The Blue Zinger

By Selina Lavery

“Ohmigod, there’s a tarantula in your grapes!” My chair legs screeched back from the table, and I dropped the grape I had just plucked from the fruit bowl.

“That’s just Ernie. Don’t worry; he won’t bite.” Granny glanced over from her spot at the stove where she’d been churning a bubbling concoction for what seemed like hours. She chuckled, setting her wooden spoon down on the countertop while I continued to give Ernie a wide berth. “So, Raven darling, what’s bothering you?”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” I said, not daring to look away from the eight black, beady eyes staring at me from among the green orbs.

Granny put a lid on the cauldron before wiping her hands on a cloth. “You’ve been moping since you got here. Problems at work?”

How did she always know these things? I sighed. “Rufus Butterwick is coming to the restaurant tonight.”

Granny looked at me blankly.

“He’s only the most feared food critic in the city,” I said, throwing up my hands.

“So, what are you worried about?”

“That he’ll destroy me in his column. He writes for The Elixir.”

Granny scoffed. “Don’t be silly, darling. You’re the most talented chef I know.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m the only chef you know.”

“That’s not true. I know Winnie.”

“Well, he destroyed Winnie last year. On All Hallows Eve of all days.”

Granny’s eyes narrowed. She stroked at the whiskers on her chin. “I know just the thing! Follow me.” With a clack of the beaded curtain, she scurried out into the garden.

I dashed after her.

“Don’t step on my toadstools,” Granny shouted, her cape billowing behind her.

I hopped from stepping stone to crooked stepping stone through long grass, my Chucks already coated in sticky willows.

Up ahead, the door to the greenhouse hissed as Granny cracked it open. Tendrils of steam escaped into the hot summer’s day.

I followed her in and squinted through the sweltering fog, but Granny had already disappeared amongst the thick bushes and curling vines. I peered around nervously. Was Ernie’s wife lurking in the rustling plants nearby? Sweat beaded on the nape of my neck, and fat drops of condensation dripped from the canopy above.

“Here it is.” Granny reappeared like an apparition, a pair of shears in one hand and a prickly blue fruit in the other.

“What is it?”

“It’s an Erscorn. But I like to call it a blue zinger.”

I raised a questioning eyebrow.

She flicked a jagged spike with a long, curled fingernail. “All you need is one of these bad boys to add a little zing.” Her eyes sparkled wickedly as she placed it in my hand.

“What does it do?” I held the fruit like a grenade. You could never be sure of Granny’s magic potions—they usually came with a cost.

“Never mind that, dearie. You don’t want to be torn to shreds in his little article, do you?”

Gulping, I shook my head.

“Then listen to your Granny. Snip one thorn into your dish and give it a good stir. I promise he will love it.”

The fruit glistened like a sapphire in my hand. I opened my mouth to ask more questions but she shooed me from the baking heat of the greenhouse and off to the restaurant.

The moment I’d been dreading finally arrived. Trixie slapped the ticket down in front of me.

“He’s here,” she said, chewing her gum like a bored cow.

I snatched up the paper, trying to decipher her loopy scrawl. “Seafood chowder followed by the stroganoff.” I knew he would order the chowder. He probably thinks he can catch me out with a rubbery piece of shrimp.

I smirked. Not on my watch, buster.

I snipped a thorn from the blue zinger, dropped it into the broth, and blew out a breath.  I sure hope Granny knows what she’s talking about.

I sautéed the shrimp to a tender perfection before spooning them over the broth.

I peeked through the swing door as Trixie sauntered toward a reedy man in a cobalt blue suit and matching bowtie. He squinted at the bowl through a monocle before scribbling on a notepad next to him. Holding my breath, I watched him raise the spoon to his mouth. His mustache bristled. He slurped fervently. His eyes narrowed, and he took another spoonful, then another.

Moments later, Trixie sauntered through the door again. “He wants another bowl.”

Squealing with excitement, I ladled out another helping. He liked it. He really liked it!

“What’s that?” Trixie frowned as I stirred in another thorn.

“Just a little zing.” I grinned. I would need to thank Grannie later for her genius ingredient.

Trixie took out the second bowl while I prepared the stroganoff, snipping a thorn into the pot as it bubbled.

When Trixie came back with his second bowl, it had been licked clean. I thrust the steaming bowl of stroganoff into her hands and sent her on her way.

She came back a short time later with an empty plate and an anxious look on her face. “Er, boss? I think you should see something.”

Pushing her aside, I scurried over to the door and gasped. With a shaky hand, I grabbed for my phone and dialed. Granny’s image popped up on the screen.

“He’s turning blue!” I snarled through gritted teeth.

“You must have given him too much, dear.”

“No, I only put one in…” My voice trailed off as my chest tightened with dread.

“One in what?”

“In each helping,” I whispered.

“Yep. Too much.”

“So, what should I do? He looks like a giant blueberry!”

Granny’s tiny image frowned and rubbed at her whiskers. “It’ll wear off.”

“When?”

She paled. “Er, listen Raven darling, my potion’s bubbling over. I’ve got to go.” Granny blinked out.

My eye began to twitch. Never, ever trust a witch.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Selina Lavery is an Irn Bru guzzling mum of two. She lives in a Scottish seaside town with her husband and kids. When she’s not out scouring the beach for sea-glass, she can usually be found with her nose in a book. She has always loved writing but is even better at procrastinating. Havok is her first publication, which she hopes will be the first of many.

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