The next day. I leaned back in my carriage, sun glasses perched just so, arms crossed, letting Coffi and Latte fuss over the itinerary like they were my personal royal advisors. Behind me, Raya and Chubby were already squabbling inside my magical pouch over—of course—who would get the first bite of the pastries I insisted on bringing.
"Raya!" I snapped, "Stop eating Chubby's share!"
"Your pastries are life, master!" Raya squeaked, one head reaching out while the other hissed at Chubby.
Chubby puffed his chest. "I demand equality!" He launched a tiny fireball at Raya, which barely singed the fabric of the pouch—but enough to make her yelp.
I sighed, rolling my eyes. "This is why I can't have nice things. Literally. Even pastries are battlefield zones."
