“Hmph,” said Hezikiah, pretending to sweep a mote of dust off her shoulder. “A curse, was it? Let me guess, a clumsiness jinx? A boil hex? The Itching?”

Marika squirmed. “A Lucksucker Curse,” she mumbled.

“Oh, dearie, wow,” laughed Hezikiah. “This isn’t my first rodeo, you know, and you try a Lucksucker? I’m used to a bucking bronco, and this is a prancing pony at best. Maybe even a dead horse, fully flogged.”

Red and sweating, Marika could only mumble in response.

“Tell you what, dearie,” Hezekiah continued. “I’ll give you ten seconds to explain yourself. Then I hit you with a countercurse, maybe Perfidious Abdomen. It’s a favorite of mine, you won’t be able to digest anything for two weeks and will split your time between the porcelain throne and the porcelain bus.”

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