Emilia lifted the pillow. Another tiny tooth. Sigh. Her publicist had focused too much on the children’s market. She needed adult teeth. Even the occasional denture.
She lugged home the night’s haul and sorted. Canines, molars, incisors. One wisdom tooth. Those are rare.
“Margot, I’ve got it.”
“Finally! I’ll be right over.”
Emilia ground it to powder and stirred it into the simmering cauldron. The liquid turned pearly white.
She tidied her hair—the wind had been merciless—and waited.
Margot burst through the door.
“Now he’ll love me,” Margot mumbled, and quaffed the brew.
The potions business was booming.