Fergus leaned over the scarred wooden table. He spread his hands over each pigskin bag to test its remaining strength and chanted Latin incantations over each to increase the potency. He smirked at the memory of how he came to know these words. His high school Latin was proving more valuable than his narrow-minded teacher’s goal of spelling and declension. Without her catching on, he’d focused on learning those phrases and words needed for spell incantations. His teacher had been delighted to have such an eager Latin student.
The older gentleman’s bag seemed strong enough, but tokens from the more youthful Hamilton House staff were slipping from his grip. He mumbled more spell phrases even as he added additional ingredients. He dropped a rotting rabbit’s foot into the pudgy man’s bag, enveloping its contents with foul odor. A cook should react violently to decaying flesh. Fergus snickered as he remembered the mini whisk and handwritten recipe card. “I’m cooking up something special for you!”
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