Mena looked around nervously, hoping nobody heard what Lol said. Seeing that they were far from the crowds of people, she quickly shot a panicked glance back at him. “How did you know? I don’t even have a pointy hat.”

Lol Pops chuckled at her, causing her eyes to grow even wider. “There’s more to magic users than a simple hat, young girl. I possess third eye vision, allowing me to see the magical part of someone’s brain.”

“Magic comes from your brain?” Mena said, her mouth pursing into a small circle.

“Of course,” Lol Pops said. “But what do I look like, an anatomy teacher? I’m here to offer you the services of the Lollypop Labor Union.”

“But what is the…” Mena started, before Lol Pops went into a rehearsed spiel.

“During these times of persecution, the Lollypop Labor Union seeks out safe employment for sorcerers and sorceresses in the mortal realm. We investigate each job and employer and the level of threat they pose to our magic users, allowing them to know the full repercussions before they choose a job. When partnered with the Lollypop Labor Union, we can guarantee that our young magic users will have safer, more fulfilling careers during these unprecedented times.”

Mena’s eyes widened and her mouth spread open in a braced teeth grin as Lol Pops spoke. Perhaps she could work and earn enough jems to attend the Dream Castle, wherever it was. Maybe there would be a place for her to sleep too.

“Normally,” Lol said, breaking from his script. “There is an entry fee into the Lollypop Labor Union, but it seems that an unknown benefactor has already paid the fee for Phenomena Willow.”

“Wow,” Mena exclaimed. “I wonder if it was…” her voice whispered quietly, “my auntie…”

Lol reached in his suit and handed her a piece of parchment and a quill. “I want you to look at these personally scouted jobs and check off the one you’d like to work at. Then simply sign your name at the bottom.”

Mena excitedly snatched the paper and the quill. Her eyes focused on the very first job.

“Kindly spinster, Deidre Love, seeks help around her bakery. Searching for someone with the ability to cook and deliver baked goods.”

“A baking job?” Mena said to herself. “That might be fun. I loved cooking with auntie.”

“Though you can’t eat half the dough at this job,” Straw-Woman said snidely, causing Mena to clear her throat and continue reading.

“Location: Bakery and Ranch of Love, western outskirts of Growden Field

Employer’s Age: 40

Employer’s Personality: Agreeable

Employer’s Magic Awareness: Lax

Room and Board Offered: Yes

Employer gets along best with girls who are enthusiastic and sweet.”

Mena’s eyes grazed over the last part, and a big smile came across her face. “Wow, that totally sounds like me,” she said, pointing a finger to her shoulder and smiling with her eyes closed. “I’m very enthusiastic and sweet.”

“Depends on the situation,” Straw-Woman muttered, causing Mena to cough loudly.

“Hmm,” Mena mumbled, “and I do recall passing a farm when we came from the forest, that’s a pretty easy place to find.”

Without looking at any other job, Mena quickly checked the box and handed it back to Lol Pops, whose eyes narrowed skeptically. “Found one already eh? That was fast.”

“Well,” Mena said, grinning. “Sometimes you’re so perfect for a job that the job picks you.”

“The employer will decide that,” Lol Pops said, not being any more supportive than Straw-Woman. “But I’m glad you found a job that best suits you. Now remember, a third of your earnings will be collected by us so you’ll be seeing me again soon.”

“Thanks!” Mena said, before a passing thought crossed her mind. “By the way, you wouldn’t know the location of a Dream Castle, would you?”

Lol Pops looked up at her. “Even if I did, I couldn’t tell you,” he said cryptically. “He’s got too many enemies nowadays. But worry not, for good things come to magic folks who need it…”—another glint appeared in the man’s eye and he tipped his hat to her—"especially ones like you!”

Without a further word, Lol ushered Mena off into the working world.

Mena strolled through the outskirts of Growden. Up on a nearby hill, blurred a bit by the summer heat haze, was a white bakery and a grey farmhouse. The buildings overlooked fields of poppies and golden wheat, ready to be harvested into fresh bread. Scarecrows stood frozen in place; arms raised to scare off hungry birds. The bakery sign featured a freshly iced pastry in the shape of a heart. The sign read in fancy cursive lettering, “Bakery of Love.”

