Bob:
All this Faery stuff was dumb. Telling us we couldn’t eat. I had a pocketful of these scone things, and I’d already eaten several. I felt just fine. No poison in them. No faery dust that I could taste. Besides, I wasn’t human like Penelope. I was a werewolf. We didn’t get sick.
Terry kept eyeing me as I continued to munch on the sort of sweet biscuit things. They had some kind of fruit in them. Red dots. Probably raisins. There were probably red grapes. Terry didn’t like bread stuff. He was always worrying about not getting what the humans at our gym called love handles. I kept assuring him that we wolves didn’t get fat. We ran through the forest at night. And we ate meat. Meat couldn’t make you fat.
These bread things were pretty good. I liked cookies and pastries. Were these pastries? It was too bad they took the platter of them away. I grabbed as many as I could get, filling both pockets, but I didn’t want to act greedy.
Strange how the mean queen said we shouldn’t have eaten the Faery food. Blah. That was just superstition. Probably the Faeries just wanted folks to be scared of Faeryland.
What were we waiting for, anyway? Time to get back to the ship. We had what we came for. Except Ben was talking to that queen lady, and I think he was being scolded. Poor man. I liked the fellow. Daniel I wasn’t so sure about. He was weird, if you asked me. Terry said he was cool, but Terry was liberal about things like that. He didn’t mind if a guy talked all big words and meditation.
Penelope was sure looking like something the cat dragged inside after playing in the rain. Not that she was a lizard or something, but I’d never seen her looking grubby before. Her eyes had black rims, not like some Goth kid, but from lack of sleep. Probably from being treated bad.
That bad queen, the eviler of the two, ought to get mauled a bit. I’d do it, but Penelope wouldn’t like that. Neither would Timothy. He was pretty much a straight shooter now. He’d end someone, if that person deserved it, but he wasn’t big on roughness for the sake of . . .
Penelope was talking to me, telling me to stop eating the scones. I didn’t want to do that, but I’d obey. Boss had told us to follow his wife’s orders whenever she gave us any. She wasn’t like that, though. She didn’t like telling us to do stuff. I liked that about her. Actually, I liked everything about her, except her telling me not to eat any more of the scones.
I chewed what was in my mouth and nodded my head. Then I turned about, emptied my pockets, and stuffed the rest of them into my mouth. Okay. I’d always do what she asked. No more scones.