"Thrice, the brindled cat hath mewed—" Hestia began twirling about the room before she was stopped by her sister.
"Do give that a rest, Hestia!" Camilla barked, rolling her eyes at her sister's child-like display.
"Thrice and once the hedge-pig whines," Tesira chimed, giggling along with Hestia. The two of them continued in unison, "Harpier cries, ''Tis time! 'Tis time!'"
"You fools. Why bring up that old nonsense?" Camilla opened another book and slapped it on the table. She grazed over the ingredients and frowned.
"Nonsense?" Hestia responded indignantly. "I say, it wasn't nonsense when we wrote it! It wasn't nonsense when that cad-of-a-'poet', Shakespeare, stole it from us! It isn't nonsense that that spell, our spell, has become almost a rubric for modern day, popular Western magical spells! If the laws then were what they are now, we'd be stupid-rich by syndication rights alone!"
Camilla couldn't help but smile, "Syndication rights? Off your head, you are." She fumbled down the list of ingredients again and pointed to a term. "Does that say dhole's claw?"
“Now where would we get a dhole's claw?” Hestia leaned over the table, stroking the open page of the cookbook with one long, beautifully manicured red fingernail. “Camilla, might I suggest you put your reading glasses on? It's cole slaw.”
Hestia ran her finger down the page once more, gently. “Hmm. Colonel Mustard is coming to tea this afternoon. The Colonel loves cole slaw. I’ll serve him cole slaw for his salad . . . ”
She paused, smiling. “ . . . and he’ll add some of his, shall we say, mustard seed, to my cherry pie afterwards. And though it may be thrice the brindled cat mews, it's only once a week my spindly-legged Colonel is able to spew. Forth. So I want him well-fed and happy.”
Opening: Xiexie.....Continuation: Robin S.