Firefight

“Where are those pastries!” a voice shouted outside. “Move, you slontzes. She’s demanding cupcakes.”

The tall chef burst into our pantry. Megan spun toward him, tucking her gun behind her back. And suddenly, the pan full of cupcakes from earlier had intricate frosting on the tops.

The tall chef let out a relieved breath. “Thank heavens for that,” he said, grabbing the pan. “Let me know if you two need anything.”

He moved away. I watched, horrified, worried that once it got too far from Megan, the frosting would vanish. She rested her hand on the counter, then slumped, and it was my turn to grab her.

“Megan?” I asked.

“I…think I managed to make those permanent,” she said. “Sparks, that’s more than I’ve done in a long time. I can feel the headache coming on already.” Her skin felt clammy under my fingers, and she’d gone pale.

That said, it was remarkable. “Imagine what you could do with more practice!”

“Well, we’ll see.” She paused. “David, I think I found a dimension where you’re not an expert in guns, but in pastries.”

> Page 231-232, Chapter 26, Calamity