Page 1 of Minnie: Double, Double, Toil and Trouble

Chapter 1

Minnie

I peek out of the bakery to make sure the coast is clear. It’s bright and early, so Main Street is predictably empty, and we’re good to go.

I kneel down so I’m at eye level with Nathaniel and press my fingers to my lips. “We need to be very, very quiet. Okay, Natty?”

The little boy—who only just learned to hop on one foot—is too busy grinning as he practices his newfound skill to pay me any attention. The bottoms of his blue sneakers light up with each hop and the rainbow of colors reflects across the dirty bakery floor.

Panic settles heavily in my gut at the thought of getting caught in here. Which is a stark reminder that I still need to take this morning’s dose of Formula M.

I reach into my neon pink Birkin in search of the familiar vial and slide my hand past the fluffy mouse snuggled inside. His whiskers twitch. “I hate when you take that stuff.”

“I know,” I tell Agent Tiptoe, Mouse Extraordinaire. My nose gives an involuntary twitch as well, and I have to fight the urge to get on all fours. Which is a recipe for disaster in a short bodycon dress on the dirty floor.

Thankfully, I still have enough Formula M in my system from yesterday morning to keep my body still.

Natty pauses his hopping and looks up at me. “You know what?”

Now he’s paying attention?

“Not now.”

He pouts, the epitome of three-year-old frustration. “You know what, Minnie?”

“It’s not important, Natty.” I ruffle his hair. “Now, time to go. Remember to be quiet, okay?”

Natty nods, looking all serious and grown up and adorable.

I take out the fuchsia Formula M vial, and am about to pop open the diamond-shaped lid when another voice—deeper and much louder than Tiptoe’s—echoes in my head.

“You don’t need that stuff!” our pet fuzzy, Snow, snaps. Her name’s actually Snowball, but Natty’s been calling her Snow since he learned to talk, and it’s stuck.

I glance toward the top of the stairs, where the round white fluffball is perched.

Snow is a rescue that my sometimes-friend—and mostly-pain-in-the-butt—Zoe Wynter freed from a crazed vampire scientist a few years back. She looks like a giant white pom pom—Snow, not Zoe, who’s human, a brunette, and distinctly not round—and you can’t even tell she’s alive—again Snow, not Zoe, who’s super animated and full of energy—unless you can spot her eyes through all the fur or she shows you her teeth—which are terrifyingly sharp and currently bared at me.

I show Snow my own pearly-whites—an absolute must when speaking to a fuzzy—and fight the urge to plop down on the dusty bakery floor. I can’t help rocking back and forth in my pink heels while I speak, “Not you, too. I need Formula M to function. You know that!”

Translation: I need to take it so people don’t think I’m a total freak. Which, in a town like Silver Springs, really says a lot.

“Formula M,” Natty repeats. “What is that?”

I resist the urge to groan, or facepalm, or both. “Nothing important, Natty.”

Snow lets out a ferocious growl in response.

Natty turns toward the sound with a happy squeal. “Snow!” He claps his hands and starts waving. “Come, Snow. Come here, Snow! Play with me, Snow.”

He gets progressively louder with each request, and I grab his shoulders, my heart pounding in my chest. “Natty. Be quiet!” I hiss. “Someone could hear us!”

Natty rolls his eyes, like I often do, and examines his tiny fingers in a show of boredom. “Whatever.”

He sounds like a teenage girl with an attitude, which is entirely my fault—but also kind of adorable and makes me love him even more.

I lean down and give him a tight hug.

Natty giggles and waves at Snow again. But at least he’s no longer shouting… not that that particular fact does much to lessen my panic at the thought of being discovered. Which is a stark reminder that I need to take Formula M. Stat.