Free Bite-Sized Magic by Kathryn Littlewood Page A

and looked out over the starlit darkness of the test kitchen. Sitting on a stool at one of the prep tables was Marge, her face and hands smeared brown with melted chocolate.
    â€œNo more!” Marge wailed. “What will I do? I’ve eaten them all. There are no more!”

CHAPTER 5
In an Apricot Jam
    â€œM arge?” said Rose, tiptoeing down the steel spiral staircase and into the test kitchen. “Are you okay?”
    â€œMoony Pyes!” wailed the Head Baker. “I need more Moony Pyes!”
    â€œWhy don’t you put on a light so I don’t trip,” Rose said, “and then we’ll talk about Moony Pyes.”
    Sniffling, Marge rolled off her stool and waddled over to the wall, where she switched on a single overhead lamp. It left most of the kitchen dark except for the area around the prep table. Marge’s fingers were coated in chocolate and cookie crumbs, and soon everything she touched—the light switch, her mouth, her apron, her hair, and underneath her eyes—was coated as well.
    Rose sat at the table and patted Marge on her round shoulder. “Now, Marge, what happened to the dozen Moony Pyes that we made before everyone went to bed?”
    â€œAbsolutely gone,” Marge answered with a smack of her lips. “One hundred percent in my stomach right now. Ate them. All twelve. Took about three minutes.” Marge drummed her sticky fingers on the table. “I tried to make more, but I couldn’t get the Moon’s Cheese to melt like you did! You truly are a rare genius, and I will serve you forever if you’ll just make me a few dozen more Moony Pyes.”
    Rose eyed the Moon’s Cheese in its jar. What was left had solidified into a dense stony layer. Rose didn’t know if she could get it to melt again.
    â€œI feared this would happen,” said Marge. She stared at Rose, her eyes enormous, teary disks.
    Rose furrowed her brow. “Feared what would happen?”
    â€œThat Mr. Butter would find a way to make Mostess treats so perfect that they’d . . . enslave people who ate them! They always had a secret ingredient in them that made you want to eat more,” said Marge, patting her belly, “but now . . . wow . Who will be able to eat anything else? One bite and you’re hooked. America really is in trouble.”
    â€œHold on,” said Rose, placing a hand on Marge’s broad damp wrist. “Mr. Butter is trying to create baked goods that you actually can’t stop eating?”
    â€œThe only thing that will stop the hunger . . . ,” Marge began, glancing around.
    â€œIs another Moony Pye,” Rose finished.
    â€œYes! But I’ve said too much!” Marge leaned forward and said, “We’re not allowed to talk about it.”
    â€œWhat if I told you I’d make more Moony Pyes?” said Rose. “ Then would you tell me?”
    Marge nodded and immediately launched into a gossipy whisper. “Once the recipes are perfected, the new Moony Pyes will go into factory-wide production and be shipped everywhere. There will be so many Moony Pyes! Just imagine!” She gazed blankly at the empty cupboard.
    Rose snapped her fingers. “Stay with me, Marge.”
    With a gulp, Marge continued. “And people will eat and eat and eat them, and then all of the country will be ensnared. They’ll have to keep buying Mostess treats—starting with the Moony Pye that you perfected into the most divine form of enslavement ever imagined!”
    â€œWait!” said Rose. “That’s not what I did! I just fixed the proportions in some marshmallow cream!”
    â€œYes,” said Marge. “A marshmallow cream of mass destruction !” She let out a tiny burp. “Yum!” Marge’s gaze returned to the almost-empty jar of Moon’s Cheese. “Don’t you think you ought to preheat the oven, if you’re going to make