Free The Magic Cake Shop by Meika Hashimoto Page A

will move it somewhere where it won’t be so shiny. Like the
garbage disposal
.”
    “Obviously you have no sense of style, Simon,” Maximus hissed. “This cane is made out of the finest rare metals brought up from the bowels of the earth. I polish it with a combination of crocodile wax and the tears of small orphans. Most people would sell their grandmothers for a cane this lustrous.”
    Uncle Simon finished his liver and chocolate with agulp. “Lustrous or not, it’s bugging the nose hairs out of me.”
    “Which wouldn’t be a bad thing,” Maximus sneered.
    Uncle Simon stood up. “Maximus, you are becoming a most unwanted houseguest. I do hope your little scheme doesn’t take much time,” he snarled, “because if it does, the only thing shiny you’ll have is a shiner of a dented eye.” He shuffled toward the door. “I’m going to check my rabbit traps. When I get back, you had better be done polishing your cane.”
    Emma glanced back at Albie. He was still crouched next to the shoes, delicately arranging the prickles in them. “Uncle Simon’s coming!” Emma whispered urgently.
    “Give me one more minute!” Albie whispered back. “I’m almost done!”
    Emma burst into the house and ran down the hallway. She flung open the living room door just as Uncle Simon was about to open it. He burped in surprise as she bustled in and slammed the door shut.
    “Made the elixir yet, brat?” Uncle Simon barked. A small piece of chocolaty meat flew from his mouth and landed on Emma’s shoe.
    Emma kicked it off with a jerk. “Not yet. I needed to get the dessert box for Mr. Crackle.”
    “Going to make a magical elixir with an oversized box? You must be dimmer than I thought.” Uncle Simon guffawed.
    Behind them, Maximus gave a cry of rage. Thespit-and-chocolate-covered meat Emma had flicked had landed on the tip-top of his cane. “Simon! Something foul has just landed on my cane and ruined my afternoon’s worth of polishing! Ugh! It smells like your lunch!”
    Uncle Simon arched an eyebrow. He walked over to Maximus, plucked the chewed-up bit, and popped it into his mouth. “Waste not, want not!” he purred.
    Maximus’s eyes burned. He lifted his cane and twisted the top gently into Uncle Simon’s enormous gut. “One day, Simon,” he said slowly, “I may cure you of your love of food.”
    “Sticky buns and rat rubbish!” snorted Uncle Simon. “Impossible!”
    Maximus twisted a little more. “Once we’ve made our fortune, I suggest you watch what you eat. You never know when a little poison might slip into your meat.”
    Emma decided it was a good time to make her exit. “Bye, Uncle Simon! See you tomorrow!” She left Uncle Simon and Maximus glaring at each other and darted out of the room. Albie was standing on the front porch with the shoe box. He winked. “All set!”
    Emma clasped her hands and shook them high in the air. Then she grabbed the dessert box and slung it onto her back. The two of them hurried back to Mr. Crackle’s, whistling cheerfully all the way.

W hen Emma and Albie returned to the cake shop, they found Mr. Crackle upstairs, busily clicking away at his rickety typewriter. He tapped a final letter, pulled the paper from the roller, and pocketed it. “All set! Let’s go downstairs and find ourselves a spice shop!”
    Mr. Crackle led the way down to the enormous flour barrel. He lifted off the lid and beckoned. “Take a look,” he said.
    Emma and Albie peered down. Tiny flickering lamps glowed against a sturdy metal ladder that led down a deep tunnel. The tunnel stretched farther than they could see.
    Emma heard a soft click. She turned to see Mr. Crackle with his finger on a little switch attached to the kitchen wall. A whoosh of air came sliding up the barrel.
    Mr. Crackle slung the dessert box onto his back. He adjusted the straps, then gave a quick wiggle so the box settled comfortably on his shoulders.
    “Okay, you two,” he said. “Down we go! Don’t worryabout