Mena hummed to herself, breathing in the country air and not feeling a care in the world. When she reached the gate at the bottom of the hill, she took Straw-Woman off her back. “You might have to stand in the field with your friends,” Mena said.

“Are you kidding me?” Straw-Woman exclaimed. “I was enjoying my new-found freedom from your auntie’s vegetable patch.”

“It’ll only be for a while,” Mena said, patting her friend on the shoulder. “I’ll be back out after I get the job.”

“Oh well,” Straw-Woman snickered to herself, heading out into the field. “At least I can enlighten those straw-heads about the tyranny of humans and launch a straw revolution!”

“You do that,” Mena said as her friend burst into manic laughter.

The young witch could care less for her friend’s quest for straw-domination, she was much too focused on her new job and how quickly she would charm the pants off the owner. She hopped playfully along the stone pathway and knocked heartily on the door. When the door opened her face was greeted not by a kind and rosy cheeked woman, but the barrel of a musket pointing right at her nose.

“What do ye want?!” A familiar ornery voice demanded.

Mena quickly raised her hand holding the job application. “Don’t shoot please! I’ve come to apply for a position at the Bakery of Love.”

The same farmer from before ripped the application out of her hand, his small, unintellectual eyes scanned it as his bad teeth bit his lip. Without further provocation, he tore it up, causing Mena’s eyes to water from his coldness.

“Go away, Deidre’s got all the help she needs and…”

Mena’s heart sank and she was about to leave, when suddenly, a much sweeter, higher-pitched voice accosted the farmer like acidic citrus in lemonade tea. “Now Cletus, who are you reading the riot act to?”

The farmer, whose name seemed to be Cletus, begrudgingly stepped aside as a tall and well-dressed woman stood in the doorway. Mena was still tearing, but her eyes widened in shock. The woman was as pretty as the farmer was ugly. She possessed long red hair, rosy made-up cheeks, eyes traced perfectly with eyeliner, eyelashes full of mascara, bright red lips and thick, golden tear drop shaped earrings that hung to her shoulders. She wore a yellow-green sundress and sunhat as bright as a freshly ripe banana. When she saw Mena with tears in her eyes, (something Mena tried to emphasize by blinking more and making the teardrops run) she chided the farmer loudly in her country voice. “Why Cletus, she’s nuthin’ but a teeny kitterpillar. Why the devil are you yelling at her fer?”

Her face turned sweet and kind, and with a tilt of her head, she asked, “Why you here, honey bun?”

“I…”—Mena sniffed loudly, hamming it up in hopes of the farmer getting in trouble. “I wanted to apply for a job here…but that mean hillbilly ripped up my application!”

Mena’s wavery voice and loud sniffs did the job, because the woman’s eyes glistened with sympathy and then heated up in anger.

“Yer right,” she responded in an irate voice. “He is a mean ol’ hillbilly.”

The woman leaned closely to Mena and she could feel the warmth of her made up face. “Don’t mind him,” she whispered. “He’s jus a few knots short of a braid. He came here to help me harvest the wheat, milk the cows, churn the butter and…”

Cletus quickly interrupted her. “Protect you from the witches, sis. You wouldn’t know if a cursed hag was in front of you. Much like George…”

For once, the woman looked visibly hurt. “Well there ain’t been any witches since then…” but her voice perked up and turned kindly again. “Well don’t jus stand there, honey bun. Come inside!”

Mena’s head was a menagerie of mixed thoughts and emotions, ranging from confused to startled, but she stepped inside anyway.

Once she entered and set off the bells jingling on the front door, Mena admired the refurbished and well-kept old house. The antique wooden floors and walls were smooth and polished and there was a large plate glass cabinet built into the marble counter that divided the kitchen from the customer space. Inside, were croissants, baguettes, cinnamon buns and rolls dotted with poppy seeds. Mena’s stomached gurgled over the food. She hadn’t eaten anything since last night and it sounded like her gut was about to go on strike. The woman quickly clopped behind the counter in her heels, fetching a fresh roll. She handed it to Mena. “I just made it today! Sprinkled with fresh seeds from our poppy field.”

Mena was about to dig in when the woman pulled her painted face close to Mena’s again. “Jus between you and me, some people in town think these seeds make you go a lil bit hazy”—she goofily spun her finger around her ear and made a face—"But I eat em all the time and I’m righter than rain.”

