Wicked Business by Janet Evanovich

into the kitchen, brandishing his sword.
    “Vile wenches,” he said. “Out of my way whilst I search this keep.”
    “What’s a keep?” Glo asked him.
    “You’ve blacked your windows,” Hatchet said to me. “You’re hiding something, and I want it.”
    “Dude,” Glo said. “You need to chill. Have a meat pie.”
    “I will not be dissuaded by your meat pie,” Hatchet said. “I want the clue.”
    “Here’s the thing,” Glo said. “You’re kind of cute. Like, you’ve got this medieval thing going for you, and it’s sort of a turn-on. I mean, I met this other guy today, and he might be the one, but then again it might be you, if you could just get over the bossy part of your personality.”
    Hatchet lowered his sword. “Thou thinkst I’m bossy?”
    “Maybe you’re just hungry,” Glo said. “Does Wulf feed you? Take a meat pie while I get my book. I was thinking about you last night, and I found a spell that might help.”
    Glo pulled Ripple’s Book of Spells out of her canvas messenger bag, set it on the counter, and paged through it.
    Hatchet looked at the meat pies. “Dost thou have a ham and cheese?”
    I gave him a paper towel and a ham meat pie. “You want a beer?”
    “Aye. A tankard of ale would be fine.”
    “How about a bottle?”
    “Whatever,” Hatchet said.
    “Here it is. I found it,” Glo said. “It’s a mid-level charm that improves self-esteem. You won’t feel subservient to Wulf after I put this charm on you.”
    “But it is my destiny to be subservient,” Hatchet said.
    “Piggle wiggle little weewee,” Glo read.
    “I doest not have a little weewee,” Hatchet said. “That is an untruth. An affront to my weewee.”
    Glo followed along with her finger. “Think large when anger calls, when thoughts are small, when doubt assails, let thy body bloat, release all foul within.” Glo reached into her messenger bag and took out a little plastic bag that held a small amount of black powder. She sprinkled the powder onto Hatchet and clapped her hands twice. “Powdered frickberry to seal the deal,” she said.
    Hatchet sneezed and farted. “Sorry,” he said. “I got frickberry up my nose.” And he farted again.
    “Are you sure you read that right?” I asked Glo. “It sounded more like a charm for intestinal problems than for self-esteem problems.”
    “I even followed with my finger,” Glo said.
    I looked at the charm she’d just read. “I think you might have inadvertently changed a word. You said bloat and you should have said float .”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Pretty sure.”
    Pbblt . Hatchet farted.
    “Maybe you should undo the charm,” I said to Glo. “Just say it the right way.”
    “It’s not that easy. I’ll have to find the bloat charm and then find the antidote. And that was the last of my frickberry powder. The charm won’t stick without frickberry.”
    Hatchet finished his ham meat pie. “I thank thee for the savory pie,” he said. Bbrrrp .
    “Jeez Louise,” Glo said. “You’re going to have to take it outside. My eyes are burning.”
    “Yeah, and I haven’t got any clues,” I told him. “I’m fresh out.”
    “I think thou doth fib,” Hatchet said, “but I will take my leave for now, as this evil wench hath cursed me with foul flatulence.”
    Hatchet swooshed out the door with sword in hand, I locked the door after him, and Glo lit a match.
    “He was cuter before he started farting,” she said.
    I ate a meat pie and popped a mini strawberry cupcake into my mouth. “I suppose we need to send Diesel into the crypt to check out the ninth bell.”
    “Maybe the Luxuria Stone is there, too. That would be so cool, because we wouldn’t have to worry about hell anymore. We could have a kegger to celebrate.”
    I helped myself to a second cupcake, and Carl scampered into the kitchen, followed by Diesel.
    “What’s up, little dude?” Glo said to Carl.
    “Eeh,” Carl said, and he gave her the finger.
    Diesel went straight to the