Harold paused at the newly opened bakery on Albert Street. When a shop is called 'Wishes Baked In' one can't help but wonder if the owners are Denizens, or at least have a touch of the supernatural about them. Certainly the cakes were impressive: great towers of confectionary with layers at all angles. There was one, covered with teapots, he was particularly desirous of. He went inside.
"Can I help you?" The shopkeeper was dressed in pristine baker's whites but otherwise showed no inclination to recognise Harold as anything more than a potential customer.
"I'd like that tall cake in the window," he said. "The one with the teapots."
"Certainly, sir." The woman smiled. "Would you like to take it now or have it delivered? There's a seven pounds delivery fee."
"Oh, delivered please." Harold gave her the address of the shop. "Which bits are magical?"
"Oh, Bless you sir. All of it. The magic's in me, you see. I bake it in."
"Oh?" Harold stared at each of the six tiers. "I can't see any," he said. "Is it under the icing?"