“Value added,” I muttered, even though I was pretty sure no business blog I’d read would classify a passel of naked baby rats as added value in most ventures.
But a dimple flickered in Horst’s cheek. “Sure, sure. Value added. As for the rest of it...look, I’m going to admit that some of those words made no sense to me. You need a lollipop?”
“Princess Palollipop.” When he said nothing, I added, “She’s a cartoon princess. I promised I could get the real Princess Palollipop to come to the party.”
I waited for him to tell me that had been a terrible decision, that you should never promise a princess who didn’t, you know, actually exist. But instead he simply placed one hand under my chin and tipped it up gently so he could meet my gaze. “You know where we find princesses?”
I really, really hoped the answer wasn’t some sort of sleazy line designed to get me into bed.
Okay—it wouldn’t have been the worst thing if it was.
But it wasn’t. “The Enchanted Forest,” he said.
“I didn’t think they had princesses there.”
He waved one hand. “Not usually, but they do throw parties, and sometimes their guests request princesses, and you know what that means? They know all the best local princesses.”
Well, that made sense. “I guess I could call Cass...”
Horst shook his head. “We’ll just head over there and pay her a visit. She’d love for you to see the place. You know...officially.”
I supposed that sneaking into the park after hours, “borrowing” the park’s giant goose vehicle, and seeing an enchanting light show courtesy of Horst, his kobolds, and some bioluminescent algae wasn’t quite the same as visiting the park legally.
“Sounds good. I’ll grab my purse.”
“Maybe we can see if they want to adopt a couple rats. Or maybe a dozen.”
Somehow I doubted they would.
Chapter Eleven
Horst bypassed the main parking lot for the Enchanted Forest, the one outside the gorgeous white castle, and instead turned into the driveway of a rambling house. At the end of the driveway, near a very familiar large shed, was Cass, the park’s current proprietor and no stranger to magic herself. She had Mother Goose, the park’s main mode of transportation, pulled out of the shed and was busy washing mud off the giant bird’s wheels. Another woman, this one with strawberry-blond hair and a vintage-looking white dress, stood nearby.
“Cass Lindstrom,” Horst said as he climbed out of his car. “Have you created a new age-defying moisturizer? You look younger every time I see you.”
“Pretty sure that’s just the peace that comes from not being married to the wrong man,” she said. “Who would have thought divorce could be the most important part of a skincare regimen?”
“A terrifying advertising slogan if I ever heard one,” Horst said. Then he gestured at me. “You remember Glory O’Bryan.”
“Of course. Glad to see you again.” Cass gave me a friendly wave, then indicated the other woman. “This is my sister, Toni.”
“Stepsister,” the other woman corrected. “We don’t actually share DNA, which is why I’m so much better looking.”
Cass sprayed her with the hose.
