“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m —“
“Oh, no introduction necessary.” Ladybug turned with a raised eyebrow, hearing that note of bitterness again in Holt’s voice. “There is no question whoyouare. The resemblance is almost uncanny.”
Trapp shrugged with another cheerful grin, with all of the easy confidence of someone who knew they’d won a genetic lottery, which he had. He seemed oblivious to any bad blood that may have existed between the feline man and his father, she noted with relief. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before. I’m the one who looks most like him, which is probably why I’ve always been my mom’s favorite.”
Ladybug laughed a little too loudly, in an effort to cover the slight awkwardness of Holt’s distasteful expression. “Trapp, this is Holt. He has a shop in Bridgeton and I never would have been able to do all this without him.”
Her words were meant to mollify, but they were the truth. There was no sense in denying it. She didn’t know what animosity existed between Holt and Jack Hemming, and she didn’t care. They were both important to her, for different, yet similar reasons.Whatever happened between them probably happened more than a decade ago. He needs to get over it.
“Holt, this is Trapp Hemming. So, you’re on the clock, I take it?“ she asked, deciding the truncated introduction was enough.
“Yeah, I’m on crowd control. And I’d better let you get back to it, knock ’em dead! I hope you have another sell out!”
She waved as he disappeared up the aisle a moment later, after hugging her again, only to find their goblin neighbors coming arm-in-arm back to their table.
“Here she is,” the one sighed upon her approach. “The spider witch, who sells out of everythingandgets hugs from the sexiest fireman in town.”
“Completely unfair.”
“Some people have all the luck.”
Ladybug grinned, pausing to admire the improved banner before moving behind the table once more. Holt had taken it back to Bridgeton the previous week, having an artist friend add a silvery, gossamer-like spider web, lit by the moonlight reflected off her family’s sigil. It was perfect.
“I wasn’t kidding, you know,” she said, once she was back beside the familiar. “I–I couldn’t have done any of this without you. Truly.”
Holt hummed, sufficiently appeased by her words, watching as she reached into the box she had hand carried in from the car, pulling out the last of the product. Three different ointments, all with varying amounts of Araneaen venom, designed to be used as an intimate lubricant.
Jack and Holt were both right. The old neighborhood had always been this way, and they likely always would. But the rest of the town . . . She had the power to change the narrative from their table, and it was not an opportunity she was going to pass up.The majority of Cambric Creek is going to turn up to the polls in favor of letting Anzan stay, because they’re all going to be hooked on his venom.
Holt sat up with interest when she pulled out the ointment. She couldn’t set up a retail display as quickly or as well as he could do himself, but she thought that perhaps she’d learned a few things. She set up the tubes in a small pyramid in the center of the table, using a clear acrylic block to elevate the offering in the center. He peered down, brows coming together before his smile split.
“Did-did you just pull out astrawberry-flavoredcoochie cream like it’s no big deal?”
She wasn’t going to let Holt intimidate her out of this. She was a Brackenbridge witch, and she would not forget all that she had been taught. She would use every bit of skill, every type of her craft, every spell in her arsenal, if it would preserve her family, and Anzan was her family now.It is intent that guides magic, Ladybug. Adding the flavoring had been an afterthought, but one she thought might be popular, particularly after she’d experienced what raw venom tasted like.
She shrugged, avoiding his eye. “Maybe I did.”
“Perfect. Just making sure.” He examined each of the tubes, re-ordering them, putting the strongest and most expensive on the elevated block. “You’re gonna be a millionaire.”
Ladybug smiled grimly, standing up a little straighter as the doors were pushed open. Trapp was there at the entrance, deep in conversation with a curly-haired satyr. She jutted her chin out defiantly as both men turned to look in her direction, the satyr nodding as he followed the line of Trapp’s outstretched finger, pointing out her table.It’s fine. The Hemmings and the Brackenbridges have always been friends. They’re on your side.She was a strong witch like her mother before her, like her aunt, her great aunt, the grandmother she had never known. She was the most unlikely witch for the job, but like the neighbors, that didn’t matter either.
She had a town to win over and a family to save, one bottle of coochie cream at a time.
The rain was sheeting down outside, and this was the first week of the Makers’ Mart that hadn’t had a rush of customers shortly after the doors opened.
“Give it time,” the goblins beside them had assured her that morning. “No one wants to go out in the rain, but they want to stay home even less. Once they get here, they’re a captive audience.”
Now there was a pair of mothwomen standing before the table, looking over her offerings. Holt was tucked out of sight, taking advantage of the slow traffic to do work on his phone. She straightened.You’re not going to have him as a crutch forever. You can do this.
“What does this one do?”
The bespectacled mothwoman was brandishing a tube of what Ladybug had mentally been calling thejust rightformula. The pair of them were the only shoppers currently on the aisle, other than an orc and kitsune walking hand-in-hand, who’d paused to look at the goblins’ pot scrubbers. The mothwoman blinked balefully from behind her spectacles, and Ladybug gulped, steeling herself.Deep breath. You can do this for him.
“It’s an Araneaen venom-enhanced lubricant,” she choked out, clearing her throat before continuing. “It . . . it’s an aid for both partnered and solo —“ Her mouth ran dry.It’s for fucking. What do you think lube is for? Please don’t make me say it!
“Is it the kind that tingles?” the second of the pair asked, and Ladybug nearly deflated in relief. “That’s the kind you like,” she reminded her partner, as the smaller woman pushed her glasses up the bridge of her velvety nose.
“It–it has the tingling effect, yes.”
