Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
I had no answers so I just kept moving. At the back of the store I saw a butcher’s counter. There were various signs advertising different cuts and kinds of meat. I studied them and frowned. Who would be buying an entire side of beef? Didn’t that mean half of a cow? Wouldn’t that be huge? Where would you store it all? And what were “Butterling Disks” or “Prodgen Snouts?”
Before I could really consider these questions, someone familiar walked up to the butcher’s counter. I bit my lip when I saw who it was—the Orc from yesterday! He was wearing jeans and another tight t-shirt that showed off his rippling muscles and his long black hair was pulled into a casual ponytail at the back and tied with a leather cord.
Luckily, he hadn’t seen me yet, so I backed quietly and carefully away, into one of the aisles.
The minute I was around the corner, I breathed a sigh of relief. I appreciated the apples and the apology note, but that didn’t mean I wanted to have another encounter with the big guy. I decided to lay low, hoping that he wouldn’t see me, and just try to finish my shopping.
Luckily, the aisle I had backed into seemed to cater more to humans. In short order I found most of the things on my list. I even found the kind of cat food Sebastian likes—he’s a picky eater.
My basket was getting pretty heavy by the time I realized I only needed one more thing—cinnamon.
I found the spice aisle and started scanning the rows. It was an unusually large section—maybe because there were some spices and herb blends that I had never seen before.
“Gripe Ease” read one label on a dark blue bottle. “Take in tea or milk to ease flatulence and wind.”
“Flitter Flutter,” read another label, this time on a broad silver canister that sounded like it was filled with sand when I shook it. “Sprinkle on wings for dramatically minimized wind resistance.”
“Lust A Lot Spice Elixir” a third label declared from a bright pink bottle. “Spice up your love life with this exotic blend!”
I had to check this out. Lifting it from the shelf, I read the list of ingredients which included lavender, sweet almond oil, citrus rind, Valerian root, and Passionflower blooms. I frowned as I read the list—some of the ingredients seemed familiar. Had I seen them in my Grandma’s Grimoire?
Under the list of ingredients were some notes in tiny script.
Warning—under no circumstances should more than two drops be used at a time. “Not for humans under eighteen, centaurs under fifteen, or fairies and pixies under one hundred and twenty years of age. Manufacturer not responsible for spontaneous breeding sessions, threesomes, foursomes, orgies, or resulting pregnancy. USE AT YOUR OWN RISK!
Wow—this must be potent stuff! I was still turning the bottle in my hand when a voice practically shouted in my ear,
“Well, well—and are ye looking to get some poor man a lustin’ after ye, girly?”
The strident voice made me jump and I nearly dropped the bright pink bottle of Lust A Lot Elixir. My heart pounding, I looked up and saw an elderly centaur leaning down to look at the bottle in my hand. He was bald on top with a snow-white beard that reached all the way from his chin to his waist—which was where the horse half of him started.
I stared up at him, frozen in horror and embarrassment. Words of negation rose in my throat…and promptly stuck there, as always.
The elderly centaur must have thought I hadn’t heard him because he bawled, even louder than before,
“I said, are ye looking to find some male to mount ye? For that will do the trick, so it will! Just mind you don’t use too much ‘o it!” And he stamped a hind hoof, as if for emphasis.
I shook my head frantically and started backing away. At the same time, I fumbled blindly, trying to put the bottle of Lust A Lot Elixir back on the shelf. But since my eyes were seemingly glued to the elderly centaur, my aim wasn’t very good. The bottle slipped from my hand and tumbled towards the floor…
Only to be caught in a large, green hand.
“Here—I think you dropped this,” a deep, rumbling voice said.
Yanking my eyes from the centaur, I saw the very person I was trying to avoid—the Orc from yesterday. Oh God, could this get any worse?
I shook my head again and somehow managed to get out a tiny,
“no,” that was little more than a whisper.
The Orc frowned.
“Sorry—so you don’t want it?”
“A course she wants it!” bellowed the centaur, nodding so that his long, bushy beard wagged up and down and stamping his hoof again. “She’s going to find a male to give it to, so he’ll mount her, so she is! Prolly she’s wanting to have a babe and needs a father for it!”