The candy golems shuffled through the streets of Eerie, their lustrous skin a kaleidoscopic swirl of gleaming pastels, their gait unsteady where puddles and sprinklers and sudden spring showers had partially dissolved their lower limbs.
"Well, ladies," said Mayor Chisel, seating himself on a high-backed stool in the window of Grandma's Kitchen and turning to face the six identical proprietors. "While I admire the entrepreneurial spirit behind 'Bake Box: professional-level confectionary you can cook at home', I don't think it's workable until every kitchen in Eerie has been successfully proofed against sugar magic."
"I thought that law was already on the books," said one of the Grandmas. "Didn't you add it to the building codes after the sentient candy floss monster almost devoured the town thirty years ago?"
"That statute only covers commercial kitchens," said Chisel. "The feeling at the time was that it would be over-reaching for the government to require the average home-owner protect themselves against a spun sugar uprising."
He peered through the window, where a swarm of half-melted marshmallow peeps had clumped together to form a deadly quagmire of yellow-orange goo that had engulfed the entire sidewalk.
"It may be time to rethink that," he admitted.( Read the rest of the Trusted Associates verse here )( Read the rest of the Easter Weekend series here )