“Ah yes, of course.” The man nods, clears his throat, and then clears it a second time. “I’m your new employee.”
“But I haven’t hired anyone yet.”
“It’s all in the will,” he says, suddenly very serious. “Miss Dragonfly made sure of it.”
I narrow my eyes at him, wondering whether I should have studied Auntie’s will in more detail.What am I missing?“What’s in the will?”
“The employment clause, of course!”
Employment clause? The only person I need to employ is Leslie T. Barker, ten percent owner of my bakery. Leslie sent me an email last week, informing me she’d be arriving in Riddle Hill the day after tomorrow.
Unless… no way.
It’s not possible… is it?
But then I notice how this curious werewolf is gazingat me, his blond head tilted slightly to the side, like a very large dog waiting for his owner to catch on it’s dinner time.
“What a minute… you’re not… your name isn’t… you can’t be…” I’m stammering, unable to string together a coherent sentence. Idly I wonder whether I’m suffering from a magical hangover, which can happen after a faerie expends a large surge of spelled energy.
The werewolf breaks into a smile so dazzling I take one step back, sending another curl of dust into the air.
“I’m Leslie T. Barker. Although everyone calls me Teddy.”
Chapter 2
Appendix C
TEDDY
Friday, June 22
“But… but… your name isLeslie,” pouts the faerie, who’s so filthy I doubt I’ll be able to recognize her after she cleans up. Every square inch of the woman, from the top of her head to the bottom of her sneakers, is coated in a fine layer of gray construction dust. Small bits of paper and wallboard litter her hair and shoulders, and her grimy face looks almost macabre in the late-afternoon light, more ghoulish than girlish.
According to Miss Dragonfly, my late patroness, Sophie Spellman Brownlee is a gifted kitchen faerie with a special affinity for baking desserts. She might make fabulous cakes and cookies, but I’m doubtful she’s capable of running a shop, which doesn’t bode well for either of us. I don’t intend to work for nothing, and this woman fills me with… something I can’t quite identify. But it’s definitely not confidence in her business skills.
No, as soon as I stepped into the bakery and laid eyes on the frowsy faerie, an odd sort of fizzing sensation bubbled deep my gut, an uncomfortable spasm that felt like part warning pangs and part hunger pains. However I’m not hungry, and this grubby girl poses no threat to me… although, her obvious incompetence does imperil my meager bank account.
I’m beginning to worry; it seems Miss Dragonfly’s grand scheme to give me a fresh start might be in jeopardy of failing before liftoff. My ownership stake needs to be worth more than the parchment it’s printed on, which right now seems highly unlikely.
Clearing my throat, I provide my standard answer when people question my name and identity. Sometimes I wish Johnny Cash had written a song about a boy named Leslie instead of Sue. “My mom is from a werewolf clan in the Scottish Highlands, where Leslie is a popular name for both girls and boys.”
The woman stammers, “I see.” Then she emits a strangled gasp. I wait patiently as the full ramifications of our arrangement, courtesy of Miss Dragonfly’s will, finally dawn on her. “Um… ah… this isn’t going to work.”
“Why is that?” I growl, straightening my spine and glowering down at her.
To her credit, she doesn’t retreat. Instead, the faerie waggles her broom at me and says through gritted teeth, “Because you’re a boy, and I’m a girl. I have no intention of sharing my living quarters with the opposite sex, regardless of Auntie’s will!”
I fold my arms across my chest, not sure whether to feel consoled that I don’t have to work with thiswoman… or disappointed. My stomach fizzes again, probably in relief. “That’s perfectly fine with me. We can place a call to Miss Dragonfly’s attorney, informing him of your decision. I’ll give you three days to vacate the premises.”
“What?” she screeches, her voice so high pitched my inner wolf cringes in annoyance.
“Do you need more time to clear out? I suppose I could see my way to giving you five days, but that’s my final offer.” I have a feeling this frumpy faerie didn’t read Miss Dragonfly’s will as thoroughly as I did, and it looks like I’m right. Despite the grime covering her face, I can see her cheeks and neck reddening in anger.
“I’m not going anywhere!” she spits. “I’m ninety-percent owner… and you’re… you’re…”
“Ten-percent owner. Yes, that’s true, so long as you accept the terms of Miss Dragonfly’s will. But you just told me this isn’t going to work. I’m merely citing the forfeiture clause in Appendix C.”
“Forfeiture clause? Appendix C?” Her gray eyes are now blazing with fury. I steel myself against a potential magical outburst.
