“I can get gingerbread men anywhere,” whined a little boy. Gav privately wondered what kind of parent brought a child into a lair of evil, but wasn’t about to argue with someone who had already picked up four weasels-on-a-stick. “Gingerbread like these?” Orla asked, showing one off. The lower half was partway melded with a wolf body, the frosting intestines flowing out of the seam where the mad wizard had not finished sewing them together. Gav would not have believed how realistically raisin eyes could convey fear and despair. The little boy gasped in horrified delight. His father bought
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