Dessert with a pinch of magic

By EDGARS AUZIŅŠ

At my friend's wedding, I didn't think I would be a newlywed myself the next morning - only in a different body and in a different world! Here I have a husband, there is magic - by the way, I should learn to use it - and here my dream of my own pastry shop can come true. And just when things were getting better, the dark past of the real Lika interfered with my plans. Would my dream remain a dream?
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: EDGARS AUZINS
• Release date: Jun 17, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227241177

EDGARS AUZIŅŠ

Dzimis 1989. gada 22. decembrī. Absolvējis Rīgas Juridisko koledžu. Profesijā nav strādājis, bet apguvis programmēšanas prasmes un pašlaik ar to nodarbojas. Kopš 2022. gada ir personīgā uzņēmuma vadītājs, kas nodarbojas ar transporta pārvadājumiem, kā arī programmēšanu. Dzīvnieku, īpaši suņu, mīļotājs. Born 22 December 1989. Graduated from Riga College of Law. Has not worked in the profession, but has acquired programming skills and is currently working in it. Since 2022 he has been the CEO of his own company, which deals with transport transport as well as programming. Lover of animals, especially dogs.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

There was a pulsating point in the middle of his forehead. It stung so disgustingly. Yesterday a rose from the bride’s bouquet flew straight into my forehead, and a sharp thorn pierced my skin. On the one hand, thank you for not being in the eye! On the other hand, walking around with a scratched forehead or, even worse, with an adhesive plaster in the most visible place is still a pleasure.

And why, one wonders, did I get carried away into the crowd of girls eager to catch the bouquet and their happiness straight from Natasha’s hands? I don’t even want to get married!

The toastmaster turned out to be responsible, and also as keen as an eagle. He had long noticed unmarried young girls and, when the moment of climax came, he grabbed us by the white hands and escorted us to the center of the hall. No one really struggled, I also chose to accept it. Two minutes of shame - and you're free.

I had to look at the bride, but I yawned around. Could I have imagined that the bouquet would unravel in flight? And please, instead of raising your hands and protecting your face, you caught the rose in flight with your forehead. Wonderful! It’s a shame that it was at that moment that I indulged in blissful anticipation. And I was looking forward to the wedding cake waiting for me on the table. I had time to taste the delicate buttercream and rum-soaked cakes when the toastmaster, jumping up and smiling with all thirty-three teeth, carried me along with him.

Learning to bake cakes has been my long-time dream. And not just any, lopsided, sprinkled with biscuit crumbs, masking their flaws. I was going to finish the course and bake cakes to sell. In the meantime, I studied master classes on Zen, baked in my own kitchen and tried to get clients. Someday I’ll gain experience, rent a separate room, and ta-am...

Sweet dreams were rudely interrupted by a rose. Who even uses roses with thorns in bouquets these days? It would seem like a fragile flower, but it shook so hard that sparks came out of its eyes.

I don't even remember what happened next. It worked well for me! Or is it not the rose’s fault, but the three glasses of wine drunk earlier?

One way or another, I somehow got to the hotel room, if I’m lying in bed now. Natasha rented several rooms for guests directly above the restaurant.

Without opening my eyes - my temples were aching, and the light could make my head hurt worse - I felt myself. I changed into a nightie, clever Lika! So, sir, I washed the makeup off my face. It was I who pulled my eyelash and realized that there was no mascara on it. I listened to my body - my body told me to continue sleeping! Who am I to contradict him?

I stretched sweetly, turned on my right side, and picked up the blanket: I was used to sleeping with my arms and legs hugging it.

Or rather, I would have rowed it! However, the wayward blanket quite noticeably twitched from his hands and crawled to the other half of the bed. If I didn’t know that I was sleeping alone in the room, I could have decided that someone lying next to me on the bed didn’t want to share!

It will seem like it! Surely the blanket got caught on the side. I muttered, pulled harder, covered myself with the edge and now turned on my left side, wrapping it around myself.

A sigh sounded in the silence of the room. Wind! – I told myself in fear, opening my eyes and staring at the wall.

Natasha boasted that each room in the hotel is a masterpiece of design and each one is unique.

In my room, the designer's thought apparently went too far. What exactly did he want to convey with cracked walls with pieces of plaster falling off? A parquet floor from which some of the wooden planks have fallen out, and those that remain in place have darkened with time and dust? And this dull rug, knitted from strips of fabric, like in my old aunt’s village, must have symbolized comfort and... I don’t know... pastoral?

Brr, I have to get up, wash my face and do my legs.

There was another sigh behind him. I threw the blanket over my head and froze. Well, yes, well, yes, maniacs are usually scared away by a blanket pulled over their ears! But what can you do, a stupid habit, preserved from childhood, made itself felt here. I hid under the covers when I was afraid that a monster would crawl out from under the bed and grab me. The blanket worked flawlessly against under-bed monsters! But if it’s not a monster sighing over my ear, it’s a big deal!