She let out a high-pitched giggle that sound like a cross between a whinnying horse and a young girl. Mena didn’t know why but she liked this woman already. “Anyway, where are my manners?

The woman’s stuck out a white gloved hand. “The name’s Deidre, Deidre Love, Entrepreneur of Bread and Baked Goods. And yer name is…”

“Mena Willow!” Mena said proudly, trying to sound as sweet and enthusiastic as advertised.

“Well Mena,” Deidre giggled, holding her gloved hand to her face. “You’re cuter than the curly cue tail on a piggies’ rear.”

Deidre’s voice raised higher. “I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but can I hug you, dear?”

“Sure, I’m fine with that,” Mena said with a warm, wholesome smile on her face.

Cletus glared disapprovingly as his sister wrapped her arms around Mena. Mena used the opportunity to stick her tongue out at the scornful redneck.

“What are ye glaring at us for?” Deidre asked, releasing Mena and seeing her brother’s sour expression. “How bout you make yourself useful and get yer butt out in the fields while I instruct our newest family member how to add a lady’s touch to the kitchen.”

Cletus skulked away as Deidre drove the nail in further. “A much-needed touch I may add.”

Mena frowned as Cletus jingled the bells on the front door as he exited. She felt a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, honey bun, he’s jus jealous I got all the looks and class in our family.” Deidre did the whinny laugh again followed by a loud snort. Mena smiled, she was glad she wasn’t the only one who occasionally snorted when she giggled.

Deidre lifted the swinging panel that divided the kitchen from the customer space. “Right this way, honey bun and you’ll be cooking in the Kitchen of Love,”

Once they were both in the kitchen, Deidre asked Mena a basic question. “So dear, have you cooked before?”

“Of course,” Mena said with a confident smile. “I cook with my auntie—I mean, my aunt all the time!”

Deidre excitedly put her hands together. “Excellent. Soon, you’ll know this kitchen like the back of yer head. Well better than that. We can’t exactly see the back of our head!”

Another giggle snort followed, and soon, Deidre was opening drawers left and right, all while Mena grinned to herself. This would be a piece of fresh cake with magic. Suddenly, Mena was stuck dumb by her own ignorant thoughts. Like Lol Pops said, she couldn’t use magic here.

“And here’s the good book, the good cooking book that is,”—Deidre reached into the cabinet and pulled out a book larger than five of Mena’s romance novels and slammed it on the kitchen counter. “Paul Deano’s Book of 10,000,000 Recipes!

Mena felt like she was going to pass out. “Well, now that y’all know the kitchen better than Cletus. I’ll let you get to work. An order jus came in from the Mugs and Mutton Tavern in town.”

“Wha-what about you?” Mena stammered. “What do you do?”

“Why I do the paperwork in this here office. I’ll get the order and you can get to work.”

Deidre merrily danced into the kitchen, closing the white wooden door behind her.

Mena’s eyes darted frantically in her head, locating everything. The heaping sacks of flour were on the floor below the display, the pots and pans were in the cabinets next to a brick oven built into the wall, and milk and butter were stored in a cooling cabinet behind her. She tried hard not to hyperventilate while she memorized everything.

“Here we are,” Deidre said, and she placed a hand-written receipt on the table. “Seven loaves of banana bread! You okay, Mena? Don’t forget to breath, hun. Here I’ll locate the recipe in this big ol book!”

Deidre turned to the recipe and then gave Mena a quick embrace before heading into the office and closing the door.

Mena dreaded looking at the recipe for fear it would turn her to stone like a gorgon’s gaze, but at last, she mustered up the courage and inched over.

“Half a bowl of flour…” she read and looked down. The only flour was on the floor in huge sacks. Groaning, she lugged a big bag out from below the marble counter and onto the kitchen floor.

“Ok Mena, here goes nothing,” she said and reached down and pulled as hard as she could to lift the large sack off the floor. She groaned and strained like she had a bad case of the runs, but the bag didn’t budge. Mena panted, her face bright red. “Maybe…a lil…quick magic,” she said and slipped her wand out of her pocket.

“Magic, magic lift this sack so I won’t have to break my back!”

The sack levitated up to the counter, but as it did the door opened and Deidre exclaimed loudly, “My lord, do my eyes deceive me or is that sack of flour floating in my kitchen!”