“Not yet. Put on the kettle.”
“Devlin, seriously.” She grabs the tea, tucks it back into its cubby. “Go back by the fire and relax. I’ve got this.”
“Really. You’ve got this.” I remove the tea once more, undeterred by her huffing and puffing. “Is that why you’ve had four customers in the last two hours, one of whom you didn’t even charge, despite the fact that he had tea andtwomuffins?”
“Mr. Moriarty is on a fixed income!”
“Keep it up andyou’llbe on azeroincome.”
She glares at me, nostrils flaring. I glare right back, letting my horns show, my irises glowing red.
The mushroom rolls her eyes. “Fine. I’ll allow this little experiment, but there are rules, Devlin.”
“Of course there are.”
“First, you need to wash your hands. With soap. And put on an apron. I don’t carehowmuch it clashes with that expensive suit, either, which, by the way… Who wears a thousand-dollar suit to hang out in a tea café all day?” She reaches under the counter and fishes one out for me, which I dutifully tie around my hips, poor fashion statement be damned. “Oh, and be sure to put back each ingredientexactlywhere you found it, jars clean of smudges and debris, facing forwards.”
“Ten thousand-dollar suit, and are you, perchance, a Virgo?”
“And proud of it. So watch your tone, or I’ll put Mr. 10K Suit in a fifty-cent hairnet.”
“It’s dreadful of you to even suggest such a thing. Now please, for the last time, go put on the kettle.”
One more huff, another pointed glare, the stamp of a small but determined foot, and she’s off to the kitchen, leaving me to follow the whims of my muse.
Black tea, check. Pink Peppercorns… hmm. Fairly certain that’s the name of a woman Finn once dated, very keen on sharing as I recall, so we’ll toss some of those in as well. Dried cherries, grated ginger, oh yes this is going to be perfect. And, ah! How could I forget, king of all spices both magical and mundane, cinnamon!
“You’re getting fingerprints on the bottles!” she cries.
“I’ll polish them all once my masterpiece is complete.” I locate the cardamom pods, pop a few of those into the mix, then back to the cinnamon for another go.
“Devlin! You can’t just add things willy-nilly like that! You’re using too much cinnamon!”
“You know, you’re right. I should try the cayenne pepper instead.” I find the bottle and add copious amounts of that too. “When it comes to spice, more isalwaysmore, am I right?”
“No! You’re not right! You’re so not right, just standing next to you is giving me an anxiety attack!”
“Then take a few calming breaths and go stand overthere.” I nod toward the exit. “Problem solved.”
“That’s it. We aredone!” She marches to the front of the shop, peers out the window in both directions, sighs mightily, then locks the door and flips on theBe Back After Lunch!sign.
She’s clearly a witch on a mission, stomping back behind the counter and nudging me and my super-brew out of the way without so much as a word, grabbing teas and tinctures and herbs off the shelves, muttering spells and curses under her breath—hellspawn this, chain-breaker that—as she sprinkles and dashes and pours things into a fresh pot, working so fast a veritable dust cloud forms around her.
The kitchen kettle hasn’t yet boiled, and I watch in shocked silence as she pours the barely steamed water over the foulest-smelling concoction this side of the River Styx, her face blotchy with anger, curls trembling, lips still muttering who knows what.
Just as I’m beginning to fear the fumes alone will peel the paint from the walls, she gives it a swirl, strains it into a cup, and shoves it toward me.
“Drink this.”
I take a step back, hands up. “Never have I ever intentionally ingested something handed off by an angry, beautiful woman and preceded by the words, ‘drink this.’ Just a personal policy honed over centuries of hard lessons learned, thanks.”
She rolls her pretty blue eyes. “I’m not trying to poison you, Devlin. Just trying one more thing to break our invisible chains. Hail Mary, down the hatch.”
“Have we learned nothing from last night’s ill-informed dance on the dark side?”
“That was a banishing spell, which is not—admittedly—my forte. This is tea. Totally different situation.”
“I see.” I give the brew a tentative whiff—bad idea on my part. “And what is the name of this one, may I ask, and also, may I have a shot of something stronger to chase it?”