- Maybe you can share a blanket? – the deep male baritone sadly asked.

With a squeal, I jumped to my feet, spun around like a top, at the same time wrapping myself in a blanket like armor!

What kind of shared room is this? Natasha! We didn't agree like that!

The second half of the room was not inferior to the first in terms of neglect and squalor. I would rip their designer hands to hell with such designers!

But this is not the worst thing!

A half-naked guy is stretched out on the bed. The good news was that he remained half naked on top, and on the bottom he was dressed in funny long underpants or leggings. The sad thing was that the surface of the underpants or leggings bulged suspiciously in my direction.

In any other circumstances, the unexpected bedmate would have seemed pleasant. He was... um... about twenty-five years old. Dark brown coarse hair bristled, dark gray eyes squinted angrily. Her face is rumpled from sleep, but pretty, with a strong-willed and slightly unshaven chin. The naked part of the body on display flexed its muscles muscularly. Apparently, the guy does not disdain the gym.

But what am I thinking about? Natasha, what kind of setup is this? There's a stranger in my room! And there was no doubt about his intentions bulging in his underpants!

I opened my mouth and screamed.

Hmm... I tried to scream, but only a thin wheeze escaped from my dry throat.

Oil painting. Lika, in a blanket wrapped around her frail body, emits the half-stifled wheeze of a canary with a cold.

The guy sat up on the bed and stared at me with curiosity. My squeak did not awaken his conscience. But there was also a plus! It lulled him... let's just say... his impudent intention.

– Should I bring some water? – the stranger asked as if nothing had happened.

- Who are you? – I squeezed out.

- Your husband.

The guy looked at me, I looked at him. Both are amazed.

- How long ago... have you been my husband? – I bleated.

- Since yesterday morning.

Ooh! Is this when I managed to get married? Or did they have a promotion at their wedding? Two for the price of one? Marry your friend and get a groom in addition?

Thanks, I'll get by!

Sideways, sideways, I trotted towards the door, looking around along the way in search of clothes. For some reason, the dress I wore to the wedding was nowhere to be seen, but hanging on the chair was something long, simple, reminiscent of a cotton sundress for a holiday at sea.

There was no time to wonder who gave me the sundress and stole the evening dress. I'll figure it out later! I grabbed what they gave me and ran out into the corridor.

CHAPTER 2

She ran out to run out, but the fuse was enough for two steps. I froze as if struck by thunder. The corridor turned out to be narrow, short, and next door there was another one - just one! - wooden door. There was a worn rug lying on the floor, fresh air was blowing from the half-open window, the curtains, which had seen better views, but were now yellowed in places, gray in others, swayed in the wind.

On tiptoe, afraid of what I saw in advance, I crept up to the window and barely suppressed the scream that was breaking out. She literally crushed her: she covered her mouth with two palms, dropping her sundress.

No, there were no creepy monsters or walking dead walking outside the windows in pairs or alone. A peaceful picture appeared before my eyes: a vegetable garden, a shed by the fence, a rural street, the roofs of low houses...

- I was kidnapped! – I whispered.

Exactly! They poured the poison into the wine, gave him some drink, and then took him to the darkness and put the maniac in a barrel. It’s a complex, murky scheme, but these days you don’t meet any kind of perverts.

Run! Run before it's too late! There, it seems, is a rural road, it will lead to an asphalt road. Someone will give me a lift to the city.

While I was panicking about my escape plan, frozen in place, I completely lost sight of the fact that the maniac had not gone anywhere and nothing would stop him from getting to me.

A man’s hand carefully touched my shoulder, and the maniac sympathetically asked:

– Aren’t you cold barefoot? Let's go to bed.

How kind, oh!

I jumped, squealed, threw his hand away - I saw bright red sparks flying around my fingers, but I didn’t have time to be surprised by the strange phenomenon - and rushed to run along the corridor, then down the stairs to the first floor, through the darkness due to the drawn night curtains hall, porch and ground.

- Ay-ay! "I grabbed my heel, pricked by a sharp stone.

The last time I ran barefoot around the yard was when I was five years old. It turns out that you can’t really run with your soft pedicured heels on the bare ground, on stones and last year’s tough grass stems.

While I was jumping on one leg, the maniac hubby followed me onto the porch and thoughtfully watched me, making no more attempts to grope me. And thanks for that.

- Everything is fine? – he asked politely.

Wait... Wait, wait... I muttered, limping towards a hoe sticking out of the ground, forgotten by someone.

I grabbed it tightly by the wooden handle and raised it militantly above my head.

- Don't come closer! I'll kill you!

Hmm... said hubby.

With a brisk step, he covered the distance between us, and then easily and naturally, so that I did not have time to understand anything, he deprived me of my weapon.

Can you explain what kind of fly bit you?

