of us naked. And that massage leading to a couple of very happy endings. I shook off the thoughts and got down to work. I had a party to cater, and there was no way I was going to let naughty fantasies about a sexy demon interfere with my work.
The gnomes began arriving just as I’d set out theschallea. They socialized, then sang an off-key version of the birthday song, before drinking a glass ofschalleain Gronk’s honor. The birthday boy gave a short speech thanking everyone for attending, then instructed them all to get a golf club, a ball, and start playing.
Gnomes playing putt-putt had to be one of the most amusing things I’d seen this year. They took the game very seriously, behaving as if they were on the PGA tourney as they set up at each hole. A bogey resulted in cries of frustration and shaking the golf club at the sky. A hole in one seemed to require universal celebration, including a few moments of dancing. I’d never seen so many gnomes bounding around and “flossing” before today. Thankfully gnomes weren’t competitive, and they celebrated every time one of them shouted “one!” and moaned when someone had a poor shot.
As they finished up, they all came through the buffet line, eating bread and turnips as their first course. A few indulged in a second glass ofschallea, and I sincerely hoped those gnomes werenotdriving back to Accident after the party.
Everyone made “ooo” noises as I put out the slugs. This had been the most complicated food of this party. They’d been sliced and marinated for twenty-four hours, then baked in the oven. I’d wrapped each slice of slug in pie crust, baking it again to make little slug pies. Just before serving, I poured the warm sauce over each pie. EvenIthought they looked and smelled delicious, if only I didn’t know what was inside the pastry shells.
The gnomes swarmed the buffet table and soon there was nothing but empty trays and happy gnomes, all patting their protruding bellies and stroking their beards. I began to prep the sour cherry pies while Scooter and Depper stood up to give speeches about Gronk’s illustrious life, including some ribbing about a few of the old gnome’s gardening faux pas over the centuries. As I put the pies on the table, I saw Scooter clutch his stomach and run off the stage. A few seconds later, Depper followed him. A trickle of fear raced down my back and I hoped that both gnomes suddenly had to pee.
They didn’t. I’d barely begun to cut the pies and gnomes were running from the tables as if someone had screamed fire, but instead of screaming all I heard was retching.
Piffle staggered back in. Her face had a greenish cast and she gagged a little as she caught sight of the pies. I moved to block her view and asked her what was going on, not sure if I needed to break out some of my healing magic, or place an emergency call to Cassie or what.
“Slugs,” she gasped, clasping a hand over her mouth. “Something…in…slugs.”
“What can I do?” I asked Piffle. “I’ve got some healing potions in the van that I can bring in. Or Tums? Seltzer water?”
The gnome retched a little at the mention of my potions. Although my smoothies were in high demand for serious injury, many decided they’d rather endure the discomfort of aches, pains, and head colds rather than deal with the foul taste. I wasn’t sure if my magic would make any of the gnomes feel less queasy, but it certainly would help keep the vomiting at bay.
The vomiting. Poor Antwan. He’d need to clean upchuck off the artificial turf, the concrete sculptures, and especially the waterfall by the eighteenth hole.
“No. We’ll be fine in an hour or so, once we get it all out of our system,” Piffle told me with a wave of her hand. “It’ll…It’ll be okay.”
No, it wouldn’t. This had never happened to me before. I’d prepared all sorts of unusual foods for the supernatural beings of Accident, and never made any of them sick. I’d never even missed the mark—not once. My food was always delicious. Perfect. What had happened to make these slugs so horrible? I’d taken such care with the recipe, with the ingredients, with the preparation. This shouldn’t have happened.
But it did, and clearly it was my fault.
I’d ruined Gronk’s birthday party. Now probably wasn’t the time to offer reparations, plus I needed time to think of what might be a suitable “I’m so sorry” for what seemed to have been massive food poisoning in the gnome community, but there was one thing Icoulddo.
“I’m so terribly sorry.” The words sounded less than adequate. “I’ll figure out what happened and ensure this sort of thing never occurs again. Of course, I don’t expect payment at all for the catering, and I’ll be refunding your deposit. I’ll get in touch with you in a few days and we can talk about what I can do to make this up to you.”
Piffle clapped a hand over her mouth, nodding before she dashed off again. Knowing there was nothing I could do, I packed up, taking the sour cherry pies with me. I was pretty sure none of the gnomes would risk eating them after what had happened, and I couldn’t stand for them to go to waste.
As I wheeled my cart toward the door, I saw Anwan standing in the parking lot, staring into the distance as if his glare alone could hold back any human that might dared to even venture down this road.
“You save any of those slugs for me?” he asked.
Tears blurred my vision. “Oh, Antwan, you don’t want to eat those. Something’s wrong with them. All the gnomes are sick. They’re getting sick all over your putt-putt course.”
