Dark Love

Part 51

"A birthday ball fit for a prince," read out Massey, shaking out the daily Witchery Newspaper."

"Pass me the salt, mum," muttered Saera, not in the mood to hear more. Not taking her eyes off the page Massey passed on the salt.

Setting aside the pepper, Saera sprinkled on a dash of salt. To the untrained eye, she could have been merely seasoning her steak but with added oregano and parmagiana, she was pretty much giving the damn thing the flavours the cook should have invested in. What the hell was he doing in the kitchen if he couldn't even deliver a reasonably tasty steak. "I'm choosing the restraunt next time."

"Oh, no one comes here for the food, honey. It's the news slipping off the hot grapevines that's the draw." With a wink, Massey turned her attention seemingly back at the newspaper in her hand, but her real attention was latched onto the table next to theirs.

"Another escapee, really Mildred, I don't know what the council is coming to," said the elderly and stately looking witch with a voice that was too loud. "They can't go letting demons escape willy nilly. What I want to know is what were they doing capturing the thing in the first place? It should have been killed right off."

"Forget the blasted demon for a second Eloise, the princes are both eligible. My Beth is turning twenty next year, she'd be perfect for either of them," hushed Mildred, oblivious to the storm brewing in her friends eyes at her words or that brewing in Saera's heart.

"A darkling? Really, Mildred! You'd encourage Beth to bethrothe a darkling prince?" Eloise stared at her friend with some dismay.

"Well it's not as if we'd stand a chance with Prince Darr, not with all the upper whitchling houses circling the prince like vultures to it's prey. I'm thinking one prince is better than no prince, and there is something to be said about the tall, dark and handsome. That Darkling prince sure is something to look at."

"Mildred!" Eloise stared at her friend aghast.

Saera, herself, just cringed. Knowing she found someone a sixty year old found attractive, said a lot about her tastes when it came to men. Perhaps Prince Darr really was the better choice. She frowned in concentration as she went over each Prince's physical attributes. The steak tasted like uncooked mush in her mouth but Saera was nothing if not a professional, she merely swallowed back the vomit that rose and speared another bite to chew into.

The Shores spent a little more time doodling over their lunch before they called it a day. Having gathered as much Intel from the lonely ladies gathered there for a late lunch, they made haste to get back to the mansion and on to more brewing.

A larger than normal cauldron was hauled out to that end. Then after another couple of hours of prep work the witch flames were lit beneath it. Soon an unpleasantly brown broth was bubbling along and with Massey calling out the ingredients, Saera stirred the ladle trying not to frown at the muddy poo-like mix as she muttered the necessary incantations to mass produced an insta diet shake. Weight lost for a month in a week, was not a bad deal. If one could first stomach the concoction. For some the results were even said to be permanent. That being from having to down the stuff in the first place, it would put anyone off food for good.

Hours later, and with shaky limbs from over exertion, Saera pushed off once again for the black market to sell her wares. They had done some good magic that day, and if Nick the Dick Stavros, stayed true to his previous inclinations, they might even make a tidy sum out of it. She wouldn't even mind kissing the Dick, if it came to that. Not kiss his dick just kiss Nick. Gah! That was mind numbing at best.

Clad in her stealthy dark clothing and longing for black leathers to spike up the heat levels to her look, Saera strutted off on the long track to confront her arch adversary, Nick the Dick Stick Stavros. The wide beaming grin that settled on her face for the trip looked completely out of place with the rest of her make up but Saera remained lost in thought and oblivious to that fact.