Umm... I squeezed out. - Mmm...

- Clear. Magical return. I warned you yesterday not to overexert yourself! Come here...

Maniacilla grabbed me with his arms across the body and, not paying attention to my pitiful attempts to escape, carried me back to the porch and set me on my feet. He quietly pushed in the direction of the door standing wide open.

- Let's go, I'll make you some coffee.

Coffee! Well, if he’s not going to dismember me right now, then so be it, I’ll drink coffee. At that moment I needed him vitally.

The guy, taking me by the shoulders from behind, led me through the hall straight to the kitchenette, sat me down on a wicker chair and began to work magic over the stove. A very strange stove, I must say! Instead of gas burners or disks, like an electric stove, there were irregularly shaped gray stones sticking out in iron cells. My hubby touched one of them with his finger, a spark jumped out, and the stone began to glow with an even orange flame.

I've lost my mind. Gone mad. And I'm delirious.

It’s good that the guy didn’t see my crazy face; he poured brown powder into a bowl that resembled a copper Turk, poured water from a jug, and then concentrated on making coffee.

- Would you like some milk, Lika?

Lika! I grabbed onto this name like a straw. This means that not everything is so bad, there are some signs of mental clarity. It's me, Angelica. This is my name.

-What did you call me? – I squeaked.

– Lika. Glyceria.

Glyceria? My mouth seemed to be stuck together from the unprecedented sweetness of this name. Everything... Everything is wrong! Call an ambulance! You need to save me!

So... I muttered, massaging my temple. - What do you say your name is?

Maniacilla turned to me with a cheeky grin.

– You don’t remember your own husband’s name! Lika-Lika! Let's remember, otherwise you won't get coffee!

He poured the invigorating, intoxicating-smelling drink into a cup. He sniffed and pretended to feel blissful from the smell.

- Are you kidding? – I inquired gloomily.

- A little. But only for the sake of business. Magical recoil is an unpleasant thing. If the memory does not return in the next few hours, then...

- What?

- All! Life with a clean slate. I would still like to get my Lika back. So what's my name?

Abisalom, I muttered to annoy him: I remembered a cartoon that I recently watched with a friend and her son. About a robot with a faulty memory, who had an incomplete list of boys' names loaded into his head, and it started with Abisalom - that's what the bot tried to call its owner.

The hubby’s face fell.

Try again, he encouraged me and, taking pity, put a cup of coffee next to me.

I took a sip of the divine drink. Tasty! But my head still wasn’t clear...

I won’t even guess, I don’t remember, I sighed.

What the hell is going on with me this morning? Where I am? Why does a stranger insist that we are married? And this is the second time I’ve mentioned magical returns?

Stop! Maybe this is a sophisticated prank and I’m now being filmed on a hidden camera?

I raised my head and looked suspiciously at the ceiling and the warped cabinets. I saw cobwebs with flies, stains of mold, bunches of dried herbs.

- Dalen.

- Mm? – I grumbled, without taking my eyes off the ceiling.

- My name is Dalen.

Was it just my imagination or were there sad notes in my hubby’s voice? Attacked the wrong one! You can't fool me! They organized a reality show here with me in the leading role! I will bring them to clean water!

But for now, since this is the case and God knows how many spectators are admiring me, I need to at least put myself in order.

– Is there a mirror here?

What's his name? Dalen? pointed to a small square mirror standing on the sideboard. I looked in.

She gasped. And she recoiled.

A strange face was looking at me.

The stranger in the reflection looked cute: brown wavy hair, large dark eyes like cherries, a pretty face. But it’s not me!

Disgusting! – I mentally exclaimed. - Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting!

How many times have I read about this in my favorite fantasy books. And, I admit, I dreamed of being in the place of the heroines.

But that’s not true! Not in a creepy, dusty house where there are probably bedbugs! Why am I not a duchess in an ancient rich castle? One thing made me happy - I didn’t wake up next to a toothless old man...

However, is this really true? Am I a loser?

CHAPTER 3

Hubby and I sat at opposite ends of the table and nervously sipped coffee in deathly silence. I tried to think about my unenviable situation and somehow wrap my spinning head around the incredible turn of life.

What do I know at the moment? I found myself in a world where magic is present. Yesterday something happened because of which I, or rather the real Lika, overexerted myself so much that I left my body. I hope we just switched places with her, and now Glykeria has become the owner of blond hair, gray eyes, a cat, Musi, and a one-room apartment in the city center.

It turns out that I lost all this, but in return I acquired an unshaven guy, among whose advantages so far there was only one thing: he knows how to make coffee.

Most of all I will miss Musa. I hope that Glyceria will not offend her! I never had much warmth in my relationship with my parents; mom and dad were always more interested in each other than in me and my brothers. It seems they often forgot exactly how many children they produced and what each of them did. Now my parents spent time at sea and